Dust on the Horizon (40 page)

“Only that I like you very much too and—” Catherine let out a scream as a sharp set of teeth bit into her hand.

“Charles! That's very naughty.” Catherine lifted her hand to see a perfect set of teeth marks indented in her skin.

“Come and see now!” Charles stamped his foot.

“Oh dear, what's the matter?”

“Come and see the castle Hughie built.”

Catherine sighed and took his hand. “Very well.” She stood and turned to give Flora a smile but her housekeeper was already busy scrubbing the carrots.

Charles yanked on her arm. “Come on.”

Catherine let him pull her along. He really did need a brother or sister. He was becoming very demanding. Henry could always manage him. With the terrible weather and Charles being so difficult she could feel one of her nasty headaches coming on. She could take a dose of the tonic Henry gave her but it always made her so sleepy and it would be some time before Charles went to bed. She could only hope Henry would not be away too long.

Henry pulled off his boots, brushed off his clothes and walked through the back entrance to the Smith's Ridge house. He pushed the door shut behind him to stop even more dust entering with him. On a small table just inside the door was a basin with a small amount of dust-covered water. He rinsed his hands and face and dried himself on the cloth hanging on the back of the door. In the kitchen Mrs Donovan stirred a large pot on the stove.

She glanced up as he came in. “Good gracious, it's you, Mr Wiltshire. You've chosen terrible weather to travel in.”

Perspiration dripped from her face and she batted at it with her apron.

“It doesn't appear quite as bad here as in Hawker.” Henry stopped to pour himself a mug of water from the jug on the table. “When I left there yesterday morning I could barely see my hand in front of my face.”

“Hmm.” Mrs Donovan nodded and kept stirring whatever the delicious-smelling brew was in her pot.

Henry's stomach rumbled. He'd broken camp at first light without bothering to have so much as a cup of tea let alone eat anything. Now he was parched and hungry.

He eyed the pot. “None of the men are here?”

“No. They've been going out in this dust every day trying to make sure the animals have water but it's becoming harder and harder.”

“I've brought you fresh supplies although some of it won't be faring so well in this heat.”

Henry looked at her expectantly. The woman ignored him and looked back to her pot.

Henry pursed his lips and sniffed. “Can you spare me something to eat before I begin to unload?”

“Of course. This wombat's still a bit tough.” She put the huge stirring spoon on the bench. “But I've got a pie in some luscious brown gravy ready. Sit yourself down in the front room. It's a bit cooler in there without the fire.”

Henry made his way to the big living area. It was still sparsely furnished but neat and tidy. Mrs Donovan no doubt kept house as well as prepared the food.

She brought him in a plate with meat and dark brown gravy oozing out from below a golden-brown piecrust. He eyed it a moment then took a small spoonful. It slipped down his gullet leaving a delicious flavour on his tongue. The woman was right. It was good. She came back with a pot of tea and a mug which she set on the table in front of him along with some bread and dripping.

“What do you think of my parrot pie?”

Henry nearly choked.

“It's Mr Donovan's favourite. Will that do you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She went back to the kitchen. Henry peered at the pie a moment. He took another cautious mouthful then ate the rest hungrily. He mopped up the remains of the gravy with the bread before finally sitting back feeling contentedly full.

There was a thud at the front door. He rose to his feet as the door was flung open, letting in a wild-looking man and another cloud of dust before it was closed again.

“Henry!”

“Jack?” Henry studied his half-brother. Jack's hair hung in long waves under his once-black hat and his dark eyes glittered above the handkerchief covering his mouth. He tugged it down so it hung like a scarf around his neck.

“About time you paid me a visit. Did you bring the whiskey?”

“Yes.”

“And the tobacco?”

“It's all there.”

“Good, because there's not much else to do in this godforsaken place.” Jack strode across the room, his boots echoing on the wooden floor. “Mrs Donovan!” he bellowed. “Bring me some of whatever you've cooked and two mugs.”

Henry studied Jack's lean frame. He looked fit in spite of the dirt and the terrible weather. “Six months ago Smith's Ridge was your piece of paradise.”

Jack spun back to look at him. “That was before the heavens decided we should have no more rain. Where's the whiskey?”

“Still in the wagon.”

“Be damned.” Jack thumped the table with his fist making everything clatter.

“Steady up.”

“We may as well unload now. I have no idea where Donovan and Brand are or when they'll return.” Jack strode towards the kitchen nearly colliding with Mrs Donovan carrying a tray.

“Leave it on the table.” Jack looked back at Henry. “Well come on. I'm not doing it by myself and Mrs Donovan only cooks and cleans. No heavy lifting for her. Isn't that right, Mrs Donovan?”

The woman didn't answer but continued to the table where she set out the food and mugs and collected up those Henry had finished with.

Reluctantly Henry rose to his feet and went to pull on his boots.

By the time they were done, the wind had eased. A thick bank of clouds covered the sun and the day had cooled considerably. Henry looked to the west, in the direction of Hawker. The clouds didn't look as thick out that way. Rain was badly needed but not before the races. He didn't know how his new horse would fare if the track was wet.

Back inside Henry watched while Jack began to eat the now-cold pie.

Jack paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Pour some of that whiskey.”

Henry didn't usually drink in the afternoons. He was always far too busy working but he decided to join Jack. He poured some whiskey into the two mugs Mrs Donovan had left for them. He took a sip, Jack a mouthful.

Henry placed his mug back on the table. “So, how are my sheep?”

Jack snorted. “You may as well have left them wherever you had them. There's little feed here.”

“None on the plains either. Grasshoppers have decimated what little crops that grew and the rabbits have taken the rest.”

“Rabbits are eating the feed here faster than the sheep and water is getting harder to find. We've lost several sheep to wild dogs.”

“No trouble with natives?”

Jack pushed away his empty plate and sat back. His dark, brooding gaze locked on Henry. “No.”

“Good. Then all you have to do is wait it out. The rain will have to come eventually.”

Jack continued to study him. “How long are you staying? If this change holds we can ride out and look at some of the fences we've built. Makes it much easier to keep watch on the stock.”

Henry was interested to see what his money was being spent on. “I can only stay two nights. I want to be back for the Hawker races. I have a horse running this year.”

“Races?” Jack sat up with a lurch. “Hawker has races?”

“Of course. We might be a long way from civilisation but we are a progressive community.”

“I enjoy the races.”

Henry felt a chill run through him. Why had he mentioned it? “You can't come.”

Jack's eyebrows arched. “Can't I?”

“Remember our agreement.” Henry took another sip of whiskey.

“I've been here for nearly nine months.” Jack tossed back the whiskey and slapped the mug down on the table. “I think it's time the new owner of Smith's Ridge had an outing.”

Henry opened his mouth to complain but Jack slapped a hand over his, gripping it tightly.

“The more I remain closeted up here, the more curious people will get. The races are a perfect chance for me to show my face.” He gave Henry's hand one last squeeze then let it go. “Don't worry, Henry.” Jack let out a deep laugh. “I'll keep out of your way.”

Henry kept his lips turned up in a smile but underneath he bristled. He wasn't at all happy for Jack to attend the races but there was little he could do about it.

Thirty-four

The sun was shining through gaps in the plump white clouds and the strong winds and accompanying dust that had plagued them for weeks had abated. Jack felt a sense of anticipation as he approached the paddock where the Hawker races were to be held.

He'd ridden all day yesterday and camped the night at the last creek before Hawker. This morning he'd done his best to freshen up before dressing in his good trousers and jacket. He smiled as he looked down at his clothes. Harriet had been a gift that kept on giving. Sometimes over the last few months he'd wondered if he'd done the right thing letting Henry persuade him to live at Smith's Ridge. It was a lonely existence. He missed the company of a good woman in his bed, something he hoped he would find today. Hawker must surely have a supply of young women, one of whom would succumb to the charms of Jack Aldridge.

He tethered his horse away from the gate with the others and made his way through the crowds to the refreshment booth. He was aware of a few glances in his direction, some curious, some disdainful. As a half-caste man who'd always lived in a white man's world he was used to it, and barely took any notice. He always dressed well and usually had enough charm to win over the staunchest of enemies if needed. He of all people knew appearances could be deceptive.

He bought himself an ale and stood just outside the booth surveying the colourful scene before him. The movement of people and horses stirred up the loose dust so there was a slight haze in the air but it didn't appear to dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd.

All around him voices rose in happy greetings, laughter and general merrymaking. Only over at the ring where horses were being led around did the scene appear more serious. Jack headed in that direction.

To one side he picked Henry's head, leaned forward in deep discussion with a tall redheaded man. Jack hadn't met him yet but from Donovan's description he was guessing the man was his neighbour, Ellis Prosser. Jack pulled the brim of his hat down and kept to the back of the crowd watching the horses. He had bet on a few races in Adelaide but he'd come along today more for something to do than to squander his money on a horse race. He much preferred cards.

The laughter of children and chatter of female voices drew his attention to a wagon set up under some trees a little way from the horses. He made his way over to where a group, mainly women and children, were gathered around a man who was doing magic tricks. Jack watched for a moment then directed his gaze to the crowd.

Standing opposite him in the semi-circle around the magician was a native woman. He'd seen several others here at the races, but they had looked out of place amongst the European crowd. This woman fitted right in, except for the colour of her skin. She wore a pretty patterned dress that followed her curves and nipped in neatly at the waist. Her black curls were tucked up under a bonnet and she chatted easily to the woman next to her, an older white woman.

Well, well, Jack thought to himself. At last a woman worthy of his interest. He slowly made his way around the crowd, stopping to applaud the magician with the group, then moving on until he was standing just behind her. She stood straight, her dark skin in sharp contrast to the pale blue of the dress and the cream lace collar. When the next bout of clapping began, Jack lifted his elbow and bumped against her back.

She turned to look at him and he was instantly mesmerised by her large brown eyes.

“I beg your pardon.” He lifted his hat and held out his hand. “How clumsy of me.”

“Please don't worry. I'm not harmed.” She gave him a quick smile, ignoring his hand and turned back to the magician. Her speech was clear, with little trace of her Aboriginal heritage. Perhaps she had been raised by white people like he had. This was getting more and more interesting.

“I was carried away with watching this fellow. He's very talented isn't he?”

She looked back again. This time her gaze held his a little longer. “Yes.”

“I'm Jack Aldridge.” Once more he offered his hand. He was surprised when she suddenly grasped it firmly in hers.

“Mr Aldridge?”

“Yes.”

“From Smith's Ridge?”

“Yes.”

Finally she let his hand go. “I'm Millie Baker from Wildu Creek.” Her face opened up in a wide smile. “Your neighbour.”

Jack was stunned. It was absolutely the last thing he'd expected her to say. Henry had suggested he keep away from the Bakers. Maybe Millie was part of the reason. “Forgive me, Miss Baker. I have kept away as I thought you may not be too happy to meet the person who had taken over your lease.”

“It's Mrs Baker, and please don't worry, Mr Aldridge.” She leaned in a little closer. “In some ways it was a relief for us to leave. Smith's Ridge had some sad memories for my husband.”

Jack opened his mouth but before he could speak she had turned away and was tapping the arm of the woman next to her and speaking in her ear. They both looked back at him.

“This is my mother-in-law, Lizzie Baker.”

Once more Jack extended his hand, growing more intrigued by the minute. Mrs Baker's white skin was a vivid contrast to her daughter-in-law's. She shook his hand firmly.

“Mr Aldridge. How lovely to meet you at last. I am sorry we've been remiss in not inviting you to visit us but times have been … well, very trying in the last few months. How have you settled in at Smith's Ridge? Is there a Mrs Aldridge? We—”

Millie put a hand on her arm. “Mother Baker, please let him have time to reply,” she said gently.