Dust on the Horizon (43 page)

Joseph got to his feet. Jack might be a visitor but he was precariously testing his welcome.

“Perhaps we can go out on the verandah. It might be cooler out there by now.”

“What's that noise?” William's face was scrunched up in puzzlement.

Before anyone could answer the floor began to vibrate beneath them. Joseph grabbed at the table. The walls of the house rocked. Millie cried out and there was a deafening crash as the plates she'd collected hit the floor along with the cover of the lamp his mother had been holding. The wick Lizzie had just lit went out and the light from outside dimmed. Screams could be heard from the verandah where the younger children had been playing.

Joseph was torn between trying to reach his wife who was clinging to Jack Aldridge and saving his children. Before any of them could move further the vibrations stopped. The last rays of the setting sun suddenly reappeared and filled the dining room with an orange light highlighting the motes of dust floating in the air.

For a heartbeat there was silence and then the front door banged open and footsteps could be heard in the passage. Mary ushered the frightened children into the dining room. She ran straight to Millie, hysteria in her voice as she spoke in her native language. Millie let go of Jack and opened her arms to Mary who flung herself against Millie's neck.

“It was an earth tremor.” Thomas's calming voice spoke over the clamour. “It's all right children.” He moved to where his wife was trying to re-light the lamp. “Careful of the glass, Lizzie.”

Joseph saw his mother's confused look before he bent down and wrapped Robert, Violet and Esther in his arms. “You're safe,” he soothed.

“We've had tremors before,” Thomas said. “Nothing to be frightened of.”

“Not as strong as that, Grandpa.” William stood in the middle of the room, his eyes wide. “The house has never shaken like that before.”

Mary babbled something more. Millie wrapped both her arms around her niece. Her gaze met Joseph's over the children's heads and his heart gave an extra thud. In all the time he'd known Millie he'd never seen such a look of fear in her eyes.

Thirty-six

Henry held Catherine close. “It's all right, my dear. It's passed.” Over her head he looked at the picture hanging at a precarious angle on their sitting-room wall. Above it two dark lines ran jaggedly towards the ceiling, hopefully only minor cracks. Apart from that there appeared to be no damage in this room, at least.

Catherine clung to him, her body trembling.

“Catherine.” He gave her a gentle shake and dragged her arms from his. “It's over I tell you. We are not harmed. Go and check on Charles. I must go to the shop and make sure everything is all right there.”

“Don't leave us, Henry.”

He forced her hands to her sides and held them there. “Take hold of yourself, Catherine. It was an earth tremor, nothing more. Look in on Charles. He has no doubt slept through the excitement.”

“Excitement!” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “We have endured this terrible heat and now this most terrifying earthquake. I've had enough, Henry. It's time we sold up and moved back to Adelaide like you told my mother and yours that we would do.”

Henry clenched his teeth and pulled his hands from Catherine's. She rarely raised her voice but her fear had displaced her manners.

“That is enough! Stop this hysteria at once and look in on Charles. Then you should take a draught of tonic and go to bed. I might be late if there are things to be tidied at the shop.”

He strode to the front door, moved the empty vase that had obviously slid in the quake back to its place on the hall table and let himself out into the hot, still night. Immediately he could hear voices, some raised in panic, others more excited. It appeared many of the residents of Hawker were outside.

He looked towards the cottage where Flora and her children lived. No sign of anyone there but a light shone in the front window. Flora was a sensible woman, but he would look in on her on the way home.

Henry moved as fast as he could in the fading light. On the corner of the main street he passed a group huddled around a woman who was crying hysterically. A man stood to one side, his hands clutched to his chest, declaring the end was nigh over and over again. On closer inspection Henry recognised him as the clerk from the bank, not a previously pious man he'd thought.

Henry gave the group a wide berth and made for his own shop. He went through the back door and called out.

“Mr Hemming, is everything all right here?”

“I'm in the shop, Mr Wiltshire,” came the reply.

Henry walked through the tiny kitchen and into the small room behind the shop that was once again restored to an office for Henry and a living room for Mr Hemming. Now that Hawker had a purpose-built post-and-telegraph office the telegraph had been moved there. It had been a pity to lose the extra business it had brought, especially with the difficult seasons the whole area had been experiencing.

A lamp shone from the shop at the front of the building. Henry had assumed the curtain between the two rooms had been pulled back but as he reached the doorway he realised the whole thing had fallen down. He looked up in surprise at the two holes in the plaster above the door where hooks had once been in place. They had supported the wooden rod that suspended the velvet curtain which now lay at his feet.

“Not much damage, Mr Wiltshire.” Hemming was wielding a broom, collecting a small pile of glass. “Two of the sweets jars must have wobbled off the counter, a few things have fallen over, but the only real damage appears to be the crack above the door.”

“Crack?”

Henry lifted the lamp Hemming had set on the counter. What he hadn't noticed when he'd looked up at the holes was a large crack running down from the ceiling and spreading out over the doorframe.

“That will need to be fixed.”

Henry gritted his teeth. Lately it seemed as if money slipped through his fingers and none of his businesses were making much of a return.

The land he owned at Cradock and Wilson barely brought in enough to cover what he paid the men he employed to manage it. He was plagued at every turn by lack of rain, which meant his crops were poor and his stock had to compete with grasshoppers and rabbits for whatever feed remained. His problems were the same as most of the plains country and people weren't spending money in his shop like they had.

He looked over Hemming's head as he bent over the broom. They were carrying less stock and some of the shelves looked bare. Hemming and Catherine did their best to keep the place clean but the infernal dust was everywhere. In the dim light of the lamp the place looked shabby. What had happened to his fine establishment?

There was a sharp knock on the door.

“Wiltshire? Are you in there?”

Henry was surprised to hear Ellis Prosser outside his door. He moved around Hemming and drew back the bolt.

“Ellis. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you have fared.” He peered round Henry at the interior of the shop.

Henry stepped quickly outside. “Not too badly, Ellis. Nothing that is not fixable. What brings you to town?”

“I put my wife and daughter on the train today. Georgina will start school in Adelaide when the new school year begins. I am staying the night at the hotel. This quake has caused a ruckus. I was planning to call on you in the morning. Come and have a drink with me now.”

“At this hour?”

“I'm sure our custom will be welcome. The hotel at Edeowie has closed and I've heard more closures are likely. The publicans here won't want to follow their fate.”

Henry turned back to his shop assistant. “Leave the rest, Mr Hemming. You can retire. I will come early in the morning and we will assess the damage in the daylight.”

“Very good, Mr Wiltshire.” Hemming came to bolt the door as Henry pulled it shut.

There was quite a crowd at the hotel, including the pious clerk who, by the look of him, must have decided to drink himself to inebriation while he awaited the end.

Prosser bought them a draught of whiskey and they found themselves a space in a corner away from the bar. He got straight to the point.

“Donovan's been to see me about your man at Smith's Ridge.”

Henry looked around but there was so much noise in the bar there was little chance of them being overheard. “What did he have to say?”

“Very little.” Prosser took a swig from his mug. “Apart from him being arrogant which rankles with Donovan, he says Aldridge mostly works hard, listens to Donovan's opinion and doesn't cause much trouble.”

Henry found it hard to believe that a man like Jack Aldridge would settle so easily to life at Smith's Ridge but part of him was relieved. Jack continued to be out of sight while Henry worked on a way to be rid of the man for good.

“What does he do out there?”

“Works like I said. You implied he might be a bit shy of hard work but Donovan says he does his share. Drinks a bit, beats them at cards regularly and treats Donovan's wife as if she's his servant but in all he had nothing to report on Aldridge. You know I can't usually abide coloured fellows but Aldridge has obviously had a suitable upbringing. If it wasn't for the colour of his skin you could pass him off in normal society as a solid member of the family.”

Henry took a sip of the whiskey. The strong liquid burned its way down his throat but did little to aid his unease. He'd thought by now Donovan would have been able to supply him with some insight into his half-brother that might help him to be rid of him. So far Jack had given little away and not put a foot wrong, except to come to the Hawker races last May. Henry had seen him in the distance that day but Jack had kept out of his way and there'd been no sign of him in Hawker since.

“Your stock are not faring so well.”

Henry looked up from his mug to meet Prosser's sharp gaze.

“Donovan tells me you suffered heavy losses just before Christmas.”

“They will only get worse.” Henry took a slug of whiskey this time, willing the liquor to ease his concerns. “There's no sign of rain and none likely any time soon. We've had four days in a row here in Hawker with the thermometer over one hundred in the shade.”

“It's been the same at Prosser's Run.”

“How are you faring?”

“No better than anyone else in the district. My son has packed up and gone after this gold they say is easy picking at Teetulpa. I told him he was a fool but he wouldn't listen. We just have to wait it out. Rain will come again. I sold a lot of cattle over a year ago. We are managing to keep the breeding herd alive.” Prosser leaned in. “You should think about changing to cattle. They'd be better on Smith's Ridge than sheep.”

“At the moment there's no feed for any kind of stock. Brand has taken the last of my sheep into those rugged hills behind. There's still water there and some feed.”

“Cattle are easier to find in country like that.”

Henry pursed his lips. It had been Prosser's idea he buy the horse he'd named Charlie Boy to race, and all that had come of that were more costs. He'd had to find a property down south to agist the blasted animal.

Prosser downed the rest of his drink and looked at Henry expectantly. Henry took the last few gulps from his mug, picked up Prosser's and made his way through the crowd to the bar.

They bought another drink each so by the time Henry made his way home he was feeling pleasantly warm inside if a little unsteady on his feet.

As he approached his front gate he looked past it towards Flora Nixon's cottage. He was in the mood for a woman's body and Flora knew just how he liked to be treated. They had more regular visits again now that he'd gathered from Catherine that their housekeeper was unable to bear children. But there was no longer a light in the window and without prior arrangement he couldn't just turn up there. Her children were older and quite knowing and her husband did return on the odd occasion.

Reluctantly he turned his gaze homeward. Catherine would be sleepy by now from her tonic, he could surely coerce her into fulfilling his needs. He'd made some enquiries the last time he'd been in Adelaide buying supplies for his shop. The man he purchased his tonics and oils from told him the tonic contained laudanum and assured him it was simply a relaxant. It explained why sometimes Catherine was more amenable after taking the draught and showed more interest in coupling, like she had in the days before Charles.

Just as he reached the gate he stubbed his boot against something solid and went sprawling to the path. His hand landed in something soft and squishy and a malodorous smell wafted with it as he brought his hand up closer to his face. No doubt some dog muck. The streets were scattered with it. He got to his feet, holding the offending hand away from his clothes, and looked back to see what had tripped him.

The three-quarter moon had drifted free of the clouds and showed him what he had not noticed before. One of the urn-shaped structures which had sat atop each of the gate pillars had broken off and lay at his feet.

“How?” His question remained unanswered as he bent to pick up the lump of superbly fashioned plaster. Too late he remembered the muck on his hand. He lifted the ornament and carried it inside the gate where he propped it against its pillar. It must have been dislodged by the quake.

With the awful smell reminding him of his need to clean up before he climbed into bed with his wife, Henry stumbled his way around the side of the house in search of something he could use to wipe his hand. Then he would go inside, wash and seek out his wife to do her duty.

Thirty-seven

It was only Millie who joined Joseph at the cart in the crisp predawn gloom of late March. He'd said goodbye to everyone else last night and he didn't want the children here making a fuss and getting upset to see him go. If the truth be known it only made it much harder for him to see them so distressed but the hardest part was yet to come, saying goodbye to his wife.