Heart of the Country (51 page)

“He'll get caught one day, Thomas,” AJ said. “It must be difficult having such a neighbour but your hard work has paid off for you here. Don't lose sleep over him. You have enough to battle with the elements.”

“You're right about that.” Thomas stared out across the creek into the darkness. His mind saw the view even though his eyes couldn't. “If I've learned one thing about living here it's that it's not predictable. Several good years could just as easily lead to several bad.”

“Do you want me to speak to Gwynn about buying some of your sheep?” AJ gave him a steady look.

Thomas nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think that's a good idea.”

1864

Septimus pushed open the door of his inn. The hot wind at his back propelled him inside.

“Shut the door!”

He looked up at Ethel's bellow.

“Oh, for gawd's sake, it's you, Mr Wiltshire.”

He heaved the door shut behind him. The dust that had blown in settled around the room, but the flies took a little longer. He flung his hand in the air to disperse them. It was barely cooler inside than out.

Ethel bustled around the bar, lifting her apron to fan herself as she moved. “What on earth brings you here in the middle of summer?” She pulled out a chair for him.

“Checking my investment. I've had little income from this inn for months.” Septimus cast his eyes about the empty bar. “Where is your husband, madam?”

“Down in the cellar. We're down to our last bag of flour.”

Septimus disliked Ethel. She was much too forward and he didn't trust her … but he did like her food. “I've just made the journey from Adelaide.”

“In this weather?”

“I would appreciate some food and a cool drink.”

“We've no beer.”

Septimus squinted through the dusty air at the woman. He didn't care for beer but his customers expected it. “What do you mean you've no beer?”

“We haven't had a wagon through here for over a month.”

Septimus rested his elbows on the table and gripped his head in his hands. This damned country was beginning to get the better of him. Everyone was suffering from lack of water. No one wanted to buy the goods he was peddling. He hadn't seen Rix for several months but his most recent trip to Smith's Ridge hadn't been a good one. Feed had been low and stock struggled to make it to what water they had. Baker's wire fence had put paid to grazing his land. Rix had complained he would have few sheep left to shear if things didn't improve. It was now well after shearing time and Septimus hadn't heard from him.

There was a bang from the back of the inn and slow footsteps crossed the wooden floor.

Septimus looked up as Ned entered the room.

“Look who's here, Ned,” Ethel said as she put a jug of cordial and a mug on the table. She put her hands to her hips and studied Septimus. “I've some mutton and pickles and bread I can bring you.”

Septimus had lived on little else for weeks. “That'll do,” he snapped.

Ethel retreated to the kitchen, flapping as she went. Ned watched him with brooding eyes from the other side of the bar.

“Ethel tells me you've had no custom,” Septimus said.

“Times are tough.” Ned shrugged his shoulders. He picked up a cloth and began wiping the bar. Dust rose around him and settled where he'd been. “There's no feed for bullock or horse for miles and little water. Few are venturing this way unless they've room to cart the feed for their animals with them.”

“Damn!” Septimus thumped the table with both fists. The dust rose around him again and he began to cough. He poured himself some of the cordial. It was cool at least.

“Times are tough,” Ned said again and continued his wiping.

Septimus glowered at him. Tough times or no, this inn should have done much better that it had. He didn't trust the man or his bumptious wife.

“I'll see the ledger while I'm here,” Septimus said.

Ned stopped his wiping as Ethel bustled back into the room.

“Are you planning on staying here long?” she asked as she placed a plate of food next to the cordial.

Septimus shovelled some mutton and pickle into his mouth. At least the meat wasn't dried. “No,” he said once he'd swallowed the mouthful. “I've got more business to attend to.”

“In this heat.” Ethel flapped her apron again.

Septimus ignored her until she left him to his meal.

He was planning to go to the hut before dusk. It was difficult enough managing the rough track on a horse, let alone one pulling a wagon. He hoped Dulcie would be there. She hadn't been several months earlier, when he'd stopped on his way back from Smith's Ridge. He had tried to govern his rage: it was, after all, only the second time that had happened. His wagon was loaded with supplies he couldn't sell. He planned to settle in the hut with Dulcie and wait out this terrible weather. Surely rain had to fall eventually.

“Won't be much of a Christmas for people this year,” Ethel said.

“Christmas?” Septimus looked up. She leaned against the front of the bar. Ned was watching from his side.

“It's only a few weeks away,” Ethel said. “We were hoping you'd let us stay on here.”

Septimus frowned. “Where else would you be going?”

“We thought perhaps you'd close the place up since times were so bad.”

Septimus looked around the gloomy interior. Usually Ethel had the place spick and span but after weeks of dust storms and on a day like today, it was a losing battle. If the place were left empty he knew it would soon go to ruin. Good times must surely return and with them would come the teamsters and the business, even if it hadn't previously met his expectations. He needed someone prepared to look after the place, but not cost him money.

“I had planned to,” he said.

“Such a shame,” Ethel said.

“Yes.” Septimus took another sip of the cordial, watching them over the top of the mug. “But if there's no trade I can't afford to pay wages.”

“We've nowhere else to go,” Ned said.

“That's right, Mr Wiltshire.” Ethel flapped again. “If you could see your way clear to letting us stay on, we'd fend for ourselves, wouldn't we, Ned?”

Her husband nodded. “We could keep the place in good repair until it opened for business again.”

Septimus leaned back in his chair. His stomach was full and he felt somewhat refreshed now that he was out of the ferocious wind. “It could be a long time,” he said. “How will you manage?”

“People are giving away sheep,” Ned said. “And there's plenty of animals come to the permanent water down in the creek. I'm having no trouble getting meat.”

“We could do with some flour and sugar and tea,” Ethel said. “In return for looking after the place, perhaps.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly but she wasn't as confident as she had been. She rubbed her hands together. “If you'd be so kind as to leave some with us, that is.”

“I've got others to deliver to,” Septimus said making a show of his deliberating. “But perhaps there's enough to provide you with some basics.” He pushed away his empty plate. “Now let's look at these books and close them off.”

“Just until things get better,” Ned said.

Septimus put his elbows on the table and tapped his fingers together. “We'll see what the new year brings.”

It was almost dark by the time the wagon crested the last rise. The hut, at least in his mind, glowed in the light of the setting sun. There was no smoke from the chimney but it had been so hot Dulcie would surely not have kept the fire going.

Septimus searched the hut and the area around it for signs of life. His heart sank as he found none. Perhaps Dulcie had left for good. He urged the horse on along the track. The wind that had blown for nearly two days had finally abated just as he left the inn. The air was still and thick with dust raised by the horse's hooves and the wheels of the wagon.

A sudden movement near the creek drew his eye. Dulcie stood in her elegant nakedness, and his heart raced. She was there after all and as beautiful as ever. He hadn't been with her for so long he felt he would burst.

He brought the wagon to a halt and jumped down. She took a hesitant few steps towards him.

He paused, puzzled by her reluctance to approach him.

“It's me, Dulcie,” he crooned. “Your Septimus, home at last.”

Behind her there was a small wail. She turned and hurried back to the creek. He followed her and stopped in surprise. Dulcie sat on the large root of a tree, a baby in one arm and the other around a little boy. Her eyes were round and fearful as she glanced at Septimus then down at her baby.

Septimus stood open mouthed. These must be Dulcie's children. Rage bubbled inside him. She had been with another man. He had thought her faithful only to him and he'd been duped.

He spun on his heel.

“Papa,” a small voice said.

Septimus stopped. He turned slowly back.

The boy stood up and took a step away from his mother. She murmured something to him.

“Papa,” the boy said again softly.

Septimus stared. The last light of the dying day was filtering through the trees, turning everything red and gold. In the shadow of the tree Septimus could see that Dulcie's skin, a deep velvet black, was much darker than the children's.

Dulcie rose and offered him the chubby baby in her arms.

“Septimus,” she said in her funny English. “Papa, Septimus.”

“Are you saying these children are mine?”

She put the baby in his arms. “Papa,” she said.

Henry, whom he'd not seen for nearly two years, would be fourteen now. Septimus tried to gauge the age of these children. This native boy calling him Papa was perhaps nine or ten and the baby, who was also a boy, not yet one.

He looked back at Dulcie. She looked thinner than when he'd last seen her and ill at ease. She was no doubt anxious about his reaction. Perhaps they were someone else's and she was trying to pass them off as his. But if that were the case why would she wait until now?

Was it possible these two were his? Septimus felt a glow of pride he'd never felt for Henry.

“I am papa?” He pointed to himself and then tentatively to each child.

Dulcie nodded. “Papa.”

“You are sure?”

Dulcie nodded again. He had taught her some English over their time together. Quite often she didn't understand but he believed she knew what he was asking now.

The baby clutched his finger and pulled it to his mouth. Before Septimus could react he felt a sharp pressure on his finger.

“Ow!” he yelped.

The older boy gave a soft laugh.

“He bites,” Septimus said and tried to hand him back to Dulcie.

Her face lit in a smile. “Papa carry,” she said. She spoke quickly to the boy and he went back to collect a bowl of food. Dulcie picked up a bucket full of water.

“Hut,” she said and led the way up the hill.

Septimus followed like a puppy. Not only did he have a beautiful wife, but she had raised two strong sons. After all the hardships of the year he felt as if he had come home. What had Ethel said about some people not having much of a Christmas? Septimus didn't care for the occasion but this year he knew it would be very special.

1865

Harriet drew the rug tighter across her knees and flicked the reins. Her horse picked up speed, making the chilly wind rush past faster. She gritted her teeth, anxious to make the inn before dark. She had spent one night camped out on her way from Port Augusta but it was a long time since her hawking days with Septimus. She didn't like being in the bush alone any more.

She pursed her lips as she thought of her husband. Henry had wanted to come with her to look for him but she had insisted he stay home. They had a nice neighbour who would look out for him and provide his meals. Harriet had always made Septimus out to be a good father who must travel a lot to provide for them. She wasn't sure what she would find out on this journey or how long it would take her and she wanted Henry safe at home, his delusions unshattered.

It had been three years since they'd last seen Septimus. In that time, Harriet had not heard a word from him or received any money. Thankfully her sewing business had done well, although it was a little quiet now with the hard times of dry years. She was getting by but becoming increasingly frustrated with her situation. She was at the mercy of the few people with money at the port. Henry was of an age where he should be taking up a vocation soon and once again there was little on offer. She knew Septimus was hawking again and getting his supplies from Adelaide: there was no reason for his family to live anywhere else.

She didn't care for herself but Henry watched for his father. Septimus had suggested Henry go with him on his travels a few times in the past. Harriet had always been secretly pleased when Septimus reneged but she knew Henry was disappointed.

So she had set off on this journey to find her husband. Discreet enquiries around the port had confirmed he no longer visited, so she had decided to trace him through the businesses she knew he had. The inn was the closest and she needed no directions. If he was not there, she thought she'd try Smith's Ridge, the property Mr Baker had mentioned years back when he frightened her with his visit.

Harriet shivered in spite of her gloves and coat. The wind was cold in a cloudless sky. Dust rose around her and the foothills she travelled through were bare of vegetation except for the bushes and trees. The land had suffered through three years with barely a drop of rain. All vegetation around the port had been stripped by animals or people needing wood and building materials. She hadn't realised the barren land extended up into the hills.

She was thankful to see a light at the window and smoke pouring from the chimney of the inn. It would be pleasant to have company. She had only passed two wagons going in the opposite direction. Their drivers were hunched into the wind like her and had barely given her a wave.