Dust on the Horizon Read online

  Malachi moved towards the door. “Shall I lock up now?”

  Henry pulled out his watch. “Yes, thank you.” He turned as the telegraph chattered to life in the room behind the curtain.

  A little while later he sat back in his comfortable armchair in the corner of his old living room with the telegraph scrunched in his hand. Catherine wasn’t coming home next week as planned. The baby was still unsettled. Henry drummed his fingers on the armrest. He was disappointed. He missed his wife in many ways. It was a long time since she’d warmed his bed. He was also anxious to meet his son.

  Still, their delay could work in his favour. He would be able to push the builder a little harder and perhaps the house would actually be finished before his family came home. Flora Nixon’s words replayed in his head. She had been right, Catherine would need help at home. Henry jumped up from the seat, a spring in his step. He could engage the woman as housekeeper and it would cost him very little.

  Malachi was tallying the day’s takings. He looked up as Henry came to stand beside him.

  “A profitable day all up, Mr Wiltshire.”

  “Very pleasing. I am going home now, Mr Hemming. I will see you in the morning.”

  “Do you think Mrs Wiltshire will want to come to the shop on her way from the train?”

  Henry lifted his shoulders. “Unfortunately Mrs Wiltshire is still too fatigued to make the journey.”

  Malachi’s face fell. “I hope she feels better soon.”

  Henry knew the young assistant was keen to show Catherine how well he’d been doing in her absence. Clothing in particular was selling well. No doubt in part due to the new display mannequin which Malachi had become a dab hand at dressing.

  “I am sure she will. And in the meantime it gives me a chance to have the house finished and ready for her. Much better than the little place I am renting next door.”

  “Yes. I am sure you’re right, Mr Wiltshire.” Malachi opened his mouth, closed it again then took a small step forward. “I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn but if Mrs Wiltshire is to move straight to the new house she will no doubt want curtains in the windows.”

  Henry stroked his chin.

  “I think you’re right, Mr Hemming.”

  Malachi hurried along behind the counter on the opposite side of the shop. “We have the new swatch of fabrics only arrived last week. If you were to choose some I could order the fabric immediately so they could be made up. Before Mrs Wiltshire’s return, with any luck.”

  “Yes.” Henry scratched his chin this time. He was good at many things but he’d never been one to select soft furnishings. That needed a woman’s touch. “I agree it would be a grand idea to have everything done before Catherine arrives home but …” He spun to look at Malachi. “Give me the swatches. I will take them home with me and bring you back my decision tomorrow.”

  Henry tucked the fabric squares under his arm and made for the back door before Malachi could even say goodnight. A woman’s touch was required and he had decided Flora Nixon may just be the one for that. He hurried around to the front of his shop and looked up and down the street. There were several people, horses and carts moving back and forth but he could see no-one that resembled Flora. He wondered where she would go. It was surely too late for her to return to the farm tonight. He didn’t think she would have the money for the hotel. She’d said she was prepared to sleep under canvas. Maybe she was already doing that. He spun around and headed towards his temporary accommodation to get his own horse and cart.

  Half an hour later Henry approached the first small creek crossing on the southern road out of Hawker. The sun was low in the sky but he could see a wisp of smoke rising from the trees to his left. A little further along he made out the back of a cart. He pulled his own horse and cart and to a stop. He listened. There was no sound, not even from the birds which he knew were customarily in the trees. Henry suddenly felt a little prickle of fear. It could be anyone he’d ridden up on. There were some unsavoury characters about at times.

  He climbed carefully from his cart and made his way towards the smoke. Just before he reached the fire he came to a clearing. The draught horse was hobbled there grazing on some grass. It lifted its head to look at him.

  “Oh thank goodness it’s you, Mr Wiltshire.”

  Henry spun at the sound of Flora’s voice. She dropped the large stick she was holding.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “What were you planning to do with that, Mrs Nixon?”

  “You never know who might come along out here.” She dusted her hands on her skirt and drew herself up. “I can look after myself.”

  “I’m sure you can but I was concerned for you out here alone. I have a favour to ask of you. I’ve come to offer you a meal and I thought perhaps you could spend the night in the shelter of my stable rather than in the open. Then you can avoid having to camp out alone and set off first thing in the morning.”

  Flora studied him closely. “It depends on the favour.”

  Henry felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Nothing untoward, I can assure you. I want to have curtains made for my new house and my wife is not here to choose them. You said you were good at home-making. I had hoped you might select something.”

  Flora eyed him strangely. “Mrs Wiltshire might not appreciate my taste.”

  Henry shrugged. “That’s of no consequence. She can always change them later. I have only a desire to make the house liveable for her return.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I am unsure at this stage but we need to act quickly. I hope she won’t stay away too much longer. I am no cook myself but the stationmaster’s wife has taken pity on me and delivered a meat pie and some baked apples this very afternoon. You could share them with me, take a tour of the house and see what you think.”

  “Does this mean you are taking up my offer to work for you?”

  Henry frowned. She was a very forward woman but if it didn’t work out he could soon get rid of Flora Nixon.

  “Yes, Mrs Nixon, it does.”

  “I have two children.”

  Henry lifted a hand.

  “They won’t be any trouble,” Flora said quickly. “But I will need to have them close by.”

  “I didn’t plan on having three of you.”

  “They’re old enough to chop wood and dig a garden. I can keep them gainfully occupied when they’re not at school. You won’t even know they’re there but you will reap the benefit. Three for the price of one.”

  “Hmmph!” Henry snorted. “This is very odd, seeing this morning I hadn’t planned on even one.”

  Flora thrust out her hand. “Do we have a deal, Mr Wiltshire? There’s no point in me accompanying you back to town if we don’t.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. She was a shrewd woman but not hard to look at. He could do worse. He accepted her hand and was surprised at its softness.

  “Very well, Mrs Nixon. We have an agreement.”

  By the time they reached his rented accommodation next to the new house it was dark. There was nothing to be gained by looking in the house straightaway since they would need to use the lantern in any case, so Henry suggested they eat first.

  Flora asked if she could serve the food. He sat in the small front room reading the newspaper while she was busy in the kitchen. The Port Augusta Dispatch often had reports on local happenings. But the only local news in the current issue was a report on the grand rain of more than two inches that had fallen middle of September. While a section of the railway line near Edeowie was rendered impassable the rain did not fall further south where many farmers had already suffered three seasons of little or no rainfall. Henry folded the paper. This was what had driven Flora to his door. Listening to the sounds of her bustling about in his kitchen he decided it was not a bad thing. He missed Catherine and he had been alone a long time.

  Sixteen

  Joseph bounced Robert on his knee. The little boy chuckled and waved his chubby fists in the air, enjoying the rare m
idday play with his father. Joseph had hardly seen his youngest son awake for over a week and had determined to spend time with him today. Glad now that the girls were staying with his parents, he was trying devote some time to the baby of the family. Children needed a mother and Joseph knew his own mother would be doing her best for the girls but what was to become of Robert? They were all trying: Mary had appointed herself his chief carer. Joseph could see the way she doted on the child and if William wasn’t busy he would insist on taking Robert.

  Joseph kissed his son’s soft hair which was the same colour as Clara’s, then looked up to the ceiling.

  “What do I do, my love? You were such a good mother, Clara.”

  His murmur drew Robert’s attention and a small hand grasped his nose.

  Joseph looked up from the child’s dimpled cheeks at the sound of horses approaching fast. Mary came in from the kitchen. Fear etched her face as she looked towards the front of the house.

  Joseph strode to the front window in time to see Prosser and two other riders come to a halt outside.

  “Take Robert to the kitchen, Mary.” He handed over his son.

  “Baker!” Prosser’s bellow carried into the house.

  Mary clutched Robert tightly, her eyes wide with fright.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe here. Stay in the kitchen.”

  Mary fled and closed the door behind her. Joseph swept back his hair and picked up his hat from the hook beside the door. He took a deep breath, swung the door open and stepped out onto his verandah.

  “Where are those wretched blackfellows?” Prosser yelled from his horse.

  “Hello, Ellis.” Joseph pushed his hat onto his head and stepped up to the verandah railing so he was the same height as the men on their horses. He nodded at the other two, Prosser’s son, Rufus, and a shepherd, Swan.

  “I’m not here for chitchat, damn you Baker. Send out those blacks you’re hiding.” Prosser’s face was the same vivid red as his hair.

  Joseph opened his hands and held them wide, secretly cursing himself for not bringing his firearm out with him. “I’m not hiding anyone. What is it that you take issue with?”

  “Last week those blacks you allow to camp on your property stole my sheep.”

  “One of them is dead.” Joseph kept his voice steady.

  “The thief.”

  “We won’t know for sure now.”

  Prosser glared at him and puffed out his chest. “I went to claim what was mine and one of them threw a spear at my youngest son.”

  “Riding in rough, firing weapons: the natives would have been defending themselves.”

  “Defending themselves! They killed my boy.” Ellis’s face went a deeper red and spittle formed on his lips. “It took nearly six days but the wound from the spear killed him.”

  Joseph’s heart sank. There had been too much death of late. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ellis.”

  “Sorry, are you?” Prosser pulled his firearm from his saddle. “You will be.”

  Joseph pulled himself up straight. His heart thudded in his chest. He didn’t believe the man would shoot him but he wasn’t sure what Prosser was capable of in his current state.

  “Pa?”

  Prosser shook off his son’s restraining hand and aimed his firearm at Joseph’s feet. Joseph stood his ground. There was nothing else he could do. There was no way he could wrench the weapon from Prosser. The angry man could discharge it before Joseph had left the verandah.

  “Pa, what are you doing?” Rufus looked worried.

  “He’s got your brother’s murderer hidden here somewhere.” Prosser swung the firearm wildly. “Bring him out.”

  Joseph shook his head slowly, hoping Mary would stay put with Robert. There was no telling what Prosser would do while he was so distraught.

  “I am the only one here, Ellis. My friend Binda is out checking sheep but you know he didn’t steal your sheep.”

  “How do I know? They’re all the same, these blacks, and they stick together. He’s probably been helping the others and you encourage them by letting them camp near my boundary.”

  “The native family have moved on.”

  “Where?” Prosser’s horse wheeled beneath him and the firearm swayed in his hand. “Come out you black bastards.” His bellow echoed around the house.

  “They’re not here.” Joseph spoke quietly and prayed Jundala’s family were a long way away by now, out of Prosser’s reach. He was also thankful that Binda was not here. He was out checking their southern boundary and waterholes and William had gone with him.

  “They can’t hide forever. The constable will find them. You can’t kill a man and get away with it.”

  Joseph stared at Prosser over the top of the firearm. Obviously a lot had happened in the last week that he was unaware of and now the law was involved.

  “There’s a native dead as well. Does the constable know about that?”

  Prosser’s eyes bulged. “That was an accident and it’s not the same as killing my son. He was a man, not some thieving bush animal.”

  Joseph felt both angry and sick to his stomach. In Prosser’s eyes the natives were less to him than his stock. Joseph despised the man’s ignorance. He knew there would be nothing good to come out of this. He worried for Jundala and her family.

  “We should go.” Rufus spoke quietly to his father. “We’ve searched and we can’t find them.”

  “Smith’s Ridge has plenty of hidey-holes.” Prosser glared at Joseph. “I know you’ve got them hidden somewhere.”

  “I can only assure you I haven’t.” Joseph moved slowly towards the verandah steps. “I do have work to do.”

  The end of Prosser’s firearm lowered. “I’ll find them one day.” He was no longer shouting but there was menace in his voice. “You can’t protect them forever.” He shoved the firearm back in its holder, turned his horse and galloped away. Joseph gave a nod to Swan and Rufus who reciprocated then turned their horses to follow Prosser.

  Joseph walked slowly down the steps and around the side of the house in the other direction to that of the retreating riders. Prosser was in such an agitated state, Joseph didn’t trust that he wouldn’t turn around and come back. The grieving man could be capable of murder and, just as terrifying, Joseph saw his own anger and grief reflected in Prosser’s eyes. In his heart he harboured his own ire at Henry Wiltshire and his vile tonic. Joseph blamed it for Clara’s death. He had woken from restless sleep on several occasions dreaming he had his hands around Henry’s throat.

  Joseph walked the length of the outer side of the house and let himself in the gate of the small backyard where they grew their vegetables. He stopped at the back door. Mary must have managed to keep Robert quiet all that time. Who knew what Prosser would have done had he known she was inside with Robert?

  He pushed the door open. “Mary?”

  There was no reply. He crossed the enclosed verandah and stuck his head in through the kitchen door. “Mary!”

  Worried that she might have run off and be caught out in a place Prosser might notice her, Joseph strode into the little bedroom adjoining the kitchen where William and Robert slept. The box bed was empty and William’s bedcover was pulled up to the pillow.

  “Mary, where are you?”

  Fear flowed through him. He was about to look in the other rooms when the quilt that hung to the floor moved. Mary edged out from under it.

  “It’s all right. They’ve gone.”

  She slid all the way out on her back. Robert was fast asleep lying across her chest.

  He lifted the sleeping child and laid him in his bed. Mary clambered to her feet, her eyes still wide with fear.

  “You did a good job, Mary, thank you.”

  She came to look at the sleeping child. “He’s a good boy, little Robbie.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Shall we have our meal now?”

  “Yes, Mr Joe.” Mary gave Robbie’s fair head a gentle pat then shuffled off to the kitchen.

 
Joseph gave his son one last look. It made his heart ache afresh to think he’d probably not remember his mother’s pretty face, her laugh, her hugs and kisses. Joseph sucked in a breath. Once more he reminded himself he had to keep going.

  He passed through the kitchen where Mary was preparing food and cleared a place for himself at the messy dining table. He hoped Jundala would come back soon. It was too much to expect Mary to manage Robert, the cooking and keep the house. Jundala would help but she also liked to work outside and was good with sheep. His friend Binda was lucky to have such a capable wife.

  Binda had been a good friend, trying to keep Joseph’s mind on work. After Thomas had left with the girls they’d made a plan. Joseph and Binda would do a constant rotation around Smith’s Ridge paying special attention along the boundary with Prosser’s Run. They worked it out so that each night one of them was back at the homestead. So far Mary was managing with Robert and William usually went with one of the men. That was fine for the moment but he couldn’t leave his girls with their grandparents forever.

  Joseph ran his fingers through his hair and rested his head in his hands. He stared at the mess in front of him. The table was covered with mugs, plates, spoons, a pot with some withered flowers, a book of children’s stories Clara had used to teach the children to read. William must have had it out. Lying beside the book was a bottle. Pain gripped Joseph’s chest. It was the empty tonic bottle.

  Just when he thought his grief was easing it came back, gnawing at his body, wrapping its tendrils around his thoughts, robbing him of strength. He could understand Prosser’s rage. He’d been there himself. There was one more thing he and Prosser had in common: another person had had a hand in the death of someone they loved. Joseph knew the anger Prosser felt for the native who had thrown the spear, it was the same anger he felt for Wiltshire who had supplied him with the evil potion that had weakened Clara when she needed her strength; a drug that had rendered her incapable of bringing her own baby into the world. If only Clara hadn’t taken that tonic she and the baby might still be alive.