Dust on the Horizon

by Tricia Stringer

  Joseph glanced over at his son who was sitting slightly apart from the other children, his head bent low over his tin plate. “Looks like Esther’s not the only one who woke up grumpy this morning.”

  “He’s not a little boy anymore.” Binda kept his gaze on his food.

  “He’s not so old he can be too big for his boots.”

  “Town is very different to the bush.”

  “If that’s what he learns from a trip to town he can stay home next time.”

  “You know better than anyone, my friend, you cannot stop change and everyone deals with change in a different way.”

  Joseph took another mouthful of food and watched his unhappy son while he thought on Binda’s words.

  William’s eyelids fluttered and he jolted awake. Once more he was sitting on the back of the wagon, dangling his legs over the end. They’d been on the move since breakfast and the sun was well past its zenith. His stomach rumbled. He’d only picked at his food after his father’s telling off. He wished now he’d eaten it all. When the sun had been at its highest point Mary had offered him a piece of one of the oranges they’d bought in Hawker. He’d ignored her and turned his back on her but not before he’d seen the smile on her lips. When he’d glanced back she was gone, easily moving faster than the wagon to climb back into the smaller cart in front.

  The sound of sheep bleating drew his attention forward. They were still half a day’s travel from their own boundary so these were not Smith’s Ridge stock. His father called the bullocks to stop and the wagon slowly rolled to a halt. William climbed higher on the pile of canvas-covered building materials that had replaced the wool in the wagon, for a better view. A small mob of sheep was being herded towards them by two men on horses. William’s father moved his horse close to the front of the wagon where Joe was perched.

  William could see his father’s back was ramrod straight. The sheep fanned out around them and kept moving forward. Joseph studied them then lifted his head as the men passed Binda and the girls on the lead cart with barely a glance and stopped beside the bullocks.

  “Hello, Joseph.” The bigger man lifted his broad black hat slightly, to reveal his thatch of red hair. William recognised him. Ellis Prosser, the owner of Prosser’s Run, the property they were crossing. He wore his trademark leather vest and the veins on his exposed arms that he crossed loosely over the saddle were knotted like thick rope.

  “Ellis.” Joseph inclined his head stiffly to the first man and then the other.

  “Been to town?” Prosser looked from Joe seated at the front of the wagon up to William. His eyes were dark and his lips curled up in a tight grin under his pencil moustache. “I see you’ve got your tribe with you.”

  “My family and friends.”

  Prosser’s lip curled up in a sneer. “That what you call them? No doubt there’ll be brindle to go with the black and white soon enough.”

  William could see his father’s hands grip the reins tightly but he didn’t say a word. Prosser’s piercing gaze swept over William and then back to Joe. William felt his cheeks burn. It was the second time in two days that he’d felt uncomfortable being seen with Binda and his children.

  “I see you’re shifting some sheep.” Joseph jerked his head over his shoulder.

  “We are.”

  “You’ve checked they’re all yours?”

  Prosser walked his horse closer to Joseph’s so their faces were barely a yard apart. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Not at all.” Joseph met his look. “I found a fence down.”

  “That’s the trouble with fences. They need constant upkeep. I prefer shepherds to keep an eye on my stock.” Prosser glanced over his shoulder to where Binda sat on the stationary cart. “Ones I can trust. Maybe you need to think about the colour of the skin you employ.”

  “Fences save a lot of trouble,” Joseph said. “I hear you’ve had a problem with some sheep from neighbouring properties getting mixed up with yours. Maybe you need to think about investing in fences.”

  “Waste of money. My shepherds keep my sheep together.”

  “As long as none of them are mine.”

  William could see Prosser’s eyes glittering back at his father. The other rider, one of Prosser’s shepherds, Mr Swan, brought his horse up on the other side of his boss.

  “These sheep all bear the mark from Prosser’s Run,” Prosser snarled.

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Then what is your concern, Baker?”

  “No concerns. Just a neighbourly chat.” Joseph lifted his hat. “Good day to you.” He urged his horse and his bullocks forward. Binda had already set the horse and cart in motion.

  William let himself slide down the canvas as the cart lurched forward. He positioned himself so his legs dangled over the back again. His stomach grumbled but the sound was lost in the rumble of the wheels over the rough ground. He still couldn’t quite put his finger on his discomfort. Nothing had been said exactly but an unspoken conversation had taken place between his father and Mr Prosser. One William didn’t understand. He watched Prosser and his man until they were no longer visible and continued to watch the spot between the trees where they had disappeared until it dwindled from his sight. His stomach churned, empty except for the spreading unease.

  Four

  Henry looked out his shop window at the barren landscape with not a tree to soften the view. A camel train made its way steadily along the road, each animal loaded with large wooden sleepers tied either side for the journey to the railhead stretching north.

  Across the road the new stone building that was to be a butcher shop was nearing completion and next to it a smaller wooden building housed Mr Black’s grocery store. Further along past Henry’s shop the saddler had recently opened for business and the railway goods shed, a fine structure equal to anything north of Adelaide, was nearing completion.

  In spite of all these signs of the community growing, the poor water supply remained Hawker’s biggest problem and Henry had been one of many to sign a petition to the government to assist with the building of a better reservoir.

  A sniffle drew his attention back to the woman standing behind him. He had drawn out the pretence long enough. He turned, parted his lips in a conciliatory smile and gave a small nod.

  “Of course you can have credit, Mrs Adams.” He reached for the sad-looking woman’s hand and gave it a pat. She wore no gloves and her hands were rough like a man’s. “We have to stick together in the hard times so we can enjoy the good times.”

  Her gaze lifted to his and he saw the hope rekindle in her eyes.

  “You’ve had a long journey.” He drew up a long-legged wooden chair to the counter. “You give me your list. Sit here while you wait. My wife will make you a cup of tea.”

  “That’s very kind, Mr Wiltshire. I’ve been that worried about how we would manage.” Mrs Adams wriggled her wiry frame onto the seat. Her once pale green dress displayed several patches, the hem ragged and brown. She fanned her worry-lined face with her hand.

  Henry turned and called to his wife. “Catherine.”

  “My husband’s a proud man but we’ve had three bad years in a row and we’ve a family to feed,” Mrs Adams continued.

  “Of course.” Henry looked towards the curtain. There was no movement. He called a little louder. “Catherine.”

  Finally the curtain twitched. Catherine peered around, dabbing at her red cheeks with a handkerchief. “Yes, Henry?”

  “Can you make Mrs Adams a cup of tea?”

  “Of course.” She cast one of her sweet smiles in the direction of the older woman. “How do you take your tea, Mrs Adams? Sugar, milk?”

  “Oh yes please, my dear. Both.” The poor woman looked so grateful Henry thought she would slide off her chair.

  “Now tell me what you need?” Henry moved around his shop collecting the items while Mrs Adams listed her requirements. Anything that was weighed out he erred on the lighter side of the scales. No point i
n giving away more goods than necessary to achieve his goal. He was already being generous and he hoped that generosity would come back to him through his eventual acquisition of the Adams property.

  “Here you are, Mrs Adams.” Catherine came into the shop carrying a tray set out with a teapot and the special china cups Henry’s mother had given them as a wedding present. Harriet had placed much importance on the gift. He was pleased to see Catherine appreciated them.

  “Oh thank you, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  “Please call me Catherine, Mrs Adams. I am sure you will be one of our best customers.”

  The woman lowered her gaze. “I hope so. Times are very tight at the moment and your husband has been so kind.”

  Catherine handed over the delicate teacup she had just filled. “There, there, Mrs Adams. Things are bound to get better soon.” She poured a cup for herself and continued to chat to the woman.

  Henry smiled and put a bag of flour on the counter beside the rest of Mrs Adams’s provisions. He could rely on Catherine to make the woman comfortable.

  Suddenly the door burst open sending the little bell into a harsh jangle. They all looked at the ragged man filling the doorway. Mrs Adams slid from her seat. Catherine took her cup and saucer as it threatened to fall from her hands.

  “There you are, woman,” the man barked. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Getting some provisions, dear.”

  Adams looked from his wife to the teacups with the items stacked behind. The look on his face softened. He stepped across the room and took his wife’s elbow. “I’m sorry but we can’t.”

  Henry stepped forward and held out his hand. “Good morning to you Mr Adams. I am Henry Wiltshire, owner of this establishment, and this is my wife Catherine.”

  Adams shook his hand. Henry felt the roughness of his skin against his own.

  “I know you will be pleased to discover we’ve come to an arrangement regarding supplying you with goods. I will expect your payment when your next crop return comes in.”

  Adams pulled the hat from his head. “But that’s not likely to be—”

  “We understand, Mr Adams.” Henry hastened to reassure the man. “My wife and I know what it’s like to experience hard times.” He put an arm around Catherine’s shoulders and hugged her to him. “Don’t we, my dear?”

  A puzzled look crossed Catherine’s face. He gave her arm an extra squeeze.

  “We all have to help each other at times like this.” Catherine’s beautiful smile lit up her face. “Mrs Adams was having a cup of tea. You must be parched being out in this hot weather. Would you like a cup as well?”

  Henry gave his wife a little pat and stepped back. His mother hadn’t thought her up to the challenge but he knew Catherine would be an asset to him and she was certainly proving her worth.

  “No thank you, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  “You must finish yours, Mrs Adams.” Catherine handed the cup back.

  “Why don’t we load your wagon while the ladies finish their tea?” Henry lifted the large bag of flour.

  Adams opened his mouth to protest.

  “It’s only a few items to get you by until times improve.” Henry pressed the bag into Mr Adams’s arms.

  Outside there was barely a breeze, and the heat sucked the moisture from their eyes and mouths. Adams shoved his hat back on his head. Henry felt the full force of the late morning sun on his own hatless head.

  Adams put a hand on Henry’s arm as he turned to go back inside.

  “This is very kind of you, Mr Wiltshire. It’s reassuring to meet another honest hardworking man. I have to tell you that things are much worse than my wife knows. I don’t think we’ll be able to last another season.” His voice faltered. He cleared his throat and brushed his hands down his grimy shirt. “I’ve barely enough seed from last year’s crop to plant more than a few acres.”

  “Perhaps I could be of some help with that as well.” Henry never missed an opportunity. He’d acquired one parcel of land and this could be a step towards another. “I have the capital to buy seed.”

  “No reason for it if we don’t get rain.”

  They both looked up at the cloudless sky.

  “It’s not the time of year for rain,” Henry said.

  Adams flung his arm out to the south. “On those plains it hasn’t been the time for three years.” He put a hand on Henry’s arm again. “We’ll just take the flour, tea and sugar, Mr Wiltshire.”

  “But there are several other items your wife needed.”

  Adams face was downcast. “You’ve been most kind but I already owe at the Wilson store. I don’t know how I’m going to pay any of my debts.”

  To Henry’s horror, tears formed in the man’s eyes. Adams would be a gibbering mess before much longer.

  “As you wish, Mr Adams.” Henry stood tall and clasped the lapels of his jacket in his hands. “But please don’t forget my wife and I would be happy to help you out in the future.”

  Adams composed himself and gave a brief nod. Henry led the way back inside. The two women had finished their tea and were chatting happily, gathering up the rest of the provisions. Adams faltered beside him. Henry took in the look of despair that swept over his face. Good grief, the man was going to cry again.

  “Please take the rest, Mr Adams.” Henry kept his voice low. “Your wife looks like a capable woman. I am sure she will make the most of this opportunity.”

  Adams let out a sigh. He reached out and gripped Henry’s hand. “Thank you Mr Wiltshire. You are a kind gentleman.”

  Henry smiled and turned to Mrs Adams. He took the calico bags laden with food staples from her arms and waved his hand to the door with a slight bow.

  Mrs Adams gave him a wobbly smile, took the arm her husband offered and they made their way to the wagon. Henry and Catherine followed behind carrying their goods.

  Once everything was stowed and covered with the canvas they stepped back and waved as Mr Adams urged his tired horse forward. The cart rolled away leaving a small trail of dust in its wake.

  Henry put an arm around Catherine. Even though he’d just waved goodbye to a selection of his goods without receiving payment, he had the urge to celebrate. He felt it wouldn’t be too much longer and the Adams’ land would be his.

  Catherine stretched up and brushed her lips across his cheek. He looked around and gave a little cough. The Adams’ wagon was all but gone from sight and there were no other people in the street. Catherine kissed him again. He looked down into the sparkling eyes of his wife.

  “What was that for, my dear?”

  She gave a coy giggle. The sound of it sent an excited stirring through his loins.

  “You’re such a good kind man, Henry Wiltshire. You know they will have trouble paying for all those things but you let them take them anyway. I’m lucky to have such a caring man as my husband.”

  Henry was mesmerised by the tip of her pink tongue as it slipped over her lips. Catherine was only replacing the moisture sucked out by the heat but the gesture sent blood pounding through his veins.

  He looked up and down the street again. The Adams’ wagon was out of sight and there was no other movement bar a dog scratching at fleas in the shade of a wagon across the road. He pulled out his watch. It was almost midday.

  Catherine had moved to the shade of the verandah roof. Her top button had come undone and her face was flushed a pretty pink.

  He took her arm, guided her through the door and locked it behind them.

  “Time for luncheon?” She smiled up at him.

  He took her in his arms and pressed his lips against hers.

  “Oh, Henry.” She gave a squeaky giggle.

  He lifted her into his arms.

  Her eyes widened in surprise and the pounding inside him became almost unbearable.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

  He pressed his lips to hers again and carried her through to the bedroom. He halted at the door. A vague memory stirred o
f his father carrying his mother into their bedroom and slamming the door. A sudden feeling of terror coursed through him.

  “Henry?” Catherine’s voice was shaky like his mother’s had been.

  He frowned down at his wife. The skin of her neck was pink and he could see the pulse throbbing just under her skin. His terror was replaced by another rush of blood. He laid Catherine gently on the bed and caressed her cheek. “It’s all right, my dear.” He began to undo the rest of the buttons on her shirt.

  “Henry. It’s the middle of the day.” Her hand closed over his, a worried look on her face.

  “We’ll eat later.” He paused at the sight of her plump pale flesh bulging from the top of her undergarments. He pressed his lips to one soft breast and then the other. Desire coursed through him and he began tugging at her clothes. Henry had a sudden urge to see his wife totally naked.

  Catherine lay perfectly still listening to the soft breaths of her sleeping husband. His head was nestled onto her naked breast. It was the middle of the day and they were in their bed with not a stitch of clothing between them. Heat radiated from her cheeks. She put a hand to her mouth to suppress the giggle that threatened to escape. Her mother had never mentioned marital relations could be so … Catherine gave a little shudder … exquisite. Six months they’d been married and Henry had never done anything like this before.

  After he’d laid her on their bed, he had stripped her naked. He’d done it so carefully, layer by layer, then gazed over every part of her with the eyes of a man who’d had too much to drink. She’d been so embarrassed she’d lowered her own lashes. Then he’d used his hands and his lips on her body until she’d been writhing with a new-found desire. He’d stopped then. She’d risked a peep through squinty eyes. He was stripping off his own clothes. She’d gasped at the sight of his manhood and he’d smiled, a funny lopsided grin.

  He hadn’t entered her then. Not like the dark nights of fumbling and quick thrusting that had left her uncomfortable and disappointed for something she hadn’t known existed. Today he had used his lips, his fingers, until once more she’d been writhing beneath him and, shameless hussy that she’d become, begging him to enter her.