Dust on the Horizon

by Tricia Stringer

  “I believe my son has business to conduct with you, Henry.”

  Henry turned back to the sweetly smiling Mrs Baker. What had been the true purpose of all her questions?

  “The last time we will do business,” Joseph growled.

  “That’s as may be, son. You go ahead.” Mrs Baker turned and beckoned to the children. “Mary, bring the girls in please.”

  The man at the door, his jaw clenched, still had not spoken. He shifted aside to let the children in. Henry opened his mouth to protest at the native girl being in his shop but Mrs Baker stopped him with her sharp sparkling gaze.

  “I wish to buy some ribbons for the girls. I’ll pick them out while you and Joseph conduct your business.”

  Joseph made a move towards the end of the counter but Henry found his voice at last.

  “You can wait here,” he said sharply. “I have everything prepared.” Henry turned away briefly to put his head around the curtain behind him. Catherine was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs reading a book. He sucked in a breath. The remains of their lunch still sat upon the table. “Catherine, my dear,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She sat up abruptly, the book slid from her fingers to the floor. “Henry, you startled me.”

  “Come and serve.” There was no way he would give the Bakers free range in his shop while he collected the papers and money. He held the curtain for his wife. She made her way slowly. Even though the baby was still some months away Catherine had filled out all over and now wore a loose smock over her skirt. “My wife will see to your needs, Mrs Baker.”

  As he went behind the curtain he heard Mrs Baker exclaiming in delight over Catherine’s condition. Neither of the men spoke.

  By the time he had checked his figures and recounted the money, Catherine had measured out several lengths of brightly coloured ribbon. Henry moved to the end of the counter where Joseph Baker waited. His father still stood, arms folded, just inside the door which was now closed.

  Henry handed the papers and the money to Joseph who stayed where he was and studied it carefully. Henry glanced back at the little girls and their native shadow, Mary, who were at the counter with Mrs Baker. He still wanted to protest at the native’s presence in his shop but something about Mrs Baker’s manner prevented him. The boy had not come inside.

  “This is not the amount we agreed on.” Joseph’s voice was low and unwavering.

  “It was.” Henry drew himself up. He flicked one hand towards the papers. “Less what you owed for the goods you took last time you were in my shop.”

  Joseph fixed him with such a hateful stare it was as if his look burned right through Henry but he stood his ground. Behind him there was silence except for the movement of Catherine, cutting the ribbons.

  Joseph shuffled through the papers until he reached the itemised list. He looked back at Henry. “These are the most expensive hats I’ve ever seen.”

  “You didn’t ask the price at the time.”

  Joseph flicked the paper with his fingers. “Everything on this list is overpriced.”

  “I run a fine establishment.” Henry had been so angry after Baker’s last visit he’d added extra to each item on the account. He clasped the lapels of his jacket in his hands and drew himself up straighter. “Other people are happy with my prices.”

  “I can’t see how you could have any customers.” Joseph spat the words at him.

  “Time to go I think.” Baker senior spoke up. They were the only words he’d uttered since entering the shop. Now he reached for the handle. “There’s nothing more to be gained here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Wiltshire.” Mrs Baker’s voice was still light and cheerful in comparison to the two Baker men. “I’m not sure when we will be back again.”

  “We won’t be.” Once again Baker senior spoke. He was obviously siding with his son.

  “In the meantime,” Mrs Baker continued without a glance at either of the men. “I do wish you well with your confinement.”

  The smallest girl tugged at the ribbons in her grandmother’s hands.

  “Yes, yes, Esther.” Mrs Baker lifted the child to her hip. “We’ll share the ribbons back at the hotel. Good day to you, Mrs Wiltshire, Mr Wiltshire.” She took the other child by the hand and walked out of the shop, closely followed by Mary.

  The Baker men, one on either side of the door, glowered back at him, pressed their hats to their heads and stepped outside. The bell jangled overhead as they shut the door firmly behind them.

  A smattering of rain began to fall as Lizzie led the group back to the hotel. That had certainly been a most uncomfortable experience. She was glad to get Thomas and Joseph away before they exploded. She gave the ribbons to Mary to put in the girls’ hair. William went to the end of the partly completed verandah and watched the rain drop. He had become quite sullen. Perhaps she should have bought him something. She’d forgotten all about sweets in the tense moments they’d just had.

  “William,” she called him to her and dug in her purse for a penny. “Take this to Mr Garrat’s shop and buy some sweets.”

  His face lit up as he reached for the coin. “Thank you Grandma.”

  “Make sure you bring one each back for the girls.”

  The smile dropped from his face. “And Mary?”

  “Of course, Mary.” Joseph cut in. “Don’t be long. We have to leave soon.”

  Lizzie bent down and whispered in her grandson’s ear. “The girls won’t know if you were to eat one extra before you return.”

  William dashed down the step with the penny firmly clutched in his palm. Lizzie watched him as he paused to wait for a team of bullocks pulling a wagon loaded with wool. The rain got heavier. There were cheers along the street. William hurried between two horses to the rough path that would lead him to the shop. Sometimes he appeared to carry the weight of the world on his young shoulders. She worried he was no longer the happy little boy he’d been as a toddler.

  “Well, you were right, son.” Thomas gave back the papers Joseph had handed him. “These prices are highly inflated.”

  “Let me see that.” Lizzie forgot William a moment and cast a look down the list of items and the neatly printed amounts next to them. She stopped at the ribbon and pointed to the price. “This is certainly much more than I just paid.”

  “Not only was he downright rude to Binda and his children but he treated us like dirt at his feet.” Joseph scrunched the papers in his fist. “Now this. I certainly won’t be doing business with him again.”

  “If he is Septimus’s son you wouldn’t want to.” Thomas looked across the verandah in the direction they’d just come.

  “He said he was.” Lizzie felt that was enough. She didn’t want to think back on the horrible times Septimus had inflicted on her family. “There’s no need to get your hackles up any longer. We will shop with Mr Garrat from now on. Pity though, Mr Wiltshire’s shop certainly stocked some quality items but we’ve no need for them.” She linked her arms with those of her husband and her son and jiggled them up and down. “Enough sour faces. We don’t ever have to deal with Mr Wiltshire again.”

  Thomas frowned. “I hope you’re right Lizzie, but if he’s anything like his father he’ll keep turning up like a bad penny.”

  Lizzie clicked her tongue. “Enough, Thomas. Now let’s go inside. Perhaps another cup of tea before you go?”

  “No thank you, Mother.” Joseph extricated his arm from hers. “We must make a start. The rain has cleared for now but there’s no telling how much we’ll get. If the creeks come down I could get held up and I don’t like to leave Clara alone for too long.”

  Lizzie’s heart melted at the worry lines on his face. “Clara’s a good strong woman and a wonderful mother. Let me know if you’d like me to come and help.”

  “You’ve enough to do.” Joseph patted her hand.

  “We can manage without your mother if we have to.” Thomas put an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders.

  Joseph gave them a wea
k smile. “Thank you. Perhaps when the new baby arrives. Clara’s own mother won’t come.”

  Lizzie placed her hand over her son’s and smiled up at him. “Send word and I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  Nine

  “Have you finished giving your final instructions to Mr Hemming, my dear?” Henry smiled benevolently at his wife who was pointing out the recently received delicate lace collars to their new employee. “I have your trunk in the cart.”

  Catherine turned in his direction. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink from her exertion. “I think Mr Hemming has a good understanding of our stock.”

  “I do.” The thin-faced young man held his hands behind his back and gave Catherine a slight bow. “You are an excellent teacher Mrs Wiltshire, but I don’t want to make you late for your train.”

  “Oh, we’re not late, are we Henry?”

  “No. If we leave now we will be right on time. Mr Hemming can have his first experience at minding the shop alone while I take you to the station.”

  Malachi Hemming gave a self-satisfied nod. Henry was very happy with their new employee. He’d arrived in town only two weeks ago, looking for work. There were plenty of shepherding and building jobs going but Malachi was not an outdoors type of person. He had walked into Henry’s shop just at the time when Catherine had made up her mind to go to her family in Adelaide to have the baby. They had been deliberating on the fact that her absence would mean they would need a shop assistant and Malachi appeared on their doorstep that very day. He was of neat appearance, quick with addition and very good with customers.

  The new house Henry was having built would be finished by the time Catherine returned with their new baby. They would live in the house and Malachi could have the bedroom at the back of the shop. Henry was happy. Business was going well, he was building a fine stone house for his wife and he was about to become a father. His decision to build a business at Hawker had been the right one.

  Catherine came around the counter, her steps reduced to a waddle and her swollen body hidden beneath her maroon travelling cloak. Harriet had sent it for her along with a matching hat. The rich red was the perfect colour for Catherine’s rosy complexion and dark brown hair. The thick cord fabric would be warm against the cold July day outside and yet was soft enough to fall in a graceful drape around her.

  Henry offered her his arm. “Your carriage awaits.”

  “Oh, Henry.” She gave a soft giggle. “I could walk the short journey to the station.”

  “Not in your condition. I won’t allow it and we need to get your trunk there too. I am sure it must be packed with half your wardrobe it’s so heavy.”

  Catherine pouted. “You want me to look my best when I get to Adelaide and I have the layette for the baby and gifts for my family.”

  “It’s all right, Catherine.” He patted her hand indulgently.

  Henry opened the door then stepped back quickly, bumping against Catherine as he moved. Outside the shop stood a bedraggled-looking woman with a thin shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. By the look of her blue lips it was doing little to protect her from the cold.

  “Mrs Adams.” Catherine peered around his shoulder.

  Henry looked again. He hadn’t recognised the farmer’s wife who they’d given credit to on several occasions. No doubt she was here for more.

  “Come in from the cold.” Catherine opened her arms to usher the woman inside.

  Henry stood back and cast an eye along the street. There was plenty of activity but no sign of Mr Adams.

  “You look half frozen.” Catherine turned to Mr Hemming who stood at attention behind the counter. “Please make Mrs Adams a cup of tea.”

  “I haven’t come for any more of your charity.” Finally Mrs Adams spoke and her tone was harsh. “I’ve simply come to give you this.” She pulled a battered piece of paper out from under her shawl and thrust it at Henry.

  “What is this, Mrs Adams?” Henry accepted the paper but kept his gaze on the poor downtrodden woman.

  “The lease to our farm.”

  Catherine gasped.

  “It should cover the supplies and the interest you charged.” Once more the woman’s tone was angry.

  “There’s no need of this, Mrs Adams. After the great rain we had back in May the season is looking very promising.”

  “It was too late for us,” she snapped.

  “Where is Mr Adams?” Henry looked over her shoulder. “Perhaps I should discuss this with him.”

  Mrs Adam’s pursed her lips, pulling the lines on her pale face tight. “He’s dead.”

  Catherine put a hand to her heart. “Oh, Mrs Adams. How?”

  “No doubt you’ll hear about it soon enough.” The woman tugged her shawl tighter. “My husband took his own life. Your extraordinary demands for interest were the final straw.”

  Catherine gasped.

  “Have a care, Mrs Adams.” Henry put a protective arm around Catherine. “My wife is with child.”

  “My children are starving and now they have no father.” All of a sudden Mrs Adam’s anger left her and she crumpled to the floor.

  “Mrs Adams!” Catherine cried and tried to help her but Mr Hemming appeared beside the fallen woman. He raised her to her feet and then onto the chair they provided for customers.

  “Oh, poor Mrs Adams. Henry, we must help.”

  Henry thrust the paper into his coat pocket and propelled his wife to the door. “We must get you to the station or you will miss your train. Mr Hemming will look after Mrs Adams until my return and then I will see what’s to be done.”

  At the cart Henry helped Catherine up on to the seat then he climbed up beside her. The day was fiercely cold. They’d had well over an inch of rain back in May but little since. Even so, most of the farmers were optimistic. Adams was a fool to take his life over a bad season or two.

  Catherine turned her worried gaze to him. “What did Mrs Adams mean about the interest, Henry?”

  “I will sort it out, my dear.”

  “But surely she doesn’t think Mr Adams killed himself because of something we’d done. We only offered charity to people in need.”

  “Of course we did. Mrs Adams doesn’t know what she’s saying, she’s in such a state. Please don’t upset yourself, Catherine. You have the baby to think of and a long train journey ahead of you.”

  “Promise me you will help poor Mrs Adams and her children, Henry. We can bear the loss of a few supplies but they have lost their provider. We can’t take their land as well.”

  Henry pulled up the horse and cart in front of the railway station. He noticed a few people give a second look at his fine bay horse and new sprung cart. He turned to Catherine.

  “You must trust me on this, my dear. All will be well. All you have to worry about is you and the baby.”

  She gave him a feeble smile. “Of course, Henry.”

  He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek. “I look forward to the day the train brings you back to me with our son.”

  “What if it’s a daughter? Am I not to return?” She lifted her lips in a coy smile.

  “You have my preferred names.” He gave her thigh a squeeze. “I can’t wait for your return, whatever you bring me.” Catherine had been less inclined to enjoy their matrimonial pleasures of late and it would be at least a month, perhaps two, before she returned. Henry longed for the night she would share his bed again properly as his wife.

  Catherine’s eyelashes fluttered. “Henry, you’ll make me blush.”

  He diverted his frustration to loading his wife and her luggage on the train. With little time to spare the train departed. He gave a final wave then retraced his steps to his cart and turned his thoughts to Mrs Adams.

  He had recently sent her husband an updated itemised account with interest added. The land and improvements, provided there was anything of value left, would more than cover what the Adamses owed him. Now he had two properties on the plains but the first one had shown
him very little return. He needed a better manager than the man he had; someone with a broader knowledge of the country who could improve both properties and provide Henry with extra income. Perhaps Mr Prosser would be of some help. He seemed to be doing well and even though his property was in the hills rather than on the plains he appeared to have some knowledge of the country in general.

  Henry was quite convinced diversifying was his best way of making money. He’d set up a shop and a forwarding agency. He was having talks regarding adding the post office to his shop until a permanent office could be built and he’d recently heard the new telegraph would need to be housed somewhere. Once again his shop was the perfect place.

  Now that Catherine was gone he planned to move into the little wooden cottage beside the new house he was building. It was for rent and he could keep a closer eye on construction if he lived right next door. Mr Hemming could move into the house at the back of the shop and the telegraph could be set up in the parlour.

  Henry was full of enthusiasm as he hitched his horse and cart at the back of his building and made his way inside. Everything was working out well. There was just the problem of Mrs Adams.

  When he entered the shop Malachi was serving customers, a man and his wife, but there was no sign of Mrs Adams. Henry kept himself busy, quietly observing his new assistant. The young man was more than competent. Henry was sure he would be a good asset to his business.

  He smiled benevolently as the couple left, loaded with stores and the lady with some of his better quality soap and handkerchiefs.

  “Well done, Mr Hemming. A good sale.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And now what have you done with Mrs Adams?”

  Malachi frowned. “Did you want me to keep her here? Only I didn’t think you’d want her in the shop looking as she did and crying and saying terrible things about you. I suggested she take her children back to Adelaide. She has family there.”