Dust on the Horizon

by Tricia Stringer

  “I’m all right, Grandma,” he croaked.

  “Come and sit at the table and I will warm some milk for you.”

  Joseph lifted his head. “The cow.”

  “Binda was up early too. He said he would see to it.”

  When Lizzie came back from the kitchen with the milk, Joseph and William sat at opposite ends of the table in silence.

  Lizzie put the warm drink in front of William and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did a very brave thing coming to find me on your own.”

  Joseph looked up. Lizzie gave him an encouraging smile.

  “It was William’s idea to get you,” he said. “I didn’t expect you so quickly.”

  “Luckily he only had to go as far as the boundary waterhole. Your father and Timothy were moving the lambing ewes to higher ground. He was worried about this weather coming. Eliza and I had offered to check the waterholes and we’d just reached that one and set a fire for the billy when William turned up.”

  A small cry sounded from the children’s bedroom. Joseph turned his head.

  “Robert’s awake.” Lizzie got to her feet and gave Joseph a reassuring smile. “I’ll see to him.” She crossed the room, trying not to stoop. Every part of her body ached already and the day had hardly begun.

  William had never seen so many people in their front room. It was mainly full of ladies. Neighbours had come from all around, including Mr Prosser and his wife who were rare visitors even though their property shared a boundary with Smith’s Ridge. The door was open in spite of the cool day and most of the men were on the verandah that wrapped around the front room.

  They had buried his mother on a flat patch of dirt under a large gum tree. His father had said she’d always have the morning sun to warm her. There were plenty of flowers to cover the mound of bare dirt. The plains were covered in them and the women had gathered beautiful bunches. His mother would have liked that. She loved flowers.

  There had been no priest available so his grandpa had read some verses from the family bible he’d brought with him all the way from England. William knew that Grandpa would record his mother’s death in the back of the bible along with all the other births, deaths and marriages he’d documented over the years.

  William bit his lip to keep the tears back. He’d been doing that all day but he knew his eyes and nose were red anyway from his cough. Mary wove through the room carrying Robert to his grandma. The women parted to let her through. Close by he heard some muttered whispers. William remained still but strained to listen.

  “Walks through here as if she owns the place.” It was Mrs Prosser’s voice.

  “Looks after that baby as if it’s her own.” The other lady, Mrs Marchant, was from a property further south. Her clothes were the smartest William had ever seen. He didn’t recall her ever visiting their home before.

  Another set of eyes studied him. Looking around her mother’s skirt, her red hair fluffed over her shoulders as she watched him with pale green eyes, was Georgina Prosser. She was a little younger than William and years younger than her brothers.

  William felt his cheeks burn under her scrutiny. Then Mrs Marchant’s voice drew his attention.

  “Poor Clara, such an awful birth,” she said, “and they say she was butchered by an old black woman.”

  A cold shudder swept through William as he recalled the native woman smeared with blood and the bloodied sheets in his mother’s room. Suddenly Mary’s round face was inches from his.

  “William,” she hissed. “Your grandma wants you.”

  He glared back at her then glanced around to see if Georgina was still watching. She must have disappeared behind her mother’s skirts and the two older women appeared to be talking about something else now. He stepped around Mary and went to his grandma’s side.

  “There you are, William,” Lizzie said brightly.

  He noticed her cheeks were a deeper red than normal. “You remember Mrs Henderson from the property beyond Prosser’s Run?”

  “Hello, William.” A kindly faced woman smiled down at him. “I haven’t seen you since you were about Robert’s size.”

  William pulled back his shoulders and thrust out his hand “How do you do, Mrs Henderson?”

  A smile twitched on the woman’s lips then she shook the hand he offered. “You’ve certainly grown into a fine young man. Your grandma was telling me you rode all the way to Wildu Creek to get her.”

  “Only as far as the first waterhole.”

  “Still very brave of you.”

  “William, I was hoping you could take Robert outside for me. Find a place out of the wind in the sunshine.”

  William reached for his brother and his grandma swayed beside him.

  Mrs Henderson put out a steadying arm. “Are you all right, Lizzie? Sit down.”

  Robert squirmed in his arms but William remained rooted to the spot. His grandma’s cheeks were flushed but the rest of her looked so pale.

  “No doubt you’ve been working yourself ragged looking after these children.” Mrs Henderson tutted.

  William frowned. Was Mrs Henderson suggesting he and his siblings were a nuisance for his grandma?

  Lizzie gave him a weak smile and patted his cheek. Her hand felt hot against his skin. “I’m all right William. Off you go outside while the day is still warm.”

  William turned away clutching his squirming brother. His normally strong grandma didn’t look well at all and it was probably because of him and the other children. He could look after himself but what was to become of the others? His father would be too busy. He squeezed past Mr Prosser on the verandah and recalled his wife’s words about Mary. William gritted his teeth. He knew what his father would do. He would ask Mary to look after them. Anger wormed in his chest. William wasn’t going to be cared for by her.

  “Lizzie, I’m taking you home.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up into Thomas’s worried face, then at the early glow of first light beyond the window.

  “Not now, Thomas.” She put a hand to her forehead, her cool palm soothing against her warm skin. Somehow she’d managed to get through the day yesterday but by night time she’d been exhausted. She’d slept fitfully in a makeshift bed in the big main room of Joseph’s house. Thomas hadn’t wanted her to spend the night in the little hut out the back. From beyond the door Thomas had left open she could hear a child crying. Probably Esther. Lizzie closed her eyes again. Her head ached and her chest was sore from coughing. “I can’t face the ride.”

  “Timothy and Eliza left us the cart. The rain has gone and it promises to be a warm day. I’ve made you a cosy bed in the back of the cart. If we set off now we will make Wildu Creek before dark.”

  “The children.”

  “William is recovered from his fever and the others haven’t succumbed.”

  “But they need care. They’ve lost their mother.”

  Thomas took her hand. It felt warm and strong around her own. “Joseph has Jundala and Mary to help with the children for now.”

  Lizzie coughed and pain wracked through her chest and back.

  “You can’t do anymore here, my love. You’re too sick. I’m taking you home to Wildu Creek.”

  “Very well.” Lizzie was too tired to argue. The last thing she felt like was rattling along in the back of the cart but she knew she was no help to Joseph as she was. Thomas couldn’t spare anymore time away from Wildu Creek and she did long for her own bed.

  In a very short time Thomas had her rugged up and bundled into the back of the cart, over which he’d rigged a canvas frame to give some protection from the breeze.

  Lizzie looked back at Joseph, who held Robert with Violet standing beside him. Mary held Esther. Both little girls were crying, Esther loudly and Violet trying not to, with big tears rolling down her cheeks. William stood a little apart from the others, his face grim.

  Wispy clouds passed over the sun giving a momentary grey light. Thomas clasped Joseph’s shoulder then climbed up onto the cart
, urging the horse forward. Lizzie jerked with the sudden movement. She tried her best to give the sad little family gathered on the verandah a happy smile and a big wave. It broke her heart to see her son leaning against the verandah post for support, his face so sad, his shoulders stooped.

  Within minutes they were lost from her sight as the cart followed the track through large trees. Once more she clutched at her chest as a bout of coughing hacked through her. Finally it eased. Lizzie felt so tired and the bed Thomas had made was surprisingly comfortable. She huddled down into the blankets and closed her eyes.

  Thirteen

  “This is certainly interesting country, Mr Prosser.” Henry shifted his gaze from the gently rolling hills scattered with sheep to the backdrop of the rugged mountain range behind. This trip to Prosser’s property was his first to the country beyond the plains where Hawker had been built.

  “Much better than the plains. They shouldn’t be farming there. Some have the strange notion that the rain follows the plough.”

  “I’ve heard it mentioned several times. You don’t believe it?” Henry shifted his weight in the saddle. His backside was beginning to ache. The horse Prosser had loaned him was steady and reliable but Henry wasn’t used to sitting in a saddle. He’d made his way to Prosser’s Run in his small delivery cart. With Catherine still in Adelaide and no word of the baby, he had taken the opportunity to leave Mr Hemming in charge at the shop and drive out to Prosser’s property, a full day’s journey in his cart. Last night he’d enjoyed the Prosser’s hospitality and now he was getting a look at their land.

  “I think Mr Goyder’s information is more accurate. He has drawn a line on the map of the state beyond which he doesn’t believe the land and the climate can sustain crops.” Prosser reined in his horse and looked back at Henry. “The government won’t listen to his advice. They’re too eager for the money farmers are willing to pay. I only got this place at a good price because the previous owner was frightened away.”

  “How so?”

  “He believed the government would be pressured by the farmers to carve up some of the flatter country like this for agriculture.”

  Henry thought about the country he’d ridden through. The thick grass, as high as his knees, had swayed in the breeze in waves like the ocean, broken by the occasional bush or tree. “Is it possible to clear such land and put it under a plough?”

  “Possible yes, but I believe foolhardy. Thankfully the dry seasons we’ve had have saved Prosser’s Run from the plough till now.” Prosser got down from his horse and held Henry’s while he did the same then tethered the animals to a small bush.

  The two men walked to a rocky outcrop and looked down the slope of the hill where sheep grazed on the tufts of grass. It was only September but the mid-morning sun was beating down from a cloudless blue sky. Henry sweltered in his jacket. He slipped a finger inside his shirt collar. It was buttoned to the top and finished with his neat narrow neck tie. Prosser was quite a few years older than Henry and had always lived in the bush. He was a tall man with a commanding presence in spite of his more casual attire. Henry envied his open-necked shirt, over which Prosser wore some kind of leather vest.

  “Sheep do well in this country?” Henry asked. His thoughts were on the land he’d acquired on the plains. If Prosser was right and it wasn’t good for cropping then perhaps he should invest in some sheep and a shepherd or two.

  “They do but we’ve had trouble with wild dogs and natives.”

  Henry nodded. “I’ve heard reports the natives take a few sheep.”

  “More than a few,” Prosser snarled.

  “Would I have the same trouble on the plains?” Henry was concerned his foray into property ownership was already fraught with difficulties.

  “I imagine so.”

  “I was thinking of quitting the wheat and trying my hand with sheep.”

  “I certainly think you’re wise not to try to grow wheat on those plains. The sheep farmers fare a little better.” Prosser turned his shrewd dark eyes on Henry and studied him a moment. “You seem like a man who does well in business and is wise enough to hold his own counsel, Mr Wiltshire.”

  “That I am.” Henry held Prosser’s look. The man was obviously deliberating over something.

  Finally Prosser spoke. “I have a neighbour who’s being careless with his sheep. They stray onto my property and he doesn’t miss them.”

  “You didn’t think you should return the sheep to their owner?”

  Prosser glared at Henry. “I dislike the man. He’s arrogant and not a good neighbour. If there was someone in need of stock who didn’t ask too many questions, one of my men could make sure they arrived at their new home.” Prosser looked back to the sloping country on his other side. “His management is foolhardy. Treats the natives as if they are part of his family. He lets whole tribes of them camp on his property. Added to that his wife died a month back and he’s gone soft with grief.”

  Henry stiffened. “You mentioned one of your neighbours was Joseph Baker of Smith’s Ridge. Would that be him?”

  “The very same.” Prosser’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes, and your summary of his character is the same as mine.” Henry was quick to take Prosser’s side. He sensed there was a deal to be made here. One that would be good for Henry and do a disservice to Baker.

  “Well, as we are of the same opinion when it comes to Joseph Baker, we might be able to come to an arrangement.”

  “Would that arrangement involve stocking my plains properties with sheep?”

  “I think so. This is just the beginning for me.” Once more Prosser’s gaze travelled off to the country to the south. “I intend taking over Smith’s Ridge and eventually Wildu Creek.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t Wildu Creek belong to Baker’s father?”

  “It does. That’s some of the best grazing land in the area and has a lot more permanent water than my property or Smith’s Ridge. I’m a patient man. One day it will all be mine.”

  Prosser was also an ambitious man. Henry understood that.

  “What would you want in return for this deal?”

  “Along with your silence.” Prosser pinned him with a sharp look.

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Nothing for the time being but you are a forwarding agent. You must broker a lot of sales for stock, wool, wheat.”

  Henry pulled back his shoulders. “My clients are growing in number.”

  “There might be times when it would be helpful for me to know what price others are getting, or how much stock they may be selling, anything that might give me the upper hand in neighbourly dealings.” Prosser dragged out the last two words.

  “I am most happy to assist, Mr Prosser, but you should know, Joseph Baker is no longer a client of mine and I don’t imagine I will get his father’s business either.”

  “That’s as may be but we never know what the future holds and I have other neighbours.”

  “Of course.” Henry nodded. He was uncertain where this deal would lead him but he was sure it was in the right direction.

  “I imagine we can supply you with stock very soon.” Prosser thrust out his large hand and Henry accepted his strong grip with a smile.

  “It is a pleasure to do business with you, Mr Prosser.”

  “If we are to do business I think we should be on first name terms, Henry, don’t you?”

  “Certainly, Mr … Ellis.”

  They both turned at the sound of thrumming hoof beats. A horse and rider came into view.

  “This is one of my shepherds, Donovan,” Prosser said.

  Donovan reached them but didn’t dismount. Prosser introduced him to Henry.

  “Just riding in to tell you the natives have taken at least fifty this time.”

  Henry tried not to flinch at the uncouth diatribe Prosser let forth. Donovan’s horse flicked up its head and pranced in a circle.

  “Ride over and get Swan,” Prosser
said. “I’ll get the other men and we’ll meet you back here in two hours. They’re not going to get away with it this time.”

  Donovan gave a nod and moved his horse on.

  Prosser strode back to where they’d left the horses. “Damned natives.”

  “Can’t they be brought before the law?” Henry followed, horrified to think that Prosser’s loss could go unpunished.

  “I’ve tried that. The law is too soft on them. Says they have a right to the land.” Prosser pulled his whip from his saddle and slapped it against his boot. “I’ve developed my own way of dealing with them. It’s catching the bastards that’s the hard part. But this time it might be easier. Fifty sheep aren’t easy to hide.”

  “It seems a large number.”

  “It is, but this is a big country.” Prosser swung up into the saddle. “Anyway, it won’t matter to me much longer. I’m changing to cattle.”

  “Will that make a difference?” Henry managed to climb up onto his horse with less difficulty than he’d done the first time.

  “I won’t suffer as many losses from natives and wild dogs at least. Cattle are wary of sounds and smells they don’t recognise. They’re a lot bigger and in a group they look formidable.” Prosser’s face twisted into a malicious grin. “They’ve also got large, sharp horns. More than a match for dingo or black men.”

  Henry felt a prickle worm down his spine.

  “We will go back to the homestead and collect my sons and whoever I can find.” Prosser’s horse wheeled around. “You’ll ride with us, won’t you? You might need to experience this if you are to have stock of your own.”

  Henry nodded and urged his horse on after Prosser’s. He had an uneasy feeling. Violence had never been a part of his nature. Not to dish out personally anyway. There had been a couple of times in his earlier years back in Adelaide when he had been bullied. He hadn’t mentioned it to his mother but access to her money had meant he could pay someone else to dish out the retribution. He’d earned a reputation for being a man not to be messed with, without needing to dirty his own hands.

  When Prosser’s house came into view, they reined their horses to a trot. Henry’s backside was aching and he had not been able to come up with any excuse not to accompany the men on their mission. He had already accepted Mrs Prosser’s invitation to stay one more night. There appeared to be no escape.