Dust on the Horizon (6 page)

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 of 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.

A wave of embarrassment swept over her. She tried to reach the sheet to cover herself. Henry's breath turned to a sharp snort and he woke. He lifted his head and looked around as if he didn't know where he was. His eyes met hers. He gave a self-satisfied smile then replaced the look with a frown.

“What time is it?”

He climbed from the bed to find his watch. She studied his naked back, the tight curve of his buttocks, as he bent to retrieve his clothes.

“It's nearly one o'clock, Catherine, and we haven't eaten. The shop has to be open again in five minutes.” He pulled on his trousers.

“I'm not hungry.” Catherine rolled over and curled into a ball. She had a funny full sensation in her stomach and she felt sleepy. She hadn't dozed when Henry did, too busy recalling every step of their lovemaking. Now she felt like she could sleep the afternoon away.

“Get dressed, Catherine.” Henry's tone was sharp. “We've a business to conduct.”

She sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Her breasts felt heavy. She looked down. Her skin glowed with a rosy hue. She didn't study her own body very often but she was fascinated by her own large dark nipples. Henry's attention had made them bigger somehow. He paused in front of her. She glanced up and took in the hungry look in his eyes.

He turned away. “Hurry up, Catherine. Bring me some cheese and bread once you are dressed. I will have to eat it in the shop.” He stepped out into the parlour and closed the door firmly behind him.

Catherine smiled. Henry could put on as much bluster as he liked but she knew something had changed between them and it made her feel deliciously wicked. She stood up. Black dots whirled in front of her. She gasped and sank to the floor. Vomit surged up her gullet, warm and burning. She tugged the chamber-pot from under the bed, thankful she'd already cleaned it as she emptied the contents of her stomach into it.

Five

William sat on the long bench that ran under the windows of the stone house his father had built at Smith's Ridge. There were three windows set in the front wall and another in the adjoining corner. Even though it was dinner time the sun still provided enough light for them to have no need of the lanterns yet.

On his left, closest to the head of the table, sat Joe. On William's other side were his little sisters. His father sat at the top end of the table and his Uncle Binda at the other. Not that Binda could ever be seen as William's real uncle but as his father's friend he had always had the title. William's mother Clara held nine-month-old Robert over her shoulder, pacing the floor and patting his back in a steady rhythm. William could see the baby's cheeks, pink and full from his feed, a small dribble of milk leaking from the corner of his plump lips. His eyelids fluttered with each pat. He would soon be asleep. Uncle Binda's wife Jundala could be heard chatting in her own language to Mary. They were out in the kitchen, dishing out the mutton stew.

The room that served both as a dining room and a living space was big. Even bigger than Grandpa and Grandma Baker's front room at their neighbouring property Wildu Creek. William had only recently heard his grandma mention the size of the house at Smith's Ridge as if it was a bad thing. But there were six of them living there now, ten if you counted Uncle Binda and his family. Not that they slept in the house, a thing his grandma was grateful for, but all ten of them ate their evening meal together when possible.

It was always a puzzle the things grown-ups said and didn't say. William had recently discovered there was often more to be learned. He was well practised at listening in when people didn't think he was paying attention. His eyes met Uncle Binda's across the table and William lowered his gaze; unless Uncle Binda was around of course. The native who was his father's best friend always knew if William was nearby and listening.

With the food handed out, his mother put baby Robert in his box crib in the corner and took a seat on the bench beside Esther. Mary and Jundala sat in the chairs on the other side of the table opposite the bench.

William had never given any thought to this arrangement of theirs but from what had transpired on their trip to town and Mr Prosser's remarks, he looked at his family and friends gathered around the table with fresh eyes.

Everyone bent their heads as his father said grace. No sooner had he finished than Esther began to wail. Her mother tried to put some of the stew in her mouth but the little girl pursed her lips together firmly.

“Don't press her, Clara.” Joseph gave a little chuckle. “Eat your own dinner while it's hot. At least it means she's quiet.”

Immediately Esther opened her mouth and let out another cry. Quick as a flash her mother shovelled a spoon of stew in and just as quickly had it spat back at her. She smacked Esther's fingers and the little girl bellowed.

Violet's lip trembled. William put an arm around her shoulders. Joseph pushed back his chair and stood, his empty tin cup clattering to the floor. Except for Esther's cry there was silence. William stared at his mother. Her cheeks were red but there were dark shadows under her eyes. He'd never seen his mother lash out like that. He'd had his father's hand across his backside a few times but never his mother's, and not when he was as young as Esther and Violet.

Mary stood. “Let me take her, missum,” she said.

William thought about the funny word Mary called his mother. It was a cross between Mrs and mum. He was glad she didn't call his mother mum. Mary had her own mother, Jundala, and it didn't seem right. There was no way his fair-skinned mother could be considered Mary's mother.

“You haven't finished your own meal, Mary.” Clara's voice was weary.

“Let her take the child, Clara. Mary can eat later. You look worn out.”

“I am quite well, thank you Joseph.”

William noticed his mother give his father an odd look but she handed Esther over into Mary's waiting arms, took her plate and sat in Mary's empty chair beside Jundala. Joseph gave his wife's shoulder a squeeze and sat back down. Once more William felt the air was heavy with things left unsaid.

“What news is there from town?” Clara asked her question looking from Joseph to Binda and back again.

“We are having an easy time of it compared to the farmers on the plains.”

“Really?” Clara's voice had a ring of disbelief.

“At least we've had a little rain here in the hills to water stock and encourage some summer grass. They've had almost nothing on the plains for three years. We spoke with some desperate farmers, didn't we Binda?”

The native man nodded.

“Quite a few won't last until the new year,” Joseph said.

“What will they do?” Once more Clara asked her question of both men.

Joseph shook his head. “Leave it and walk off.”

“Surely not. What about their homes, their animals?”

William was anxious at this new topic. How could someone leave their land? Could it happen to them here at Smith's Ridge and to his grandparents over at Wildu Creek? His grandfather had taken up the first lease on Wildu Creek and the great uncles he'd never met had started this neighbouring property of Smith's Ridge. William had been born in this house. His father had built it for his mother when they had taken back the lease. The country here was more rugged than Wildu Creek and the waterway his grandfather had first called ‘Wildu' wriggled its way down through the Wildu Creek property and across the bottom of Smith's Ridge. It still held pools of water and there were several natural springs in the hills behind the home yard. William couldn't imagine no water.

Joseph broke off a piece of bread and mopped up the juices on his plate. “Most of them have sold anything of any value to feed their families.”

“How terrible,” Clara said.

“Ran into Prosser on the way home.”

“What did that uncouth man want?” Her tone was sharp.

“He was shifting sheep.” Joseph glanced down the table at Binda. “I wonder if they were all his.”

“Lots of tracks where the fence came down,” Binda said. “Plenty going in his direction and horse prints with them.”

Clara put down her spoon. “How can someone get away with such open thievery?”

Joseph shook his head. “We can't be sure he's taken our stock. We don't even know if there's any missing.”

“His wife called here while you were away.”

“What did she come for?”

“Who would know?”

“Eyes, looking.” Jundala pointed to her own eyes.

“She didn't want to come in and take tea.” Clara gave a nod of her head. “Jundala's right. A stickybeak is all that woman was here for, I'm sure.”

“Odd.” Once more Joseph looked along the table to Binda. “Perhaps we should be keeping a closer eye on the boundary between us and Prosser's Run.”

Worry wormed inside William. Here was another thing to add to the list of things he didn't understand. He poked at the stew with his spoon. He'd been hungry for the delicious-smelling meat but now it was congealing on his plate.

“This is delicious, thank you Jundala.” Joseph's plate was almost empty. Clearly he was having no worrying thoughts blocking his appetite.