Dust on the Horizon (2 page)

“You're not my mother.”

Ethel pursed her lips. A small frown turned her wrinkled brow to furrows. “No, but I did my best to be one for ya and you always called me Mam. I guess you're too old for that now. Ethel will do.” She turned her bulky figure and shuffled to the fire. She was even bigger than she'd been the last time he'd seen her and her movements weren't as sure. She poked at the fire and added more wood. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

He slumped into a chair at the battered table that wobbled unevenly as he placed his elbows on it. “I'd rather some of your whiskey.”

Ethel straightened and put her hands to her hips. She wore a loose gown over her nightdress and a cap on her head. She looked like a ship under full sail. “Would ya now?” She studied him closely in the dim light. Then she grinned. “Well I wouldn't be past having one myself. A bit of a nightcap to ease me aching bones.”

She put two mugs on the table and went to the cupboard built into the corner of the room. He watched as she extracted an earthenware pot and poured some pale liquid from it into the mugs. Ethel and Ned had made their own brew for as long as Jack could remember. They'd run a pub in the hills behind Port Augusta when he'd first gone to live with them as a boy of nine. When that closed they'd moved to the Port but they'd never had much success there. Ned had died a poor man.

Ethel sat opposite him and took a swig from her mug. He did the same. The liquid was smooth as silk and warmed him all the way to his stomach.

“You haven't lost your touch.” Jack wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The smell of something rotten lingered in his nostrils. He'd need to wash, clothes and all. He'd learned early that people were quick to judge an ill-dressed unkempt half-caste, as they called him. Jack liked to keep himself tidy.

“Ned was better at brewing beer. I've always been able to turn my hand to a good drop of the stronger stuff.”

Jack glowered at her across the table and drained his mug. He put it back on the table in front of her. “I think I need to test it further.”

She eyed him a moment then poured him some more. “What's brought you back here after all this time with never a word?”

“I'm a bit down on my luck.”

Ethel hissed through her teeth. “If you've come here looking for money you can forget it. You can see this place is falling down around my ears. My lodgers barely pay enough to keep me clothed and fed without having any to give away to the likes of you.”

“You owe me.”

She snorted. “What for?”

“All the years I worked for you for nothing.”

“Nothing.” Ethel's beady eyes bulged. “Ned and me put a roof over your head, fed ya and clothed ya. That's not nothing.”

Jack felt the fire from the whiskey spread to his arms. He clenched his fists as her words continued to pour out.

“You always did have ideas above your station. We only took ya in 'cause we felt sorry for ya. Your poor mother came to us begging for help to look after you and your little brother. When they took sick and the little one died and she knew she was going too, your mother implored us to look after ya. We only did it for her. Dulcie was a good sort. Her downfall was taking up with that scoundrel of a man. His poor wife never knew he had a black family hidden in his hut in the hills behind the pub. Didn't think we knew about it, Ned and me, but we did.” She leaned across the table and smirked. “Not only are you a bastard, Jackie Boy, but you're a black bastard.”

Jack leapt up from his chair, knocking it to the floor. He leaned across and slapped Ethel's smug face. The shock of it silenced her. She put a pudgy hand to her cheek. Jack glowered at her. How many times had the reverse happened? She never let Ned see how she treated the boy they'd taken in but she was always quick to dish out a slap or a backhander if she was displeased with Jack about something. That had been a regular occurrence.

“I always knew you'd turn on us one day.” Ethel hissed at him. “I'm just glad me poor Ned isn't here to see it after all we've done for—”

“Shut your flapping mouth.” He raised his hand again.

She kept her piggy gaze on him but she remained silent.

“I need a bath and somewhere to sleep.” He reached across the table and felt some small satisfaction as she jerked back. He picked up the pot of whiskey and poured himself a mug full then he sat down. “But first I want to know about my father.”

“He's dead.”

Jack had always been told that but he'd held a hope that somehow it wasn't true. “How can you be sure?”

“He wasn't in much of a state when they found his body but my dear Ned recognised his clothes and his hair. There's no doubt it was him. He was a nasty piece of work, Jackie … Jack.” Ethel drained the last of her liquor and plonked her mug on the table. “Better for everyone he was dead.”

Jack wasn't so sure. He had vague happy memories of his mother, his baby brother and the white man who used to visit them at the hut in the hills. They were all dead now but there was still another side of the family he knew nothing about.

“What was his name?”

“What does it matter? You have a name.”

Jack did. He'd been given the name Aldridge, same as Ned and Ethel, but he needed a name if he was to track down his father's family.

“He had a wife. Not my mother, a white wife. She was the woman he implored to help him when my uncles dragged him away.”

Ethel's eyes widened. “Were'd ya hear that? You were too young to remember what happened.”

“I was nine when my father died. Before that I grew up in two places, I lived in the bush with my mother's black family and a wooden hut when my white father visited.” He drew himself up and looked across the table but he was looking through Ethel rather than at her. “I remember my uncles being angry with my mother and coming to take my father away. I thought they were just going to beat him. Teach him a lesson.”

“Oh, they did that all right. Both his legs were broken. He was probably still alive when they finished with him but he had no way to get out of the creek where he was found.”

Jack's eyes refocused on Ethel. “What was his name?”

“What does it matter?” She slapped the table. “I told ya he's dead.”

“But he had a wife, perhaps other children.”

“His wife didn't want to know about you. She was a lady and he kept your mother and his bastard offspring a secret from her.”

Once more Jack leapt up. Ethel cowered back but he was around the table with one hand over her mouth and the other at her neck before she could get up.

“What was his name?” he hissed in her ear.

Ethel's eyes bulged. He lifted his fingers away from her mouth and leaned in closer.

“Wiltshire,” she gasped. “His name was Septimus Wiltshire.”

Two

Henry Wiltshire stepped off the verandah and smiled up at the newly painted sign,
Hawker General Trader & Forwarding Agent.
He had wanted his name on the shop front but his mother had insisted on Hawker, the name of the town which in turn had been named after well-known grazier and member of parliament George Charles Hawker. The shop name had been a sticking point but Harriet had a large share of money invested in the enterprise so he'd let her have her way on this.

Over two hundred and fifty miles from Adelaide, Hawker had been proclaimed on the first of July the previous year and was surveyed on a pronounced bend in the railway line which was to extend north-west. The original intention had been to build only a railway station but Henry had great expectations for Hawker already. The town would become a major service centre for both the railway and the pastoralists and farmers who took up land all around it and his shop and services would be in great demand.

The sun beat down on his hatless head as he looked left and then right. There was no-one in sight. Nothing but dust moved along the road. None of the wagons that usually rolled past to and from the train station, and even the constant sawing and hammering from the building across the road had ceased.

It was a surprising lull in a town where constant movement of wagons, teamsters and camel trains was the norm. The distant stations Henry had only heard of, with names such as Wilpena, Holowiliena and Arkaba, made use of the rail that extended to Hawker and was to continue further. The town itself was being constructed on a flat dusty plain but in the distance to the north a huge mountain range rose into the sky. It had been named Flinders Ranges. Today its grey heights shimmered in the heat haze, a huge barrier to the nothingness beyond. A trickle of sweat slithered down Henry's back. It really did seem like he was at the end of the world but it was here he would make his mark.

He took a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket, patted the back of his neck then went back to the shade of the verandah roof. From there he slid a sideways glance across the empty space next to his shop, to the wooden structure that housed his opposition. Not a soul stirred there either. Henry's stone establishment was a much better building than Garrat's. People would flock in for his superior goods when things picked up. He tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket and brushed down his dark suit, determined to keep up an appearance in spite of the late summer heat

He opened the door to his shop. A bell tinkled but otherwise there was no sound. Henry frowned, pulled out his fob watch and checked the time, then he shut the door firmly which produced another sharper tingle from the bell. There was a movement from behind the heavy velvet curtain separating the shop from the living quarters at the back.

His pretty young wife walked unhurriedly to the counter. “Oh, it's only you, Henry,” she said.

“I hope you will be more prompt when we have customers, Catherine.” He looked pointedly at his watch.

“Of course, Henry.” She smiled at him and fanned herself with her hand. “But in this heat no-one wants to go shopping.”

Henry put away his watch. Her smile always charmed him. She was right, but he needed her to help him if they were to build a strong business in this new community.

“If you're staying in now, I'll go back to my sewing.”

Henry watched as she stepped back behind the curtain. Catherine came from a wealthy family of strong religious faith. She was an appropriate partner for someone of Henry's standing and he had been both pleased and surprised when she had consented to be his wife.

Soon after their marriage they had made the journey from Adelaide, by train, to the new township of Hawker. Henry smiled at the thought of the large sum of money the father of a fourth daughter had been prepared to pay to get her off his hands. His new father-in-law had been very generous but there had been quite a to-do when Henry had announced where they would be living.

Town was a grand word for the straggle of makeshift premises people lived in and did business from but Hawker was just starting out and Henry's was only one of the new permanent buildings recently erected or in the process of being built.

He had come to the town last year with money to bid for land. He'd had to go as high as £100. His mother had been worried but he had convinced her he'd secured the best site. It was in a prime position facing the railway, and close to the station. Henry had conducted his business from a temporary dwelling while overseeing the building of his premises.

Hawker was the town of the future. Henry knew all the farmers and pastoralists would need quality goods and someone to sell wool and grain on their behalf and who knew what else in a town that was just starting out. Times could be fickle on the land and when they couldn't pay with money he was prepared to give them credit. He looked out the window across the dusty road to the flat brown terrain that stretched to the distant ranges. There was barely any bush let alone trees like those that had dotted the creeks they'd crossed on the journey from Adelaide.

Henry gave a brief thought to the capital of the state of South Australia. The original plan had been to build a business then sell it, using the profits to start a shop in Adelaide. This was what his mother and Catherine's parents believed but since moving to Hawker and discovering the potential here, he was full of optimism. Not only was he going to build a shopping empire, but he was planning to acquire land, lots of land. Their parents would all be happy once they saw how well he would provide for his wife and their future family.

Catherine sat back in the chair and undid the top button of her high-necked blouse. She picked up her handiwork but instead of stitching she used it to fan herself. She hated the heat. The heat was why she'd been slow to respond to the bell. She had heard the first tinkle but had been fumbling to do up her buttons. Henry was very particular that they should present a decorous picture to their customers.

When they'd first moved in to the tiny accommodation behind the shop she hadn't liked it at all. Not that she dared say anything to Henry. Then last night he had surprised her with a promise to build her a grand home once their business was established, a place that would befit their status and acknowledge their prosperity. She'd wondered at that. It made their life here sound more permanent and yet Henry had said they would only be in Hawker for a few years until they had enough money to set up a fine business in Adelaide like his mother's.

She sighed and looked around her little parlour. It was the room that led directly to the shop and was the only place Henry had to conduct his business. She had to have it prepared at all times in case he needed to use it.

Their two comfortable chairs were squeezed into one corner where she was sitting now. Under the window was their small dining table. There was room for the two of them but if they had guests they would have to rearrange the room and move the table to accommodate them. Not that it was likely they would entertain in the near future. Henry did not feel there were many people of their social standing in the district and few women came to the shop.