Dust on the Horizon Read Online Free
Author: Tricia Stringer
had customers. He crossed to the window and peered out at the wagon, which had pulled up further along the road in front of the railway station. A man jumped down and brushed at his clothes sending up a cloud of dust. Probably making a delivery.
Henry dismissed the man as of no consequence then remained fixed to the spot as he saw bundles moving in the back of the wagon, taking the shape of children. Suddenly a black man appeared from the other side of the wagon. He was wearing a battered hat like the other man but the clothes on the Aborigine were much too loose and hung from his lean frame. Henry watched in astonishment as together the two men lifted down five children, three white and two black. The oldest Aboriginal child was a girl by the look of her clothes and she hefted the smallest white child to her hip.
âWell I never,â Henry muttered.
The group huddled together listening to something the white man was saying. Henry scanned the wagon again expecting a woman to appear from the load as the children had but there was no sign of an adult female. Just as well, the kind of woman who would produce these children should be kept out of sight of polite society.
He glanced behind him in case Catherine should suddenly appear. He had hoped there would be a few more women in the town by now but after another dry season, trade was slow and the town hadnât boomed quite as quickly as he had expected.
The tall man in charge of the group outside bent and brushed a hand over the fair curls of the young boy beside him. Maybe this man was one of the farmers still clinging to the land. When Henry had made his first trip to Hawker, heâd crossed the Willochra Plains where heâd heard about farmers raising bumper wheat crops in magnificent chocolate soil. All heâd seen were downcast men with ragtag families barely hanging onto land that was dust as far as the eye could see. That was over a year ago and things had only got worse for the farmers since then. He read the defeat in their eyes when they came to his shop and heâd been astute enough to acquire any goods and chattels theyâd wanted to sell that were still worth anything. Just last week heâd acquired a piece of land at what he believed was a mere pittance of what it would be worth again in the future. Times would improve again, he was sure of it.
The group in the street split up. The tall white man strode towards the railway station and the Aborigine was leading the children towards Henryâs shop.
Henry let out a low growl. âOh no you donât.â
He opened the door a crack, slid his arm out to attach the Closed sign then firmly shut the door and drew the bolt. He wasnât fussed about whose money he took but from the look of this lot they had little and he wasnât giving credit to a black man. Mr Garrat could serve them in his little general store. There was some custom Henry wasnât prepared to accept.
The clock in the parlour chimed and he took out his watch again, twelve midday exactly. He replaced the watch, brushed his hand down his lapels and made his way to the parlour. All thoughts of the rabble outside were dismissed as he anticipated the meal ahead and the appointments with pastoralists he had booked for later in the afternoon.
Catherine had run out of jobs to do in the shop and had welcomed the tinkle of the bell signalling customers. Now, from her position behind the counter, she tried to keep the smile from her lips as she watched the young native girl stick out her hip and heft the small child higher. The little girl in her arms was obviously heavy but she wouldnât put the child down and, to add to her load, on her other side she clasped the hand of another little girl. The neatly clothed dark man had removed his hat and stood just inside the door. He didnât make eye contact with Catherine but murmured the occasional instruction to the two older boys who were also part of the group
Henry dismissed the man as of no consequence then remained fixed to the spot as he saw bundles moving in the back of the wagon, taking the shape of children. Suddenly a black man appeared from the other side of the wagon. He was wearing a battered hat like the other man but the clothes on the Aborigine were much too loose and hung from his lean frame. Henry watched in astonishment as together the two men lifted down five children, three white and two black. The oldest Aboriginal child was a girl by the look of her clothes and she hefted the smallest white child to her hip.
âWell I never,â Henry muttered.
The group huddled together listening to something the white man was saying. Henry scanned the wagon again expecting a woman to appear from the load as the children had but there was no sign of an adult female. Just as well, the kind of woman who would produce these children should be kept out of sight of polite society.
He glanced behind him in case Catherine should suddenly appear. He had hoped there would be a few more women in the town by now but after another dry season, trade was slow and the town hadnât boomed quite as quickly as he had expected.
The tall man in charge of the group outside bent and brushed a hand over the fair curls of the young boy beside him. Maybe this man was one of the farmers still clinging to the land. When Henry had made his first trip to Hawker, heâd crossed the Willochra Plains where heâd heard about farmers raising bumper wheat crops in magnificent chocolate soil. All heâd seen were downcast men with ragtag families barely hanging onto land that was dust as far as the eye could see. That was over a year ago and things had only got worse for the farmers since then. He read the defeat in their eyes when they came to his shop and heâd been astute enough to acquire any goods and chattels theyâd wanted to sell that were still worth anything. Just last week heâd acquired a piece of land at what he believed was a mere pittance of what it would be worth again in the future. Times would improve again, he was sure of it.
The group in the street split up. The tall white man strode towards the railway station and the Aborigine was leading the children towards Henryâs shop.
Henry let out a low growl. âOh no you donât.â
He opened the door a crack, slid his arm out to attach the Closed sign then firmly shut the door and drew the bolt. He wasnât fussed about whose money he took but from the look of this lot they had little and he wasnât giving credit to a black man. Mr Garrat could serve them in his little general store. There was some custom Henry wasnât prepared to accept.
The clock in the parlour chimed and he took out his watch again, twelve midday exactly. He replaced the watch, brushed his hand down his lapels and made his way to the parlour. All thoughts of the rabble outside were dismissed as he anticipated the meal ahead and the appointments with pastoralists he had booked for later in the afternoon.
Catherine had run out of jobs to do in the shop and had welcomed the tinkle of the bell signalling customers. Now, from her position behind the counter, she tried to keep the smile from her lips as she watched the young native girl stick out her hip and heft the small child higher. The little girl in her arms was obviously heavy but she wouldnât put the child down and, to add to her load, on her other side she clasped the hand of another little girl. The neatly clothed dark man had removed his hat and stood just inside the door. He didnât make eye contact with Catherine but murmured the occasional instruction to the two older boys who were also part of the group
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