Heart of the Country (52 page)

She came to a stop at the front of the inn, climbed down and tethered her horse. She felt stiff and sore. She reached around and patted feeling back into her bottom. “You've grown soft, Harriet,” she murmured.

A raucous laugh issued from the inn, and the murmur of voices.

Harriet stepped up onto the verandah. She was looking forward to meeting Ethel again. How lovely! The check curtains she'd made were still hanging in the windows. They were drawn, no doubt to keep out the chilly air.

Harriet pushed open the door. Several men stopped talking and turned to stare at her. They were seated around tables with bowls of steaming food and mugs of drink. From the look of their cheeks there was something warmer in the mugs than hot tea. Ned and Ethel both gaped at her from across the bar.

Ethel was the first to speak. “Mrs Wiltshire!” She came from behind the bar, arms outstretched. “What are you doing here?” She peered past Harriet, a small flick of concern crossing her face. “Where's Mr Wiltshire?”

“I'm travelling alone,” Harriet said. She felt a pang of disappointment. She had hoped to find Septimus there, or at least that Ethel and Ned might know where he was, but from their reaction she could see that wasn't the case. “That smells good,” she said nodding towards the closest bowl.

“Kangaroo stew's all it is, but you're welcome to it.” Ethel closed the door and drew Harriet to a table by herself near the fire. “Warm yourself up, lovey,” she said. “You look blue with cold.”

“The wind is icy.”

“Have you travelled up here all the way from Port Augusta by yourself?”

Harriet nodded, pulled off her gloves and held her hands towards the fire.

“Ned!”

Harriet jumped as Ethel bellowed her husband's name.

“Bring Mrs Wiltshire some of your brew. She needs warming up. I'll go and get you some stew.”

“Can someone see to the horse?” Harriet asked.

“Course, lovey.” Ethel gave her a grin. “Ned'll see to it soon as he's got you a drink.”

Harriet had taken to having the odd glass of sherry but she rarely drank anything else. She wondered what Ned's brew would be.

“You men mind your manners,” Ethel said to the room in general then she bustled out to the kitchen. Ned placed a mug in front of Harriet with a glimmer of a smile and a nod, then let himself out the door.

One by one the men went back to their meals and their talking. Harriet sat quietly, studying each one. They were weary-looking men with weathered skin and well-worn clothes. From the snatches of conversation she heard and their appearance, she was guessing they were teamsters. She didn't recall seeing any sign of bullock, horse or wagon near the inn, and the last time she'd seen Septimus he'd said there was little trade. Perhaps that had been a different time of year, because there were five men enjoying the food and drink at the inn tonight.

She reached for the mug and the smell of the liquid nearly took her breath away. Ned was probably making his own grog.

Ethel came back with two bowls of stew.

“I hoped you might feel like company,” she said. “I don't see too many women around these parts.”

“Of course,” Harriet said.

Ned came back inside and Ethel plied Harriet with questions about the port and what was happening there.

Finally Harriet put down the rough spoon and knife. Her bowl was empty.

“That was delicious, Ethel, thank you.”

“You're very welcome, Mrs Wiltshire. I'm glad you've finally had the opportunity to visit. You happened to strike us on a rare busy night. That's the first lot we've had here for a good while.”

Harriet looked around the room. The other tables were now empty. The men had left while she and Ethel were eating. Ned had disappeared also.

“I didn't see any sign of animals or wagons,” Harriet said. “Where do they camp?”

“Further away, I expect. I don't go looking for them. With the permanent water being so low they only bring their animals to drink. They camp elsewhere.”

“My husband said trade had been poor the last time I saw him.”

“The long dry has affected everyone.” Ethel collected the bowls.

“Even before that.” Harriet tried to watch Ethel's face but she was bent over the table. “He's never made the return from the inn he expected.”

Ethel stood up and looked at Harriet. “I don't understand the way of it, Mrs Wiltshire, but we've stayed on, Ned and me, even though the inn is actually closed. We do the best we can. We've nowhere else to go.”

“Closed?”

“The last time your husband was here, he closed the books off. Ned and me don't get a wage but we can stay on and look after the place until things get better.”

“When was that, Ethel? When was my husband last here?”

“Oh, now you're testing me.” Ethel held the bowls in one hand and put the other to her cheek. “Just before Christmas, that's right. We talked about folks having a tough time of it for Christmas.”

“That's five months ago.” Harriet slumped in her chair. Septimus could be anywhere by now.

“Something wrong?”

“No, thank you, Ethel. I was hoping to catch up with him here. It's quite a while since he was home last and we've things to discuss.”

“Lawd sakes, you don't think something's happened to him?”

“No. It's not unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.” Harriet didn't say it had been three years since she'd last seen her husband. “He's back hawking again, which takes him many places.”

“Yes, I remember he had his wagon loaded with supplies to deliver.”

Harriet stared at the fire. What would she do now? Had he gone on to the property he had in the north?

“He didn't say which direction he was headed?” she asked.

“No, lovey. He never tells us what he's up to. Sometimes we see him a couple of times in a month and other times not for several months.”

Harriet gave a little shiver.

“Would you like me to put more wood on the fire?” Ethel asked.

“No, thank you.” Harriet suddenly felt very weary. “Do you have a spare bed where I can stay the night? I'll be off again in the morning.”

“Course we do. There's the little room at the end of the verandah. Rarely have visitors who want a bed for the night. I'll go and make it up for you.”

Ethel bustled out to the kitchen. Harriet held her hands towards the dying fire.

“Where are you, Septimus?” she murmured.

He had evidently called at the inn more often than he ever did at his home in the port. Why would he call back in a couple of weeks after a visit? Perhaps on his way to and from another place nearby? But there was little in these hills. She remembered how glad she'd felt to move to Port Augusta after the isolation of the little hut.

Harriet stiffened. The hut – perhaps Septimus still used it as a resting place or even storage for some of his goods. Her spirits lifted. She was sure she could find her way there. She'd go tomorrow. Perhaps there'd be a clue to his whereabouts. She rose to find Ethel and the room she was to sleep in. A good sleep was what she needed. She planned an early start in the morning to have a good look around the inn in daylight before she set off. Ethel and Ned were very cosy here for people with little income.

Septimus scratched at his bushy beard. He really should shave it off. He'd never abided thick facial hair since his convict days but he was in no hurry. In fact he was in no hurry to do anything. He was the happiest he'd ever been here at the hut with Dulcie and the children. He almost felt as if he could stay here forever, to hell with the rest of the world, but deep down he knew that couldn't happen. The wagonload of supplies he'd arrived with in December was nearly all gone. Dulcie was adept at gathering food from the bush but she didn't like to go far from the hut these days. The time was coming when he'd have to face the world again … but not just yet.

Dulcie's sharp tone drew him from the bedroom into the kitchen, where she was standing at the back door with Jack. Septimus had used some of his time to make a door through the back of the hut where he'd added a verandah for the boys to sleep. Jack had grown taller: he was nearly the same height as Dulcie. Neither mother nor son looked pleased.

“What's the matter?”

“I want to hunt, Papa.” Jack turned his big pleading eyes to his father.

“What are you hunting?” He smiled at the boy, who was so different from his half-brother, Henry.

Jack's face split in a grin. “Kangaroo, wallaby, possum.”

“Whoa.” Septimus put up his hand. “One animal will be enough.”

“Not hunt today,” Dulcie said, her face full of worry. She had been watchful since Septimus's return, but the last few days she'd been even more on edge.

“Why not?” Septimus asked.

She just shook her head.

Septimus looked at the boy. He was tense with anticipation. Jack often went hunting and he was good at it; he saved Septimus supplying meat for the table. It was a sunny day with less chill in the air than they'd been having, a good day to be outside.

Septimus wrapped his arms around Dulcie and tucked her naked back to his bare chest.

“The boy will be fine,” he murmured in her ear. “Off you go,” he said to Jack. “Don't be too long.”

The boy went before his mother could say any more. Septimus looked down at Eddie, who had wobbled across the floor on his pudgy legs and now grasped a handful of his trousers.

The baby on the other hand was still a nuisance, demanding Dulcie's time. Septimus shook his leg to escape the dirty fingers. Eddie plopped to the floor.

Dulcie bent to pick up the child, but a cry from Jack made her rush for the door.

Dulcie cried out in her language. Septimus stepped up behind her and frowned. Two black men had Jack grasped between them. One of the men carried a waddy at his side and the other a spear. They spoke quickly. From their tone, Septimus could tell they weren't happy. He hesitated. Perhaps Jack had encroached on their hunt.

One of the men pointed at him and began to shout. Septimus turned to Dulcie. “What is it? What do they want?”

She shook her head at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

“They not happy,” she said, “I am your woman.”

“I'll set them straight.” Septimus turned back to the men. He pointed to Dulcie. “My woman,” he said then he pointed to Jack and Eddie. “My sons.”

The men fell silent. Jack pulled away from their grip.

That's all they need, Septimus thought, someone to show them who's boss. He stepped through the door and across the verandah. Even though the sun shone from a cloudless sky, the crisp air made the skin on his bare chest prickle.

“Go,” he shouted and pointed away. “Leave my family alone.”

One man spoke, then the other. Instead of turning away as Septimus had expected, they rushed forward and grabbed him by the arms. He struggled but their grip was strong. Septimus dug his bare feet into the ground as the men pulled him away from the hut.

“Let me go,” he yelled.

Behind him he could hear Dulcie crying out. Septimus twisted and struggled but they only gripped him harder, dragging him towards the bush beyond the hut.

Harriet tethered her horse and cart just off the track before she reached the last rise that led to the hut. She could smell smoke in the fresh morning air, so she expected someone was at home. She just couldn't be sure it would be Septimus.

She followed the track, keeping close to the bush. The hut came into view and she could see the smoke puffing from the chimney. A wagon – Septimus's, she thought with relief – was parked close to one wall of the hut, and there was a chair on the verandah. As she got closer she heard voices and then a woman's cry. She paused at the edge of the verandah then cautiously tapped on the door. No one answered. She heard another shout. It sounded like Septimus, but it wasn't close. She pushed open the door. The hut was well lived in and she recognised a hat and coat hanging on the wall as her husband's. There was a door in the back wall that hadn't been there before.

“Let me go.”

Even though Septimus's voice was distant she could hear the fear in it. She stepped quietly to the open back door and peered through. Her heart thumped at the sight of two fierce-looking native men with Septimus held between them.

Harriet spun and took in the room that had been her home, looking for something she could use as a weapon. The firearm was still above the front door. She lifted it down and checked it. Septimus had taught her to use it and she had managed to shoot a few animals during her long stretches alone at the hut.

She moved back to the door, stepped through it and lifted the rifle. “Stop,” she yelled in the strongest tone she could create. She looked down the barrel of the firearm at the tallest man.

The natives ceased their struggle with Septimus and turned to look at her. She could see Septimus lift his head, trying to see who it was. She was appalled at how unkempt his appearance was and how thin he had become.

“Missus!”

Harriet shifted her head slightly at the call.

A native woman stood off to her left. Harriet had been so intent on Septimus and his attackers she hadn't noticed her. She was totally naked and yet familiar.

“Dulcie?”

As Dulcie turned towards her, Harriet could see she held a toddler in her arms and that a boy stood at her side.

“What's going on here?” Harriet asked. One of the natives moved and she pointed the firearm at him. “Septimus?” she called.

“Harriet? Harriet, is that you? Thank God. I should have brought the firearm myself.”

One of the natives began to speak to Dulcie. His tone was aggressive.

Dulcie answered in a pleading tone. The man yanked Septimus another step towards the bush.