Dust on the Horizon by Tricia Stringer Page A

turning their hands to making all kinds of things. Still, once they made a bit more money he was sure they would prefer the finer items he could provide.
    Catherine stepped from behind the curtain. “Your tea is ready, Henry.”
    She smiled sweetly as Prosser swept a surprised look over her.
    â€œThis is Mr Prosser, my dear.”
    â€œHow do you do, Mr Prosser? I hope you like pikelets. I’ve just taken some from the pan.”
    â€œVery kind, Mrs Wiltshire.”
    Henry saw the appreciative look Prosser gave his wife. He was sure it wasn’t just over the offer of pikelets. Prosser gripped Catherine’s hand a little longer then let it go, as his gaze travelled down her body.
    The bell over the door tinkled and a woman entered.
    â€œHello, Mrs Harris.” Catherine went to meet her.
    â€œThis way, Mr Prosser.” Henry held back the curtain and ushered the huge man through to the parlour. Ah, yes, Henry thought to himself. His wife was proving useful in so many ways.
    Catherine rolled up the last of the bolts of cloth she had laid out for Mrs Harris. It had been hard work convincing her to buy something other than brown serge for a new dress but she had finally persuaded the dour woman to buy a dark blue, still serge but at least a different colour.
    Behind her, Henry pulled back the curtain and ushered Mr Prosser back into the shop. Catherine smiled at the ugly man. She hated the way his eyes ranged over her as if she were another item to be purchased from her husband’s shop. She did her best not to show her feelings. Mr Prosser was one of Henry’s clients and it was her job to make him feel welcome.
    Prosser inclined his head to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Wiltshire.”
    â€œGood day to you, Mr Prosser.”
    The door opened and let in a blast of heat along with the distant whistle of the train.
    Henry drew out his watch. “Right on time.” He closed the door on Prosser and turned, a broad smile spread across his face. “That was a most fortuitous meeting.”
    â€œI’m glad.”
    â€œMr Prosser knows a lot about this country.”
    â€œDoes he?”
    â€œHe says the farmers on the plains are doomed. The only place to make a living is in the hills.”
    â€œBut there are so many families farming on the plains.”
    â€œYes, I’m not sure that Prosser is one hundred per cent right about that but he’s been in the area longer than me.” Henry’s dark brown eyes widened. “And you’ll never guess where he lives.”
    â€œI’m sure I wouldn’t, Henry.”
    â€œMr Prosser is a neighbour to that uncouth Baker fellow who was in the shop a few weeks back.”
    Catherine frowned. “Baker?”
    â€œWith the rabble of children and natives.”
    â€œYes, I remember.” Catherine had found them all rather pleasant but she wasn’t about to tell her husband that.
    â€œProsser says Baker has the natives living with him and … well I won’t tell you some of the scandalous things he told me about their arrangements. Not suitable for your delicate ears, my dear.”
    Catherine was disappointed. There was little of interest that happened in Hawker; the idea of some gossip, and more than that, gossip that might be a little salacious, was quite delectable. She knew there would be no point in pressing Henry.
    â€œI’ve made a good sale in your absence. Mrs Harris took a length of fabric for a new dress, two shirts for her husband and a bag of grocery items.”
    â€œWell done, my dear.” Henry gave her a condescending smile and patted her on the hand. “You are quite the salesperson. Once we get some more money behind us I will build you a separate house and employ an assistant. Then you can be a lady of leisure.” His grin deepened and there was a glint in his eye.
    Catherine held in the sigh that wanted to escape her lips. She longed for a fine home, there