Ruby and the Country Cousins

by Lucia Masciullo

  Contents

  1 The Last Day

  2 Goodbye

  3 Arriving

  4 The First Night

  5 The First Morning

  6 Kettle Farm

  7 Going to School

  8 Getting Used to It

  9 Best Friends

  10 Troubles

  11 More Troubles

  RUBY Quinlan stood in the garden and looked back at her house. Ever since she could remember, she had curled up in its window seats and snuggled down in front of its fireplaces and played hopscotch on its wide tiled verandah. When she was very little she’d tried to catch the sunbeams streaming through the coloured glass around the front door, because Dad had told her they were fairies.

  The house was a part of her life, a part of her. And now it belonged to the Walkers. Dad’s building business had failed and he’d had to sell the house to raise money. Ruby knew it wasn’t Dad’s fault. Mother had explained to her that Australia was in the grip of something called The Depression. People everywhere were struggling because there wasn’t enough money to go around.

  Ruby hated what had happened to her family. By tomorrow her home would be Brenda Walker’s home, and she and Mother would be living way out in the country with their relatives, the Camerons.

  Although Aunt Vera was her mother’s older sister, Ruby didn’t really know the Camerons. The last time she’d visited their farm she was six years old, and the only thing she remembered about it was being pecked by a rooster. She and her cousin May were the same age, so they should have been good friends, but they weren’t. May was actually rather odd. All Ruby’s friends had thought so when they met her at Ruby’s twelfth birthday party last year. As Marjorie Mack had said later, she’d stuck out like a cabbage in a rose garden.

  Right now Ruby didn’t want to think about May Cameron. Her plan was to take some special ‘last day’ photographs of her home. She might even get them framed. Dad had framed some of his best work.

  Standing near the front gate, she adjusted her camera until she had the perfect image. In the camera’s viewfinder the house was no bigger than a postage stamp. If only she could shrink the real house to this size and keep it forever, like a precious jewel! If only –

  ‘Hello, Ruby.’

  Ruby nearly dropped her camera. Oh my hat, she thought, turning around. It’s Brenda Walker. I wish she wouldn’t sneak up on me like that.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, Brenda?’ she asked.

  ‘Miss Fraser sent me home early because I was feeling sick. The nurse said I might have a touch of colic.’

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sunlight flashed on Brenda’s round spectacles. ‘Actually, I came by specially to say goodbye. Are you very excited?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? You’re going to live in the country!  You might have your own horse!’

  ‘Nobody ever said anything about a horse.’

  I don’t even have my own bicycle any more, Ruby thought. How can Brenda stand there and talk to me as if I’m going on some sort of amazing adventure? Can’t she understand that I’ve lost practically everything, and I have to live somewhere I absolutely don’t want to be?

  She re-aimed her camera, tripped the shutter, wound on the film, and walked back down the path.

  Brenda followed her. ‘You could take a photograph of me,’ she suggested.

  ‘I’m only taking photographs of things I want to remember,’ Ruby said. ‘You’d better get on home, Brenda. You might start feeling sick again.’

  ‘I suppose I might. I’ll say goodbye, then. Goodbye, Ruby.’

  ‘Goodbye, Brenda.’

  Ruby waited until she heard the front gate click shut, and then she photographed her little fox terrier, Baxter, who was happily killing an old slipper of Mother’s beneath the wisteria arbour. Next she photographed the fishpond with its fountain, and the shiny green ceramic frog that lived in the rockery. Ruby had given the frog to Dad for his birthday only last year.

  It broke Ruby’s heart that Dad couldn’t come to the country with her and Mother. He had to stay behind to try and find work and to help with the sale of all the things the Walkers didn’t want. ‘Odds and sods’ the auctioneer called them, as if they were just rubbish.

  Ruby took a photograph of the front door, leaving just one exposure on her roll of film, and went back inside the house. She found her father in his study, taking his framed photographs off the wall.

  ‘I don’t know if anybody will want these,’ he said. ‘But the frames could be worth a few bob.’

  Ruby was shocked. ‘Dad, you can’t sell your photographs!’

  ‘We have to make as much money as we can from this sale, sweetheart. The men who used to work for me have wages due to them. Why should they suffer because I couldn’t run a business properly?’

  ‘You did run your business properly! You didn’t do anything wrong! You’re the best builder in Adelaide!’

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’ Dad placed the last of the photographs on the pile.

  Ruby put her hands over her mouth to stop herself from saying anything more. She wanted to scream about the awfulness of what was happening, but Mother had told her that Dad mustn’t be upset – he already had such a lot to cope with. So instead she made herself look at the photographs. ‘I love these. Will it be all right if I take just one?’

  ‘I suppose so. Take whatever you want.’

  One by one, Ruby picked up the black-and-white photographs. They were nearly all of country scenes – hills in cloud shadow, a wheat field, a ploughed paddock with a flock of birds.

  ‘They’re smashing, Dad, honestly. Do you think I’ll ever be as good as you are?’

  ‘Of course you will. Photography is a wonderful hobby, and it’s something we can enjoy together when . . . when money isn’t a problem for us anymore. I want to see some beautiful work from you. You’ll be living in a lovely spot, so you should find plenty of inspiration.’

  Lovely? I’m sure it isn’t a bit lovely, Ruby thought. She looked at the photographs again, and chose a picture of an old stone building nestled under a tree on the side of a hill. Dad had photographed it in low sunshine so that every detail was outlined in glowing light. ‘I like this one,’ she said.

  ‘It’s yours.’

  Ruby hugged it to her chest. ‘Dad, do you remember how when I was a baby you told me the coloured sunbeams in the front hall were fairies? I really believed you. I knew you’d never tell me a fib.’

  ‘Perhaps they were fairies. Who knows what fairies look like?’

  ‘I do. They look like little coloured lights.’

  Dad smiled. Then, serious now, he sat in his chair and looked up at her. ‘Ruby, I know I’ve failed you and your mother. I’d give anything to make it all right again. But whatever happens, remember that I love you. I love you very much.’

  Ruby felt her spine prickle. ‘Dad, don’t say things like that. It scares me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. The last thing I mean to do is scare you. You’re going to be all right, I know. You’ll find your feet in no time.’

  Ruby could see that Dad was making a huge effort to be cheerful. Her chin started to wobble, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see.

  ‘It’s just that people might say things to you – about me, about what happened to my business. If they do, try not to be upset. I can’t make things better for us now, but one day I will. We won’t give up, will we?’

  Ruby didn’t dare speak. She shook her head.

  ‘Good girl,’ Dad said. ‘And now I could do with a cup of tea. Why don’t you ask your mother to put the kettle on?’

  THEIR train was due to leave at
4.35 in the afternoon, and Uncle Donald had promised to come in his car at 3.30 to take Ruby and Mother to the Adelaide Railway Station. He’d offered to give them a lift because Dad didn’t have a car now. The Buick had been one of the first things to be sold.

  Together Dad and Ruby carried the luggage – a steamer trunk, two suitcases and a round hatbox – into the front hall. Afterwards, with just a few minutes left, Ruby walked all through the house, breathing it in for the last time.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered as she went from room to room. ‘Goodbye, kitchen. Goodbye, bedroom.’

  She went out of the house and into the front garden. ‘Goodbye, fountain. Goodbye, fishpond. Goodbye, poor little fishes. I hope Brenda remembers to feed you.’

  Ruby jumped as she heard the crunch of wheels on the gravelled drive, and the beep-beep of a car horn. This is it, she thought. She felt as if she’d been emptied out and then filled up to the brim with sadness. But when Donald Walker walked towards her over the lawn she managed to smile at him. ‘Hello, Uncle Donald.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Ruby. All ready for the great adventure?’

  ‘Mm,’ said Ruby. ‘Come inside – there’s a pile of things to carry out.’

  ‘Right then. I’d better give Harry a hand.’

  Dad was already at the front door, struggling with the two heavy suitcases. After him came Mother, pale and calm, carrying the hatbox. Although the weather was quite warm, she was wearing her best tweed suit. Around her shoulders was a fox fur, its two ends clipped together by the fox’s head so that it looked as if the animal was biting his own tail. Ruby liked to imagine that the fox was alive and could talk to her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said now, winking one bright glass eye. ‘Don’t be sad.’

  In hardly any time at all everything was loaded into the car. Ruby hugged Dad goodbye, holding her breath so she wouldn’t cry, and climbed into the back seat. ‘Baxter!’ she called.

  The little dog loved going for drives. He leaped up into the car and settled himself on her lap. Ruby held him close, burying her face in his warm, Baxter-smelling neck. She wondered if he knew he was leaving home for the last time.

  Uncle Donald pulled on his driving gloves. ‘All ready, ladies?’

  ‘All ready,’ Mother said.

  Ruby wound down the window and waved to Dad. She could hardly see him through the blur of tears, but she tried to smile. She picked up Baxter’s front paw and made him wave too.

  And then they were off.

  Ruby couldn’t help being a little bit excited by all the noise and bustle at Adelaide Railway Station. Trains hissed and sighed, clouds of steam billowed, brakes screeched, whistles shrilled. Announcements boomed over the loudspeaker.

  Ruby found that she was holding her mother’s hand, and Mother was clutching her hand back, hard. Baxter shivered miserably at the end of his lead.

  Uncle Donald found a porter to carry their luggage and directed them to the right platform, where their train was waiting.

  ‘Will you be all right, Winifred?’ he asked Mother.

  ‘Perfectly,’ Mother replied. ‘Thank you, Don. You’ve been very kind. And you will look after Harry for me, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will. Goodbye, then. Good luck!’ Uncle Donald tipped his hat to Mother, grinned at Ruby, and disappeared into the crowd.

  The porter stowed their luggage in the guard’s van, and Baxter, his short tail wedged firmly between his legs, was tied up beside it. The guard fixed a label to his collar that said Quinlan – Mt Pleasant. As Ruby walked away from him, Baxter began to whine. The sad little sound brought tears to Ruby’s eyes all over again.

  ‘Mother, please can I stay in here with Baxter?’ she begged. ‘He doesn’t know what’s happening, and he’s so unhappy. Listen to him!’

  ‘Sorry, miss,’ said the guard. ‘No passengers in the van.’ He winked at Ruby. ‘Don’t worry about this little bloke. Once we get moving I’ll get him a drink of water.’ He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a big silver watch on a chain. ‘You’d better get into your carriage, ma’am,’ he said to Mother. ‘Train’s due to leave in less than half a minute.’ Turning away from them, he blew a shrill blast on the whistle that hung around his neck. ‘All aboard!’ he shouted.

  Ruby and Mother hurried back to their carriage. Seconds later the train gave a loud metallic screech and began to move out of the station, gradually gathering speed. Mother opened up her Ladies’ Home Journal and began to read – as if, Ruby thought, this was just an ordinary day and an ordinary train trip.

  After about half an hour the train began the climb into the Adelaide Hills. Ruby could hear the locomotive starting to chug more slowly as it built up steam. Smoke from the smoke-stack drifted past her window. The air was cooler now, and the stations were further apart.

  Sleep’s Hill, Blackwood, Belair, Long Gully, Mount Lofty . . . Slowly the Hills stations came and went. At some of the halts the guard stepped off the train to deliver a box or a package and have a friendly chat with the station master. During a long stop at the Bridgewater station, Ruby stuck her head out the window and saw a couple of ragged men look furtively around before climbing into the guard’s van. Swaggies, probably, looking for a free train ride. Immediately she heard furious barking in the distance, and she couldn’t help smiling to herself.

  ‘Be nice to them, Baxter,’ she murmured.

  By the time they reached the branch line at Balhannah, the sun was beginning to set. There was a delay while passengers and goods were transferred to the Mount Pleasant train, and then off they went again. The train rattled and swayed. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Soon the windows showed nothing but blackness.

  ‘MOUNT Pleasant!’ shouted the guard, swinging himself down to the platform as the train slid to a stop. ‘End of the line!’

  Mother sat up with a jerk and straightened her hat. ‘I must have dozed off. Good lord, it’s after seven o’clock.’ She began to fuss around, collecting the hatbox and her handbag and an umbrella, and looking under the seat for her magazine, which had slipped from her lap.

  Ruby stood up. Her stomach was jumping with nervousness. All kinds of thoughts crowded into her head. Would her aunt and uncle be pleased that she and Mother were staying with them? What would life on the farm be like? Would she and May become friends?

  She hopped down from the carriage and went to collect Baxter, who greeted her with a frenzy of happy barking. She untied him and led him out onto the platform.

  In the light from the station building several people were waiting. Ruby couldn’t remember clearly what Uncle James Cameron looked like, but she knew he’d be easy to pick because he’d lost an arm in the war.

  A tall, thin man stepped forward. The right sleeve of his coat was empty, pinned up.

  ‘Ruby?’

  ‘Hello, Uncle James.’

  ‘You’ve grown. I almost didn’t recognise you.’ He raised his hat as Mother came up to him. ‘Evening, Winifred.’

  ‘Good evening, James,’ Mother said. She juggled her bags, dropped her umbrella. ‘This is most thoughtful –’

  Uncle James interrupted her. ‘Excuse me, Winifred, does that belong to you?’ he asked, jerking his thumb at Baxter.

  ‘He’s not a that,’ Ruby said. ‘He’s Baxter. He’s my dog.’

  ‘Nobody told me I’d be taking in a dog,’ said Uncle James. His face twitched. ‘I’ve got two already, and they have to work for a living.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mother. ‘I thought I’d mentioned this to Vera. It’s been rather difficult . . . Baxter means so much to Ruby, especially now. I do hope it isn’t a problem.’

  ‘As long as he doesn’t cause any trouble,’ Uncle James said, giving Baxter an unfriendly look. ‘Got much luggage?’ he asked, turning to Mother.

  ‘There are two suitcases and a trunk in the van,’ Mother replied. She glanced at the place where Uncle James’s right arm should have been. ‘I’ll ask the guard to help.’

  ‘We can
manage,’ said Uncle James. ‘The car’s only a few yards away. Let’s get your things loaded.’

  Ruby sat with Baxter in the back seat of Uncle James’s rickety old Model-T Ford, squeezed up against the pile of luggage. The Ford was a bit like a wooden fruit box on wheels. It was so uncomfortable, so different from Dad’s sleek Buick with its soft, padded leather seats! These seats were hard and cracked, and the wind whistled through the side curtains, and cold air crept up through gaps in the floorboards.

  The car’s weak headlights made a wavering tunnel of light ahead. Twice Ruby saw rabbits hopping for safety; another time Mother gave a faint scream when a white owl flapped across the windscreen and swooped up into the darkness.

  Uncle James didn’t say very much. Perhaps, thought Ruby, he had to concentrate on his driving. He wasn’t a very good driver: the car swerved all over the road. That could have been because he had to change the gears and steer with only one arm, or perhaps it was because there were so many pot-holes.

  By the time her uncle said, ‘Here we are,’ Ruby was frozen stiff, and her bottom was numb. Baxter, on her lap, had gone to sleep.

  Uncle James turned the car into a driveway, and the headlights shone briefly on a piece of board that said KETTLE FARM in black letters. The driveway wound up a hill until it reached a dark building outlined against the sky. It didn’t look very welcoming, Ruby thought with a shiver.

  A dog began to bark, and instantly Baxter woke up, bristling, and growled deep in his throat. Ruby held him close. ‘Don’t you dare, Baxter,’ she whispered. ‘Be good, or – or I don’t know what will happen to you.’

  Uncle James stopped the car with a lurch and a roar, dragged up the handbrake and switched off the headlights. They all sat for a moment in sudden silence and total darkness. Soon, to her relief, Ruby saw a light moving in one of the house windows, and Aunt Vera appeared at the front door, holding a kerosene lamp.

  ‘Here you are at last,’ Aunt Vera said, helping Mother out of the car. She kissed her sister on the cheek. ‘And here’s Ruby. Hello, Ruby.’ She looked at Baxter. ‘And who’s this?’