Samantha Wheeler lives in Brisbane with her husband, two daughters, two dogs and a horse. After a varied career involving dairy farmers and teaching, Samantha took up writing in 2009. Her first children’s book, Smooch & Rose, was shortlisted for the 2014 Queensland Literary Awards and the Readings Children’s Book Prize. Her second book, Spud & Charli, was imagined while riding her horse through the bush and her third book, Mister Cassowary, was shortlisted for the 2016 Wilderness Society Environment Award for Children’s Literature, the Readings Children’s Book Prize, the Speech Pathology Australia Book of the Year Award and was commended in the Royal Zoological Society of New South Wales Whitley Award. Wombat Warriors is Samantha’s fourth book.
www.samanthawheeler.com.au
Also by Samantha Wheeler
Smooch & Rose
Spud & Charli
Mister Cassowary
To wildlife carers everywhere.
‘Look out!’ cried Mum as Dad braked to miss a large white duck waddling across the driveway.
I pressed my face to the window. I knew staying with Aunt Evie would be different, but I hadn’t expected an old sandstone cottage almost ready to collapse. Nor was I prepared for the raggle-taggle gypsy striding towards us. I swallowed hard. Tall and thin, with her dark curly hair tied up in a red scarf, Aunt Evie didn’t look anything like Dad. Plus, she wore socks with her sandals. Dad never wore sandals.
‘Honestly!’ she scolded as Dad opened his door. ‘Pumpkin’s my pet duck, not a speed bump.’ Her brown eyes twinkled as she peered into the back seat. ‘Now, where’s that long-lost niece of mine? Minnie Matheson? Is that you? Goodness, don’t look so scared. I don’t bite.’
The cool air was fresh on my face as I slid nervously from the car. Aunt Evie had lived near us years ago, but I hadn’t seen her since I was a toddler so I didn’t remember her. She’d left Brisbane to work in Melbourne and had only recently moved to South Australia.
‘Hi,’ I squeaked, dodging Pumpkin as he flapped at my feet. I took a breath and held out a shaky hand. ‘Nice to meet—’
My carefully practised introduction was drowned by Aunt Evie’s suffocating hug. Her knitted jumper, scratchy on my cheeks, smelt like wool wash mixed with sunshine.
‘Thanks a mill for your help, sis,’ said Dad, stealing a hug and a kiss from Aunt Evie before glancing into the car. ‘We couldn’t have done this without you.’
Easing from the front seat, Mum reached hastily into her pocket for another tissue. Her mum, my nanna, had died unexpectedly in Ireland, and now Mum and Dad were flying there to sort out Nanna’s affairs.
Aunt Evie gave Mum an extra big hug. ‘So sorry for your loss,’ she said kindly. ‘Never nice losing a loved one. Especially one so far away.’
‘Thanks,’ Mum murmured. ‘It has been quite a shock.’ She reached out to pull me to her side. ‘Thanks so much for looking after our precious girl.’
I chewed the inside of my cheek. It wasn’t that I minded staying with Aunt Evie. She was Dad’s sister after all. And from the stories Dad told me about them growing up, she did sound kind of fun. It was just … six weeks without Mum and Dad? I’d never done anything without them before.
‘If only,’ Dad had said when I’d begged them to take me. ‘Sorry, hon, you know we would if we could. But it’ll be no fun for you over there – all black suits and serious faces. Besides, some country air and a bit of freedom will do you good.’
‘But I’ll miss you!’ I’d pleaded. ‘Who’ll talk to my teacher if something goes wrong? Who’ll help me with my homework and make sure I’m okay?’
‘Like I said, we’ll email and Skype,’ Dad promised, ‘and, if you’re lucky, we might even send a few postcards. Come on, Mouse, Mum and I need you to be brave about this. Don’t you think it’s time you did stuff for yourself?’
And that was that. Mum and Dad bought two plane tickets for Ireland, and I packed for six weeks of winter – in freezing cold South Australia.
‘You head off,’ Aunt Evie instructed Mum and Dad once my bags had been unloaded. ‘I mean, I’d love for you to stay and chat, but I’m worried you’ll miss your flight.’
Dad checked his watch. ‘Oh, goodness! It’s already after one, and we still have to return the hire car. You’ll be okay, won’t you, Mouse?’ he said, turning towards me.
I stood beside my brand-new suitcase, gripping the spongy strap. Pumpkin the duck pulled hungrily at my yellow shoelaces. ‘Hope so,’ I said, blinking back tears. ‘One last hug?’ I’d given them a thousand hugs before we’d left Brisbane, but one more wouldn’t hurt.
The trail of dust from Mum and Dad’s car had hardly settled before Aunt Evie was bundling me inside out of the cold. A windmill beside the cottage creaked a rusty welcome as she opened up the door. ‘We’re going to have a lot of fun,’ she said, nodding so enthusiastically that her curly hair bounced. ‘Wait till you’re all unpacked and have set out a few things of your own. You’ll feel a hundred times better. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.’
Dad had told me Aunt Evie was renting from a local sheep farmer in a place called Truro. Although the cottage was over an hour from Adelaide, it was, according to Dad, the perfect location for Aunt Evie’s work. Aunt Evie visited farmers and helped them feed their cows. Since most of her clients lived near Truro, she wasn’t too far away.
Once inside the cottage, I decided, with a shiver, that South Australian buildings weren’t like the homes back in Brisbane, which were full of light and space and airiness. Instead, Aunt Evie’s cottage was dark and solid, its thick windows and heavy frames blocking out the light.
Even worse, the wooden floors were badly scratched and the skirting boards were gouged, like they’d been chewed. I wondered if Aunt Evie had a dog.
‘This way,’ she encouraged, dragging my suitcase behind her. We passed a couch with split cushions spewing yellow stuffing everywhere and a pot-belly stove oozing warmth into the lounge.
The floorboards were just as scratched in the hallway, where it smelt musty, like old mulching straw from the garden.
‘That’s my room,’ said Aunt Evie, pointing to a closed door, ‘and then the bathroom, and your room, right here at the end. You’re my first official guest, Minnie. I hope you like it.’
‘Mouse,’ I whispered.
Aunt Evie stopped short. ‘Sorry? What did you say? A mouse?’
My face felt hot. I wished Mum and Dad had explained my name to Aunt Evie before they’d left. But they hadn’t, and now they were gone.
‘No, not a mouse …’ I mumbled, taking a shaky breath.
‘What did you see?’
‘Um, well, nothing, just with my name …’
Aunt Evie scratched the top of her head. ‘You mean Minnie? After your ancient aunt Winifred Robinson? I always thought Minnie was a nice compromise. In fact, I think you have a lovely name.’
‘Well, um, at home, Mum and Dad, they …’
Aunt Evie smiled reassuringly as my words froze on my tongue. ‘Ah, yes. I imagine there are lots of things I need to know about Mum and Dad.’ She paused, her hand on the door knob. ‘But one thing I do know is I’m not telepathic and, like I said, I won’t bite. If you and I are going to get along, you’re going to have to speak up. Besides, you’re nine, now, and old enough to say what you want.’
I managed a nod, but then lowered my head to hide my wobbling lip. I wasn’t used to being told to speak up.
‘Okay, good. Then we have a deal. Now, what were you saying? At home, Mum and Dad …?’
‘Call me Mouse,’ I said.
Aunt Evie looked relieved. ‘Oh! Like Minnie Mouse? Well, Mouse it is then,
’ she said, turning and opening the door. ‘Okay, Mouse, what do you think of your new nest? I washed the curtains yesterday. And that’s a new rug, just for you.’
The curtains were bright yellow and a chirpy blue rug lay on the floor. The single bed under the window had been made up with a flowery doona and a smiley face cushion sat jauntily against the pillows.
It was perfect.
Aunt Evie pulled my suitcase over to the bed. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in while I make some tea, but come through to the kitchen when you’re done and we’ll rustle up something nice for lunch. Do you like haloumi cheese?’
Once Aunt Evie’s footsteps had disappeared down the hall, I plopped on the bed. The mattress was firm but soft. Just how I liked it. I sighed. The room was pretty cheerful. And Aunt Evie did seem kind. Maybe it would be okay?
I unzipped my suitcase and pulled out my new art pad and pencils – consolation gifts from Mum and Dad for not taking me to Ireland. Then, instead of unpacking the rest of my things, I sat crossed-legged on the doona, flicking through my sketches.
The first one was of Cheeky, my Quaker parrot, who we’d left behind with our neighbour. I squinted sideways at the sketch. I’d tried drawing myself beside Cheeky, but something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t my wispy hair, or my half-smile. They were pretty standard for me. It wasn’t even my skinny arms, or the way my left eye was a teensy bit greener than my right. No, it was something to do with Cheeky. Perhaps I hadn’t quite got the angle of his beak—
Thud!
My heart skipped. I craned my neck to peer down the hallway. What was that?
Thud! Thump!
I returned to my sketch, determined not to panic. It was only a bit of noise. Perhaps the roof creaking? Or a possum trying to sneak in through the eaves? I thought of the chewed skirting boards. Perhaps Aunt Evie really did have a dog. A very large, noisy dog. I wished I’d asked.
Thud! Thump! Crash!
I dropped my pencil. The noises were too loud for a possum and too heavy for a dog. It sounded like a demolition team out there.
‘Aunt Evie?’
I held my breath, listening for her response. But there was nothing except the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Where was Aunt Evie? I wanted to run down the hallway to find her, but my legs had turned to wood.
CRASH!
I leapt from the bed. That was too loud to be normal. Maybe Aunt Evie had dropped the kettle, scalding herself with boiling water? Or maybe she was being attacked? I couldn’t just sit here if she was seriously injured. I had to be brave and find her.
I ran down the hallway and skidded to a halt outside Aunt Evie’s bedroom door as there was another thump against the wall. A hoarse cough came from inside.
My heart raced.
‘Aunt Evie?’ I whispered, pushing down the handle. ‘Are you okay?’
The door wouldn’t budge. I listened, my palms sweaty, as a low growl rumbled from behind the door.
‘Aunt Evie?’ I said more strongly, giving the door another shove. But something solid blocked the other side.
I pushed as the growling grew louder. Then, after another huge shove, I managed to make a gap between the door and the frame.
I poked my head in and screamed as a dark shape leapt towards me.
Corgi-sized but fatter, with short legs and no tail, the creature’s thick grey coat was flecked with lighter patches of fur. Its large nose twitched as it nibbled my feet, its whiskers tickling my shins.
‘A wombat?’ I marvelled, my pulse returning to normal.
I checked around for Aunt Evie but couldn’t see her anywhere. I’d never heard of anyone keeping a wombat inside a house.
Meanwhile, the wombat barged at my shins and rubbed its back and head against my legs, reminding me of a cat – a very large cat – demanding to be petted. It had thick strong claws, and I wondered if it was safe to touch it.
But when I reached out a tentative hand, the wriggling bundle pressed against my fingers begging me to a scratch it. Its fur was soft and silky and smelt like a mixture of damp earth and guinea pig.
‘Oh, you’re lovely,’ I whispered, sinking to the floor beside it. I stroked its face and back and then its face again. When I finally looked up, I glanced around Aunt Evie’s room. It was all was decked out in red: a red and black patterned rug, rusty red curtains and a gold and red lamp beside the bed.
‘Quack, quack.’
I jumped as Pumpkin burst into the room and hissed at me before nudging the wombat’s face, giving it ducky kisses.
‘Pumpkin, out of there!’ called Aunt Evie, racing in after him. ‘Sorry, Mouse. This cheeky duck thinks he owns poor Miss Pearl.’
‘The wombat’s name is Miss Pearl?’ I giggled, turning back to pat her while Pumpkin prodded me with his beak.
‘Just push Pumpkin away, love,’ said Aunt Evie, nudging the duck’s backside gently with her foot. ‘It’s ridiculous the way Pumpkin carries on – like a love-struck Romeo. But there’s no point scolding him; he’s virtually deaf. Here, let’s put him in the hall and close the bedroom door.’
With the duck firmly relocated, Aunt Evie squatted beside me and helped to scratch Miss Pearl’s back. Aunt Evie smelt faintly of peppermint, like the tea Mum sometimes drank.
‘Is Miss Pearl your pet?’ I asked.
‘Well, I suppose she is in a way, yes.’
I tipped my head to one side. ‘But how …’
Aunt Evie waited. Then I remembered our deal. With no Mum and Dad here to finish my questions, I had to do it myself. ‘But how did you get a wombat as a pet?’ I asked shyly.
Aunt Evie smiled. ‘A perfectly reasonable question. I found Miss Pearl near the entrance of a burrow on one of my recent farm visits. She was barely breathing so I bundled her up and raced her to the local vet. They told me she was a southern hairy-nosed wombat. After diagnosing her with pneumonia, they gave me antibiotics and a long list of instructions. I’ve been nursing her back to health ever since.’ Aunt Evie tickled Miss Pearl’s chin, and the wombat looked up, her whiskers twitching. ‘The two of us have become rather attached, haven’t we, missy?’
I rubbed Miss Pearl behind the ears. ‘Will she ever go back into the wild?’ I asked.
Aunt Evie shook her head. ‘Her lungs are too weak after such a long bout of pneumonia. Besides, there’s a rule here that if you’ve kept a wombat in captivity for more than forty days, you’re not supposed to release them back to their burrows.’
I almost fell backwards as Miss Pearl began clambering over my legs, butting my stomach and then sniffing my face.
‘Hey, Miss Pearl, be nice!’ chastised Aunt Evie. ‘She’s a total food monster, this one. Sorry, Mouse.’
I laughed as Miss Pearl’s long whiskers tickled my chin.
‘She’s part of the furniture now.’ Aunt Evie pulled Miss Pearl gently away from me, scratching her back and the top of her head. ‘She sleeps, she eats, she makes mischief. But mostly, she doesn’t know the meaning of quiet, do you, young lady?’ She held Miss Pearl close to her chest, giving her a hug. ‘I told Miss Pearl all about you, about how much I was looking forward having you stay. But I thought I’d at least give you a chance to unpack before introducing you!’
After their hug, Aunt Evie opened her bedroom door and Miss Pearl barged past me towards the kitchen. Her black toenails tapped against the floorboards, and I suddenly understood the scratches in the wood. Wombats have very thick toenails.
‘Come on,’ said Aunt Evie, standing up. ‘How about we make that lunch I promised you. I want to tell you all about your new school and organise the things you’ll need to take. I bet you’re looking forward to it. First day tomorrow.’
‘Aunt Evie?’ I began as I stood up to follow her. ‘Well, you see … I was wondering …’
Aunt Evie waited.
Mum and Dad had asked Aunt Evie to
enrol me in the local school in case I fell behind while they were away. But I didn’t want to go. It was hard enough in Brisbane where all the schoolkids knew me. What would I say in a new school? To new students and new teachers? What if no one listened?
‘About school,’ I finally stammered. ‘Do I have to go?’
‘Mouse!’ said Aunt Evie, raising her eyebrows in surprise. ‘A niece of mine skipping school? Has the cow flown over the sun?’
I wrinkled my nose. Didn’t she mean ‘cow flown over the moon’?
‘Don’t tell me you’re coming down with something?’ she asked, placing a cool hand on my forehead and shaking her head.
‘No, it’s just, well, you see, Mum and Dad will only be gone six weeks and …’
‘Tsk. It’ll easily be more. Do you know how tricky legal systems can be?’ She stopped when she saw my crumpled face. No one had said anything about Mum and Dad being away longer. What if they were still in Ireland at Christmas?
‘Come on, buck up! School in the country will be fun. Apparently you’ll be doing some big project – some “ology” thing or other. Sounds weird, I know, but amazing, too. Besides, I’m no company for someone your age. Spending your days rattling around the countryside with me, visiting smelly old cows? Absolutely no fun at all. I know what I’d rather do.’
Cows weren’t smelly. I would have loved to go and visit them. ‘But I’m way ahead of my class at home,’ I mumbled. ‘I don’t need to go to school.’
‘Five times three?’ quizzed Aunt Evie.
‘Pardon?’
‘Your five times tables. What’s five times three?’
Maths wasn’t my strong point. ‘Oh, um, 15.’
‘Eight 12s?’ she called, walking down the hall towards the kitchen.
‘Um …’
‘Don’t you want to go to uni like me and your mum and dad did?’
I hung my head. I wanted to be a doctor, just like Dad.
‘Well then. School it is. Now, what did you say about that haloumi cheese?’
Wombat Warriors Page 1
