Back at the cottage, I changed out of my stupid daisy dress into an old pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a jumper. I was about to fling myself onto my bed when Aunt Evie called out, ‘Miss Pearl’s awake! Want to come help?’
The sight of Miss Pearl’s silky fur and button eyes soon cheered me up. She snuffled my feet and rubbed against my shins, while Pumpkin stalked me from under the kitchen chairs. Aunt Evie stood at the benchtop, tossing rolled oats, green-grey pellets and grated carrots into a big metal bucket.
‘Is that all for Miss Pearl?’ I asked.
‘Yes, she’s starving, aren’t you, poor love?’
I giggled. Miss Pearl looked anything but starving.
Aunt Evie passed me the bucket and, after she and I had grabbed our coats, led us all out to the yard. Pumpkin waddled along slowly, but Miss Pearl hopped and leapt beside us like an excitable puppy, running a few steps forwards, a few steps back, and then skipped in happy circles around our feet. All of a sudden she sat and scratched her ears with her back claws, then flicked her head and jumped up as if shaking off cobwebs. I grinned. She really was the sweetest thing.
‘Can you pour her food out here?’ asked Aunt Evie, pointing to a tin plate on the ground. ‘Not all of it, mind you. About a quarter. We’ll just see how hungry our feisty friend is today.’
Miss Pearl couldn’t wait to start her dinner. She hovered so close to the plate that food fell like confetti over her head as I poured it out. A brown-headed honeyeater trilled from a nearby branch while Pumpkin pecked hungrily, flicking pellets this way and that.
‘Guts,’ I said, laughing.
‘Well, that’s the funny thing,’ said Aunt Evie, swiping oats from Miss Pearl’s head. ‘Since looking after Miss Pearl, I’ve discovered that wombats don’t actually eat that much. It apparently takes something like six wombats to eat the same amount as one sheep.’
Miss Pearl soon finished her food and waddled back to the veranda to scratch her back on one of the patio chairs. Pumpkin followed and jumped up on the arm of the chair, fluffing his feathers. The chair was light, so each time Miss Pearl scratched her back the whole thing slid to the side taking Pumpkin for a ride.
I was still laughing when Aunt Evie’s mobile beeped.
‘That’ll be your mum and dad messaging to say they’re ready to Skype,’ said Aunt Evie, pulling the phone from her jacket. ‘Quick, go and turn on my laptop in the lounge room, while I text to let them know you’re ready.’
‘Look at your pink cheeks!’ exclaimed Mum. ‘Have you been running around?’
Mum and Dad were squished on a couch, their heads together as they peered into the screen. I swallowed a lump in my throat. It was strange seeing the two of them over there, with me over here. We were such a long way away from each other and all such a long way from home.
‘Mouse? You okay?’ Dad’s voice was calm, reassuring. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘I’m fine. I … um …’ I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to tell Mum and Dad about Miss Pearl. ‘Um … I’ve been outside, helping Aunt Evie.’
‘Oh, good. So, you’ve settled in okay?’ asked Dad.
Settled in? I hadn’t moved house.
Dad leant a little closer, his face taking over the screen. ‘And school? Do you like your new school?’
‘It’s not my new school,’ I began, but Mum interrupted, asking if it was cold.
I nodded, holding open my coat to show the jumper I had on underneath.
‘What was it like?’ tried Dad again. ‘At school, I mean?’
Their smiles made my heart ache, and I completely lost my voice. I wondered if they were missing me as much as I was missing them.
‘Is it okay? Are the kids nice?’
‘No. Well, maybe. Some are.’ I thought of Harry, so happy at school, yet so sad watching the tractor in the paddock. I would have to work up the courage to ask him what that had been about. ‘There’s only three classes, and I’m in a composite class with Grades Three, Four and—’
‘What’s that? Over there?’ Mum asked suddenly, her voice shrill.
Miss Pearl was sniffing the floor behind me. I mustn’t have closed the front door properly.
‘Miss Pearl, come on out of there!’ shouted Aunt Evie. ‘Leave Mouse alone.’ Aunt Evie burst through the room, trying to catch the cheeky wombat, but Miss Pearl clattered towards where I sat, and leapt onto my lap. The laptop was knocked sideways as Mum’s voice shrieked from inside it.
‘Mouse!’ shouted Mum. ‘Is that a giant rat?’
Aunt Evie retrieved the laptop and placed it on the coffee table, then shooed Miss Pearl back outside. ‘Sorry,’ she said, poking her head around the screen. ‘My fault.’
Dad had his arm around Mum when I’d settled back in front of the laptop. ‘That was Aunt Evie’s wombat,’ I explained. ‘Her name’s Miss Pearl.’
‘A wombat?’ said Mum. ‘Inside the house?’ She turned to Dad. ‘I thought you said Evie was renting?’
I smiled. ‘She is, but Miss Pearl’s really cool. She loves carrots and tickles and has a kind of funny best friend. Remember that duck called Pumpkin that we nearly ran over? Well, he protects Miss Pearl, and last night Miss Pearl slept in my bed.’
I saw Dad give Mum a squeeze. ‘That’s great, sweetheart. Now tell us more about school,’ he said.
I briefly explained the ology project but told them I hadn’t decided on my topic yet.
‘How about Quaker parrots like Cheeky?’ suggested Dad. ‘What would that make it? Parrot-ology?’
I scrunched up my nose. I didn’t even want to think about Cheeky. Remembering his happy ‘hello’ chirrups only made me want to cry.
‘Or Queensland-ology?’ suggested Mum. ‘I bet you’re the only Queenslander.’
I snorted. That was half the trouble. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,’ I said, as Miss Pearl pattered back into the room and over to me. ‘How’re things in Ireland?’
I tickled Miss Pearl with my toes while Dad explained that they’d organised Nanna’s funeral for a week’s time and had begun to pack up her things. By the time we’d said goodbye, Miss Pearl was sleeping on my foot, making it numb.
‘Night,’ said Mum and Dad, blowing me kisses.
‘Night,’ I murmured, pretending to catch the kisses and put them on my cheeks. ‘Love you.’
I was upset to see Mum and Dad go, but I couldn’t be too sad with a wombat snoring by my feet. Besides, I’d thought of an idea for my project. Settling deeper into the couch, I typed ‘wombat’ into the search engine.
‘Three species of wombat are currently found in Australia,’ said the first site. ‘The common, or bare-nosed wombat, the southern hairy-nosed wombat, and the very rare northern hairy-nosed wombat, which are only found in Epping Forest in Queensland.’
‘The southern hairy-nosed wombat is listed as a protected species and is only found in certain parts of South Australia. They used to live in Western Australia and New South Wales, too, but no one is sure if there are any left in those areas. They are the smallest of the wombats, weighing between 18 to 32 kilograms, and are said to be the most docile. They are also recorded as having the driest poo of any mammal on earth.’
‘See that?’ I said to Miss Pearl, who was turning herself over so I could tickle her tummy. ‘You’re supposed to be the most docile of your wombat friends.’
‘How’s it going?’ Aunt Evie appeared at the door, her nose rosy and her hair extra woolly from being outside in the cold. She unloaded the wood stacked in her arms, before pulling off her red work gloves. ‘Mum and Dad all good?’
Pumpkin had waddled in after her, and I quickly tucked my feet underneath me to protect my bare toes.
‘Yes, all good. Nanna’s funeral’s next week. They said to say “Hi”.’
An earthy smell enveloped me as Aunt Evie leant over my shou
lder to look at the website. ‘Is this for your project? Have you decided on a topic?’
‘Yes. I’m doing wombat-ology.’
Aunt Evie smiled. ‘How wonderful,’ she said. ‘But then I shouldn’t be surprised. What is it they say? An apple never falls far from the branch?’
On Thursday the bus juddered and shook on my way home from school. Things had got slightly better since my first day. I’d found the library, right between the staffroom and the girls’ toilets, and at lunchtime I’d begun ducking behind the shelves with my ology scrapbook instead of joining the others in the playground. And since the school had no librarian, no one noticed me till I snuck back to class before the bell.
Inside the bus I glanced over at Harry sitting in a seat across the aisle. I still hadn’t asked him why he’d been crying in the sheep paddock. After my first day, when he’d shown me where to wait for the bus, he hadn’t sat down beside me. Not once, all week.
We were almost at the Campbells’ bus stop, the corrugations in the gravel road making my jaw rattle, when a high school boy hollered from the back, ‘Wombat stew at three o’clock!’
I craned to have a look. But as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t.
It could’ve been an old jumper or cushion tossed aside by a passing car. But it wasn’t a cushion. It was something round and furry with a blunt nose and a brown stocky body. A slick of red blood shone on the road beside it.
I felt a wobble of panic. Was the wombat Miss Pearl? I suddenly tasted metal and had to swallow away the queasy feeling in my stomach.
‘Can we stop?’ I pleaded without thinking.
‘Why?’ smirked someone from the back. Harry’s middle brother, Craig, was sitting with the other high school boys, grinning as if it was a hilarious joke. ‘No one around here cares about wombats.’
I dug my nails into the palms of my hands. I wanted to shout, That’s not true! But I couldn’t. And I didn’t want to blurt out Aunt Evie’s secret. Not with Harry watching. He’d tell his mum for sure.
I took a deep breath as the bus rattled on. But as soon as we reached my stop, I flew down the steps and ran full pelt towards the cottage, ignoring my schoolbag banging painfully against my back.
I wrenched open the cottage door, sending Pumpkin flapping away in fright.
‘Aunt Evie! Aunt Evie!’ I cried. ‘Come quickly!’
I found Aunt Evie in the kitchen, tapping away on her laptop. ‘Mouse! Everything all right?’
‘She’s back there! On the road!’ I shouted. ‘I saw blood, and I think—’
‘Slow down. Who’s back there? Where?’
I dumped my bag and steadied my voice. ‘There’s a wombat. Beside the road. I think it’s dead. I thought, maybe …’ I gasped. ‘Where’s Miss Pearl?’
Aunt Evie nodded towards the lounge room. ‘She’s here. See? On the couch.’
Miss Pearl lay belly up on the ripped cushions, her legs twitching in the air. She was fast asleep.
‘It’s another wombat, then. It needs our help. We have to go!’
Aunt Evie held me gently by the shoulders. ‘Calm down, Mouse. Take a deep breath. We’ll have to feed Miss Pearl and Pumpkin before we go anywhere, otherwise they’ll go bananas waiting for their food. Help me quickly, and then we’ll take a look.’
We were flying along the gravelly road. ‘There it is!’ I shouted.
Dust clouded Aunt Evie’s windscreen, but the bundle of fur was unmistakable. I leapt from Aunt Evie’s car as soon as the tyres finished rolling.
The wombat lay on its side, its paws sticking out like stumps. I crouched beside it, swatting away the flies while trying to ignore the trail of ants investigating its dull, lifeless eyes.
‘Is it … is it dead?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.
‘Well and truly,’ said Aunt Evie, her voice flat.
I stared at the wombat’s fur. Instead of being sleek and soft like Miss Pearl’s, this wombat’s coat was bunched up and ragged, like a woollen jumper that has shrunk after being washed in water that’s too hot.
I swallowed.
‘Poor thing,’ Aunt Evie whispered. ‘I wonder what happened.’
‘I think that’s mange,’ I said, pointing to scabs showing through the fur around the wombat’s head. I’d seen pictures on the internet while doing my ology research and knew the lesions were caused by tiny mites burrowing under the skin. ‘Normally wombats don’t drink much,’ I said, ‘but apparently mange makes them very thirsty. The wombat was probably out looking for water when she got hit.’
I nodded towards a small opening on the wombat’s belly. A hint of pink skin showed on the inside. ‘Is that her pouch?’ I asked.
‘Oh, yes. Well spotted. Best we check it. Now, let’s see if I can remember what the vet showed me to do.’ Aunt Evie placed two fingers very gently on the opening of the pouch, then pushed them down under the skin. ‘That’s strange.’ She adjusted the position of her fingers, rolling and scooping to feel the pouch. ‘Looks like there was a baby in there, but it’s not there now.’ She released the folds of skin and they sank back into the dead wombat’s stomach. ‘Can you see anything by the side of the road?’
We walked over and scanned the edge of the bitumen, under the fence and in the dirt of the nearby paddock. There was no baby.
I stared angrily at two beady-eyed crows cawing from a fence post. ‘Shoo!’ I shouted. ‘There’s nothing here for you!’
Aunt Evie pressed her hand over mine. ‘Shh, Mouse. At least we tried.’
After a night spent dreaming of ants and flies crawling over me, something woke me the next morning. It sounded like a tap dripping. Or a window shutter knocking.
‘Aunt Evie?’ I whispered.
I listened, my heart thumping. The sun had barely risen, and the rest of the house was silent. It was too early to get ready for school, so I closed my eyes. Then suddenly I blinked them open as the events of yesterday flashed through my mind: the bus ride, the dead wombat beside the road, the missing baby.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
There it was again!
I swung my legs out of bed and tiptoed down the hall. Maybe Aunt Evie had locked herself outside while collecting firewood. I headed towards the front door and paused at Aunt Evie’s open bedroom door.
She was fast asleep, squashed all the way over to one side of her bed, with Miss Pearl draped across the other side. One of them was snoring, but I wasn’t sure who.
Knock. Knock.
Pumpkin waddled over as I leant my ear against the front door.
‘Shh,’ I warned as he shook his feathers, ready to attack.
I opened the door a sliver and peeked through the crack. There was no one on the veranda and no cars on the driveway. Apart from the windmill creaking and a rooster crowing in the distance, there was nothing but a lone kookaburra watching from a nearby branch.
‘Pumpkin!’ I hissed, as he slipped through the gap in the door. I reached out to grab him, but then tripped over a small blue bundle on the doorstep.
I crouched down to investigate. A baby’s bunny rug was carefully wrapped around something.
Something small. Something precious.
I folded away a soft corner. ‘Oh,’ I murmured, picking up the bundle. ‘Look at you.’
About the size of my hand, the creature inside resembled a newborn elephant with no trunk, no tail and tiny pink ears. Its grey fur was so fine its delicate pink skin underneath shone through. Its feet almost outsized its stocky body. But best of all were its long, dark whiskers, which twitched nervously as I examined it.
I glanced out towards the road. There was nothing but the sun peeking up from over the horizon. Where had the baby come from?
‘Ouch!’ I cried, nearly dropping the precious parcel as Miss Pearl barged through my legs, sniffing me eagerly.
‘Excuse us, coming thro
ugh!’ Aunt Evie leaned over my shoulder. ‘Oh, my goodness! What have you got there?’
I moved aside to show her my new friend.
‘The joey!’ she squealed, clasping her hands excitedly to her chest.
I frowned. Could it really be the baby missing from the dead wombat’s pouch?
Aunt Evie took the joey from me, making cooing noises and kissing it gently on the head. ‘Dear thing! Look at its gorgeous face. How are you, little one? How did you get here?’
The wombat sniffed her chin. ‘I know, hello, hello, so nice to meet you,’ whispered Aunt Evie as the sniffs extended to her cheek and then her eyebrow. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ Aunt Evie plucked a small square of paper from inside the rug and passed it to me.
The note was rough and messy, as if written in a hurry.
‘Willow,’ I murmured, ‘like a soft and gentle tree.’
Aunt Evie leant her ear close to the joey’s mouth and listened carefully.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
Aunt Evie shook her head. ‘I’m not sure, but I think she’s having trouble breathing. Let’s bring her inside. Perhaps she’ll brighten up after a feed. I’ll make her some formula. It’s a special milk replacement, kind of like baby formula. Miss Pearl used to have it when I first found her.’
I hardly dared to breathe as Aunt Evie handed Willow to me so she could shoo Miss Pearl and Pumpkin back inside. I’d seen my next-door neighbour’s baby when he was fresh out of hospital, but he hadn’t seemed as fragile as this tiny creature.
I sat on the couch, carefully holding Willow in her bunny rug. Her nose was little more than a tiny triangle of gold-coloured skin. Her feet were pink and soft, not rough and black. I couldn’t resist squeezing each paw gently between my fingers.
‘Try to keep Willow close. She’s cold, poor love,’ said Aunt Evie, shaking the bottle to mix it.
Suddenly Miss Pearl began barging her head into my knees. I snatched my leg away from her tapping front teeth. They were long and pointy, like a beaver’s, and I was worried she might bite me.
Aunt Evie laughed. ‘Goodness, Miss Pearl!’ she exclaimed. ‘This milk isn’t for you! That’s her bottle face, Mouse. Once she gets that look, she rarely gives up. I think you’d better feed Willow while I make up a bottle for Miss Pearl. Otherwise this is going to be a disaster.’
Wombat Warriors Page 4
