‘Me? Not on your life,’ Mr West protested. ‘But there’s no need to tell your old man I was here. We’ll just forget this ever happened, shall we?’ He watched Ruby with narrowed eyes as she came out of the shelter, then suddenly moved forward and grabbed her by the arm. ‘And if you say anything, girlie, I’ll pass the word around the district about your dad.’
Ruby yanked her arm free. ‘I have to tell Uncle James it was you, or he’ll go on thinking it’s my dog who’s been killing the chooks,’ she said.
‘Your dog’s worth more than my family, is it?’ said Mr West. ‘If you dob me in, I’ll be back in the clink in half a tick. Is that what you want? Think of the kids – think of little Josie.’ He looked at Ruby. ‘You know what it’s like to be without your dad.’
Ruby tried not to think of little Josie. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Look,’ May interrupted, ‘this has nothing to do with Ruby’s father. You can ruin Ruby’s life, but it won’t stop you going to prison. You’re supposed to be helping my father in exchange for living in our cottage, and so far you’ve paid us back by stealing our chooks. So here’s what we’ll do. You show up to work on Monday, and we’ll forget we saw you. I’ll tell Dad there was a swaggie in the chook yard this morning.’
‘Work?’ Mr West’s face fell. ‘What about my crook back?’
‘Your bad back hasn’t stopped you walking all the way over here to take our chooks, has it?’ May told him. ‘I’m sure you can manage a little light farm work.’
Mr West sighed heavily. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said. ‘But youse girls drive a hard bargain.’
He walked off into the grey morning, and May turned to Ruby. ‘Are you all right? Why didn’t you wake me last night? When I saw you weren’t in your bed I was so worried about you.’
‘Of course I’m all right,’ Ruby said, ‘mostly thanks to you.’ She looked at May and began to laugh. ‘You were utterly smashing.’
‘I was, wasn’t I?’ said May, laughing too. ‘I was dead scared, though. And now we’ve got another scary thing to do. We have to tell Dad a huge fib.’
‘I have some news for you, Dad,’ May said. ‘Ruby and I have found the chook thief. And it’s not Baxter. It’s, um, it’s a swaggie.’
‘What?’ said Uncle James, putting down his teacup.
‘A swaggie,’ May said again, glancing at Ruby. ‘He came into the chook yard through the gate and tried to steal our rooster.’
‘And you saw this, did you? How? What time was it?’
‘Around dawn. We were on our way to get the cows in for milking, and we made a detour past the chook yard because . . . because we could hear the chooks making a lot of noise. We both saw him, didn’t we, Ruby?’
‘He saw us, too, and that scared him away,’ Ruby said. ‘He left the rooster behind, though, which was lucky.’
‘Well, blow me down,’ said Uncle James. ‘We’d better put a padlock on the gate in case he decides to come back. Walter, you can do that this morning.’
‘The good news is that it’s not Baxter,’ said Aunt Vera. ‘I’m so glad. I think we should give thanks at church this morning.’
‘Hallelujah to that,’ Aunt Flora said. ‘I’m surprisingly fond of that useless wee beastie.’
Walter looked at them all. ‘I’ve got some news, too,’ he said. ‘I had a letter yesterday. I’ve been wondering how to tell you, Dad, because I know you won’t like it, but this seems like as good a time as any. My old school has offered me a full scholarship. Board and all.’
Everybody except Uncle James exclaimed and looked pleased.
‘Walter, dear, that is splendid news,’ Aunt Vera said. ‘I am so proud of you.’
‘Very well done, Wal,’ said May, smiling, while Bee raced around the table and gave her big brother a kiss on the cheek.
Aunt Flora nodded. ‘No more than I expected,’ she said. ‘You’re a Cameron, and all the Camerons have brains.’ She glanced at Uncle James. ‘Some more than others, naturally.’
Ruby thought of jumping up and giving Walter a kiss, too, but a look at her uncle’s stony face made her decide against it. Instead, she said, ‘I’m so pleased for you, Walter. You deserve it, you really do!’
‘You encouraged me, you and May,’ Walter said. ‘Thanks.’
‘That’s all very fine,’ Uncle James said. ‘But how am I supposed to cope with working the farm on my own? I can’t afford to take on a man, and that damned West fellow won’t show his face.’
‘You never know,’ May said, kicking Ruby under the table. ‘Perhaps he will.’
‘AAAA-CHOO!’ Ruby blew her nose into a large cotton square cut from a worn-out sheet. Now she only had three rags left. Aunt Vera had been sterilising them by boiling them up on the stove in a stockpot, but the supply was fast running out and there were no more threadbare sheets and pillowslips to be spared.
Dripping and snuffling, Ruby tipped some more eucalyptus oil on her rag and breathed in the fumes. She hated being sick. Just about everyone in the school had had this horrid cold, starting with the Wests, but it was Bee who’d brought it home with her. Over the last two weeks everyone in the house had been ill, even Aunt Flora. Her cough had been so bad that Uncle James had driven in to Eden Valley to ring the doctor on the town’s public telephone.
When Doctor Cowling had come out from his Mount Pleasant surgery, he’d found Aunt Flora sitting in her favourite chair in the sunroom, surrounded by a haze of pipe smoke. She’d refused to go to bed, and wouldn’t stop smoking her little black pipe. Ruby smiled, remembering how the whole Cameron family had watched as Aunt Flora and the doctor almost came to blows. Of course Aunt Flora had won.
This morning Bee and May were well enough to go back to school. Walter and Uncle James were mending fences on the far side of the property, and Aunt Vera had come in to tell Ruby that she was walking over to the Wests’ cottage with a basket of winter vegetables and a billy of milk. ‘Mrs West has been really ill,’ she said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
They’ll be missing their regular supply of chicken, Ruby thought. Aunt Vera would never know how much food Kettle Farm had already given to the West family.
She wiggled her toes on something warm and soft at the end of her bed. It was Baxter, partly hidden under the quilt. May had smuggled him in to Ruby before she went to school. ‘Just make sure you get him outside again when Dad isn’t looking,’ she’d said. ‘And don’t let him eat anything that isn’t food, especially anything of mine.’
Ruby sneezed again, blew her nose, and opened the Kodak wallet containing her latest photographs. Looking at the special ‘last day’ photos she’d taken of her old house made her feel less sad than she’d expected. It felt almost as if they’d been taken years ago, by a different person. The portrait of Aunt Flora surprised her, though. It was the best photograph she’d ever taken, even better than the photo of the unemployed men’s camp on the bank of the Torrens she’d taken last year. She got that one out too, and admired it all over again. Even Walter had said it was good.
She put down the photographs and lay back on her pillow. How wonderful it was that Walter had been granted a scholarship! She was so pleased for him. The award of this scholarship is based on your family circumstances, his teacher had written in the letter, but even more on your excellent academic achievements to date. It was a pity Uncle James wasn’t more proud of Walter. Surely he could understand that not everyone wanted to be a farmer. Walter loved machines. One day he might design cars, or even fly a plane.
The house was very quiet. Aunt Flora had reluctantly agreed with the doctor that she needed plenty of rest, and she was snoozing in the sunroom. Mother was probably in her room, as usual. When Mother wasn’t sleeping, Ruby knew she wrote long letters to Dad. She still sent them to Uncle Donald in the hope that one day Dad would show up there to collect his mail. But why couldn’t Dad write directly to Mother? It didn’t make sense. Perhaps he was working in the outback, nowhere near a post office.
If only Dad could get a job in Eden Valley, she thought, we could all be together again.
Suddenly Ruby had an idea. It was such a marvellously simple idea that she was amazed it hadn’t occurred to her earlier. It was even more amazing that she’d had this marvellously simple idea when her head felt as if it was full of cottonwool.
Next year, when Walter went back to boarding school, Uncle James would need help on the farm. Mr West wasn’t the answer. He’d been working for the last fortnight, but it hadn’t been a great success. ‘Sid West is the laziest beggar I’ve ever come across,’ Uncle James had said. ‘He spends half the day moaning about his back and the other half sitting under a tree having a smoke.’
What Uncle James needs is someone smart and strong and sensible, Ruby thought. What he needs is Dad.
She drifted off into a warm, pleasant daydream about Dad working on Kettle Farm. She wasn’t sure where he’d live – Mother’s bedroom had only a single bed in it – but that could be sorted out easily. When Walter went back to school, perhaps Dad could have his sleep-out.
There was only one problem: how could she get in touch with Dad? Where on earth was he?
She breathed in some more eucalyptus oil to clear her head, and sat up. The sudden movement woke Baxter, who jumped off the bed and pattered out of the room.
Ruby hardly noticed. She had a lot of thinking to do.
But before she could start thinking properly, Baxter began to bark.
‘DO be quiet, Baxter,’ Ruby said. ‘For goodness’ sake, you’ll wake Aunt Flora.’
She tipped herself out of bed, put on her dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, and made her way down the hallway. ‘Baxter!’ she hissed.
The kitchen door was open. Baxter rushed towards her, barking frantically, and then rushed back again.
What on earth –?
Mother was lying on the kitchen floor, her face as pale as wax and beaded with sweat. Her breathing was fast, but shallow. Her eyes were closed.
For a moment Ruby stood frozen, her mouth dry with terror. Then she managed to find her voice. ‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘Help! Help! Aunt Flora! Oh, please come quickly!’
She fell to her knees and pulled her mother’s head onto her lap. ‘Wake up, Mummy – wake up, please! Please, please wake up. Aunt Flora! Aunt Flora!’
The floor creaked, and Ruby was aware of a pair of black button-up boots beside her, and Aunt Flora above them.
‘By all the saints,’ said Aunt Flora. ‘Sit your mother up, lassie. She’s in a faint, that’s all. Lean her against you.’
She went to the cleaning cupboard, poured something from a brown glass bottle onto a tea-towel, and waved it beneath Mother’s nose. Mother coughed, choked, and opened her eyes.
‘Ammonia,’ Aunt Flora said. ‘Better than smelling salts. Let’s get her up on a chair. I’ll take one arm, and you take the other. Gently, she’s not a sack of potatoes.’ She looked intently into Mother’s face. ‘She’s conscious, but only just. A glass of water, I think. Do you happen to know why your mother is dressed for a day in town?’
Ruby realised now that Mother was wearing her tweed suit and her fox fur. ‘I didn’t notice. I don’t know why she’s dressed up. She’s got lipstick on, too.’ Ruby poured the water and passed it to Aunt Flora. ‘You give it to her, please – I can’t stop shivering.’
Aunt Flora held the glass so that Mother could take a few sips, then put it down and rubbed her hands to warm them. ‘She’s as cold as charity, and she has hardly any pulse. I think she needs more help than we can give her. Where is James, lassie? Is he close by?’
‘He and Walter were doing the boundary fences. They could be anywhere. And Aunt Vera is still at the Wests’.’
‘Well, we must get Winifred to hospital as quickly as we can. Pass me my walking stick, if you’d be so kind. I shall bring the car around while you walk your mother very carefully down the hall to the front door. Can you manage that?’
Ruby nodded.
‘Good,’ said Aunt Flora. ‘We’ll be off in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
The Ford lurched and skidded along the road, sometimes speeding crazily, sometimes creeping at a snail’s pace. Aunt Flora sat hunched over the steering wheel, her nose almost on the windscreen. Every time she changed gears, the car nearly stalled before leaping forward again in a series of little hops. The engine wheezed and roared. The side curtains rattled.
Ruby sat in the back seat with Mother on one side and Baxter on the other. Holding and supporting her mother, she realised with a shock how thin she was. Ruby could feel the fragile cage of her ribs beneath the tweed jacket. It reminded her, painfully, of the hen Baxter had killed months ago: how small it was beneath its mass of silky feathers.
‘Hold on, Mummy,’ she whispered. ‘Please be strong. It’s going to be all right, I promise.’
Mother raised her head. Tears were sliding down her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘So weak . . . I didn’t mean . . . I wanted to go home . . . find Harry . . .’
‘Don’t try to talk,’ Ruby said. ‘We can do that later. First we have to get you to hospital so they can make you well again.’
‘Almost there now,’ Aunt Flora shouted over the clattering of the Ford’s engine. ‘Just a whip and a go.’
The car raced past the graveyard on the hill, and turned left into the hospital road, fishtailing in the loose gravel.
Oh God, Ruby prayed, please don’t let us crash now, when we’re so close.
Doctor Cowling was standing on the hospital verandah when Aunt Flora stopped the car with a jolt that sent Ruby hurtling forwards. She just managed to save her mother from falling in a heap.
As Aunt Flora edged herself out of the driver’s seat, feeling for the ground with her walking stick, the doctor came up to her, smiling.
‘I’m pleased to see that you’ve turned yourself in for further treatment, Miss Cameron,’ he said. ‘To what do we owe this welcome return to common sense?’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Doctor, but I’m as fit as the proverbial fiddle,’ Aunt Flora replied. ‘Although there’s nothing fit about a fiddle, as far as I can see. Look to the back seat – Ruby Quinlan is there with her mother, who is very poorly. We found her fainted dead away on the kitchen floor.’
Without another word, Doctor Cowling ran to the back of the car. ‘Barely conscious,’ he said. ‘I’ll organise a stretcher.’
While Mother was admitted to the hospital, Ruby sat with Aunt Flora in the waiting room, holding Baxter on her lap. A nurse in a starched white veil stared at him and seemed to be about to say something, but Ruby held him all the tighter. Let anybody dare to say Baxter couldn’t be there!
‘Will Mother be all right?’ Ruby asked, when Doctor Cowling returned. ‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘It’s not something I see often,’ the doctor replied. ‘At least, not out here in the country. When did Mrs Quinlan last have a proper meal?’
‘She’s been eating hardly anything for ages,’ Ruby said. ‘She’s really sad, because my father – I mean, he –’
‘Her husband has been in prison,’ Aunt Flora interrupted. ‘She has taken it very badly, and I believe it has affected her mind. She is a sensitive creature, with few resources.’
‘I understand,’ the doctor said, gravely. ‘Well, that makes better sense of the situation. Believe it or not, she’s on the brink of starvation. If she were to continue down that path . . .’
‘But you can do something for her, can’t you?’ Ruby asked. ‘You can make her better?’
‘We’ll do our best,’ the doctor said. ‘We can get some nourishment into her straightaway, but she has to want to eat again. As you say, Miss Cameron, it’s very likely the problem is in her mind.’
‘What she needs more than anything is Dad,’ Ruby told him. ‘She misses him dreadfully.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Doctor Cowling glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. ‘Are you a patient too
, Ruby? I see you’re all prepared, in your dressing-gown and slippers.’
‘Oh my hat,’ Ruby said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. ‘I forgot. I was in bed – I have a cold, that’s all.’
‘Well, you’d better get back to bed before you develop pneumonia,’ said the doctor. ‘And don’t worry about your mother. We’ll look after her.’ He patted Baxter on the head. ‘I’ve always liked fox terriers. Smart little dogs, aren’t they?’
‘That’s Baxter,’ Ruby said. ‘It was Baxter who told me something was wrong. He barked his head off so I’d go into the kitchen and find Mother. He’s a hero.’
The trip home was much slower than the trip to the hospital had been. Ruby sat curled in her seat, thinking about Mother. What did the doctor mean, saying the problem was in her mind? Did he mean that Mother was crazy like those people from the Parkside lunatic asylum, the ones she used to see on the tram sometimes? People who talked to themselves, or laughed at nothing, or stared right through you? The thought that Mother might be like that filled her with horror.
‘You’ll have to let your father know what’s happened,’ Aunt Flora said. ‘Do you have any idea where he might be?’
‘No. Mr West said he’d been released from prison, but that was weeks ago.’
‘Where would he go, do you think? Clearly he isn’t staying with those puffed-up Walkers. Do you have relatives in town? Friends?’
‘Just my gran, but I don’t think she’d know about Dad. He wouldn’t tell her, he’d be too ashamed. And anyway, she couldn’t do much. She’s really old.’
Aunt Flora pursed her lips. ‘It doesn’t mean she’s incapable, lassie.’
‘And there’s Mrs Traill, who used to be our housekeeper. I haven’t any idea where she’s living now, though.’ Ruby put her face in her hands. ‘Sometimes it feels as if everybody I used to know has disappeared. The only place where I feel at home now is Kettle Farm.’
‘So, no useful friends or relatives.’ Aunt Flora bounced the car through a dip in the road. ‘Perhaps there is some sort of community for homeless men. The government may have set up something, although I doubt it. Lionel Hill must be the worst premier this state’s ever had. And him a farm boy, too. All he’s done is make it worse for the jobless. Dreadful man.’
Ruby of Kettle Farm Page 3
