‘I …’ Harry couldn’t find words to deny it.
‘What’s she talking about?’ demanded Spike.
‘It’s …’ Harry hesitated. It sounded crazy to say it was a hole in time. Besides, he didn’t want to tell them. Cissie was his discovery. Her world was his discovery. He didn’t want to share it or …
‘Spike, come and look at this.’ Angie’s voice was full of wonder.
Spike cast Harry a final look, then ducked inside the chookhouse.
Harry followed. There was no help for it now. He’d have to explain.
chapter ten
Discovered!
It was cooler inside the chookhouse than you’d think, although the sun was overhead. The sprawling passionfruit vine growing over the shed sheltered it. Even so, each breath was thick with heat and chook.
Harry leant against one wall, Spike against the other. Angie still crouched by the time hole, one eye on it, the other on her brother and Harry. She didn’t look like she was ever going to leave the hole, thought Harry resentfully. As though she’d claimed it now.
‘Why do you think it’s a hole in time?’ Spike demanded.
‘It just makes sense,’ said Harry. ‘Look at Cissie’s clothes.’
‘Cissie? Her name’s Cissie?’ demanded Angie, still intent on the world on the other side.
‘Cecilia, I think. Cissie must be a nickname. I told you, I only saw her for the first time on Thursday. I don’t know all that much about her. But look at her clothes. They look just like the ones people wear on TV when they’re supposed to be in the last century. And the creek too—I bet that’s what it used to look like before the goldminers came.’
‘But you can’t have a hole in time,’ argued Spike.
‘What else could it be? I mean, maybe time just sort of rubs away—like your jeans wear out round the knees. Maybe if one part of time is used too much—’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘Why not? Why can’t time wear thin, too? So there’s a hole, just a little hole and we can see through it.’
‘But how come we can hear her but she can’t hear us?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe because we haven’t happened in her time yet, so we don’t exist.’
‘Oh, that’s great. Really great. Crazy,’ said Spike.
‘I don’t think it’s so crazy,’ said Angie, her eye still to the hole. ‘Poor kid. I think it’s so sad. I wish there was something we could do to help her. Imagine having both your parents die and in a strange place.’
‘It’s not strange,’ protested Spike. ‘She’s here, remember, only a long time ago.’
‘Well, it’d be strange to her,’ argued Angie.
‘What’s happening now?’ demanded Harry. ‘Buzz off Mr J,’ as the rooster tried to push past Harry to the drum that held the laying pellets.
Mr J was a Spangled Hamburg bantam, only half the size of Arnold Schwarzenfeather, except for his tail feathers which always looked twice as large. Midnight Sky, Omelette and Wild Thing mostly followed Mr J, though sometimes they answered Arnie’s call, just as the other chooks occasionally followed Mr J.
‘Go and peck somewhere else,’ ordered Harry. ‘There’s plenty of beetles outside.’
The rooster strutted off, stretching his spotty neck indignantly. ‘What’s she doing now?’ repeated Harry. He wanted to look too, but there was only room for one, and Angie seemed to have commandeered the hole.
‘She’s just sitting there.’
‘But what does she look like? Happy? Sad?’
‘She looks like … oh, like she’s remembering or something. As though she’s there, but somewhere else as well.’
‘She had a picnic with her parents there,’ said Harry awkwardly. ‘That was the first time I saw her. They looked really happy. Maybe she’s remembering that.’
‘Maybe,’ said Angie. ‘Oh, I wish I could speak to her. Send her messages or something to say we’re thinking about her. Or a present … something she wouldn’t have … like … like ribbons or a book or a fluffy toy dog maybe.’
‘How about a video game?’ suggested Spike.
‘Dope,’ said Angie. ‘She wouldn’t know what to do with it. And you can’t have a video game floating about last century. It’d be a, what do you call it? An anachronism. Harry, have you tried poking something through?’
‘Only my fingers,’ said Harry. ‘But you couldn’t see them on the other side. They just disappeared. It’s like I said—we don’t exist yet for her.’
‘Poke a stick through,’ suggested Spike. ‘No, here, how about a feather?’
Angie took it uncertainly. ‘She might be scared if she sees a feather floating out of nowhere.’
‘She’ll just think it fell off a bird,’ said Spike. ‘Go on, try it.’
Angie slipped the feather through the hole. It disappeared, then reappeared a second later, out the other side of the hole. It fell onto a recent dropping on the floor.
‘See, I said it wouldn’t work,’ said Harry. ‘Hey, can I have a look now?’
‘Sure,’ offered Angie.
Harry took her place under the perch. Sunset gave a muffled squawk at the disturbance and settled even more firmly on her eggs.
Harry peered through the hole. It was just as Angie had described. Cissie was just sitting there on the rock, her arms around her legs. She must have taken her boots off. They sat neatly beside her and a pile of something that might have been long socks or thick stockings as well.
‘I don’t think she’s remembering,’ he said slowly. ‘I think she’s just watching.’
‘Watching what?’ demanded Spike.
‘I don’t know. Nothing. Lots of things,’ he hesitated. ‘I mean, haven’t you ever sat down by the creek and just sort of watched things.’
Spike shrugged. ‘I suppose,’ he admitted. ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be great if something really exciting happened? I mean like bushrangers attacked the garrison and they had this great gun battle, or the convicts revolted maybe. Have they got any convicts up at the garrison? Or pirates—they could sail up the river, then follow the creek up to bury their chests of loot and we could see where they put it—’
‘Not with Cissie there!’ protested Angie. ‘She might get hurt!’
‘Yeah, but …’ Spike shrugged. ‘I mean it’s a great idea, looking back into the past and everything. But it’s not like anything really interesting’s happening. It’s just a kid just sitting there. I mean, if the hole went back to Sydney last century there’d be all sorts of things—convicts and sailors and fights in pubs and—’
‘I …’ Harry hesitated. He didn’t have the words to explain to Spike how he felt.
Angie glared at her brother. ‘You don’t have to stay if you’re bored,’ she informed him.
‘I’m not bored,’ argued Spike. ‘I’m just … give it up will you, Angie! I don’t suppose everyone else wants a swim … okay, okay, I was just asking.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Hey, Angie, if we head back now, we can still see whatsitsname on TV.’
‘But I don’t want to …’ began Angie.
‘Come on!’ urged Spike. ‘Nothing more’s happening here anyway.’
Angie stared at Harry.
He nodded, half eager to see them go. ‘The garrison’s ages away. It’d be hours before Sergeant Wilkes could get back.’
Angie gazed back at the hole. ‘Is … is it okay if we come back tomorrow? So we can find out if they let her stay?’
Harry glanced back through the hole, then back at Angie.
Part of him wanted to refuse. Cissie was his discovery. It was his hole into the past. But on the other hand it’d make it much easier to keep a watch and find out what happened if there were more of them to take turns. And it’d be mean to say no.
‘You won’t tell anyone?’ he asked.
Spike blinked. ‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘Not if you don’t want us to. Why not?’
‘Because Cissie’s private,’ flared Angie. ‘We don’t wan
t lots of people gawking at her. Things are bad enough for her without people peering at her through a hole.’
‘Sure, sure,’ said Spike hurriedly. ‘Don’t get in a flap about it. I was only asking. Hey, yuk, I’ve got chook dust all up my nose. See you tomorrow,’ he said to Harry.
‘See you,’ said Harry. He watched them wander back across the flat. The chooks glanced at them, just in case they carried something good to eat, then turned back to their scratching—Rubinstein under the oak trees, and Midday Snail ripping up Mum’s petunias again. Mum’d be mad if she saw her.
‘Shoo,’ he said half-heartedly to Midday Snail. Midday Snail ignored him. Harry clapped his hands at her. She strutted off without looking back.
Harry walked slowly over to the main shed. There was no point staying at the hole. Cissie might be there for hours, and Mum’d be calling him for dinner. He didn’t want her to get suspicious if he always came out of the chookshed when she called.
It was odd the way time changed through the hole. It went at the same speed as the modern world while you were looking through it, but then years could pass when you were away. As though just watching fixed it, somehow. But you couldn’t watch it all the time.
The chooks peered at him from their stations about the flat, wondering if he was going to get their wheat.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Harry.
Harry always gave them their wheat before dinner. Would Mum remember to do it if he went to school next year? he wondered. The chooks would miss their snack.
Arnie Shwarzenfeather gave a short crow at the sound of the lid of the wheat barrel being opened, and O’Neil jumped down from her perch on the truck.
O’Neil was old—eight, maybe, or nine. She was the first chook Harry had ever had of his own. He’d named her after the captain of the football team up in town.
O’Neil didn’t lay many eggs anymore—maybe half a dozen eggs in early summer, maybe none at all—and most of the time she seemed to be asleep. But she was a nice chook and the tamest of the lot.
‘Here you are, O’Neil,’ said Harry. He scattered a handful of wheat just for her before throwing the rest out into the pine needles for the other chooks to scratch around and argue over. They never seemed to notice O’Neil’s secret feed of wheat. Or maybe Arnie and Mr J knew all the time, and kept the other chooks away.
The chooks bobbled and scratched like they were run by clockwork: peck and lift and peck and lift … chooks were peaceful things, thought Harry. No matter how much fuss there was you always felt calmer when you’d been down with the chooks.
He wondered if Cissie had chooks back at the camp. Did soldiers have hens? Not now, of course—he couldn’t imagine an army barracks with chooks. But back then …? There’d be no way to get eggs if they didn’t have chooks.
How often did the supply boat that Cissie had mentioned come? It must bring flour and meat and tea and coffee. Did they have coffee back then? Probably not. Or cola either. Imagine a world without a can of cola … what did they drink then?
Angie might know. She was interested in history and stuff like that.
Angie understood. Spike would keep the secret—he wasn’t the sort to go around telling if you asked him not to. But Angie really understood.
The hens had finished the wheat, both the real stuff and the imaginary grains they thought they could see among the pine needles. A couple of them began scratching again, looking for cicada and moth larvae. O’Neil had gone to bed, huddled on the lowest perch next to the far wall. Once she’d been on the top perch, but as she’d aged she’d been pushed down to the second then the third and now the last.
Did chooks mind losing the top position, wondered Harry. They must, or there wouldn’t be all the squawking about who got what position last thing at night.
‘Harry! Dinner!’
Harry left the chooks to their scratching. He’d come down and lock them in after dinner, when it was getting dark and they were all inside.
What would Cissie have for dinner, he wondered. Fish maybe (did they have chips back then?), or roast kangaroo …
Did people eat tomato sauce in the olden days? Would she eat dinner with all the soldiers? Or did the officers and men eat separately and she ate with one or the other?
What did she do after dinner? Read by candlelight? Play cards? Or did the soldiers go to bed as soon as it got dark, and get up early in the morning.
For a moment he wondered if he should look through the hole after dinner. But it would be dark in the hole by then. Cissie would be back at the garrison. There’d be nothing to be seen at all.
chapter eleven
Monday
‘Harry!’
‘In here!’ Harry peered out of the main shed. It was Angie. She wore jeans and an old T-shirt that Spike had outgrown and her riding boots. She was alone.
‘Where’s Spike?’
‘He went fencing with Dad.’ She shrugged. ‘He says to tell him if anything interesting happens. Hey, I thought you’d be looking at the hole!’
‘I was earlier. There’s no one there. I just came in here to get some chicken wire. I told Dad I was extending the chook run. It’s a good excuse to be down there all the time.’
Angie nodded. ‘Mind if I go and look?’
‘No, sure. I’ll be over there in a minute.’
Harry hauled out the old netting from the back of the shed and considered it. Dad had rolled it up properly so it wasn’t tangled, and it still looked in fairly good shape. Good enough for another chook run at least.
Harry dragged it over to the chookhouse, narrowly avoiding Magic Mary, who was hopping from one foot to another in front of the shed.
‘You want to go in and lay your egg under the truck again do you?’ asked Harry. ‘Okay, off you go. I’m finished in there now. But I’m still going to collect it this afternoon, no matter where you lay it.’
Magic Mary ignored him. She disappeared under the truck.
Harry left the roll of wire outside the chookhouse and peered in.
‘See anything?’ he asked.
Angie shook her head. ‘Just a kookaburra. It’s sitting right up on top of the big red gum across the creek. And another bird flew right past the hole—it was too close to see what it was.’
Angie looked back through the hole again. ‘The creek looked nice back then, didn’t it? Sort of peaceful.’
Harry nodded. ‘Call me if you see anything,’ he said. ‘I’m going to start digging a couple of post holes so it looks like I’ve done something.’
Angie nodded. ‘Need a hand?’
‘No, I’m right.’
It was hot digging holes. Harry finished the fourth one and stuck his head back in the chookhouse.
‘I’m going down for a swim,’ he said. ‘Want to come?’
‘Didn’t bring my bathers.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Wear your T-shirt. It’ll dry soon enough.’
Angie hesitated. ‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t suppose anything’ll happen while we’re gone.’
‘We can’t watch it all the time,’ said Harry. ‘Not when we’re at school or at night. It’s just luck really that I’ve seen all I have.’
Angie nodded. She blinked as she came out into the sunlight. ‘Wow. You don’t realise how dark it is in there. Don’t the chooks mind?’
‘Nah, they like it that way. They like to lay someplace dim. Like Magic Mary. She always lays under the truck. And Moonlight’s got a nest in the lavender.’
‘That’s a pretty name,’ said Angie.
‘Mum chose it,’ said Harry. ‘When Moonlight was a chick she was sort of pale yellow—a real moonlight colour. She’s pure white now though. She’s the only Leghorn we’ve got—I got her egg up at the Show. It was laid by the Champion Hardfeather Fowl. There she was sitting with an egg at the side of the cage, so I asked if I could have it. The bloke said yes, so I put it under a bantam when I got home.’
‘The same one who’s sitting now?’
‘Na
h. That’s Sunset. She’s a really good mother. I’ve got her on a dozen eggs, even though she’s so small. She hatched ten last time. They were all bigger than she was after a couple of months—she looked really silly, as if she’d adopted a mob of baby emus and was trying to teach them how to scratch.’
The rocks around the creek were splashed with sunlight and lichen. The water looked cold. Harry supposed it was cold in Cissie’s day, too.
He dived in quickly to get his body used to the chill, then surfaced and floated through the ripples where the creek fell in a smooth cascade into the swimming hole. You could slide down the cascade for hours when the water was a bit deeper, till your legs were red and your bum ached with the cold.
Harry breathed in the scent of water and rotting casuarina needles, of ribwort and watercress and stonewort. One of his earliest memories was of the creek. Mum brought him down here when he was still toddling to splash in the shallows and try to chase the dragonflies at the edges of the water. It hurt to imagine the creek still flowing here, the ripples of water and sunlight, while he was away at school …
‘Harry?’
‘Mmmm?’
‘What were Cissie’s parents like?’
Harry hesitated. ‘Nice, I think. I only saw them all together once. And I didn’t really see them then—just Cissie. But they sounded nice.’
Angie sighed. ‘I hope the soldiers let her stay. It’ll be horrible if they don’t.’
‘It’s all already happened,’ Harry pointed out.
‘I know. But it doesn’t seem like it.’ Angie hauled herself up onto a rock. ‘I’m going back. You coming?’
Harry nodded.
The chookshed smelt even more strongly of chook as the day became hotter. At least half a dozen hens had laid in their absence, Harry noted. They must have been crossing their legs till they left.
‘I’ll watch for a while if you like,’ offered Harry.
‘It’d be better if I watch,’ said Angie. ‘Then you can be working on the chook run if your parents come down and check. I promise I’ll call you as soon as anything happens.’
If anything happens, thought Harry. Maybe Cissie has already gone.
Daughter of the Regiment Page 5
