Ruby suddenly felt very tired. She didn’t want to think about this. It was all too hard. Her head was stuffy again and her nose was dripping, and she didn’t have a rag with her. She sniffed.
Aunt Flora took her eyes off the road to look at her disapprovingly. ‘Do blow your nose, lassie. There’s no point crying. Nobody’s died, and nobody’s going to die.’
‘I’m not crying,’ Ruby protested. ‘It’s my cold.’ Then she thought about her mother, and tears did come into her eyes. ‘It’s ages since I gave Mother a hug,’ she said. ‘I should have looked after her better, like you said.’ She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘Thank you for helping us, Aunt Flora.’
‘Always glad to be of assistance,’ Aunt Flora replied, sitting up a little and grinding the gears horribly.
After a while Ruby said, ‘Aunt Flora, I didn’t know you could drive.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. You’re doing it.’
‘I suppose I am,’ the old woman said. ‘Well, now. There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?’
‘HOW did Aunt Winifred think she’d get to Adelaide?’ May asked Ruby, afterwards. ‘Did she have a plan to find your dad?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘She told me she hoped somebody would give her a lift to the city, but I don’t know what she’d have done once she got there. And just think how awful it would have been if she was ill away from home, with nobody to look after her. Honestly, May, she might have died!’
Mother stayed in hospital for three days, and when Doctor Cowling drove her back to Kettle Farm, she seemed a little stronger. Now she spent a lot of time in the sunroom, reading, with Baxter curled up at her feet. Baxter seemed to have decided that Mother was his special responsibility, and Uncle James pretended not to notice when he was in the house. ‘I suppose the animal isn’t entirely without merit,’ he said. ‘It’s done Winifred a good turn, at least. Although how he got into the kitchen that morning, I haven’t the least idea.’
Everybody hovered around Mother. Bee brought her a bunch of freesias picked from the front garden. Aunt Vera made nourishing egg flips for her. Aunt Flora gave her extra porridge for breakfast. But Ruby knew that it didn’t matter what anybody did. There was only one thing that would make Mother well again.
It was now the September school holidays. On Kettle Farm the shearing was in full swing, and the paddocks were dotted with strangely thin white sheep. The shearing shed was noisy with baa-ing and shouting and the buzz of the shearing machines, and the house was full of the strong, greasy smell of wool brought in on men’s clothes and boots. At first Ruby hated the smell, but soon she hardly noticed it.
Everybody had extra work to do. Walter was a rouseabout, doing labouring jobs in the shed. Uncle James took charge of the wool-sorting table, skirting and classing the fleeces, because he could do it with one arm. Aunt Vera and Aunt Flora spent most of the day cooking, helped by Ruby and May and Bee.
At twelve o’clock sharp every day the shearers came to the kitchen for their midday meal. Ruby and May served them soup and mutton stew, thick slices of home-baked bread, and black tea in enamel mugs. In the afternoons they went down to the shearing shed with billy tea and Anzac biscuits for smoko.
The wool clip was a good one, and for a little while Uncle James seemed almost happy. ‘Should keep the place going for another year,’ he said.
When the shearers moved on, everything went back to the way it had been before. Mother was still unhappy, and there were still no letters from Dad. Ruby couldn’t help imagining all the terrible things that might have happened to him – perhaps he’d had an accident, or he was ill, or he was back in prison. Her old nightmare about being trapped in the Victoria Square riots returned, and in her dream she saw Dad in the crowd. She called out and struggled to reach him, but he looked straight through her as if he didn’t know her. She woke in a panic, trembling.
One grey, misty morning, while she and May were herding Bossy, Minnie and Daisy to the milking shed, Ruby told her cousin about the tangle of fears in her head.
‘May,’ she began, ‘I was thinking – what if something’s terribly wrong with Dad, and that’s why we haven’t heard from him?’
‘I’m sure that’s not it,’ May said. ‘More likely it’s something very simple, like he’s found work on a ship or something.’
‘Perhaps,’ Ruby said. ‘Or perhaps he can’t afford a stamp. But a stamp is only threepence, isn’t it? Or perhaps . . . May, I’ve had the most horrible thought. What if he doesn’t want to write to us?’
‘That’s silly. Why wouldn’t he?’
‘He might think that Mother and I would be better off without him, and he wants us to forget him. He could be nobly sacrificing himself, you know, like Captain Oates sacrificed himself for Scott of the Antarctic. Remember Mr Miller telling us that story? Oates walked out into a blizzard, deliberately, to try to save his starving companions.’
‘It didn’t make any difference, did it?’ May said bluntly. ‘They all died anyway. Seriously, Ruby, how would it help you and Aunt Winifred if Uncle Harry just walked out of your lives? It’s not a bit like Captain Oates. Mind the gate, Bossy, you great lump. Daisy! Get back and wait your turn.’
But Ruby couldn’t stop thinking that Dad might not want to come back to them. And if he didn’t come back, what would happen to Mother?
Somehow I have to find him, she thought. I have to tell him about Mother, and let him know how much we love him and need him.
She followed Minnie into her stall and took a bucket off its hook. As soon as she sat on the milking stool and began to milk, several cats appeared as if by magic. Absent-mindedly she pushed the old black cat Gaf away from the bucket with her knee, and aimed a squirt of milk at her furry head.
The peaceful rhythm of milking soothed Ruby’s thoughts, and suddenly she knew exactly what she should do. She thought about it a little more, and in less than a minute she’d made up her mind.
‘May,’ she said, raising her voice over the sound of milk spurting into the bucket, ‘I’m going to Adelaide to look for Dad. I’ll have to do it tomorrow because school starts again next week, and we can’t tell anybody because if we do they’ll try to stop me. And Mother mustn’t know. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re quite potty,’ May called back from the next stall. ‘You can’t just go off to Adelaide on your own – it’s not safe.’ She was silent for a moment, and then said, ‘But I know you can’t help being potty, so if you really want to go, I’m coming with you.’
Ruby stopped milking. ‘You can’t. You mustn’t. Uncle James will be furious with me when he finds out, but he’d be even furiouser with you. You’re the good girl.’
‘Maybe it’s time I stopped always being the good girl. Dad will get over it. It’ll be all right.’
‘You don’t sound very sure,’ said Ruby, but she couldn’t help feeling pleased. It would be so much better if May was with her! It might even be fun.
‘I’m sure,’ May said.
Afterwards, when they were carrying the sloshing milk can down to the roadside platform to be picked up by the Farmers Union truck, May said, ‘How are we going to do this, Ruby? Do you have any money? I don’t.’
‘There’s Aunt Vera’s egg money she keeps in the pantry in a jam jar. We could borrow some. It wouldn’t be like stealing, because we’d give it back.’
‘How? I don’t see you or me getting money from anywhere.’
‘Dad will give us money as soon as he has some,’ Ruby said. ‘I’ve got it all worked out.’
‘All right. Here’s another problem. The train leaves Mount Pleasant just before seven o’clock in the morning. How will we get there? It’s eight miles away.’
‘That’s easy,’ Ruby said. ‘The answer is right here! Can’t you see?’
‘What – a cow?’
‘No, you goose,’ Ruby said. ‘The milk truck!’
May looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose that
’d work. All right: final problem. How do we find Uncle Harry? Adelaide’s a big place.’
‘Something Aunt Flora said gave me an idea,’ replied Ruby. ‘There’s a camp for homeless men on the bank of the Torrens. I took a photograph of it once. I think – I’m sure – Dad will be there.’
IT had been raining, and cars and trucks splashed through the puddles on North Terrace. Ruby and May walked along the pavement, beneath the dripping plane trees.
‘We made it!’ said Ruby. ‘Look at my hands – they’re still shaking. You could see the guard on the train thought we were runaways. I couldn’t believe how grown-up you sounded when you talked to him.’
‘I probably look grown-up, too, because I’m wearing your mother’s old clothes,’ May said with a laugh. ‘I felt a bit like I did when I was Britannia on Empire Day.’ She gazed up at the tall buildings. ‘I’d forgotten the city was so big. And so noisy!’
Ruby took a deep breath. ‘I love that tar-and-petrol smell, don’t you? After we’ve found Dad we can walk back through Rundle Street and look in the shop windows.’
‘By now Bee will have told Mum where we are,’ May said. ‘I hope Mum won’t be worried. And I hope Bee won’t get into trouble.’ She shuddered. ‘Oh lord, I suppose Mum will ask Dad to pick us up from the railway station, and that will put him in a terrible mood.’
They continued walking until they came to the entrance to the university. ‘We can take a short cut through here,’ Ruby said. ‘If we go down this path it’ll take us to the river, and then we can follow the riverbank till we get to the men’s camp. I’ve brought a photo of Dad in case people don’t know his name.’ She twirled around, turning to face May. ‘I’m trying not to be too excited, but something tells me that we really are going to find Dad – just imagine! We could be talking to him in only a few minutes!’
When they reached the river, though, Ruby could see immediately that something was wrong. The water level at the university footbridge was far too high.
Don’t worry, she told herself. It’s probably all right further up the river.
‘The water’s full of rubbish,’ May said. ‘Is it usually that dirty?’
‘Not usually,’ Ruby replied. She tried to make herself feel calmer. ‘Mostly it’s sort of green, and there are swans and ducks. There must have been a lot of rain.’
‘Where’s the men’s camp, then?’
Ruby pointed. ‘It’s further up the river, at the back of the zoo.’
But when they reached the place, all they could see were the tops of a few flooded tents and humpies. Weeping willows, half-drowned, trailed their branches in the slow-moving brown water.
‘Oh, May,’ said Ruby. She looked around her in despair. This was worse than awful. What could they possibly do now? Her marvellous plan had turned into a complete disaster.
I must have been mad, she thought. How did I ever think this would work?
May took her arm. ‘Don’t give up,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we can find somebody who knows where the men have moved to. Look, you can see that the river has gone down a bit. It used to be up to the level of the zoo fence, see, where that line of rubbish is? It’s nowhere near it now. Let’s keep going.’
They stumbled along the muddy bank, and after a while they came to a few tents on dry ground, and a humpy made of flattened kerosene tins. Seeing them, Ruby’s spirits rose a little.
As they drew nearer, a thin, bearded man came out of the humpy. ‘Stone the crows – visitors!’ he said. ‘I’ve just put the billy on the fire for a cuppa. Care to join an old soldier?’
‘No, thank you,’ Ruby said. ‘What we really want is some information. We’re looking for Harry Quinlan. Do you know him?’
‘Harry Quinlan?’ The man pushed back his hat and squinted at them. ‘There’s Toms and Dicks and Harrys all over the place. Or there was. Most of ’em got washed out when the flood came down. I’ve been back for a week, and already I’ve got me little veggie garden up and runnin’ again.’ He pointed to a patch of cultivated earth neatly marked out with stones. ‘Put me seeds in a couple of days ago. You can have a pretty good life down here. It’s better than livin’ in some rat-infested doss-house.’
‘Harry Quinlan?’ May asked him. ‘Please think – did he live here?’
The man sucked his teeth thoughtfully. ‘What’s he look like?’
Ruby dug into her coat pocket. ‘This is a photo of him. It’s one of the first photos I ever took. The top of his head has been cut off, but you can see most of his face.’
‘Oh, Harry!’ said the man. ‘I know Harry. Never knew his last name. He was here for a few weeks. I don’t know where he is now, but there’s a good chance he’ll be back when the water’s gone down. A lot of these blokes don’t have any other place to go. Like me. You wanted to get in touch?’
‘Yes, please. If you see him, tell him . . . tell him his wife is very sick, and she needs him. Tell him it’s awfully important. It’s a matter of life and death.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said the man. ‘Can I ask your name, Miss?’
‘It’s Ruby,’ said Ruby. ‘Ruby Quinlan. I’m his daughter. And can you please tell him something else? Tell him we love him very, very much.’
May was right: Uncle James was in a terrible mood. When he met them at the Mount Pleasant railway station that evening, he refused to speak to either of them. He ushered them to the back seat of the car, pushed them in, and slammed the door. They drove back to Kettle Farm in silence.
‘Sorry, May,’ whispered Ruby. ‘I didn’t want to get you into trouble.’
‘It’s all right,’ May whispered back. ‘I got into this all by myself. And if it brings Uncle Harry back, it’s worth it, isn’t it?’
It took Uncle James a long time to get over his anger. ‘I’d expect this sort of nonsense from you, Ruby,’ he said, over their late supper. ‘You’re always flighty, not a sensible idea in your head. But May! I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. I thought you were made from different stuff. Your mother was worried sick. And to take her money like that!’ He scowled at her. ‘I’m ashamed of you.’
‘We’ll pay the money back, Dad,’ May said. ‘We’ll do it somehow, I promise. And Mum knew where we were because Bee told her. I’m very sorry we’ve made you angry, but I can’t see that much harm was done.’
‘Plenty of harm was done,’ said Uncle James darkly.
‘How, exactly?’ asked Aunt Flora. ‘In my opinion the gerruls showed a great deal of initiative. When I was a young gerrul –’
‘Initiative for what?’ Uncle James interrupted. ‘Anything could have happened to them. They can’t run off every time Ruby wants a day in town.’ His face twitched. ‘Unforgivable!’
‘I didn’t just want a day in town, Uncle James,’ Ruby said. ‘And I do have sensible ideas, at least sometimes.’ She turned to her mother, hoping she might come to her defence, but Mother sat silently, looking down at her plate.
Ruby sighed. Right now she hardly cared what Uncle James said. She’d done everything she could to find Dad, and now there was nothing else to be done. All she could do was wait.
THIRD term at school started with a burst of sunshine. The puddles in the schoolyard dried up. Daisies and Iceland poppies bloomed in the girls’ garden at the back of the school building. Swallows returned to the old mud nest under the eaves.
Skipping ropes and footballs were packed away in the sports cupboard, and the girls stopped doing French knitting and started making dandelion chains. At lunch time the boys played cricket on the short concrete pitch at the side of the school building, and the girls drew chalk lines on their playground area so they could play what Ruby called mock tennis. There was no tennis net, and the school had only four very old tennis racquets. Their wooden frames were dinted and scratched, and two of the racquets had broken strings.
Ruby always raced to be first to bag one of the tennis racquets. She learned how to serve and how to play a backhand shot. She laughed
herself silly when a stray ball from May landed in Colin Evans’s lap while he was eating his lunch, and when Cynthia belted one into the cow paddock next door.
Ruby wondered if the Walkers had their tennis court yet. She imagined Brenda dressed in something very white and very neat, but this image no longer made her feel angry. Playing mock tennis, taking turns with May and Lorna and Betty and Cynthia and Iris, was fun.
Cynthia was included in the Grade Seven girls’ group now, and Josie had begun to play with the other Grade Ones. Shy Virginia usually sat alone, watching everyone else’s games, but one day Ruby saw her making dandelion chains with Bee and Bee’s friend Ant.
‘She’s really nice,’ Bee said afterwards. ‘She hardly ever says a word, though. It’s like she’s scared to.’
‘It’s more likely because you and Ant talk all the time,’ Ruby told her. ‘I never knew such a pair of chatterboxes.’
None of the boys played with Darcy, and when his classmate Tom Evans invited him to join in a game of cricket, he refused. Mostly he just walked around by himself, whistling and slashing at the air with a stick.
‘He hasn’t forgotten what happened, you know, that day,’ Cynthia told Ruby. ‘I don’t reckon he’s likely to, neither.’
All the Grade Sevens except Cynthia were now studying hard for the Qualifying Certificate that would allow them to graduate from primary school. Even Doris was so busy that she ignored Ruby and the Wests. Ruby never quite stopped worrying that Doris might find out what had happened to Dad and tell everyone, but she managed to push it to the back of her mind.
Ruby and May brought home piles of homework and tested each other on grammar, poetry, nature study, science, morals and citizenship, history and geography.
Ruby of Kettle Farm Page 4