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 through!’ 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.’

Willow looked up at me, her dark eyes shining, while I took the bottle and held the special flattened teat close to her mouth. My heart melted as I waited patiently for her to latch on. After a few minutes, she took the teat and began to suck. Milk dripped down her chin and onto her paws, but she kept drinking, her eyelids drooping shut. Halfway through, she curled one tiny paw around my baby finger. ‘She’s so adorable,’ I whispered.

Meanwhile Aunt Evie was battling a jealous Miss Pearl. Impatient for her bottle, she was jumping up against Aunt Evie’s legs, nipping at her pyjamas, then running around and around the kitchen before launching another attack.

‘This is one of the reasons I stopped giving her formula,’ explained Aunt Evie as she dodged the crazy wombat. ‘Once she’d begun this performance, I decided she was well enough to cope without it.’

I snuggled Willow closer as Pumpkin flapped and squawked at Miss Pearl’s side.

‘Come on,’ soothed Aunt Evie, sitting on the couch beside me and pulling Miss Pearl into her lap. ‘That’s enough of that.’ Aunt Evie scratched under the wombat’s chin, then gently rolled her belly-up and offered the milk.

Then Aunt Evie began to sing. I grinned. ‘Waltzing Matilda’ was one of our family favourites and I couldn’t help humming along.

Aunt Evie’s voice was soft and sweet, and Miss Pearl instantly relaxed.

By the time Aunt Evie had finished the chorus, Miss Pearl lay snoozing in her arms, sucking happily on her bottle.

‘They’re both so beautiful,’ I murmured.

‘Yes, they are beautiful,’ agreed Aunt Evie. ‘It’s hard to believe anyone would intentionally hurt them.’

‘What do you mean?’

The fur on Miss Pearl’s stomach was silvery like a seal’s, and Aunt Evie’s fingers sunk deep into the soft mink folds before she shot me a worried look. ‘Well, here’s the thing,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but Willow’s mum may not have been run over by accident.’

I gasped. ‘What?’

‘She may have been killed on purpose. From what I’ve heard, some of the farmers around here would swerve to make sure they hit a wombat if they saw one.’

‘No!’

Aunt Evie nodded. ‘Yes, apparently so. Like I said, Mrs Campbell thinks wombats are vermin, and lots of other farmers do, too. They just don’t want wombats around.’

My stomach swirled. Farmers in South Australia viewed wombats like people in Queensland viewed cane toads? But wombats were different. They were native Australian animals for a start.

‘But then who rescued Willow?’ I asked.

Aunt Evie shook her head and frowned. ‘I’ve been wondering the exact same thing. Perhaps someone passing by?’

Willow had finished her milk and like Miss Pearl was dozing contentedly. Suddenly she jolted awake.

‘Oh no!’ I cried.

Aunt Evie smiled. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Just give her a little pat to let her know everything is okay. She’s had a terrible shock, poor thing. Go on, give it a go.’

I carefully tipped Willow over and gently stroked her back, her face and her ears. She soon settled down, and I let my shoulders relax.

‘Perhaps you should say goodbye to her, Mouse,’ said Aunt Evie, watching Willow carefully. ‘I’ll pop her into the vet on my way home from work this afternoon, but I’m not sure I’ll be bringing her back. She’s so little—’

‘But can’t I come with you? I could hold Willow in the car, and I could make sure she—’

‘No, Mouse. It’s best you go to school. Business as usual, so to speak. We don’t want the Campbells asking awkward questions now, do we?’

School was a complete blur that day. My mind was too filled with Willow to concentrate on anything, although I did notice Harry looking at me once or twice. But I didn’t give him a second thought. I wasn’t even sure if I cared any more why he’d been crying the other day. Not when farming families like his were running over wombats.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked as I turned into his gate that afternoon. Hundreds of ants scattered across the driveway in front of us, disappearing into holes among the stubbly grass.

‘To fetch the mail,’ I muttered, wishing I didn’t have to. If I’d been nervous about seeing Mrs Campbell before, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. I just wanted to go to the cottage and wait for Aunt Evie to bring Willow home, but I’d promised to collect the mail and I couldn’t let her down again. Not after mucking up the rent. Plus I secretly hoped Mum and Dad’s first postcard might have arrived.

‘Everything all right down the cottage?’

I didn’t hear Harry at first. I was thinking of Willow and who might have run over her mum. How could anyone do something so mean?

‘Earth to Mouse,’ he said. ‘Everything okay?’

I shot him a sideways look. Why was he talking to me now? Apart from that first day, we’d hardly said two words to each other. ‘Yeah, why?’

Tiny white snail shells crunched under our feet. A magpie chortled nearby.

‘Oh, nothing,’ he said. ‘Just, you know, it’s been so cold lately, and I was wondering if you had enough rugs and blankets, that sort of stuff.’

I shrugged. I had more important things to worry about than blankets. Like whether the vet would let us care for Willow now her real mum was dead.

But it had been cold. Super cold. Dad always said it was colder when there were no clouds, and there had been nothing but blue skies all week. I wondered if it would ever rain again.

A tractor chugged up and down in a nearby paddock, spreading grain in a long line. Sheep ran to it, bleating.

‘Want to help me feed the lambs?’ asked Harry when we’d nearly reached his farmhouse.

I hunched into my coat, imagining I was next to the pot-belly stove snuggling Willow. ‘No thanks,’ I said.

‘What about some eggs?’ offered Harry. ‘You can help me check the chooks. I’m sure your aunt would like some.’

I shook my head.

His disappointment tugged down the corners of his mouth. ‘Well, I suppose I could always drop some over later,’ he offered. ‘There’s nothing nicer than farm-fresh eggs. I can get your mail, if you like?’

I looked up. ‘Would you?’ I said. That would save me facing Mrs Campbell. ‘Thanks.’ I waited gratefully on the veranda while Harry grabbed our letters, but sighed when I saw there wasn’t a postcard from Mum and Dad.

‘So, I’ll see you later?’ asked Harry.

‘Guess so,’ I replied, quickly turning to go.