Ruby Sue by Rhubee Neale

Fictional short story

Born from the red ochre dust, a child of the Dreamtime, Ruby Sue carried magic in her every step. Her laughter rang across the station, a song that healed hearts and stirred the wind. She sang the melodies her mother had taught her as a child—songs of the Dreamtime that carried stories of the past and whispers of the future. Through them, Ruby Sue learned respect, love, and the enduring strength of her people.

Her beauty was quiet but striking: dark hair kissed by the sun, deep, glowing skin, and teeth that shone with the brilliance of her smile. Tall and lean, she moved like a waterbird gliding across still waters, leaving the red dust barely disturbed beneath her feet. Watching her was like glimpsing a moment of magic.

Ruby Sue spoke little English, her words weighted with the rhythm of her heritage. She mimicked phrases from the radio—Slim Dusty, Ted Egan—mixing them with her own voice, echoing across the station like wind through the ranges.

She had never known her father. A railway worker passing through long ago, he left only a pair of eyes mirrored in hers. Sometimes, lost in thought, she would sit on the boulder at the edge of the station, whispering to the wind, “Dada… that whirlwind is you, here then gone.” She imagined him laughing, grumpy, kind, or distant. The questions swirled like satellites over the desert night, and as the sun set, she sighed softly, “Never mind.”

Ruby Sue had a ritual: she would race back to the station, kicking up red dust, and sit by the kitchen window to watch her mother, May, work. May could not read or write, but she could conjure magic in the kitchen. Every gesture, every stir and fold, Ruby Sue observed and memorized. “I’m gonna be just like you, Mum,” she would whisper.

One day, a telegram arrived, carrying news that felt as foreign as the world itself: a special visitor—a prince from Europe—would come to their remote station. Ruby Sue found it hard to imagine anyone seeking the wide-open plains, the wind-blown ranges, the sunburnt dust. She wandered beneath a gumtree, letting the quiet take her, until a voice broke the stillness.

“Hello.”

She blinked against the fading light. There he stood—handsome, polite, real. “I’m Prince James from Spain,” he said. He spoke of dreams of riding horses, living the life of a stockman, feeling the land beneath his feet. Ruby Sue’s heart skipped; a flutter she had never known before settled deep in her chest. His smile, the tilt of his head, left her breathless.

The dinner bell rang, pulling them back to the station. Laughing, she challenged him, “Race you to the kitchen!” Dust swirled around their feet, and for a moment, time held its breath. The prince’s visit lasted only two weeks, but his parting kiss and whispered promise—“If we meet again, I will marry you, Ruby Sue”—remained with her forever.

Years passed. Suitors came and went, yet Ruby Sue’s heart stayed tethered to that fleeting, perfect moment. She worked, saved, and finally, bought a ticket, secured a passport, and left Stone Hill Station for the first time. With a wave to her mother, to the Boss and his family, she followed her heart into the unknown.

Far from home, Ruby Sue found love again, but the memory of James lingered. She carried Stone Hill Station with her—the red dust, the whispering wind, the creek where she had played. And she knew that one day, she would return. To watch the last sunset, to rest where her journey began, to say her final goodbye—back to the land that had made her, and the love that had first awakened her heart.