Clouds over featherwood.., p.1
Clouds over Featherwood Falls, page 1
CLOUDS OVER FEATHERWOOD FALLS
FEATHERWOOD FALLS SERIES
BOOK 4
HEATHER REYBURN
Copyright © 2023 by Heather Reyburn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
This book is written in Australian English.
Cover design: Patti Roberts (Paradox Book Cover Designs)
ISBN 978-0-6457440-0-2 Print Edition
Heather Reyburn
www.heatherreyburn.com
For Hilary
Thank you for your unwavering encouragement and support
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Heather Reyburn
A Stranger in Featherwood Falls
Secrets in Featherwood Falls
Sparks Fly in Featherwood Falls
About the Author
1
Scowling, Zoe kicked the empty soft-drink can. It bounced and clattered on the footpath, startling a scavenging pigeon. The bird launched itself upward to rest on the rusted gutter of an abandoned shop. In the building’s vacant window, Zoe glimpsed herself—a thin, forlorn teenager in a shabby, navy-blue uniform.
The knot in Zoe’s stomach tightened. For years, dawdling home from school and chatting with her best friends, Amy and Natalia, had been the highlight of her day. Their conversations had morphed from games and what they did on the weekend, to gossip about teachers, fashion, music, and boys as they’d grown up. Talking was good. By the time she and Amy said goodbye to Natalia, then parted company two blocks later, problems had been sorted and secrets shared. Zoe would increase her pace and look forward to being greeted by the fragrant hints of what dinner might contain—and her mother’s company.
Those days were gone. This year, she’d focused on her studies, choir practise on Tuesdays, tennis on Wednesdays, and an after-school maths class on Thursdays. Anything to delay the return home.
It was Friday, and with a boring weekend ahead of her, Zoe’s mind wandered to the world she had created where she worked in a hospital and helped countless patients. They thanked her for her aid, gave her flowers, and spread the word about her amazing healing skills.
Her thoughts of an anticipated and successful career faded to the memory of her sixteenth birthday the previous week. Forgotten by her mother—the one person she’d believed would never forget such an important occasion—Zoe dwelt on the nicely wrapped book and box of chocolates Mrs Worth from across the hall had gently placed in her hands as she had fumbled for her door key. Not to mention the sparkly top her friends had given her before hustling her onto a bus and off to a surprise outing at a pretty café overlooking Brisbane River. The cosy celebration had included a milkshake and luscious chocolate cake—complete with sixteen sparkling candles–and floods of grateful tears.
Zoe approached the shabby building concealing her and her mother’s apartment. Set at the perimeter of inner-city Brisbane, where a conglomeration of high-rise apartments was rapidly overtaking the historic pre-war cottages, the converted factory had loomed, ugly. But for Zoe, it was home—for now.
Zoe climbed the stairs, her pulse racing. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps a lasagne would be baking in the oven, or a cooked chicken and salad would be waiting for her in the fridge?
Hope rose as she slid her key into the lock. Music drifted through the door and … could that be her mother singing?
It is!
Catherine Ferguson sprang toward her daughter, arms outstretched.
Blinking rapidly, Zoe sank into her mother’s embrace, leaned on her shoulder, and hugged her. Then Zoe stepped back, holding Catherine by the forearms, and stared into her eyes.
Zoe’s heart plummeted. The centre of her mum’s wide, blue irises were nothing but tiny, black pinpricks. Emitting a silent sigh, Zoe glanced around the room. It was clean and tidy. The polished timber floorboards gleamed. Plumped cushions stood to attention on the couch and the kitchen bench bore none of the usual empty wine bottles, glasses, and food scraps.
‘Are you feeling better, Mum?’
‘Darling! I’m wonderful. Adrian popped in this morning, and after he left, I gave the place a spring clean.’
Zoe groaned. They were back to square one.
She pushed past her mother and flung her schoolbag onto the floor in the corner of her bedroom. The lump in her stomach grew heavier.
‘I thought we’d order pizza and watch a movie tonight. Just you and me—like old times,’ Catherine called from the living room.
Zoe cleared her throat. ‘Sure, Mum. I need to change my library books before they close.’
After stripping off her uniform, she threw on jeans and a T-shirt and shouldered her bag. ‘I’ll be back around five. We can order the pizza then, okay?’
Catherine didn’t look up as she scrolled through her phone. ‘Bye, darling. See you later.’
Zoe ran down the stairs, swinging savagely on the banister as she went. Her initial surge of hope wavered, as though held by a spider’s thread, waiting to be swiped into oblivion. As she hurried along the road, she pressed curled knuckles against her mouth. She wanted to scream, yell, and cry like a toddler as vivid memories of the overheard conversation resurged. But what good would that do? Who could she tell? The police? If she did say something, would the big man or Adrian come after her? Fear gripped her as she approached the tiny park where, only a week earlier, she had been walking the same route and seen Adrian in a heated conversation with a much larger man. Not wanting to be recognised by Adrian, she had quickly stepped behind the hedge surrounding two sides of the park, out of sight, but not out of hearing.
‘She’s threatening to go to the cops. What should I do?’ Adrian had mumbled.
‘This will solve the problem,’ the gravelly voice had answered.
Zoe had pressed closer into the hedge, peering through the leaves as the bigger man held up a clip-seal bag of white powder. Were they talking about her mother?
‘I’m not going to do that.’ Adrian’s voice had trembled, his volume louder.
The man with the gravelly voice had spun Adrian around and held a knife to his neck.
‘You are forgetting who is in charge here. You’ll do as you’re told. If you don’t, no one will find your body.’
Adrian’s terrified response had resounded in Zoe’s ears as she had stealthily retreated to a side road and taken the longer route to the library, her jelly-like legs struggling to carry her.
Now, as she marched, Zoe pushed her fears to the back of her mind and forced her thoughts on her imaginary world—the one filled with purpose and appreciation. The one she was determined to achieve, even if it took every waking moment to accomplish.
Late spring in Brisbane was Zoe’s favourite time of year. The vibrant mauve flowers of the jacaranda trees lined the streets and gardens, their petals brightening the drab bitumen and detracting from the buzz and chaos of the city. She stepped out of the library as a light shower of rain fell, its gentle moisture generating steam from the pavement. Zoe groped in her library bag for the folding umbrella. Getting wet didn’t worry her but protecting books was an entirely different matter.
Tilting her face upward, she breathed in the warm, fresh air, revelling in the smell of rain. The shower passed and she strode out, closing the umbrella and glancing at the sky. She didn’t wear a watch—hers had broken long ago, and she hadn’t liked to ask her mother for money to buy a new one. The library clock had shown four-thirty when she was checking out her books, so she’d estimated she’d get home right on five o’clock. A watery sun hovered low in the west. She gave a small nod and increased her pace. She would be back at the predicted time.
Furrows formed between her eyes as she turned the corner into her street. Zoe flicked her long, dark hair from her face and stopped abruptly. Parked against the kerb fifty metres ahead was an ambulance, a police car, and a throng of spectators. Blue and red lights flashed, reflecting in the puddles.
For a second, her legs refused to work. Th
Her life was about to change forever.
2
A shrill ring snapped Lola from dreamily gazing through the kitchen window, where the blue sky and the fresh spring air had gone almost unnoticed. She’d been dwelling on the long absence since her son’s last visit. Lola wiped floured hands on her bright, floral apron and lifted the receiver to her ear.
‘Hello. Featherwood Falls store—Lola speaking.’
‘Mum. It’s me. Ryan.’
A momentary leap of joy tore through her at the sound of his voice. Was he a mind-reader? He rarely phoned and when he did—except for the occasion of either her or Frank’s birthday—the call was usually to advise of yet another change of employment, location, or even country.
‘How are you, love? Where are you now?’
The line was silent for a few seconds, and Lola’s breath hitched. Her intuition suggested whatever her son was about to tell her, it was going to be unexpected, possibly disappointing. She perched on a stool and leaned her elbows on the stainless-steel bench.
‘I’m in Brisbane.’
Lola sat bolt upright again. Really? Only hours away. ‘That’s wonderful. Are you coming home?’ Her voice quavered with hope.
‘Yes. I’ve got a few things to sort out here first. Probably make it in about a week. How’s Dad?’
‘He’s fine. Out delivering the mail. He’ll be delighted to see you.’
Her mind raced. It had been years since their precious only child had been home. She would clear her sewing mess from his bedroom, bake his favourite fruit cake, and maybe buy some new towels to replace the worn pile in the linen cupboard.
With her thoughts wandering, she almost missed his next statement.
‘I’ll be bringing someone with me. Is that all right?’
‘Of course, love. You know any friend of yours is welcome—always has been.’ She smiled at the memories of hordes of school friends having sleepovers in years gone by. ‘Is it one of your workmates …’ Excitement built inside her. ‘Or is it a … lady friend?’
Again, the silence stretched between them.
‘Yes … female. And she’ll need her own room.’ His voice was hesitant, as though even he couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Don’t worry, love. I’ll have everything ready. How long do you think you’ll be able to stay this time?’ she finished brightly, crossing her fingers on the hand that rested on the bench.
‘I really don’t know. There’s a lot I have to do here before we can come home—but I’ll explain it all when we arrive.’
‘Okay. I look forward to seeing you again—and of course, meeting your friend.’
‘Righto. I’ve gotta go, Mum. I’ll let you know when we’ll be arriving.’
‘That will be lovely. Bye now.’
‘Bye.’
As she replaced the receiver, Lola returned to the kitchen window and stared. In her mind, Ryan was a child again, kicking a ball around with his friends or riding his horse with Emma in the paddock where the rescued kangaroos grazed.
Now a man in his early forties, he had roamed the world—worked in a variety of mines, oil rigs, and other isolated locations that prevented regular contact with friends and family. And it seemed he had a girlfriend. She was a little miffed that he had asked for a separate bedroom. These days, she presumed most couples, married or otherwise, shared a room—and a bed.
She sighed. Who was she to question? It would be a joy to wrap her arms around her son—and that was enough.
The shop bell rang, and Ginny Shepherd stepped through the doorway. ‘Hi, Lola. I’ve run out of milk. Thought I’d pop in for a cuppa and a chat too—if you’ve got time?’ She looked around the store. ‘Not busy this morning?’
Lola smiled at her. Despite their age gap, she and Ginny had been close for decades—their friendship having deepened further over the past three years with the ongoing dramas that had plagued their small town. ‘That would be lovely. I have news to share.’
‘Oh. Sounds intriguing.’ Ginny glanced at the rack of lamingtons on the table, their fresh chocolate-and-coconut coating dripping onto the surface beneath them. ‘How about you get those into the fridge while I make the coffee?’
While the women sat at the small, round table in the café’s corner, Lola regaled the substance of her telephone conversation with Ryan.
‘That’s brilliant news. I hope he can stay awhile. You’ll have to come to the farm—Kirk and I’ll put on a welcome-home barbeque for him.’
Lola brushed a lock of grey hair off her face, her dangling earrings swinging wildly as she turned to face the living quarters adjoining the back of the shop kitchen. ‘I’ve got a bit of work to do. Ryan’s room is a mess of sewing projects, and we’ve been using the spare room for storage.’ Her voice rose. ‘It’s going to take some sorting.’
Ginny covered Lola’s hand with her own. ‘I’m here and can help. Why don’t you talk to Frank when he gets home and decide where things can be put and then we can get started.’
Lola nodded. ‘I can’t believe it. Since the end of his and Emma’s relationship, I’ve dreamt of Ryan bringing home a soulmate. Someone who can share his life when Frank and I are gone—and someone who might give us grandchildren.’ Her face softened. ‘We would love that.’
Ginny chuckled.
Anyone who walked around the back of the store would understand her need to share her love. Not only due to the many hand-reared kangaroos that hopped about, coming close to the fence at the sight of a human who might be generous enough to pat or feed them, but also the large, beautifully constructed row of wood-and-netted pens filled with recovering and orphaned koalas, possums, and other native animals. Getting up to feed tiny creatures every two or three hours in the night, coaxing traumatised baby animals to accept a rubber teat or eyedropper in order to obtain sustenance, and spending every spare dollar on special dietary requirements was a given for Lola. She did it because she could not bear to think every human and animal wasn’t given a chance. Didn’t they all deserve care and a purpose—even if survival was short-lived compared with humans?
‘I understand, Lola.’ Ginny stood and hugged the older woman. ‘You have so much love in your heart. Any grandchildren you have—and remember, there’s still time as Ryan’s a relatively young man—will be the envy of many.’
Lola ducked her head, the heat in her cheeks deepening. ‘That’s enough of the babble, Ginny. I’d better make a start on tidying up while the shop’s not busy.’
‘I can stay,’ Ginny repeated.
Lola flapped a hand. ‘No, let me sort out what I can first, and I’ll call you when I need help with the spare room.’ She tapped a forefinger on her bottom lip. ‘Pity I don’t know what sort of woman she is. Should I buy a new doona cover?’
‘Oh, Lola. I’m sure whatever the bedroom looks like, whoever she is will be happy. I’ll help you clear it out, then we’ll give it a good clean, put fresh sheets on the bed and a vase of flowers on the dresser.’
Meeting Ginny’s smile with hers, Lola lowered her shoulders. ‘You’re right. Ryan’s friends have always been polite and friendly. Why would this woman be any different?’
3
Bent over the piano, Emma closed her eyes, sinking into the rhythm of “Jessica’s Theme” from the movie The Man from Snowy River. While her fingers flew, so too did memories—of her teenaged years when she and Ryan had ridden their horses up the valley, daring each other to canter close to the edge of the cliffs, imitating Jim Craig and Jessica Harrison. They had been blissfully happy days. Best friends for as long as she could remember, both had recently celebrated their fifteenth birthdays when their hormones ran rife, deepening their friendship into something that had both frightened and exhilarated her.
