The Harbinger
PAT ADAMS-WRIGHT
Copyright © 2018 Pat Adams-Wright
The Harbinger by Pat Adams-Wright
Paperback:
ISBN-13: 978-1720982531
ISBN-10: 1720982538
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 and the United Kingdom Copyright Act of 1956 and 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real, except where noted. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental, except where noted.
Cover Design by Dragonborne
Rogena Mitchell-Jones, Literary Editor
RMJ Manuscript Service LLC
www.rogenamitchell.com
This author writes in UK English, thus using UK diction that might not be the same verbiage as used in the US and other countries.
To my departed brother, Stan.
Another piece of the jigsaw is missing.
One day the complete picture will emerge.
You are missed.
Think of your child, then, not as dead, but as living; not as a flower that has withered, but as one transplanted, and touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer colours and sweeter shades than those of earth.
Richard Hooker
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
Acknowledgments
Also By Pat Adams-Wright
About the Author
1
The frost nipped hard at the edges of Ellie Hanray’s ears. She irritably pulled the woolly hat down as far as it would go, but she knew in a few minutes, it would ride up again. She was grateful to her mother for knitting it, but would have been more grateful had she checked the size first. Ellie tried to move her long legs, but knew instinctively they would be stiff, so she began rubbing furiously with her gloved hands to get her circulation flowing freely again—not for the first time during this visit. Jeans just didn’t hack it in weather this cold, but she didn’t have anything thicker. Actually, she did but could imagine the look on her mother’s face if she saw her in jogging bottoms whilst out in public.
Pulling her coat sleeve up above her wrist, she looked at her watch. Three o’clock. She’d be meeting her mother in fifteen minutes in the library café, so she needed to think about moving soon. She’d been sitting on the bench for nearly two hours, never noticing the time passing. This was her world now. Drifting off into the past, replaying times of laughter and sadness in glorious technicolour. His hair had been the same shade of burnished gold as her own, and the same texture—soft to the touch, not coarse like some ginger hair tended to be. His smile made her day—every day. His laughter was an experience, throwing his head back when he found something funny, roaring at his audience. Her mother’s cat rubbing its behind up and down the patio window would send him into fits of laughter.
As usual, Ellie was close to tears. She felt close to him here. This is where it had happened… the accident. The one that had robbed her of her five-year-old son. The one she had gone through so much to conceive. Now he was gone forever, and it was her fault. Even when the coroner assured Ellie it was a tragic accident, she still knew it was her own fault. Her insides had clenched and bucked and heaved while he read out his findings, all the time knowing she was to blame. Nothing would ever absolve her.
Before leaving the park, she took a long look around her, wiping away the unbidden tears, not really wanting to leave—to leave him here alone in the cold. The park looked beautiful with its deep covering of fine powdered snow, almost blue in colour due to the fading light. Looking towards the play area yielded no sign of exactly where it had happened, only the top two-thirds of the slide visible and the top handle of the roundabout. Great swathes of drifting snow covered the black rubber seats of the swings. Some of the footpath was visible, although ice covered. Thankfully, the high winds had ceased during the morning bringing a frigid stillness and plummeting temperatures. The tree’s branches looked as though they would snap at the lightest of touches, covered as they were by the icing sugar frosted coating. Quietness enveloped the entire landscape, any noise absorbed like a sponge by the several inches of snow.
So different from the spring and summer days when the children from the nursery and infant schools were treated by parents to a short time here, to burn off their excess energy after being confined to the classroom. After buying their children ice cream or ice-lollies from the competing vendor of their choice, the mothers would meet in small groups and talk aimlessly about nothing while the children played on the available apparatus. That had been her downfall—to take her eyes off him for a matter of seconds while she talked… about nothing. Seconds had been long enough. Now she would have plenty of those to fill... alone.
As she grabbed her bag, the fluttering of small wings close by made her jump. Her heart picked up its beat with the suddenness of the interruption. As she turned, a robin had landed gracefully on the back of the bench. Its nearness surprised her. Although she had seen numerous in the park, they always kept their distance, only coming down to pick up any morsels left behind once you began to leave. This plump little rascal was brazen. Its chubby body, kept aloft on ridiculously spindly legs and delicate claws, successfully defying any gravitational pull. Its beady little jet-black eyes seemed to be scanning her, first down then up, repeating and repeating.
“To what do I owe the honour, little chap?” Ellie asked in a quiet voice, feeling silly talking to a bird, and yet feeling the strongest of urges to do it.
The robin tilted his head to one side. The fiercely orange plumage—except for the tiniest touch of black in one spot on the edge—separated slightly as it blended with the delicate grey. She was so close that she could see how wispy the individual feathers were as they fluffed against the cold weather. Ellie felt honoured to be in such close proximity to the beautiful little creature. She had some cookies in her bag she’d bought from the local bakery on the way to the park—her nightly treat before bedtime. Ellie thought he might fly away if she reached into her bag for them. She thought to crumble one up to leave him and the other birds some sugary morsels to help keep the cold at bay. However, he didn’t fly away. He merely tilted his head from side to side, still staring at her, and then he opened his mouth, letting out a stream of delicate birdsong.
Ellie was transfixed, yet she still expected him to make his escape as she took off her gloves, but he didn’t make a move to leave her. It was as though he was talking to her in some language she didn’t understand. She tittered to herself. Dr Doolit
tle, eat your heart out, she thought as she snapped and ground the cookie into fine particles. She reached out, waiting for the fluttering of his tiny wings, and placed a small pile of cookie crumbs at the far side of the seat beside her. However, the beating of the wings never came. He didn’t fly away—neither did he attempt to eat what she’d given him. All he did was cease crooning. Although she wanted to stay and watch him devour every last morsel, Ellie knew she needed to be on her way to the library. Time and her mother waited for no one. Her mother detested tardiness.
“I hope to see you later,” Ellie said, as she gathered her belongings. She was sure he answered her by tilting his head backwards and forward. Her mum always said she’d been given over to flights of fancy. Perhaps this was one of them. All she knew was Alex would have loved to share the experience. He’d had a calm and gentle way with him towards every creature, no matter what the animal. She reluctantly left the robin on the back of the park bench as she walked away. Alex was watching, she sensed it, and she knew he would enjoy seeing the robin feed.
The long walk across the park made the minutes tick by quickly, and Ellie was grateful. Now that she was moving, she felt bitterly cold and couldn’t wait to feel the warmth she knew would greet her inside the library. She couldn’t wait either, to wrap her fingers around the mug of steaming coffee, knowing it would burn tremendously for a few seconds against her stingingly chilly hands. Because, despite wearing gloves and being buried deep within her pockets, they would still be cold. It would be worth it, though.
The library revealed itself with a parting of a small copse of trees. The single story, redbrick building was the hub of the community, as it had been since it was built in the 1950s. When the local council announced its closure three years earlier, there was uproar. Thousands of letters and emails bombarded the local council and MP, to complain—sometimes even pleading for them to reconsider their decision. They remained… inexorable. It wasn’t as though former users had replaced the library with modern technology at home and then abandoned it. It had remained well used even when threatened with impending closure. Now, it was the beating heart of the community even more so than before. Children and parents used it after school, avid readers and the elderly used it anytime it was open. Now, one full-time librarian operated it along with trusted volunteers, all of whom had some library experience. Curtailed hours was a price they’d had to pay, but nevertheless… it had remained open.
A local entrepreneur was whom they’d had to thank in the main for the reprieve. He had used the library as a second home, in his childhood and youth. From the gossip doing the rounds at the time of the rescue, and according to her mother, it appeared his home life wasn’t the best environment for a child, and the library was his refuge. He escaped physically, emotionally, and mentally, as his mind delved into different worlds and used the information gleaned to further his success. Michael Devlin saved the building and its contents by offering the council something they couldn’t refuse—a great deal of money. He would meet the cost of the building, contents, and staff wage, but money for replacements of stock and running costs was to be found by the users. Hence, the small area turned over to a café. Guaranteed income from rent and a small percentage from the profits, not to mention regular fundraising events well supported by the whole town—usually organised by the library committee, of which her mother was a member. More than one person had said if you want something done… do it yourself. Moreover, they had done just that—with the help of Michael Devlin.
Ellie felt the difference in temperature as soon she went through the second entrance door into the library proper. She breathed in a lungful of warm air and the welcoming and compelling aroma of warm paper and leather. She loved the smell of books, a sentiment shared by many people. E-readers were useful, especially for holidays where weight restrictions on luggage were always a factor. Some readers she knew, especially those with time to spare, could get through a book a day. At that rate, you could kiss a holiday with clothes included goodbye.
As she loosened the buttons on her coat, she made her way to the counter, retrieving a small piece of paper from her coat pocket. As she waited for someone to come out from the office to help her, she glanced around the room. Pockets of children surrounded the four computer terminals, mothers and fathers pointing to the screens and giving any necessary instructions or explanations. Others sat reading in the quiet area, specially designed for children with low tables and chairs. Parents struggled to get up and down from the soft foam seats, but she had never once heard anyone complain. A few desks dotted the perimeter of the area where older children pored over school books. Ellie smiled—the sight pleased her. The small town had good reason to be proud.
Chatter drifted from behind the moveable screens, indicating the way to the busy café. Sue’s Place was a welcome retreat with only one rule. No books allowed. Ellie smiled again to herself musing over the ruling, given its situation in the library. However, according to her mother, the font of all knowledge, the committee had decided it sensible, not only to cut down on accidental damage to books but also to give people in the community the opportunity to talk to each other, a godsend to those who lived much of their lives in isolation. Not to mention the reduction in their own heating and lighting costs while they were here.
A movement behind Ellie made her turn around. The greeting with a gracious smile came from a woman she had never seen before. Her name badge read Holly, and she possessed the largest pair of green eyes Ellie had ever seen. They were mesmerising. The corners of them crinkled as she smiled.
“Oh, hi,” stuttered Ellie, for a moment forgetting why she stood at the counter in the first place. “Sorry,” she said, owning up to her own surprise. “I was expecting to see Dawn.” She felt the paper in her hand as her face reddened. “I was told this would probably be here today,” Ellie said, returning the smile, training her own eyes on the stunning ones across the counter. She handed over a scrap of paper. Ellie felt a slight tingle in her fingers as they accidentally brushed against Holly’s.
Holly glanced down at the note, taking a cursory look. “Dawn’s in the back doing paperwork,” she said as she rolled her eyes, the smile never leaving her face. “It seems to be the bane of everyone’s life these days. Your actual job is put on the back burner.” Holly looked at the paper again, this time studying it more closely. Her eyebrow furrowed beneath close-cut blonde curls. “I’ve been through all the books we’ve received so far this week, but I don’t recognise the title as one I’ve come across. Give me a minute, and I’ll check again.”
Holly made her way back into the office, so Ellie turned her back and began scanning the library again, elbows resting comfortably on the reception desk behind her. Ellie’s eyes scanned the bookshelves that lined two full walls now. She remembered when it used to be three, but they’d had to give up some space to house the café. The reference section was contained on half a wall, and everything else housed in all other spaces, including the long freestanding units that radiated out into the room. It had worked very well, although, in moments of nostalgia, Ellie yearned for the quiet and seemingly endless rows of books. It used to give the feeling of being taken into a loved one’s arms and given a big hug. Those days seemed a long way off now, and Ellie couldn’t decide whether it was a good move or not, although she knew she should be grateful to have access to a local library, at all.
Holly, clearing her throat behind her, roused Ellie from her thoughts. Holly puckered her mouth and tilted her head to one side once she had Ellie’s attention. “I’m sorry, it hasn’t arrived yet, and they haven’t sent an email saying why. Let me get in touch with the suppliers and see what they have to say.”
“I’m not in any hurry, so it’s not an issue. I’m normally here every Thursday at this time to meet my mum in the café. I do pop in at other times to browse the novels though. Just let me know. I have plenty of other reading matter to fill my hours. Thanks for having another look.” Ellie lifted her hand and waved
, walking towards the café to wait for the weekly grilling from her mother.
Sue’s Place was full, bar one table that backed onto one of the screens at the far end of the space. Not ideal, thought Ellie, because a certain amount of privacy allowed her mother to delve into places with her questions—one Ellie would prefer her not to do. Still no option today. It looked as though extra people had some respite from the bitter cold outside. As she queued for her drinks, the aroma of ground coffee mingled with that of hot chocolate, giving a weird but not unpleasant smell to the air around her. Ellie’s sight drifted to the array of homemade cakes behind the glass shelf in front of her. The artificial light’s glare on the gleaming surface didn’t deter her from gazing. The promise she’d made to herself about staying away from sweet things was disappearing down a black hole. Given the amount she ate, which was very little these days, she doubted an extra portion of sweetness would make a difference.
“Your usual, Ellie?” asked Sue, dragging herself away from the sink, her facial characteristics arranged for questioning. “Will she be joining you?” Sue enquired. She possessed harsh facial features (those usually related to boxing, though Ellie felt unkind as she made the comparison), set in a flat face topped off with chocolate brown eyes and coarse, wiry, dark ginger hair—cut short. Her plump body encased a heart of gold.
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