Authors: Elisabeth Rose
The Ripple Effect
Elisabeth Rose
For lovers of Debbie Macomber, a powerfully emotional romance about one tragic event, and the family, community, and love that must face the consequences.
Twenty-seven years ago, in the heat and chaos of raging bushfires, local police find a toddler and a newborn baby beside the body of a runaway teenage girl, and the course of two people’s lives is altered forever...
When Shay Brookes and Joelle Paice meet again, they experience an instant, but immediately suppressed attraction. Together, seeking their birth parents, they traverse the emotional minefield of ruptured families — both old and new — discovering lies, mistakes, truths, guilt, and ultimately love, all rippling out from one tragic moment in the past.
Multi-published in romance, Elisabeth Rose lives in Australia’s capital, Canberra. She has completed a performance degree on clarinet, travelled Europe with her musician husband and returned to Canberra to raise two children. In 1987, she began practising Tai Chi and now teaches classes in that as well as teaching and playing clarinet. Reading has been a lifelong love, writing romance a more recent delight.
Thanks to Kate who said, “Let’s do this!” and to fellow Escape author Ainslie Paton who cast fresh eyes over the book blurb.
To Colin, Carla, Nick and Paige
Also Available From Escape Publishing…
Andy jumped down from the cabin and slammed the door, glad to stretch legs stiffening to numb after hours of driving. A puff of pale brown dust squirted up as his boots landed on the ground. The sun, high in a washed blue sky, smashed onto his bare head as he left the shade of the trailer. His dark, Rolling Stones t-shirt sucked in the scorching rays like a black hole. Bloody hot after the aircon of the rig. He adjusted his sunnies and squinted around the parking area. Only two other rigs and a couple of cars baking in the heat. God forsaken, treeless spot, this. Bloody desert. Could do with a cold one but he wouldn’t, not till tonight.
He pulled open the door to the diner and stepped into only marginally cooler air. They needed a better air-conditioner than the old system struggling on the far wall. Forty-degree days must be pretty common out here.
“G’day.” Acknowledging the greeting of the other truckies slouched at a table by the window. Two families occupied themselves with sandwiches and cold drinks, squashed by the searing heat outside, barely speaking. Behind the counter, Julie glanced up from her magazine with a vague smile.
The public phone was in a corner. He pulled out coins and pumped a handful into the slot. Meg took a while to answer. Probably Johnno was keeping her busy. Or maybe her pregnant friend had arrived and they were out somewhere. Maybe, just maybe, she’d done the smart thing and left for her parents’ place.
“Hello.” His heart alternately leapt with pleasure and sagged with unease.
“G’day, love. How are you?”
“Andy! Hi.” The delight in her voice sent a rush of homesickness to his throat, making him swallow hard. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere in the desert. Listen, Meg, I heard about the bushfires on the radio. How close are they?”
“A fair way away, I think. Don’t worry.”
“If there’s even the slightest danger you’ve got to take Johnno and get out of there, love.”
“They reckon it’s better to stay and keep the spot fires under control. More houses are saved that way. I’ve filled the gutters with water and cleared stuff away from the outside walls and all that.”
“It won’t be enough if it comes through full bore, Meg. I’d rather lose the house than you! Don’t be stupid. You’ve got to think about Johnno.”
“I’d never put him in danger. Don’t worry about us. The fires aren’t anywhere near. Plenty of smoke around, though.”
“Have you got the ute packed up ready to go?”
“I’m not going to just walk away from this place and let it burn, Andy. We’ve only been here two months and it’s taken us so long…”
He knew that voice. Stubborn. Agreeing, to keep the peace, but intent on doing her own thing. He had to trust her. She wouldn’t endanger Johnno.
“Okay. I’d better get going. Love you. Give the boy a kiss from his old man.”
“We miss you, too. Love you.”
“Promise you’ll get out if you have to. Don’t leave it too late trying to save the place. It’s not worth it. I’ll call tomorrow.”
He hung up. Uneasy. Frowning. Meg was…Meg. Which was why he loved her.
Andy sat and drank coffee for five minutes with the truckies, too edgy to stay longer. He bought gum and a frozen fruit yoghurt on a stick, then hauled himself back into the rig. Turned the radio on for news.
Bloody fires. Andy exhaled, air whistling through his teeth. He adjusted the volume so the announcer’s voice sounded clearly over the roar of the big engine and the thunder of wheels on tarmac. Three main blazes out of control in northern NSW, the most westerly one close to Toolac on the Tamworth side. The house was twenty k’s southwest. They should be safe if the wind held off. He should be there with her.
Should be. Couldn’t be.
Even if he was in the same state he wouldn’t get back in time to be any use. Three hundred kilometres east of Adelaide and a load to pick up tonight bound for Melbourne. No time to go home, not if he wanted to be paid and kept being paid.
He forgot to ask if her friend had turned up. Emily. If she had any sense she wouldn’t, not until the danger had passed. Those fires could turn at any minute. They travelled faster than an express train and created their own wind after a certain point, feeding on themselves. Unstoppable. Terrifying.
Music replaced the news.
Emily couldn’t carry Johnno any further. He was too heavy and after the last sharp, cramping, gut wrenching pain, she could barely stand up herself. Now they came faster, the contractions. She slumped down onto rough, prickly brown grass at the roadside, the toddler wailing beside her. He was exhausted and terrified but she couldn’t console him anymore. She had her own baby to worry about.
“Mamamaa,” he wailed and Emily managed to whisper, “It’s all right, it’ll be all right. We’ll wait…here. Someone…will come.”
She doubted anyone would find them on this deserted stretch of road. Everyone was out fighting the bushfires and the sky was so clouded by thick grey smoke it seemed like night time when it was really only morning. A hot, nagging wind tugged at her hair and blew dust into their eyes. Johnnie’s tearstained face and little blue t-shirt were filthy. His nappy sagged, pungent, soaked through. They’d had to leave so quickly she’d left everything behind.
“Mama.” His poor little voice was nearly hoarse.
“You’ll…see…Mummy…tomorrow.” The words came out in strangled gasps. He wouldn’t understand, he was too little. All he knew was Mummy wasn’t there and he wanted her. Was Megan all right? Left alone to protect the farmhouse, insisting on pushing Emily and Johnno into the old ute to head for the safety of town. But she couldn’t drive properly, didn’t know the roads—she’d become disoriented, turned up a side track to a deserted stockyard—there was so much smoke and the ute stopped dead. They had to walk, or rather, she walked, fighting fear and rising panic, struggling to carry the baby to safety.
Emily cried out as something gave way and a rush of warm, wet stickiness gushed down her legs.
Thick, acrid, grey smoke swirled about Birrigai’s deserted streets. The fire front was many kilometres away on the far side of the valley but the inhabitants of the small country town had battened down. All men capable of fighting the blaze had been out since dawn the previous day, the women and children had packed their cars with valuables, ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice. Roofs were hosed down, gutters filled with water, buckets and mops ready. They’d all done this before. No-one wanted to leave a home unattended. Burning leaves and tree litter blown in on the wind from kilometres away could start a blaze and incinerate a deserted house.
The local policeman saw the girl—heading home for a few hours sleep, his head spinning with exhaustion, eyes and throat stinging and raw from constantly inhaling smoke, wondering how Amy and the kids were. The headlights caught her for an instant and she looked up, her face a pale blob above a darker mass slumped on the roadside. Something moved beside her. A child.
Stan eased the car alongside the pair. She tried to straighten and he saw she was heavily pregnant, her body swollen and unwieldy. The child stood uncomprehending in the hellish atmosphere, rubbing its eyes with tiny fists, its mouth a round dark hole. When Stan opened the door, he heard the wails, tired, hoarse. Exhausted.
Stan slung his arm around her and lifted her from the ground. Apart from the extended abdomen, she was skin and bone. She sagged against him as if she could give up, now a saviour had appeared. He rested her awkwardly on the back seat and she slumped sideways, silent, eyes closed, face clenched in pain. Stan lifted her bare legs into the car. His hands came away sticky and wet with blood and fluid.
Bloody hell. The baby. She was having the baby
. He snatched up the toddler, thrust him in on the floor beside his mother, slammed the door and sprinted around to the driver’s side. Just a few kilometres to the clinic, not far. Only a small centre but Jenny was a good, competent doctor and Olive had delivered plenty of babies. If he could get her there in time…
Who the hell was she?
And what was she doing in her condition—wandering about alone like that?
Stan roared right up to the door of the white weatherboard bungalow Birrigai called its Medical Centre. Christ, there was a crowd here. From the fires. He leapt from the car and rushed inside yelling for Jenny or Olive, Sally—or anyone—to come and help. The small waiting room was jam-packed with smoke blackened faces and weary, damaged and burned bodies.
Horrie Barnes, retired and doddery, appeared to be helping out. Clutching a sheaf of papers and a pen, he stood in the midst of the chaos looking bewildered.
“What’s the matter, Stan?”
“I’ve got a woman about to drop a baby. I need a stretcher.”
“You’ll have to bring her in,” Horrie said. “We’ve got no stretchers left.”
“Jesus. Get Jenny. There’s a kid with her.” He yelled at the gaping face, “It’s an emergency, Horrie!”
Stan raced back to the car where the child had begun wailing again and the girl lay flat on the seat. He pulled her into a sitting position. Her eyes flickered open briefly when he dragged one of her arms around his neck to haul her from the car. When she screamed, a hoarse, primal wail in his ear, he nearly dropped her.
“Hang on, darling,” he muttered. “Hang on.”
He managed to kick the door shut preventing the bawling toddler from escaping. Horrie held the clinic doors open and Stan staggered in with his unwieldy burden. She was barely able to lift her feet but clung on to his neck with what little strength she had. Her breath rasped hard and desperate from her flimsy body.
“Nearly made it, darl,” he said. “Hold on.”
Then Olive was there calm and competent.
“Bring her through, Stan.” She led him down a short corridor and into a room with a white covered bed. “Lie her down.”
Stan carefully lowered his burden onto the clean, starched sheet. She was young, very young, her body fragile as a butterfly. Her eyes closed and her clammy face contorted in pain but she was lovely with the innocent beauty of a girl too young to be in this situation.
“What’s her name?” asked Olive as she removed the girl’s worn, scruffy sandals and began doing an examination he didn’t want to watch, too much of an intrusion. She was too near his Lisa’s age. Blood streaked her bare thighs.
