Little Blue Box, page 1
Little Blue Box
Australian At Heart, Volume 1
Frances Dall'Alba
Published by Poinsettia Publishing, 2021.
Also by Frances Dall'Alba
Australian At Heart
Little Blue Box
The Stone In The Road
The Silk Scarf (Coming Soon)
Watch for more at Frances Dall'Alba’s site.
LITTLE BLUE BOX
AUSTRALIAN AT HEART BOOK 1
FRANCES DALL’ALBA
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to a name, character or history of any actual person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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LITTLE BLUE BOX
Copyright © 2021 by Frances Dall’Alba
Print ISBN: 978-0-6451162-0-5
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The moral right of the author has been asserted
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission from the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via Internet or by any other means without the permission of Poinsettia Publishing is illegal.
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Coming Soon
The Stone In The Road - Australian at Heart Book 2
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The Silk Scarf - Australian at Heart Book 3
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Click on the link below and read more about what’s coming soon:
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For my family, David, Julia, Emma and Sarah, for all your generous support.
And for Lisa — my critique partner and friend. We started this journey not knowing where it would lead us, and look at us now!
Little Blue Box
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Finalist 2019, West Houston Romance Writers, The Emily Award
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Finalist 2019, Romance Writers of New Zealand, Pacific Hearts Award
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
Epilogue
Also by Frances Dall’Alba
CHAPTER 1
Ella Harvey dialled her mother’s number and slipped the phone into the pocket of her work pants. She adjusted the bluetooth earpiece before tugging at a jammed shopping trolley.
She made her way inside as her mother answered. “Hey, Mum,” Ella announced first.
“Ella, darling. How are you?”
“I’m fine, just buying some groceries.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you at work?”
Ella directed the trolley to the meat section. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I wanted to be close in case you or Victoria needed me. Has she started chemo yet?”
“They’re a little behind and your sister didn’t think it was worth driving all the way back home. So, we’ll wait it out here at the hospital.”
Ella swore.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’d think I could control a shopping trolley, wouldn’t you? I swear the damn wheels on this thing are designed to move in different directions. God help us, why hasn’t an engineer designed something that works?”
Her mother’s laughter filtered through the speaker. It was good to hear her laugh. Her natural cheerfulness had been lost in all the turmoil lately.
“That’s because you prefer to design bridges, culverts and sewerage systems.”
“Okay, point taken.” Ella chuckled. Her mother was spot-on. As a civil engineer, Ella fell in love with bridges more often than men.
“Thanks for thinking of your sister today. She’ll get through this.”
Ella swallowed. She loved her mother and siblings, more so since Victoria’s diagnosis. “I’m going to put dinner on early and then do some house cleaning for you.”
“I’ll appreciate a nice hot meal but don’t overdo it. Some days there are more important things to worry about, like that report you have to finish.”
Ella jerked the trolley to a stop in the next aisle. “Yeah, nearly done. I’ll work on it this afternoon from home.” Ella selected a couple of avocados before moving the reluctant trolley towards the ingredients for a salad. “Ring me when Vic’s started her chemo.”
“I will. Now not too much cleaning, okay? Catch up on your report. I know how important your work is to you.”
Ella’s chest swelled with pride. She did love her job. She often bounced ideas off her mother. Sometimes she got so caught up in numbers and calculations she missed the common-sense things. Her mother was the perfect sounding-board.
“I will.”
“And thanks, Ella. Drive carefully.”
“Nah, where’s the fun in that?”
“Ella!” her mother admonished.
“Relax, mum. As if.” They both laughed as Ella tapped her bluetooth earpiece to end the call.
Ella teetered on the ladder shoved against the top shelf of her mother’s wardrobe. She sneezed hard. Years of accumulated dust tickled her eyes and clogged her throat as she tossed woollen blankets, dresses and shoe boxes into a pile on the floor. Having put dinner in the slow cooker, she was determined to give her mother’s room a thorough clean, then freshen the bed with the new quilt cover she’d purchased last-minute, after finishing her grocery shopping.
It was hard to believe her twenty-two-year-old sister, who was four years younger than her, had been diagnosed with lymphoma. The news had rocked their family again. Only six months ago her stepfather’s death had shattered their lives. Her mother deserved something nice for a change.
She swiped the wet rag in the shadowed corner one last time and something slid across the shelf. She pulled it closer and spied a small cardboard box, yellowed and stained, obviously long forgotten. She shook it gently and something rattled inside.
Curious, Ella climbed down and placed the box on the worn bedspread. She bit her lip and fingered the cracked tape that had curled away from the edges of the lid. What was inside? Old love letters from her dad or forgotten mementos of her mother’s youth?
Ella blinked back tears. Damn it. If only Dad was here now.
As much as she itched to look inside, she knew she should wait. She gave it another gentle shake then put it down again. But it taunted her. What was in there?
She groaned before picking up the box and heading for the kitchen. A glass of water to clear her throat was in order. What harm was there in having a quick peek inside, anyway?
The afternoon sun streamed in through the kitchen window, starting to make a show. The lawn needed to be mowed; she considered pull-starting the old mower and doing the job. It wouldn’t take her more than half an hour.
She poured water into a chipped mug that had been her father’s favourite and sat down on a stool in the kitchen. She took a sip and eyed the box, ran a finger over the top and removed a thick layer of dust. Technically, she wasn’t breaking into it. The tape, once used to keep it closed, had dried and no longer stuck. She could have a quick peek and return it safely to its spot. No harm done.
Gently, she pried at the lid, disturbing more dust. At first it was reluctant to come off, but with a bit more encouragement, she levered it off, taking care not to damage it and give herself away.
When she peered inside, she frowned. On top sat a photo of her mother. She looked young and stunning, most likely in her early twenties. Her light honey-coloured shoulder-length hair and make-up had been expertly done.
“Mum, a blonde?”
Ella had only known her mother with chestnut-brown hair. Which was her natural colour? She peered closer. Who was the exotic dark-haired woman beside her? It wasn’t someone Ella recognised.
She put the photo aside and reached in for a little blue box. She cradled it on her palm and lifted the lid. Inside was a delicate gold baby’s bracelet nestled on top of a square of white silk. Noticing an inscription, she held it up to the light. Isabella, 16 May 1990.
< br /> She gasped and dropped the bracelet back into the box. That was her date of birth. But Isabella? Her birth certificate clearly stated her name was Ella. Who was Isabella?
Her hand shook as she picked the bracelet up again. Her fingers tangled around the chain, a thousand questions running around her head. Did she have a twin born on the same day? Surely her mother wouldn’t have kept something that significant a secret?
She gazed intently at the bracelet, unable to break the connection. She had no recollection of ever wearing it, but then again, she’d have been a baby. But Isabella? What the …? Was it a coincidence her name was a shortened version of Isabella?
Her vision blurred. The longer she stared, the harder it was to make sense of anything.
She shook her head to clear the fuzziness and put the bracelet back. Not sure what to think, she picked up the last item in the box. It was a photo of a baby clipped from a newspaper. No details were offered. It appeared as though someone had cut around other figures in the picture, and any words that may have been written below the baby had also been lopped off.
She frowned and placed everything back the way she’d found it. A sickening sensation swirled in her stomach.
And there it was, the problem she’d faced. The identity of her biological father. The only thing she couldn’t discuss with her mother. From as far back as she could remember, every time Ella broached the subject her mother tensed, quickly grew upset and ended up in tears. Ella had learned from her early teen years to keep her mouth shut, but the need to discover his identity never left her.
She promised herself that one day she would find him. How she expected to do so without a single clue had kept her awake at night. Did this small box finally present some clues?
Her initial reaction was that the baby in the newspaper photo was her. It was hard to be certain, because one baby looked like another. And the oldest photos Ella had seen of herself had been taken when she was aged three. Her mother’s excuse over the years that she hadn’t owned a camera before then sounded reasonable. So why had she kept this one hidden? If the baby wasn’t her, who was it? Not her half-siblings, because she’d seen heaps of those.
What if the woman beside her mother in the photo could help her? Who was she? How could Ella find out without asking her mother? She had nowhere to start. No name, no family, nothing. She cursed under her breath and fisted her hands in her hair. The contents of this box stirred up something deeply emotional in her and left her with no choice but to find an answer to the question once and for all.
Ella jumped when the phone shrilled behind her. She stumbled back but caught the stool before it crashed to the tiled floor.
“H-hello,” she stammered when the handpiece was close enough.
“Darling, it’s Mum.”
Startled, Ella dropped the handpiece, saving it at the last minute with her foot. “Mum, I’m still here,” she called out as she bent down to pick it up.
“Is everything okay?”
With the phone against her ear again, Ella’s heart pounded. She was sure someone had caught her out. “Yes, Mum, everything’s fine. Sorry, I dropped the phone.”
“Okay. We’re a couple of hours from getting home. Victoria’s chemo just started.”
“Are you in the same room?” Ella asked.
“No, I’ve gone in search of a toilet and a coffee. I told Vic I’d be back in a few minutes.”
Ella didn’t respond immediately.
“Ella?”
“I’m here, Mum.”
“I was confident earlier today, but now I’m really scared for her,” her mum said, sounding tired.
Ella slid to the floor, her face resting on her raised knees. “Oh, Mum.”
“I know. It’ll be difficult for her.”
Ella rocked back and forth and closed her eyes. What was she supposed to say? Now that the reality of Victoria’s second session of chemo had begun, new worries crept in. She’d been so sick after the last round. This time she would lose her beautiful hair. No doubt Ella’s mother was just as worried.
She lent strength to her mother by being there. Most days it was enough. She’d always been able to communicate with her mother, without excess words—except, of course, on that one subject.
Ella rose and stretched. She sat on the kitchen stool again and rested her elbows on the bench. The phone was still pressed against her ear. “I better let you get back to Victoria.”
“Okay, we’ll talk later. And thanks, Ella. Thanks for being there.”
“No worries, Mum. Bye.”
Ella put the handpiece down but continued to sit, dazed. She cradled her head and roughly massaged her scalp. Her thoughts were scattered. With her family in such a fragile state, she didn’t want anything new to upset it.
She loved living with her mother and siblings in their Brisbane home. The laughter, the fun, and all things family. With her much-loved stepfather no longer around, it was more important that she remain close.
Did she really want to learn what her mother was hiding? Would her mother resent her if she unearthed secrets better left buried?
She didn’t doubt her mother would confiscate the little box and the clues it contained if Ella told her she’d discovered it. Her heart-wrenching fear of never finding her father forced her decision to go it alone. Better for everyone if her mother didn’t know she was looking.
She dragged the cardboard box closer. She turned it in circles, the cogs in her mind clicking over. Maybe she should search for the woman in the photo first. See if that led anywhere.
Zane Peden looked up when his grey-haired boss poked his head around the office door.
“Don’t forget you have a client in fifteen minutes. Sorry to do this to you, but I’m on grandad duty this afternoon. I have to collect the grandkids from school and I’m running late. Thanks for holding the fort.”
Zane scraped his chair back and stood. “But I’ve organised coffee with friends. I thought I’d said something to Joanne.”
“Son, I leave all the appointment scheduling to Joanne. She’s the best office manager I’ve ever had, so I don’t interfere. Apparently, you’re the only one left on the floor.”
There’s no point in being irritated.
“Gotta go, bye.”
Zane ran his hand through his hair and sighed. It was time to let go of his irritation at the change of plans. It wasn’t a big deal and he couldn’t afford not to work. Mr Wilson was flexible with Zane’s criminology studies, allowing him to fit in his lectures when needed. With six months to go before he graduated, Zane had no choice but to work as many hours as possible.
He wheeled his chair back under the desk and picked up the phone. Disguising his annoyance, he connected with the front office and asked, “Joanne, what can you tell me about my next client?”
“The only details I have is that it’s a woman searching for her father.”
“Thanks. Send her in when she arrives.” He replaced the handset and, taking his mobile phone from his jacket, sent a message to his mate, Dave.
Sorry, can’t do coffee. Boss has me tied up. Can we try again next week?
Dave had been trying for weeks to set up a date. According to him, his new housemate was the answer to ending Zane’s single days.
