The Snow Dome and the Secret Storey

By Joanne Leigh Lancaster

Have you ever gazed into a snow dome and wondered what it would be like if the world inside was real? Well, 12-year-olds, Ali Wiseman and James Newman, don’t have to wonder. For when they stumble across a secret storey of Rose Cottage, they discover a magical snow dome and are swirled into the world within. In their new roles as seer and seeker, they set out on a quest to stand in the path of darkness and to solve the mystery of the missing Emily Rose. Their choices lead them to far off and mysterious lands where their adventures are only just beginning...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Apr 22, 2018

Joanne Leigh Lancaster

Joanne lives with her family on a small farmlet in Lismore on the east coast of Australia. She enjoys looking after her family, going to the beach and bush walking.

Book preview

About the author

Joanne lives with her family on a small farmlet in Lismore on the east coast of Australia. She enjoys looking after her family, going to the beach and bush walking.

Dedication

For my family, the sunshine of my life.

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The Snow Dome

and the

Secret Storey

Published by Austin Macauley at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Joanne Leigh Lancaster

The right of Joanne Leigh Lancaster to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is

available from the British Library.

www.austinmacauley.com

The Snow Dome

and the

Secret Storey

ISBN 9781788231190 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788231206 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781788231213 (E-Book)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

First Published in 2018

AustinMacauley

CGC-33-01, 25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf, London E14 5LQ

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Contents

Chapter 1 The Puppy

Chapter 2: The Storm

Chapter 3: The Wish

Chapter 4: The Secret Storey

Chapter 5: The Land of Sugar and Spice

Chapter 6: The Pine Tree Wood

Chapter 7: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Chapter 8: The School Concert

Chapter 9: The Night Before Christmas

Chapter 10: The Sinister Twister

Chapter 11: The Grandfather Clock

Chapter 12: The Secret Way

Chapter 13: The Lollipop Forest

Chapter 14: The Spicy Wood

Chapter 15: The Gypsy Seer

Chapter 16: The Promise

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9.29 pm, 25th December, 1955

Dear Diary,

What a difference a day makes! Seated on the padded bench, I peer from my upstairs bedroom window. Snow is falling outside. I watch the wondrous, white flakes float down in the moonlight to land ever so softly upon the windowsill. Snow! I can barely believe my eyes.

Ma-ma and Pa-pa are asleep in their room after a Christmas feast to remember. Every now and then, I can hear Pa-pa’s snores. I wonder if James is asleep in the guest room down the hall or if sleep evades him, too.

The ruby locket shines brightly above the bodice of my white nightgown. It feels cool to the touch but somehow, its ruby hue warms me from within. I miss Ted and I feel bare without him in my arms.

The candlelight flickers. It reminds me of James’ eyes shining with their fiery light whenever the moonstone amulet flares. I don’t quite understand it. I realise that there’s a lot that I don’t know, including how to find Emily.

As the snow tumbles down, I think of the snow dome. I watch the snowflakes, so simple their complex form appears; so fragile in their singularity but so much stronger when united. I remember my last day of primary school when everything seemed so simple, so normal. What a difference a day makes.

Sleep drifts over me now like a rising blizzard and I long to be lost within its haze. Until another day dawns, I bid you, ‘Goodnight’, dear diary. As I ponder the days ahead, one thing I do know for sure is that they’ll be anything but ‘normal’!

Sincerely yours, Ali.

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Chapter 1

The Puppy

The rusted tin roof of the stately, old schoolhouse creaked beneath the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. The scents and sounds of the countryside wafted in through an open window as Ali lifted her pencil from the page before her. Impatiently, she played with her long, blonde braid as her blue-eyed gaze moved to the clock on the wall. Timelessly, it ticked over each fleeting second, pausing for a moment on two forty-five p.m. as Ali’s gaze moved around the classroom.

Mr Wiseman, the one and only teacher of the small, country school, stood with his back to the class. His greying hair was neatly cropped above a white-collared shirt that was tidily tucked into charcoal trousers. Meticulously, he wrote the eight times tables onto the blackboard beneath the day’s date, Friday, 16th December, 1955. Every now and then, he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow or to cast an eagle eye over the class.

Ali’s classmates sweltered the seconds, too. The girls tugged at their grey tunics and the boys pushed down their socks beneath long, grey shorts. Some pupils sat at their desks with heads bent in an attempt at emulating their teacher’s fluent strokes whilst others scribbled hastily. Smaller pupils added simple sums as Ali’s gaze moved to view the scene framed within the window. As her thoughts floated off with the fluffy clouds that formed images within her mind and upon the slate of the bright blue sky, the scritchity, scratchity sound of chalk faded into the background. The countryside beckoned but it was a soft whisper that brought Ali back.

Hey, daydreamer.

Ali turned to meet the blue-eyed gaze of the new boy beside her and to see the chipped, copper coin flipped within his fingertips.

A penny for your thoughts?

James Newman smiled and so too, did Ali as he sent the shiny, new penny spinning on his desktop.

How shall its fate fall, James whispered. Heads up, I hear your thoughts. Tails, you keep my lucky penny.

With a nod, Ali watched on, silent and spellbound as the penny seemed to spin in slow motion, blurring the lines of its two dimensional form into a multi-faceted façade. Then, as Mr Wiseman’s hickory stick impacted with the blackboard, the coin’s fate fell into the palm of James’ hand.

I realise that the Christmas holidays are almost upon us, said Mr Wiseman, but firstly, we must focus on the task at hand and, to you, Mr Newman, I propose that you pocket that penny before you lose it!

Heads turned and children giggled as Ali felt a warm flush steal over her cheeks. With a flick of his fair-haired fringe, James returned the penny to his pocket as Mr Wiseman’s eagle eye returned to the blackboard. Before long, all were intent, once again, upon the eternal curves of the figure eight.

Later, after a quick chorus of the eight times tables, all eyes fell upon the red-haired and freckled bellboy, Peter Belfry who stared intently at the clock on the wall. At precisely, three seconds to three, he dashed outside and the sound of the old, iron cast bell, peeled over the schoolyard signalling the end of the day and school for the year.

Mr Wiseman smiled, kindly. Now children, don’t forget your costumes and your best singing voices for our Christmas Concert, Sunday night, seven p.m. sharp. Mrs Wiseman and I are looking forward to seeing each of you and your families. I hope that it will be the beginning of an especially enchanting holiday. Finally, to those of you moving on to high school next year, I extend my very best wishes.

Excitedly, the children said their goodbyes and poured out of the classroom. Some rode horses home from the school paddock, some rode bicycles whilst others walked. Quietly, Ali observed the exodus as she stepped toward the schoolyard’s ancient fig tree and the pair paused beneath it.

Please, James, pleaded his small, pony-tailed sister as she seated herself in the old tyre suspended from the tree. Just one last swing.

Oh, all right, Isabelle, sighed James, eyeing Ali’s approach, but only if Ali will push, too.

Smiling, Ali put down her brown satchel. Hold on tightly, Belle.

James set the swing in motion and Ali watched the little girl’s eyes light up as the swing swung higher and higher beneath the swirling, green canopy. Ali loved the tree and as the swing swirled, she listened to the whisper of its leaves.

Moments later, it was the closing thud of the school’s front door and the rattling of a key in its lock that drew Ali’s eye. As Mr Wiseman with books and bag pressed firmly beneath one arm paused before the door, the children made a hasty retreat to the horse paddock.

Shortly after, James was seating Isabelle behind him and nudging on their aged, taffy gelding, Toby.

See you, tomorrow, Ali, called Isabelle, eagerly.

Belle, exclaimed James. There’s no school tomorrow! So long, Ali! Goodbye, Mr Wiseman.

Tootle-oo, you two, said Mr Wiseman, with a quizzical wink that made Ali wonder. Ride safely, now.

As Ali waved goodbye, James urged the horse past the open gate and the sign upon it that read, Tyndale Public School.

Soon after, Ali led old George, her family’s bay Clydesdale from the paddock, steadying him as Mr Wiseman hitched the cart. The schoolyard seemed strangely silent and the heat beat down. Then, all of a sudden, the leaves of the fig were stirred by a strong gust of wind, the swing swirled and the loose tendrils of Ali’s hair blew softly around her face.

A change is in the wind, said Mr Wiseman, with a cautious gaze at the southern skies as he climbed onto the cart, patted his tatty, felt hat and gathered up the reins. I’d say that a storm is brewing, Ali! We’d best make haste as I have a few errands to run in town before we head for home.

We’re all set, Pa-pa, said Ali, grasping her father’s hand before climbing onto the cart and settling herself beside him.

Giddy up, George.

With a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins, Mr Wiseman urged the Clydesdale on along the dusty, dirt road to town. As the horse clip-clopped a steady trot, the miles and the countryside rolled by until the horse halted before the general store in the main street of Maclean. The town claimed fame as the biggest, little Scottish town in Australia. Tartan flags fluttered from the lamp-posts and plaid-patterned prints held pride of place within the colonial windows.

Keep a firm hold of the reins, Ali, said Mr Wiseman. I’ll be back in a tick.

Dutifully, Ali did so as her father stepped down and strode toward Mr Hurley’s general store but it was in its shopfront window that Ali saw something unexpected.

Look, Pa-pa, Ali gasped, as her father followed her gaze. A puppy!

The Saint Bernard puppy peered at Ali with irresistibly winsome eyes.

Please Pa-pa, can we buy him?

Saint Bernards were bred as rescue dogs in the Swiss Alps, Ali. They’re better suited to snow country.

But it’s my birthday tomorrow, Pa-pa.

Now, my dear girl, how could I ever forget?

As Mr Wiseman stepped inside the store, Ali’s shoulders slumped. Her hands remained firmly on the reins but her gaze remained claimed by the puppy. Winsomely, he whined in the window bay and scratched at the windowpane. With a sigh, Ali cast her eyes back to the Clydesdale as he tossed his head against the rallying wind.

Steady, George, she muttered.

The main street was a hive of activity as folk buzzed by in the hustle and bustle before the storm. Parents held the hands of their children as they scurried across the street whilst others battled to hold on to their hats. Car horns tooted, people scooted and the Clydesdale champed at the bit, eager to be heading home, too.

Then, as dear Mrs Ferguson with bonnet, basket and billowing skirt urged her bonny brood inside, Ali’s gaze returned to the store. Seeing the statue of the kilted, Scottish piper standing by the door, Ali’s mind swirled in a daydream. The windswept street before her filled with the uplifting sights and sounds of marching pipe bands as she recalled the town’s annual, Highland Gathering. Closer and closer, the bands marched as the sound of bagpipes and beating drums grew louder and louder, uplifting Ali with them, higher and higher. It was a scornful voice that grounded her.

Psst, Ali! Off with the fairies, Billy Bligh jeered, nudging Willy Weaver as the pair paused on the pavement.

As Ali sighed and rolled her eyes, the Saint Bernard replied with a sharp bark.

"You’d better