Torn Feathers: The Blue Portal

By Veronica Purcell

What if your second chance came along ... after you died?

ROSE HIRTLE died before she could reveal a secret that's haunted her for decades. When a portal opens between the world of the living and the dead, she believes it's her chance to make things right. But her determination not to mess things up a second time blinds her to the dangers present in the after-life. 

When two ancient powers both claim to be on her side she is forced to make a choice that could impact the people she loves for generations to come. Will she find the courage this time around to do the right thing even if it means being trapped on earth for eternity?

Set in a small seaside town on the Atlantic coast, TORN FEATHERS is a tale about marriage, secrets, and heart-breaking choices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veronica Purcell
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9780994048981

Veronica Purcell

V.A. Purcell lives on the South Shore of Nova Scotia with her husband Gerry and their Standard Poodle, Griffyn. She is the author of the novels Rogue Wave, The Blue Portal Book Two; Tendrils, The Blue Portal Book One, and the novella, Kindling Friendships. Visit her at www.vapurcell.com

Book preview

Prologue - Rose

This wasn’t the new beginning that Rose Hirtle had in mind. She longed to smell the sweet scent of the lilacs outside her window rather than the sour, antiseptic air of her hospital room. It frustrated her to watch her favourite flowers turn from buds to purple blossoms through this plate of glass. The face of a stranger stared back at her.

Although she was drawn and pale, weeks of hospital food had failed to erode her full cheeks and the extra padding around her jawline. She dragged her fingers through her frizzy shoulder-length hair in an attempt to bring some sort of control to the misshapen mess. Doing something about the well-established line of grey about two inches down the drab, brown strands was beyond her control at the moment.

She tightened the belt of her worn, terrycloth robe. Its familiar warmth wrapped around her protectively, reassuring her that some things hadn’t changed. Resting her forehead against the cool glass, she whispered, Everything will work out. It always does. This belief had guided her through life’s challenges. Until now.

She quickly knocked on the wooden window frame for luck, then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, worried that people might think her foolish for being so superstitious.

The unexpected hospital stay was already much longer than anyone had anticipated. But the operation to deal with the blood clot in her brain was over. She and her husband Keith believed the worst was finally behind them. They talked about taking a trip to celebrate. Paris was at the top of their list.

Her teenaged daughter Heather had matured over these past months. When first hospitalized, Rose would close her eyes and lose herself in the clear sound of her daughter’s voice reading aloud. It seemed like only yesterday she was the one reading to Heather, the two of them curled up together under the blankets. At the end of their visits, a tangle of tubes made their hugs more of a gentle squeeze, but it still connected them in a way that words could not.

Then, only a few short months into her illness, the first big setback happened.

It was touch and go for a while. Keith and Heather celebrated her move to a regular ward with flowers, candy, and a stuffed alligator which had been her daughter’s childhood companion and protector. Now it was hers. There was a thin, worn spot along its side where Heather had rubbed the fabric away.

She smiled, remembering the day she’d given it to her anxious, only child. See you later alligator. It meant we’ll be together again soon. It meant you are safe. It meant you are loved. Each night after her family left the hospital, Rose would press her face into its soft plush skin and wish, tomorrow.

Yet here she was weeks later, watching spring unfold through a glass barrier. Surely the doctors would give the okay to go home soon. She imagined sitting around the kitchen table eating dinner, just the three of them. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches would taste as good as a turkey dinner with all the fixings.

Given a second chance at life, she was anxious to get on with it. She was lucky to have a wonderful family and doubly lucky for her miraculous recovery. It made her feel obligated to set things right with her husband. A long-held secret needed to be shared. She’d vowed to herself to reveal it once she’d recovered and was back at home, but the weeks had dragged by. Now this was the day. As soon as he arrived for his daily visit, she’d tell him. Before she lost her resolve. He deserved to know.

But a simple sneeze put an end to her plans. The infected wall of her femoral artery wasn’t strong enough to withstand the force.

A young floor nurse doing her morning routines entered Rose’s room and saw the bedsheets soaked with blood. Terrified, she rushed out of the room and within seconds ‘Code blue’ crackled ominously through the intercom and down the corridors.  

It was the last sound Rose heard.

When Keith arrived at the hospital, he knew by the look on the doctor’s face that he was too late. The doctor explained they had tried their best but Rose had lost too much blood.

She was in the same room where they’d been together only hours ago. Laughing. Planning. Hoping. He gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead and brushed his lips against her still warm skin.

Chapter One - Rose

Nine years later.. .

The blue light blinded Rose. She put her hand on the cabinet beside her to steady herself. Where am I? A wave of panic surged through her. Slowly she inhaled and exhaled. The last thing she remembered was being in the hospital.  

Her eyes scanned her surroundings, taking in bits and pieces. An antique vanity set. Brick walls. Decorative Christmas plates. Large windows looking out onto streets with knee-high banks of snow. People hurrying by, wrapped in heavy coats. Scarves obscuring their faces. None of it made any sense. It was too late in the spring for it to be so cold. The lilacs wouldn’t survive.

She wrapped her arms around herself to stop from shivering. That’s when she noticed the black lace sleeves. Why was she wearing her fancy black dress? The one saved for special occasions.

A chill ran through her.

A blond woman with several shopping bags walked past her.  She seemed oblivious to the extra space her bags took because as she brushed so close to Rose, it felt like the bags went right through her. The sensation made her stomach heave. The harder she tried to make sense of what was happening, the more panicked she felt. The room started to spin.

Keith.

He would have come shopping with her so soon after getting out of the hospital. She must have gotten too excited after being cooped up in the hospital for so long. He’d probably gone to get the car. He’d be back soon. She just had to be patient. Everything would be all right. The room slowly stopped spinning and the queasiness subsided enough for her to take a better look around.

The exposed brick walls and large windows that faced the main street reminded her of one her favourite stores, Marguerite’s Fashion Boutique. But instead of racks of clothes and shelves filled with sweaters there was an eclectic mix of home décor items and local handicrafts. Books about the Maritimes were placed among the merchandise more for decoration than for purchase. A large table in the centre of the store was artfully arranged with Christmas towels and dishes decorated with poinsettias. Angels of every size and shape were nestled among a host of scented candles. It didn’t make sense that a store would have so many Christmas items in the spring, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. It took too much energy to come up with an explanation.

Her eyes were drawn to the vanity set for a second time. It looked exactly like the one Keith’s grandmother had owned. Focusing on the small details like the delicate engraving and finely shaped handles of the brush and mirror slowed her racing thoughts. It worked until she remembered how things had ended in the hospital. The dizziness returned with a vengeance. She tore her gaze away from the heirloom set, searching for something else to distract her.

The woman with all the shopping bags was the only other customer in the store. She looked like the kind of person who spent hours deciding which jewelry would match her designer jeans. There was something about her that rubbed Rose the wrong way. She watched the woman hastily fling the ends of a brightly coloured pashmina over the shoulders of her full-length camel-haired coat as she followed the sales clerk over to the door. She seemed to be in a hurry to leave.

Rose felt the same sense of urgency. Something wasn’t right. Maybe there was a place to sit down while she waited for Keith rather than risk making a spectacle of herself by fainting right in the middle of the store. Neither of the women appeared to notice her distress as she took a few unsteady steps toward them.

Excuse me? Her voice trembled. She took a deep breath then repeated louder, Excuse me? The women ignored her. The fear she’d been holding back turned to anger. It surged up through her belly and stuck in her throat.

Suddenly, the door blew open.

The sales clerk didn’t even glance in her direction as she crossed the room to close it, but before she could, a group of women burst into the shop laughing loudly. They talked over each other making it hard to follow their conversation. Their energy was overwhelming.

The lone brunette in the group looked familiar. Her anger forgotten, Rose stepped closer to get a better look when one of the women crossed the shop and walked right through her.

Chapter Two - Gemma

The screen door flew back against the wall, throwing Gemma off balance. She stood on the threshold, her hand still clenched around the doorknob. Was this an omen not to venture inside? A creaking noise above her head made her look up. The words Angel’s Lair were painted on a weathered piece of wood suspended from a wrought iron pole that jutted out over the sidewalk. The sign swung back and forth in the wind. The lines of the ‘A’ and ‘L’ were designed to look like feathers, but the font made the words difficult to read.  The feathers reminded Gemma of birds, not angels. If they wanted to do it properly, she thought, there should be wings drawn on either side of the ‘A’. Criticizing the amateur attempt took her mind off her uneasiness. Wedding jitters. That’s all it is, she told herself. Besides, changing the plan to meet her friends somewhere else would require an explanation and she didn’t have the energy to lie.

The shop smelled of cinnamon and oranges. Gemma surveyed the store with renewed interest. Perhaps her earlier misgivings were unfounded. The festive, spice smell was replaced by the cloying scent of lilac as she approached the young, casually dressed sales girl leaning against the counter, murmuring on her cell phone. Her eyes darted around the store. Where was that lilac scent coming from? The sales girl put down her cell phone and glanced in Gemma’s direction.  In front of her, she saw a brittle, elegantly dressed blonde with bright blue eyes.  "Welcome to Angel’s Lair," she said cheerfully.

Gemma took a few distracted steps toward the girl. She was still trying to find the source of the distracting smell of lilacs. I’m looking for something blue... Gemma walked closer and inspected the girl’s name tag. ...Ellie.

Ellie frowned. Well, we have lots of blue things. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?

You know, that rhyme about what brides should wear on their wedding day? Something borrowed, something—

You’re getting married!  Oh, how wonderful, gushed Ellie, beaming as if she were talking about her own wedding.

I’ve been all over town looking for the perfect thing. My maid of honour suggested you might have just the thing, but I don’t—

When’s the wedding? asked Ellie excitedly. 

Gemma dragged her hand through her long blond hair. Too soon. And I have a million things to do before then. She glanced down at the glass display case separating them. Nestled inside the case was a pair of old-fashioned scissors, strong enough to sever small bones. The rust on them appeared to be more from use than for decoration. She tried to keep the tone of distaste from her voice. I don’t think there’s anything here that would be suitable. Then she noticed the display of decoratively wrapped hand soaps; several were wrapped in a soft shade of purple. They must be the source of the lilac scent, she thought. The tension in her shoulders eased.

Ellie scurried from behind the counter. I’m sure we can find something suitable.

Gemma started to walk towards the door when an antique silver vanity set caught her eye. My fiancé has a set just like this one.  She walked over to the corner cabinet where it was on display and picked up an old bottle blocking the engraved hand mirror. As soon as her fingers wrapped around it a shock ran up her arm. A soft, blue light glowed through the clear glass. A series of loud thumps shattered the quiet shop as her assortment of shopping bags knocked against the display case and dropped to the floor.

She turned to Ellie and said, Did you see that?

The temperature in the store suddenly dropped. Both women shivered and wrapped their arms around themselves for warmth. An antique bird cage suspended above the display case started to creak back and forth on its hook.

From past experience Gemma knew something was about to happen and it wouldn’t be good. If she’d treated her special ability as a gift instead of a curse, she’d see the ghost of Nana Ruth smiling at her from across the store. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not anymore. Her childhood was filled with ghosts that her grandmother had summoned during séances and readings. She hated being like her grandmother. The only thing she had longed for growing up was to be ordinary like all the other girls.

Her pashmina slipped off her shoulders as she quickly gathered up her shopping bags. She swung it back over her shoulders with such force that it knocked the bottle into one of the shopping bags. Neither she nor Ellie noticed.

The door’s probably open. It’s so old it doesn’t close properly. Ellie sighed. I always have to go and shut it after customers leave.

Gemma decided the sales clerk was oblivious to what was happening around her by the way she unhurriedly walked over to the door. She envied the girl’s seeming insensibility to the psychic vibrations within her surroundings. It was so much better not knowing.

The door didn’t budge as Ellie tried to push it closed. It was already shut tight. Frowning she said, That’s strange. She glanced up at the swinging bird cage as she walked back over to the counter.

I need to leave, Gemma snapped. It didn’t take a special talent to know when something didn’t feel right. She swept passed Ellie without making eye contact. Just as she reached the door it blew open. 

Chapter Three - Gemma

Ellie scurried over to the door, but before she could push it shut a group of women entered. A tall woman with a firm stride immediately separated herself from the group and swooped toward Gemma. Suddenly Stephanie stopped midstride and wrapped her arms around herself saying, Oooh, I just felt a shiver, like someone walked over my grave. She hurried over to Gemma and gave her an air kiss on both cheeks. So what do you think of the store? Great, isn’t it?

Actually Steph, I was just about to leave.

Stephanie acted like she hadn’t heard. She pulled out her phone and began taking photos. You wouldn’t believe the number of pictures I’ve got already. I’ve been able to capture most of the big moments.  She eagerly held her phone out toward Gemma. Wanna take a look?

No, not right now, said Gemma distractedly. Her uneasiness hadn’t disappeared with the arrival of her friends.

Have you found something blue yet, or is the wedding in danger of being cancelled? Stephanie took a few more candid shots of her friends. I never thought you were the superstitious type, Gemma Silver. She slipped her arm through Gemma’s and led her over to the counter. What about those? she said pointing out some delicate filigreed earrings.

They aren’t blue, snapped Gemma and she turned to leave the store.

We can get them with blue stones. It’s a special order but it’ll only take a couple of weeks, said Ellie cheerfully.

Did you hear that? I just knew this would be the place, squealed Stephanie. You’ve been all over town looking, haven’t you?

Yes, sighed Gemma.

Well then, problem solved. Stephanie asked Ellie, Can we see them?

Gemma shifted her weight from foot to foot as she watched Ellie carefully extract the earrings from the display case as if she were handling the crown jewels. Here, let me see them. Gemma thrust her hand out toward Ellie. Giving the earrings a cursory glance, she said, Perfect. I’ll take them.

Wow, that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you buy anything. Are you sure? asked Stephanie.

Absolutely.

As Gemma handed the earrings back to Ellie, one of the group, a slender young woman with wavy chestnut brown hair, suddenly remarked, What’s with the scissors?

Everyone asks that, said Ellie as she placed the earrings back in the display case. The owners found them tucked under a loose floorboard when they renovated the building. This place is a couple of centuries old and used to belong to a shipbuilder.

Oooh, I’ve never seen scissors that big before. They look like something out of a horror movie, remarked the young woman.

A different woman said to her, Oh Heather, I bet they aren’t real.

Ellie’s smile widened. As a matter of fact, these scissors were used to cut canvas for sails. They belonged to the teenaged daughter of the shipbuilder, Abigail Zwicker. She died mysteriously and rumour has it, her ghost still haunts the place.

They bent over the glass display case to get a better view of the scissors.

Is that blood on them? Stephanie shrieked.

Ellie shrugged her shoulders. Maybe.

Stephanie immediately pulled out her phone. I’ve got to get a picture of this.

Have you ever seen the ghost? Heather glanced around the store then turned back to Ellie and asked, What’s her name again?

Abigail. Ellie shook her head. No, I’ve never seen her. She lowered her voice and the group of women leaned in closer, but a few times I’ve felt something. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. You know—that feeling you get when you think someone’s watching you?"

Gemma rolled her eyes. She doubted the girl could see a ghost if she came face-to-face with one in a funhouse at an amusement park on Halloween. Ellie’s face grew more animated as she recounted the gory details. Gemma glanced around the store half expecting to see the ghost of Abigail Zwicker brandishing the scissors, drops of blood falling to the ground, then seeping into the old floorboards.

Gemma stared at her friends as they intently hung on Ellie’s every word. The way their bodies leaned forward and their mouths hung open, she could tell they were completely enthralled by the tale. It reminded her of Nana Ruth’s clients when she revealed secrets from loved ones beyond the grave. Her grandmother’s warning echoed in her head.  Those that have the sight don’t go telling ghost stories for amusement. You never know who’ll take it as an invitation.

She walked away before she lost her temper and said something she’d regret. As she drew near the corner cabinet every hair on her body stood on end. The uneasiness she’d been feeling grew stronger. The pungent smell of lilacs hit her so hard she froze. Her eyes darted around the store looking for the source of the scent. Nothing looked out of place but that just made her more on edge. Things were getting out of hand. Enough was enough.

Gemma pulled her pashmina tightly around her shoulders and marched back toward Ellie and her audience. You should be careful. You never know who might be listening, she snapped.

Stephanie jumped. Gemma, you scared me. You sound so serious. You’re superstitious AND you believe in ghosts? I never would have guessed it.

We need to get going. Gemma gathered up her shopping bags and walked toward the door.

Stephanie started to follow but a table full of Christmas merchandise caught her attention. I can’t believe the wedding is a month from today, she said as she inspected a particularly garish soup tureen.

Heather cheerfully quipped, Time flies when you’re having fun. I enjoyed planning my wedding.

Stephanie piped up. Oh, your wedding must’ve been much simpler. There’s so much to do. As maid of honour, I’ve been unbelievably busy.

One of the women walked over to the cabinet and picked up the mirror from the vanity set that Gemma had admired earlier. She held it out for the others to see. This is nice, she called out to the group standing by the counter.

The only one who acknowledged the comment was Heather. It’s beautiful. I like old things.

Heather stood beside Gemma. Do you remember my mother’s collection of old bottles?

Gemma shook her head. Not really. We got rid of all that stuff. It didn’t fit with the modern look of our place.

I don’t know about that. Heather pointed to the old brick walls and exposed pipes stretched above their heads and then at the new merchandise around them. This store has done a great job of putting them together.

Gemma frowned. I don’t think it’s a matter of knowing how. It’s about good taste.

Heather challenged, You can blend the old with the new, as long as you know what you’re doing.

Before Gemma could respond, Stephanie came up to them and said, Sorry to interrupt. She glanced at her wrist watch. Gemma, we need to get a move on. I want to show you something in the shop up the street before it closes.  

Gemma took her time crossing over to the door.  You never know who’ll take it as an invitation. Reflected in the glass was a pale, dark haired woman in a black lace dress huddled over in the corner beside a cabinet. Someone had accepted the invitation.

Chapter Four - Rose

Rose didn’t care about getting a closer look at the familiar-looking brunette any more. All she wanted to do was find a quiet place where she could try and make sense of what was going on. She turned to the woman nearest her and asked where the washroom was.  The woman acted like she wasn’t there. She asked another woman, then another. Not one single person acknowledged her.

An overwhelming sense of panic took over. There was only one thing she could think of to do. Run.

She fled through the archway on the other side of the store and into the adjoining café. She stopped just inside the entrance and tried to calm herself down. The women in the store were incredibly rude. There was no other explanation for the way they’d treated her. Surely someone in here would help.

There was a nice looking couple seated at a nearby table. She hurried over to them. Please, could you help me? Instead of responding, the woman bent down and pulled out a scarf from the shopping bag on the floor beside her. They acted like she wasn’t even there. Frantically she ran from table to table pleading for help. No one so much as glanced in her direction.

Help, she sobbed. Can’t anybody... Her body shook. Her knees felt like they were going to buckle. She needed to sit down before she embarrassed herself and collapsed in the middle of the room. A man sitting alone at a nearby table stood up and walked toward her. Finally, someone was going to help. Relieved, she watched him approach. But instead of stopping to help, he walked right through her. She barely made it over to the chair he’d vacated.  

What was going on?

Everyone around her acted as if nothing had happened. The café hummed with the positive energy of people having a good time. Fairy lights woven into boughs of evergreens along the bar and draped around the window bathed the room in a soft, warm glow. Bright red poinsettia plants decorating each table provided a cheerful splash of colour. The only thing out of place was her.

One of the waiters clearing off a table glanced in her direction. The soft light cast shadows under his razor-sharp cheekbones. There was a dusting of bristles on his chin and around his narrow, tight lips. Wavy, dark hair hung over one eye. Like all the other wait staff, he was dressed in black. Unlike the other staff, he wore moccasins with Celtic crosses woven in silver thread on the tops. They caught the light when he moved. He was the only one who seemed to be aware of her existence.

She stood up and took a few unsteady steps toward him. He wasn’t as young as she’d first thought. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes made her think he was closer to her age. Excuse me. She waited for him to stop what he was doing or at least look at her, but he kept stacking dirty plates, wine glasses and utensils on his