Circle of the Moon: A Tale of Romance and Intrigue

By Maggie Taylor-Saville

Jill Davies is a nurse at a small bush hospital in North Queensland Australia. Working shifts and caring for her mother who suffers Alzheimers, is wearing her down. When she is offered a restful weekend in the rain forest of Sullivans Mountain, she looks forward to the break. Returning home, her life is changed in an instant. An accident occurred leaving her seriously injured and in a coma. Awakening, she has no recollection of what happened. With the help of her Doctor, William Smetheral, she eventually recovers her health, but still has no memory of the accident.

Returning to work, a strange patient swears he knows her, but she cant remember, and becomes afraid when strange and terrifying people come into her life. Worse yet, no-one seems to believe what is happening to her and she begins questioning everything in her life.

Jill becomes attracted to a colleague who holds the power to change her life yet again.

In this romantic tale of intrigue, a woman is propelled into uncertainty and fear, until finally she is led to the truth, as her life turns full circle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Feb 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504306201

Maggie Taylor-Saville

Maggie Taylor-Saville has a love of writing stories that began many years ago while bringing up her five children. Now in retirement, she lives with her husband Harold, in Manly, on Brisbane’s Bayside, and continues her love of writing.

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Copyright © 2017 Margaret Taylor-Saville.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-0619-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-0620-1 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 02/13/2017

Contents

Acknowledgements

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Acknowledgements

I gratefully acknowledge those who helped with the editing process.

Thanks also to my daughter, Samantha, for her insight into the headspace of Jill.

Thanks also to my sister-in–law, Judy, for her directions and knowledge of Italy.

To my husband, Harold, for his continuing encouragement.

Finally, I appreciate my family and friends for their support and questioning, ‘How’s the book coming?’

To the memory of my brother, John Thomas Fricke, who loved the continuing search for that elusive strike of gold! R.I.P.

For my family.

Live your lives well. Follow your dreams. Never give up. Believe that everything happens for a reason.

1

I ’M A LONG-AWAITED, only child of older parents. My mother, an avid reader of romance novels, bestowed upon me the name Juanita Jillian Davies. While I was growing up, this proved a problem when my friends constantly called me ‘Joonita.’ As soon as I was old enough, I started using my middle name, calling myself ‘Jill,’ and life became much happier.

Now at thirty years of age, I am a tall, slim woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and brown eyes. I work as a nurse in a small but busy country hospital south of Innisfail in North Queensland. I love my job, but working shifts and looking after my mother, who has Alzheimer’s, has become quite stressful for me.

I have a small apartment not far from my parents’ home. When my father passed away suddenly, Mum was not well enough to cope on her own. I kept my apartment but moved back home to look after her.

I know she feels lonely when I’m at work, but phoning me numerous times through the day and wanting me to come home distresses me. I dread hearing the phone in the nurses’ station and someone calling me to say, ‘It’s your mother – again!’ I can feel myself becoming a nervous wreck.

One day while chatting with a work colleague, Dr William Smetheral, who is also my mother’s doctor, he said, ‘Jill, you need to take a break!’

I was surprised to realise he has noticed my worn-out state, and I replied, ‘You could be right.’

Not letting it go, he continued. ‘I have a cabin up in the rain forest on Sullivan’s Mountain. I used to go there on my weekends off, but I no longer use it. It’s just sitting there, and you’re welcome to use it anytime. It’s peaceful and quiet, and I know the rainforest would refresh you.’

‘Sounds like just what I need. I’ll certainly give it some thought.’ I knew William was right. I did need a break, but someone had to be here to look after Mum.

I learned there was a woman called Annie, who often acted as carer and companion for elderly patients. I decided to talk to her. She may be willing to stay with Mum through the day while I’m at work.

Annie was a caring lady with no family of her own. She has experience with Alzheimer’s patients and she agreed to stay with Mum. They got along so well, it wasn’t long before Annie agreed to live in full-time, allowing me to move back to my apartment.

When I saw William again, I accepted his offer of the cabin. On my next free weekend, I threw some toiletries and a change of clothes into an overnight bag. Wearing cool shorts and a T-shirt, I set off early in the morning, driving my ancient Holden station wagon. The air was so fresh and clean. The orange ball of the sun rising over the Pacific Ocean promised another hot day, and I looked forward to a relaxing time on Sullivan’s Mountain.

Upon reaching the township of Mossman, I pulled over to the side of the road and checked the map. I’m not really good at reading maps, but my old car doesn’t have a GPS. I took note of where I have to turn off the main highway and onto the mountain road. With this firmly set in my mind, I drove into the town to find a supermarket and stock up on some food for the weekend.

I parked the car, and the first thing to assail my nostrils was the aroma of freshly baked bread, leading my steps to the supermarket bakery department. A rush of long-forgotten memories flooded my mind, turning my thoughts to my friend Lorraine. Quite a few years ago, we were journalism students in Brisbane. Every morning we had coffee and hot bread rolls before classes. We also became addicted to eating lattice biscuits. A packet of these soon found their way into my shopping trolley. After graduation, Lorraine wanted to see the world before starting her career. She went overseas, and we lost touch. I often wondered what she was doing now. I worked as a journalist for a few years, but when Mum became ill, I made a career change and studied nursing so I could help her.

Giving myself a mental shake, I picked up a loaf of bread, placed it in the trolley, and continued my shopping. The bread, butter, milk, and cereal should do me for breakfast. I got cheese and Vegemite to make a sandwich, and hopefully the cabin would have some cooking facilities, so a couple cans of something to heat up should do me for the weekend.

As I neared the checkout, I remembered the most important essential – coffee! I went back for it, and a thought suddenly entered my head. I forgot to ask William about a bathroom. This could be a disaster! A toilet roll and a torch were quickly added to my shopping list. Carrying a couple of shopping bags filled with my weekend essentials, I returned to my car, and the warmth of the sun on my back made me feel in holiday spirit.

I noticed a sign near my car pointing to a timetable where the shuttle bus picked up tourists heading for the spectacular Mossman Gorge. I had always wanted to go there, and I looked at my watch. I thought, If I hurry, I might just be in time to catch the bus. I had left home at 5.30 a.m. to avoid the heat of the day, so it was still early.

After unlocking my car, I tossed the shopping bags into the back, slammed the door shut, and set off at a run – only to be pulled up with a jolt. Oh, no! In my rush to grab my shoulder bag, I jammed the strap in the door! By the time I freed my bag, I had to rush to catch the bus.

Gasping for breath, I almost fell up the steps as the driver started the engine. He looked down at me, grinned, and said, ‘That was a close call, lady!’

I couldn’t answer him as I collapsed, puffing, into the nearest empty seat. After regaining my breath, I looked around the bus to see other passengers smiling. I must have looked a sight, with my hair all over my face. No wonder they were amused.

We arrived at the Gorge, and I stepped down from the bus. The tantalising smell of fish and chips reminded me I hadn’t eaten since early this morning. Lengthening the strap on my shoulder bag, I slung it over my head, and put one arm through the strap, leaving my hands free. After a quick stop at the kiosk to munch on hot chips from a cardboard cup, I followed other people along the path into the gorge.

The coolness of the rain forest, the scent of damp loam, and the rushing sound of the fast-moving mountain stream felt so peaceful. While walking along the path beside the stream, I was in awe of the tall, curtain fig trees stretching their hundreds-years-old branches towards the sky. Lush green ferns were interspersed amongst the tropical foliage.

I couldn’t resist sitting on a rock at the edge of the stream and taking off my sandals to cool my feet in the icy water as it tumbled and splashed over big rocks before swirling around and making amazing rock pools. Children sitting in these pools squealed as the water sprayed over them. The energetic stream rushed over rapids and through the gorge.

I was glad I took the time to come here. I could have stayed all day, but I still had a drive ahead of me. As I bent to replace my sandals, my attention was drawn to the children playing in the rock pool. Their happy squeals of laughter were now screams of fear. Turning, I saw a young boy overbalance and fall into the fast-moving water. His arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance. The water was not deep but was flowing so swiftly the young boy seemed unable to find his feet. The current quickly carried him towards the rapids. I don’t remember scrambling over the rocky edge of the stream and into the water, but I was just in time to grab him by the leg of his shorts before he reached the rapids.

He was about six years old and was very scared. His mother, watching the whole incident unfold, was screaming. His father rushed into the water to take him from me and hand him over to his distraught mother, who wrapped him in a towel. With tears running down her cheeks, she was unable to speak as she held her son close. His father shook my hand and thanked me profusely. I was shivering, more from shock than from cold, as I was helped from the water. The little boy disentangled himself from his mother’s embrace and turned to wrap his arms around my legs. Looking up at me shyly, he said in a small voice, ‘Fank you for saving me!’ As I looked down at that little face, his blond hair now dark and wet, I felt the tears start. Thinking of what could have happened sent shivers down my spine.

His father, who told me his name was Michael, asked, ‘How can we ever thank you?’

‘No need,’ I replied. ‘But I’m a little shaky, so if you wouldn’t mind helping me, I have to catch the shuttle bus back to Mossman, where I’ve left my car.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘We can’t let you go back on the bus. We have to get young Patrick home, and we drive through Mossman. Please let us take you back. It’s the least we can do!’

I gratefully accepted their offer. Back at my car, as they waved goodbye, I felt the need for a strong coffee and a sugar fix. A small coffee shop was nearby. I hoped it was a bit cooler inside.

As soon as I heard the shop doorbell tinkle, I remembered coming here with my parents when I was about five years old; it was called a milk bar then. The sweet smell of ice cream milkshakes and lollies had been replaced by the welcome aroma of coffee and hot food. I stood, gazing around, lost in a sea of memories.

The woman standing behind the counter was of a comfortable build, with short-cropped grey hair. Wearing dark-rimmed glasses, she appeared motherly and looked at me in surprise when I ordered a double shot coffee and a large slice of coconut cream pie.

I sat at a small table, waiting for my order. My stomach was churning, and I began to feel sick. I knew it was just reaction, and after resting my arms on the table, I put my head down and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off because I was startled by a concerned voice saying, ‘Are you alright, dear?’ The voice made me look up to see the waitress with my coffee and pie.

‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘I’m just a little tired, but the coffee will work wonders.’

I didn’t want to go into details.

She left me, and as I sipped the hot, strong liquid, memories of years ago when I was a journalist drifted into my mind. I recalled doing this very same thing after I had covered a particularly upsetting story. Much as I love nursing, there were times when I long for those exciting days, and the friendship I had with Lorraine.

Mmm, this coconut pie is good. I’d forgotten how yummy they taste!

2

W HEN I RETURNED to my car and opened the door, a wave of hot air hit me like a brick wall. I got in and wound down all the windows before starting the engine. Air conditioning was something else my old car didn’t have!

I backed out of the parking bay. The hot air felt humid, and I noticed black clouds in the sky. Here in the tropics, summer storms developed quickly and could be quite severe.

Back at the mountain turnoff, a heat haze was shimmering on the road ahead of me. William had instructed me to drive 15.5 kilometres until I come to an old tree that had been burnt out by a lightning strike. Here, I would turn left, up a bush track to the cabin.

How does he expect me to find a burnt-out tree in a forest of trees? Moisture was oozing through my fingers and onto the steering wheel as I carefully negotiated the mountain’s sharp bends. I was so hot I could feel myself becoming stressed.

Finally I spotted the tree. Nervously turning off the road onto this overgrown track, I bumped my way beneath overhanging trees that blocked out the diminishing light caused by the impending storm. I had no idea where this cabin was located.

When I saw it, I was dismayed to find it so isolated. What was William thinking? He told me he had been and cleaned it up, but to my eyes it looks abandoned! Trees and tropical foliage surround the cabin. My inner voice screamed, Turn back. This is not right!

I felt a moment of panic and looked up at the sky, realising how dark it had become. Knowing the storm was very close, I killed the engine, closed all the windows, and get out of the car. With trepidation, I walked towards the door. I looked up and was comforted by the sight of a solar panel on the roof.

Using the key William