Hartsfield , livre ebook

Hartsfield
Neshat Ghaffari
Austin Macauley Publishers
2022-11-30
Hartsfield About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement 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 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47
About the Author

Neshat Ghaffari is an artist and a musician from Australia who lives with her husband and their three young children. The peaceful abode of love of her little family is her most favourite place, where she can relax and create imaginary world. She also loves creating handmade pebble-art. She loves to bring a smile on people’s face through her artwork and writing as well as playing flute and guitar. Hartsfield is her first novel she has published.
Dedication
To my amazing husband, Nader,
For helping me realise that angels do truly exist and for showing me how wonderful true love is. Thank you for making this world a better place with your endless love. It will take a book to write about how perfect you are and how much I love and adore you.
Copyright Information ©
Neshat Ghaffari 2022
The right of Neshat Ghaffari to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398468252 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398468269 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781398468283 (ePub e-book)
ISBN 9781398468276 (Audiobook)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2022
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
Thank you, Nader, my wonderful husband, for all your love, support, encouragement, and patience and for inspiring me to write a story about love and passion. I couldn’t have done any of these without you.
And to my children, Nate, Della, and Lana, for the boundless joy you bring to my heart every day and for making me believe in miracles.
And to my parents for all your love, encouragement, and support from the moment I came into existence and for being there whenever I needed help.
Chapter 1
A loud clap of thunder woke her, jolting her from a deep, dreamless sleep. In the dark, she eyed the shadows of the trees dancing on the wall in time to the howling wind, with the bright flashes of lightening providing a vivid backdrop. The cold wind whistled through the cracks of the worn-down wooden window. She tucked herself further under the blanket, finding comfort in the warmth. As the rain crashed wildly against the roof, her mind focused upon what was waiting for her, following this unsettling night. Her breathing got heavier. This was her last night in Kingrose. Not once before had she ever left her small village. She thought of Grandpa. The image of his face, heavily engrained with wrinkles that were half covered under his light grey beard and moustache, briefly consoled her.
Grandpa had been taking care of her ever since she had lost both her parents shortly after she’d turned six. She could only vaguely recall that dreadful autumn night. She had played next to the blazing fireplace with a toy made of woollen socks in her hand, completely unaware of what was happening in the room upstairs. The doctor had just arrived and had hurriedly mounted the stairs with Grandpa leading the way. It wasn’t until she saw her grandfather’s face that she had any inkling that something was terribly wrong.
‘Oh, Jane. My poor girl.’ It was all Grandpa had managed to say in those first few minutes after her mama had died. She had no knowledge of what scarlet fever was. All she knew was that both her parents had spent the last few days in bed dealing with illness and Jane wasn’t allowed to see them. She had missed them terribly.
‘I am so sorry, Patrick.’ Dr Clark had placed his hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. ‘And I’m afraid to say that there is not much to be done for your son. If he makes it to the morning, then he will be over the worst, and there will be hope for him.’ But that was not to be.
Jane knew they were speaking of her papa. The rest of that ghastly event was blurry in her mind. Maybe her six-year-old brain had opted not to cling on to any of those awful memories. And who could blame her? Losing both parents in one night was not something that any child could be expected to be able to deal with.
Now, Grandpa was the only family she had left. But still she counted herself among the lucky ones to have great friends. She valued her friendship with Charlie and Leah. The three of them would spend most days together, walking to school, wandering in the woods, climbing the trees and playing the inventive games that young children do.
Despite her parents’ death, Jane did have a happy childhood. She was a lively child who was loved by the people in their small village. Charlie’s parents—Mr and Mrs Miller—who lived next door, although they had two other daughters, always counted Jane as one of their own. Rachael—another neighbour, a single woman in her middle years—had also looked after Jane on many occasions when Grandpa had needed support.
As the years had gone by, the strong connection Jane had always felt towards Charlie had turned into something deeper. Charlie had become her definition of love. He had always been there for her—from the most blissful days of her life, through to her occasional unhappy times. He was also with her the day she felt a searing pain in her chest. This had happened during one of their strolls in the woods, on a sunny spring morning. The cherry trees had been covered in pink blossoms; the fresh breeze defusing the air with its aroma. Jane had her hand wrapped around Charlie’s brawny arm, contentedly walking together, when a searing pain brought her to a halt. She’d cringed and had tried to bring her breathing back into a steady rhythm. She had panicked, not because of the pain itself, but the fact that it was so abrupt and unexplained.
And just like that, her whole life had turned upside down.
After many tests and examinations, to Jane’s disbelief, Dr Clark was once again the bearer of bad news: cancer. This killer disease had somehow found its way into Jane’s body. Lung Sarcoma was the kind of cancer she had to endure. The physician couldn’t inform her on how much longer she had left to live. But surgery was the only option to possibly treat her disease, and the earlier it was done, the better.
Charlie remained by her side the whole time. Even the possibility of her dying within the next few months—or years—didn’t seem to affect the future that they had planned together.
But now it was time for her to leave him and her grandfather. Venturing into the unknown was as dark and as scary as her room with the thunderstorm.
She closed her eyes and imagined how her life would have unfolded if she could have chosen her destiny. She would have exchanged the cards that fate had dealt her if she could. As she imagined a life without pain, her pale face was transformed with a beautiful smile.
∞
‘Jane, Charlie’s here.’
‘I’ll be down there in a minute, Grandpa,’ she replied, breathing in the fresh scent of the damp earth, the last remnants of the thunderstorm from the night before through the open window of her bedroom. She closed the window and took one more look around her room. She was going to miss this place—the small room with a single bed covered in white sheets beside the lone window. The window was dressed in curtains made from green cotton—her favourite colour—curtains that her mother had sewn all those years ago.
A shabby light and a couple of worn books sat on an old, wooden side-table next to her bed. She knew the books by heart. She had read those books from the wooden bookshelf that was placed in one corner of her room, many times. Each word was a brick that built a pathway to a blissful, perfect world that belonged only to her. This room had been her haven since she was a baby—a space where she could hide from the world whenever she was sad, frightened or angry. She breathed in the air, still heavy with moisture, steeled herself and made her way down the stairs.
When she saw Charlie downstairs, a frown creasing his forehead, she froze. No tears, she reminded herself, as her eyes pricked. She had to do it. She had to be strong. She pretended to be as thrilled to see him as she always was, even knowing this morning was different.
‘Good morning,’ she said in a cheerful tone, belying the churning in her gut.
Perched on the couch, Charlie lifted his head and looked at her. ‘Good morning,’ he said quietly.
Jane sat next to him, the padding of the couch shifting gently under her. Grandpa was outside getting the carriage ready. A gloomy silence hung over the room and echoed around the house. This was the moment she had been dreading.
His shoulders slumped and his eyes misted as he gazed at her and begged one last time, ‘Jane, don’t go please.’
‘Charlie