Cette publication ne fait pas partie de la bibliothèque YouScribe
Elle est disponible uniquement à l'achat (la librairie de YouScribe)
Achetez pour : 14,99 € Lire un extrait

Téléchargement

Format(s) : EPUB

sans DRM

Shattered Glass

De
256 pages
Toni has always had nightmares about fire, and she also has burn scars but no idea how she got them. So when fire destroys the orphanage she has grown up in, she is ready to make her way to Toronto, where she hopes to discover the truth about the mother she believes hurt and then abandoned her. Toronto proves to be both daunting and exciting for Toni, whose charm and innocence attract attention, not always positive, wherever she goes. Buoyed by the music she hears at the folk club where she finds a job, and encouraged by her glamorous landlady, Toni unearths shocking information that contradicts everything she believes and makes her re-evaluate what she feels for all the new people in her life.
Voir plus Voir moins

Vous aimerez aussi

Shattered Glass

de orca-book-publishers

Skylark

de orca-book-publishers

FPO
S N hatered E T T E O RT ESA G lass
S hatered Glass
In early June 1964, the Benevolent Home for Necessitous Girls burns to the ground, and its vulnerable residents are thrust out into the world. The orphans, who know no other home, find their lives changed in an instant. Arrangements are made for the youngest residents, but the seven oldest girls are sent on their way with little more than a clue or two to their pasts and the hope of learning about the families they have never known.On their own for the first time in their lives, they are about to experience the world in ways they never imagined…
hatered S lass G
T E R E S A T O T E N
Copyright ©2015Teresa Toten
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Toten, Teresa,1955–, author Shattered glass / Teresa Toten. (Secrets)
Issued in print, electronic and audio disc formats. isbn 9781459806719(pbk.).—isbn 9781459806726(pdf ).— isbn9781459806733(epub).—isbn9781459810969(audio disc)
I. Title. II. Series: Secrets (Victoria, B.C.) ps8589.o6759s53 2015jc813'.54 c20159017416 c20159017424 c20159017432
First published in the United States,2015 Library of Congress Control Number:2015935522
Summary: In thisyanovel, Toni travels to Toronto to unearth the truth about the mother she believes hurt and then abandoned her.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover design by Teresa Bubela Front cover image by iStockphoto.com; back cover images by Shutterstock.com Author photo by Matthew Wiley
orca book publishers www.orcabook.com
18 17 16 15432
1
In memory of Jack and Mary Toten
“Twist and Shout”(THE BE ATL E S)
Fire!!!   It was the fire dream again, always the same dream. But this time it was different. This time, despite the fear that was as worn and familiar as a threadbare shirt, I knew that I had to save Betty. Then I was washed in shame. How did shame sneak into my dream? We were seven, had always been “the Seven.” I had to save them all! But mainly I had to save Betty. It’d been like that since the beginning. Ever since I got there when I was three. Betty needed nonstop saving because she was too innocent, too trusting. I was not, because of my past, the things I almost remembered. My dreams were mymemory. I had no proof, but there were things I knew. It had been almost thirteen years of trying to save Betty and almost thirteen years of fire dreams. But this was the first time that Betty had been in the dream.
1
t e r e s a t o t e n
Smoke slid down the back of my throat and crawled back up again. I could taste it. That was weird. “Betty!” I screamed at the shape in the bed beside me. “Betty, wake up!” The words got caught in the smoke and tripped over themselves. “Betty—fire, fire!” She woke up and hit me. No. Wait. It was me who woke up from deep in the bowels of the dream. But Betty had definitely hit me. “What the…Betty, why did you…?” “Can’t you smell it? What’s the matter with you?” She did not apologize for hitting me. “Wake up, Toni! Toni, get up!” “Huh?” “There’s a fire!” she screamed. “Something is on fire!” Then I saw it. Hungry wisps sneaking under the door. Just like the other times, in my dreams and before my dreams. Before this place. She shook me hard. There was a taste of ashes in my mouth that soaked up all the spit. That was the way the dream always started, with the taste of ashes. I couldn’t swallow, but I could taste the fire. “Toni, there’s a fire, I can smell it! Toni, are you awake?” “Yes, yeah!” I croaked. “There’s smoke!” It slithered lazily into our room. Jumpin’ Joe screamed from somewhere downstairs. “Fire! Fire! Fire!” It was real.
2
s h a t t e r e d g l a s s
Joe, our cook and my boss, for sure had never been in my dreams. Betty tried to turn on the light. She kept flicking the switch on and off, on and off. “Stop!” I yelled. I grabbed for her arm, missed and got a handful of night-gown instead. “We’ve got to go, got to get out!” “Get Cady, get Malou, make sure they’re up,” she screamed. I checked the door, which wasn’t hot, but it opened to a wall of smoke. I froze. Joe was still yelling. “Joe?” We couldn’t see him. He called up to us from somewhere below. “Toni? You girls get the rest of the Seven. I’m gonna get the Littles.” The Little Ones. There were seventeen of them. I got pushed. Betty? She turned left and I turned right. I ran barefoot into the smoke, trying not to eat it, and pounded on a door, screaming my head off with a mouth full of soot. I wasn’t even sure whose door it was. The smoke had made me stupid. “Sara! Malou! Cady! Dot!” Betty was pounding and screaming too. The same names over and over again. “Dot! Cady! Malou! Sara!” I knew not to yell for Tess. She was often not there. Our Tess needed to roam. But I heard Betty calling for her. “Get up! Fire!Ruuuuun!” We stumbled in the blackness, bumping into furniture, kicking and shoving things out of our way. I was kicked and shoved. It didn’t matter. Words ran into and past each other. Voices were indistinguishable in the smoke and fear. “What’s happening?” “Oh my god! What? Is that smoke?”
3
t e r e s a t o t e n
“So much smoke! Ow!” “Is Tess back?” “You’re on my nightgown. Let go!” “Move it! Get out of my way.” “Where is it?” “What about my stuff?” “Are we all here?” “Isaidlet go!” And then, over and over, “Who’s got the Little Ones?” “It’s okay—Joe’s rounding them up,” Betty and I took turns repeating. “We’ve to get down to the main floor and wait.” Then we heard Joe’s hoarse, singsongy Southern voice floating up through the stairwell. “Hold hands, little ladies, hold hands. Two by two, two by two. Just like we practiced. There you go. Don’t ya worry. You’ll see the Seven in the main hall.” The Little Ones didn’t scream or cry out. Were they less afraid than I was? “Quick now, ladies!” He clapped his hands. “That’s right, good girls.” We clambered down the steps ahead of the Little Ones. Down one floor, then another. They traipsed down behind us. When we got to the back hall, Tess had appeared like a smoke spirit. How? We stood against the walls. Just like in the drills. Joe lead a procession of little nightgowns. “Mary, you just hold on tight to Mr. Joe’s hand,” he said.
4
s h a t t e r e d g l a s s
Mary was a little slow in so many little ways. But she was everyone’s favorite. We waited for them to pass while the smoke stung our eyes. They wanted a hug from us, a comforting squeeze, a pat, but knew they dared not risk it. They stayed in their two-by-two formations. “What’s that smell?” “I feel sick.” “Why is it smoky?” “Why are the Seven just standing there?” “I can’t breathe.” “My doll!” “I want to hold Julie’s hand.” “You’re squeezing too hard.” “My nose smells bad.” Not one asked for her mother. Why would they? This and the weight of the darkness pressed me into the wall. “They’re out!” Now it was our turn. We began our exit, some hand in hand, some arm in arm, some alone. The floor was warm on our still-bare feet. Fear rose off of us in plumes, blending into the smoke that had followed us down the stairs. Too slow. Somebody shouted, “Move it!” It may have been me. We were chased by the fire, but we didn’t run. We walked smartly down the hall. Like we’d been taught to do. When we had to be, when it counted, we were good. We walked past the receiving room and the common room, which was for home and visual arts. I glanced in and
5