Garden of Lies by Eileen Goudge Read Free Book Online

with all her heart to fly away from here, to rub
    out everything that had happened and to start all over again. She glanced over at Angie,
    peacefully asleep. Oh, what I would give to trade places with you.
    [26] But her body’s needs overpowered her intense longing, and Sylvie closed her eyes, and
    slept.
    She dreamed of her wedding day.
    She and Gerald standing under the silk-embroidered huppah that had been in his family for
    generations. He and Estelle, his first wife, had been married under it ... but she wouldn’t let even
    that thought spoil this wonderful moment. Gerald could not have loved Estelle as he loved her.
    He hadn’t exactly told her so, but he’d shown it in so many ways.
    Sylvie, trembling with happiness, looked over at him. Gerald stood tall in his dark tuxedo, his
    face filled with love as he gazed at her.
    She could hear the cantor chanting, crooning, even wailing a little. And the ancient melodies
    soothed her, bringing her back to the little shul on Intervale Avenue where she went with Mama
    on Rosh Hashanah. Gerald raised her veil, bringing a cup of wine to her lips. It was thick and
    sweet, so sweet it burned her throat, making her gag.
    Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
    A horrible thickness clogged her throat, her nostrils, each breath sending a spurt of pain into
    her lungs.
    It was hot. Suffocating. Why was it so hot?
    Then she saw.
    The huppah was on fire! Orange flames licked up the gilded support poles. Sparks rained from
    the canopy. Desperate, she reached to throw her arms around Gerald, but he’d evaporated into the
    smoke.
    Time stopped. She couldn’t move. She tried to scream, but when she opened her mouth no
    sound would come out.
    Sylvie awoke with a start. Her tongue felt as if it were made of flannel. Her eyes and nose
    stung. The air was thick and dirty. There was a horrible smell, like burning rubber, or one of
    those awful chemical factories.
    She pulled herself up with effort, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The warped
    linoleum beneath felt warm under her feet. The air seemed to grow thicker. She coughed, lungs
    burning.
    Air. She had to get some air. She lurched to the window, ignoring the pain between her legs,
    and tugged to raise it up as far as it would go. But it was stuck, wouldn’t budge. The thing was
    ancient as the rest of the building, fossilized beneath layers of paint.
    [27] Then she saw—black smoke billowing from the floor below, a finger of orange flame
    shooting up. Fire! No dream, this was really happening.
    Sylvie, stunned, knew she had to move, run. Had to wake the others. And get out.
    She snatched the pillow from her bed and held it over her face to filter some of the choking
    smoke. She staggered over and shook Angie. Angie moaned groggily, but wouldn’t open her
    eyes.
    “Wake up!” Sylvie screamed. “Fire!”
    The other women were awakened by her shouts, were scrambling out of bed, hurrying as best
    they could into the hallway.
    Sylvie gripped Angie’s shoulders and shook her with as much strength as she could muster.
    But her roommate only uttered a deep moan and rolled back onto the pillow. Sylvie struggled to
    lift her and drag her out of the bed, but Angie felt like a granite block. Someone else would have
    to come and help.
    Sylvie, half-choking, terrified, aching all over, made herself rush from the room. There was
    something she had to do.
    The corridor was a nightmarish scene all its own. Patients in gowns pushing each other,
    screaming, others screaming from their beds, making Sylvie think of Picasso’s Guernica or some
    mad surrealist painting. A gurney shot past, wheeled by a white-faced nurse. Smoke clotted the
    air, tearing at her lungs. A fit of coughing doubled her, sent tears streaming from her stinging
    eyes.
    She heard the faint pulsing wail of a fire engine. It sounded far away. Too far.
    The nursery, she must get to the nursery.
    Sylvie thought only of her baby as she staggered down the corridor, following