Garden of Lies by Eileen Goudge Read Free Book Online Page B

window above her. Shattered glass rained down, pinging off the fire escape.
    Something glanced her shoulder with a hard, stinging blow.
    Sylvie screamed, terrified and in pain. Something warm trickled down her shoulder blade. She
    felt her muscles go slack, her insides turn to water. Numbness crept through her. She willed
    herself to move, but found she couldn’t. She absolutely couldn’t.
    Time seemed to stop, and the heat grew stronger, seeming to sear her through her nightgown.
    Oh dear God, was this the end, would they both die while she stood frozen like Lot’s wife?
    Then the baby stirred against her. A tiny hand thrust free of the blanket, seemed to search the
    air until it found her cheek. Featherlike fingers fluttered against her mouth.
    Tears gathered in Sylvie’s throat. Oh, stupid body. Move, dammit. For this baby if not for
    yourself. MOVE!
    Somehow she forced her limbs to unlock; she forced herself to go on.
    [30] Sylvie wasn’t aware she’d reached the bottom until strong hands grasped her about the
    waist, lifting her free. Her feet touched pavement. It felt so blessedly solid. Voices came in a
    rush. Hands everywhere. Guiding her. Supporting her.
    Pulsing red dome lights stabbed at her eyes. Loud voices bellowing orders through
    megaphones seemed to follow her as she and the men helping her wove their way past the tangle
    of canvas hoses and fire-fighting equipment.
    She felt disconnected, unreal. Stretchers floated past, ghostlike. Firemen in grimy yellow
    turnouts bellowed at one another above the roar of the hydrants, their blackened faces contorted,
    like gargoyles’.
    “... some damn kids playing with firecrackers ... ,” she heard one of them say.
    Sylvie, alone now with the baby, made her way through the crowd. In spite of her dazed
    feeling, one thought stood clear. She must find her baby. But first Angie, to let her know her baby
    was safe. My God, the poor woman must be out of her mind!
    She spotted a familiar figure, shepherding two patients in wheelchairs. “Sister! Wait!”
    Sister Ignatious turned. Her white habit was torn in a dozen places, streaked with black. And
    there was something oddly naked about her. Then Sylvie realized it was because she wasn’t
    wearing her wimple, and no eyeglasses. They must have fallen off in the confusion.
    Sylvie, desperate to know if her child was all right, clutched at the nun’s filthy sleeve. “Sister,
    please, the other babies ...”
    “Safe, all safe, praise be to God.” Sister crossed herself.
    Then Sylvie remembered the baby in her arms, Angie’s baby.
    “Where can I find Mrs. Santini?” Sylvie asked.
    She was about to explain, but Sister Ignatious’s naked eyes clouded with tears. “Mrs. Santini is
    with God now.” She crossed herself again. “The explosion. It was too late. By the time they got
    to the fifth floor she ... our poor Sister Paul, too. She died trying to save Mrs. Santini.”
    Thinking of the warm, tough-talking woman who had occupied the bed next to hers, Sylvie felt
    sorrow seep through her. How Angie’s brown eyes had lit up at the mention of her baby, despite
    [31] her disappointment over its being a girl. Poor Angie! Sylvie felt tears well up.
    Then Sylvie, for the first time, peeled back the sheet covering the tiny form asleep in her arms.
    Peering up from the filthy folds was a face as exquisite as an ivory cameo. Sylvie drew her
    breath in. Round blue doll’s eyes, a sweet little rosebud of a mouth. Light-brown hair like the
    fuzz on a baby duck. Not all dark and crumpled like her tiny girl’s. She brushed a silken cheek
    with her finger, and the baby turned her head toward it, mouth working.
    Sylvie’s dry, burning eyes flooded with tears. In all this nightmare, a thing of wonder. She
    touched a miniature hand, felt it tighten about her finger with surprising strength. She marveled at
    the tiny fingernails, no bigger than seed pearls.
    She felt Sister Ignatious’s hand against her shoulder. “God was