Sins of the Mother (Original)

Informationen zum Autor Tara Hyland was born in 1976. She studied History at Cambridge, and then worked in London as an Equity Analyst for several years before leaving to write full time. She currently lives in London with her husband, and this is her first novel. Klappentext A heartrending novel that follows a mother and daughter through post-World War II Ireland and London, demonstrating that family bonds can never be broken. Leseprobe Prologue SAN FRANCISCO, DECEMBER 1958 Sister Marie scurried along the dark corridor as fast as her pudgy little legs would carry her. Even though she would never admit it to the other nuns, alone in the cloisters at night she often got scared. This evening was worse than usual. A storm had knocked the electricity out again, and the flame from her candle cast eerie silhouettes on the stone walls, as though shadow demons lined the path on either side, lying in wait for her to pass. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, she murmured under her breath, trying to draw courage from the words. He makes me lie down in green pastures. As she continued to recite the psalm, Sister Marie shivered, this time from cold rather than fear. Even the heavy wool habit couldn't keep her warm at this time of year. Just before Thanksgiving last week, the weather had finally turned. The cold, bright sun set earlier these days, and then the infamous San Francisco fog rose up from the sea, covering the thick legs of the Golden Gate Bridge before rolling in toward the shore, the white mist creeping across the city and snaking its way up here to the Sisters of Charity Orphanage on Telegraph Hill. Sometimes, lying awake in her eight-by-ten-foot cell, Sister Marie imagined the fog oozing in through the keyholes and under the doors, like something from one of those monster movies her younger brother liked to watch. Stop that, she scolded herself. It was this overactive imagination that had led the canoness at her last convent to suggest that she might not be suited to life as a nun. But even though she had struggled through her postulancythe six-month period to determine whether she should take the veilSister Marie hadn't wanted to give up. It had finally been agreed that she should be allowed to continue with her novitiatethe training to take vowsbut on the condition that she go outside of the closed order. Moving to the orphanage had seemed like the best option. She adored children and had always known that motherhood would be the hardest aspect of secular life to renounce. Now she wouldn't have to. The orphanage had been founded by the Sisters of Charity back in the nineteenth century, funded with donations from the city's upper-class Catholics. At present there were ninety-seven children in the institute's careand tonight there was about to be one more. A call had come through late that evening, just as the nuns were about to retire, asking if they had room for another child. It was a baby, apparently only a few days old. Apart from that, no details had been imparted about the new arrival: not its sex, nor the reason for it being abandoned here. It was most curious. Sister Marie had been assigned to stay up with Mother Superior while she waited for the child. But as the hours dragged on, she'd begun to grow bored. Tired of her fidgeting, the reverend mother had eventually sent her to fix them both a late-night supper. It had been bad enough getting down to the kitchen in this creepy building. Now, on the return journey, the nun's progress was slower, as she was carrying a tray laden with mugs of cocoa and a plate of thickly sliced bread, spread with butter and jam. It would have been slower still if a gust of wind hadn't blown through the corridor at that moment, extinguishing her candle and plunging the cloisters into blackness. With a little squeal of fright, Sister Marie let go of the ...

Klappentext

A heartrending novel that follows a mother and daughter through post-World War II Ireland and London, demonstrating that family bonds can never be broken.

Zusammenfassung
A sweeping novel that follows a mother and daughter through post-WWII Ireland and London, demonstrating that family bonds can never be broken.

Leseprobe
*Prologue*

SAN FRANCISCO, DECEMBER 1958

Sister Marie scurried along the dark corridor as fast as her pudgy little legs would carry her. Even though she would never admit it to the other nuns, alone in the cloisters at night she often got scared. This evening was worse than usual. A storm had knocked the electricity out again, and the flame from her candle cast eerie silhouettes on the stone walls, as though shadow demons lined the path on either side, lying in wait for her to pass.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” she murmured under her breath, trying to draw courage from the words. “He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

As she continued to recite the psalm, Sister Marie shivered, this time from cold rather than fear. Even the heavy wool habit couldn’t keep her warm at this time of year. Just before Thanksgiving last week, the weather had finally turned. The cold, bright sun set earlier these days, and then the infamous San Francisco fog rose up from the sea, covering the thick legs of the Golden Gate Bridge before rolling in toward the shore, the white mist creeping across the city and snaking its way up here to the Sisters of Charity Orphanage on Telegraph Hill. Sometimes, lying awake in her eight-by-ten-foot cell, Sister Marie imagined the fog oozing in through the keyholes and under the doors, like something from one of those monster movies her younger brother liked to watch.

Stop that, she scolded herself. It was this overactive imagination that had led the canoness at her last convent to suggest that she might not be suited to life as a nun. But even though she had struggled through her postulancy—the six-month period to determine whether she should take the veil—Sister Marie hadn’t wanted to give up. It had finally been agreed that she should be allowed to continue with her novitiate—the training to take vows—but on the condition that she go outside of the closed order. Moving to the orphanage had seemed like the best option. She adored children and had always known that motherhood would be the hardest aspect of secular life to renounce. Now she wouldn’t have to.

The orphanage had been founded by the Sisters of Charity back in the nineteenth century, funded with donations from the city’s upper-class Catholics. At present there were ninety-seven children in the institute’s care—and tonight there was about to be one more. A call had come through late that evening, just as the nuns were about to retire, asking if they had room for another child. It was a baby, apparently only a few days old. Apart from that, no details had been imparted about the new arrival: not its sex, nor the reason for it being abandoned here. It was most curious.

Sister Marie had been assigned to stay up with Mother Superior while she waited for the child. But as the hours dragged on, she’d begun to grow bored. Tired of her fidgeting, the reverend mother had eventually sent her to fix them both a late-night supper. It had been bad enough getting down to the kitchen in this creepy building. Now, on the return journey, the nun’s progress was slower, as she was carrying a tray laden with mugs of cocoa and a plate of thickly sliced bread, spread with butter and jam. It would have been slower still if a gust of wind hadn’t blown through the corridor at that moment, extinguishing her candle and plunging the cloisters into blackness. With a little squeal of fright, Sister Marie let go of the tray. The crash of metal and china on the floor echoed around the vast walls, sending her scuttling the last hundred yards to Mother Superior’s office. …