Secrets
Page 1
Contents
SECRETS: Visible & Invisible
Praise for Secrets
Dedication
Foreword
1. THE UNDERAPPRECIATED VIRTUES OF RUSTY OLD BICYCLES - Corinna Turner
2. RECREATION - Cynthia T. Toney
3. THE PORTRAIT OF THE FIRE STARTERS-Theresa Linden
4. ON THE BRINK OF HELL - Susan Peek
5. SISTER FRANCESCA - T.M. Gaouette
6. BEHIND THE WHEEL - Carolyn Astfalk
7. MORE PRECIOUS THAN GOLD- Leslea Wahl
More Books
Boring Legal Bit
SECRETS:
Visible and Invisible
By Catholic Teen Books Authors:
Corinna Turner
Cynthia T. Toney
Theresa Linden
Susan Peek
T. M. Gaouette
Carolyn Astfalk
Leslea Wahl
Collection Copyright © 2018 Catholic Teen Books
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License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
PRAISE FOR SECRETS: VISIBLE & INVISIBLE
I knew I was in for some great reading when I picked up this collection. What I was not prepared for was how exceptional this collection was. Often when I read an anthology, there are a few great reads, some good reads and some okay reads. That was not the case this time. Every story was a remarkable story. Some of the stories were so good, I immediately went back and reread just that story. And then when I finished the book, I reread the whole thing again a few days later.
I have a great deal of respect for the seven authors who contributed to this series. And even more so after reading their pieces in this collection… For fans of any of the authors in this collection, you need to pick this book up to read their contribution. For readers who love remarkable stories, this collection is for you also. And if you want some great reads that are clean and are Catholic fiction, this is the book for you. This anthology is Amazing! (Full review on BookReviewsAndMore.ca)
STEVEN R. MCEVOY, BookReviewsAndMore.ca
Seven Amazing Secrets: At a time when so much entertainment and fiction for teens is saturated with envy, lust, pride and other moral toxins, the book “Secrets: Visible and Invisible” is a powerful, and FUN-to-read, virtue-rich alternative.
The talented team of authors behind CatholicTeenBooks.com has created the perfect way for readers to enjoy a taste of fresh new fiction that satisfies a deep hunger in the teen soul.
Teens ...you need to get your Catholic parents, grandparents, or teachers to get this book for you. Really. You’ll be glad you did.
CATHY GILMORE, Founder/Executive Director, VirtueWorksMedia.com
Featuring seven fabulous stories from top authors in Catholic teen fiction, Secrets is as entertaining as it is relevant and thought-provoking. It's sure to capture your imagination, move your emotions, and stir your soul. Teens and adults alike are sure to enjoy the variety of tales, which are cleverly united by themes of secrets and faith. Packed with powerful, meaningful, memorable stories, this anthology is so good, you won't be able to keep Secrets to yourself!
THERESE HECKENKAMP, Bestselling Author
This anthology of short stories for Catholic teenagers is a true literary treasure. It provides genres for every type of reader, each so well written that the reader is invited to fully escape into many different worlds and places. The short stories will take its readers to dystopian Europe, high school hallways, a city block in summer, and a soldier’s medical ward in 16th-century Italy, just to name a few. The characters are diverse, exciting, relatable; their adventures are accessible, mysterious and enthralling. But within these different settings, there is one uniting comfort: God is always there, whether revealed in a desperate prayer to a guardian angel, through pure romantic love, the presence of Christian charity, men and women religious, or within the sacraments. The hope that comes through Catholicism and Jesus prevails in each vignette, and yet there are still heavy doses of drama, suspense and tactful violence. So if your teens seem totally spaced out and properly engrossed, take courage knowing their love of reading and their love of the faith are being fed through these beautiful stories.
REGINA LORDAN, Catholic News Service
DEDICATION
For Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, model of charity and patron of young adults, who once said, “When God is with us, we don’t have to be afraid of anything.”
Thank you for proving that adventure and holiness go together.
"Verso l'alto! - To the Heights!"
FOREWORD
by Mark Hart
Life Teen International
We call Him Savior, Teacher, Wonder Worker, and Lord. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Bread of Life and the Light of the World. He is the Messiah, the Promised One, the Divine Physician…the Good Shepherd.
Jesus Christ is all of these titles and an endless list of more. Yet, there is one title that I’ve rarely – if ever – heard used to describe Jesus of Nazareth, and I feel it is a glaringly myopic omission on our part.
Almost never have I heard Jesus Christ described as “Master Storyteller,” though He most certainly was.
Consider this: Jesus Christ could have chosen to teach us in a variety of ways. Certainly, the Second Person of the Trinity could have spoken with such high-minded profundity that even the most educated Pharisees would have been reduced to intellectual rubble. Of course, Christ could have preached sermons with theological depth so unmistakable that the great St. Thomas Aquinas would have seemed a blithering moron or babbling toddler in comparison. No, the fact that the God of the universe – the Son of Man – chose to employ storytelling (parables) as His primary teaching tool tells us a great deal. Everyone loves a good story and storytellers have filled the world with history and mystery from the dawn of time. It is in stories, perhaps more than anywhere else in creation, that we come face-to-face with our fallen nature, our quest for virtue and our sometimes-hidden potential for greatness.
There is power not only in the story but within those hearts brave enough to bare their souls upon the written page. To be clear, the words shared reveal more about the author’s heart than mind. Look no further than the Bible. God is not only the Creator and Father, He is the “Author of Life” (Acts 3:15). When we lose sight of this fact, we lose the essence of the Gospel and, in truth, our place in God’s story of redemption. He is the author of all of our stories.
As Pope Francis reminds us,
“So this love story began, a story that has gone on for so long, and is not yet ended. We, the women and men of the Church, we are in the middle of a love story: each of us is a link in this chain of love. And if we do not understand this, we have understood nothing of what the Church is.” Homily remarks, April 24, 2013, Vatican City, Catholic News Agency.
There’s a reason that the Bible has been translated into every conceivable language (even Klingon for you Star Trek fans out there). There’s a reason that, when Johannes Gutenberg—a Catholic—invented the printing press, his first print job was the Holy Bible. Stories bring us together and share truth in relatable and disarming ways.
Finding quality stories in the modern age can be difficult, though, as most of us are so overstimulated that prose can seem somewhat archaic if not accompanied by a flickering image glowing upon a screen. We need more options – more resources and outlets
of truth and beauty that can enrapture the mind and stir the soul. How do we engage people who might know God only sparingly or, worse yet, who doubt the reliability of Sacred Scripture but are open to something a little less intense and more “digestible”? At sixteen I certainly wasn’t ready (or able) to dive right into the Scriptures. I needed an intermediary step.
Sure, I’d heard the famous Bible stories growing up. Vacation Bible School gave me the basic gist of the kid-friendly classics—your David and Goliath, Noah’s ark, Daniel and the lions’ den, and at some point, Jesus’ apparent healing of a leopard (imagine my surprise and relief years later when I realized it was a leper). These fanciful stories failed to inspire me during my crucial preteen and high-school years. The Bible just didn’t pique my interest enough to motivate me to read it myself or retain anything I heard from the pulpit.
I can honestly say that I wish I’d had this book when I became a teenager. I wish I’d have had talented writers (as you’ll read herein) who cared enough about their faith and worked hard enough at their craft that they wanted to put their gifts and talents “at the service of the Lord” (1 Peter 4:10).
The writers of this book are sharing a piece of themselves with us all. The stories are unique and well-crafted, capturing both mind and heart. Each story reveals something different about the human heart and our constant (though, often veiled) desire for truth and virtue. You’ll find yourself connected to and invested in the characters. With every turn of the page, the Holy Spirit will draw you more deeply into the love and mercy of God.
In sharing their gifts and stories, they are glorifying God. As the great Catholic author J. R. R. Tolkien reminded us, “Fantasy remains a human right: we make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker.” Put more simply, we write and create because we are made in image and likeness of a Creator. We work at a craft (in this case, writing) because we are saved by a carpenter – by a Master Craftsman. We tell stories because our Redeemer is a Master Storyteller – and the story is the net by which we catch souls for the Kingdom.
I hope you enjoy this collection of short stories as much as I did and, upon reading them, my prayer is that the reality and truth of God’s love will come more to life in your life.
Happy reading!
Mark Hart
Sinner, son, husband, father and an (eternally) aspiring Catholic writer
Dystopian
1
THE UNDERAPPRECIATED VIRTUES OF RUSTY OLD BICYCLES
by Corinna Turner
Trees flashed past as I peddled, my bike thumping and jarring as it bounced over the branches littering the path. Last night’s storm had been replaced by utter stillness, but it’d left its calling card, all right.
Squeak-creak-thud.
My mountain bike’s ancient suspension and rusty frame complained as I successfully cleared yet another obstacle. I focused intently on the path just ahead. I didn’t want to crash, and I really didn’t want to write off my bike. It might have been made waaaay back in the early decades of the twenty-first century—okay, okay, it wasn’t quite as old as that, but it was the only one I—
Whoa!
I skidded to a halt, a whisker from Bane’s cracked mudguard. “Bane! A little warning!”
He jerked his head forward. “What, Margo, you think I should’ve tried to jump that? On this heap of scrap?”
Ah . . . a fallen tree blocked the trail. Quite a big one.
I checked my watch. “Look, we’re in good time. Why don’t we leave the bikes here before we totally wreck them, and hoof it the rest of the way?”
“Good plan.”
We hid the bikes in an area of dense bushes and headed on up the path at an easy jog.
“It was wild last night,” said Bane. “Did you see the lightning?”
“I was, uh, otherwise occupied.” And what a lovely Mass it’d been. Safe and successful, too . . .
“Oh, Uncle Peter was there, right?”
“Yeah. And ‘Cousin’ Mark.”
Bane shot me a grin. “You know, I really like him. He’s cool.”
“Uncle Peter’s cool, too,” I said loyally. Father Mark had been there only a month or two. I did like him a lot, though I couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever been an assassin. Probably why Bane admired him, alas, despite the fact that the young priest had clearly turned his back on anything like that.
“Uncle Peter’s a different kind of cool.” Bane jumped over another fallen bough without breaking his stride. “Father Mark’s like, cool-cool.”
“Bane!” I shot him a scowl for using the dangerous title out loud. Come on! We were fourteen; we were old enough not to make slips like that.
He shrugged, but then pulled a face and spoke more penitently. “Yeah, sorry. I guess it’s better to be careful. Do you want to give me the lunch?”
“I’m okay.” I always insisted on carrying the rucksack with our sandwiches at least part of the way. Even though Bane was big for his age, and a guy to boot.
Bane sighed and rolled his eyes but said, “Did Sue invite you to her party?”
“What party?”
“Well, that answers that. I told her I had something else on, but she was like, oh, well, I haven’t really fixed the date yet, so you might as well tell me when you’re free. So I need to get really busy for the next little while. Can you help me think of some stuff to be busy with, ‘cause otherwise, sorry, I’m going to lie.”
I laughed, warmth spreading and filling my insides. He isn’t interested in Sue. “The tourist season’s just starting. We could wash cars like we did last year. Get you a new bike before yours really does fall apart.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe we could . . .”
“Bane, shhh . . .”
He fell silent.
No, I’d not imagined it. “The train! It’s really early!”
“We’re nearly there, we can do it! Give me the lunch!”
I slipped off the rucksack and tossed it to him. We picked up the pace, leaping over obstacles, racing the train up the mountain.
If we missed it, our whole day would be ruined! Well . . . it certainly wouldn’t go the way we’d spent all week planning. Riding all the way across the valley, up to the top of Kerris Crag, a long, leisurely picnic, a little bouldering, and catching the train all the way back in the evening. A perfect spring day. But only if we caught the train.
I pushed myself hard, determined not to let our day be spoiled, determined not to spoil it for Bane with my shorter legs and weaker muscles.
There . . . There were the tracks. Panting, we jogged to our usual concealing heap of rocks, and waited, trying to get our breath back. We wouldn’t have long. The whine of the locomotive and rattle of train wheels were very close. We peeped out as it came in sight.
Yes, a massive, snub-nosed, fat locomotive. A heavy-goods train.
“Good,” muttered Bane. “It’s early.”
Early was better. As opposed to being the previous train, running late. That would’ve been no use. Passenger trains were awkward to get onto, quite apart from the fact that there was always one passenger who would tell the conductor that two teenagers had just jumped on and climbed up to the roof. We’d learned that the hard way . . .
“Ready?” Bane bounced eagerly on his toes as the locomotive surged past us. “Hmm, it’s a fast one. We’d better go.”
Normally we’d have allowed the locomotive—and driver—to get further ahead before making a move. But the train must’ve been lightly loaded to move so quickly—or the locomotive was overkill, considering how huge it was. Harell’s Pass was long and steep, and the train was slowed by its climb. But maybe not enough.
We slipped out from behind the rocks and headed for the tracks, sprinting hard. Catching a train that fast was going to be much tougher than usual.
I focused on the wagons, taking in their design, my eyes hunting for the ladders. I’d never seen this ki
nd of wagon before. They were huge—square and blocky. They looked incredibly solid. And where were the blasted ladders?
Crack. Crack-crack.
The sharp retorts made me start. Branches on the tracks, breaking? Or something bigger . . . but something bigger could derail the train . . .
Bane grabbed me, shoving me back toward the forest. “Run, Margo!”
Crack-crack. Crack.
Having a derailing train roll over me was not high on my list of things to do that day, so I ran with him, or tried to. He kept pulling me to and fro, zig-zagging as though getting away fast wasn’t so important as . . . as being hard to hit.
Finally, my idiot-brain identified the noise.
Gunshots. Lethals.
A huge wave of adrenaline swept over me and suddenly I was running twice as fast, zig-zagging without needing Bane to push me.
Crack. Crack.
This is soooo not our train, is it? Lord, help!
Crack.
Pain seared across my upper arm, a red hot trail. I stumbled from sheer shock, almost going down.
“Margo?” Bane yanked me upright, sounding panicked.
“I’m fine!” I accelerated again. We’d be back to the forest in a moment . . . nearly there . . . nearly . . .
Crack, crack, crack.
Nearly . . . There! Trees loomed around us. We ran on, though, until the sound of the train receding over the top of the pass had died away into the distance. Then we stopped and flopped down on the damp ground, gasping.
“Early, my foot,” I panted. “Military train, right?”
“Yeah.” Bane was pulling at my jacket, trying to get it off. “Are you alright? Let me see that.”
“What? Oh . . .” My arm . . . it still hurt. I winced as I slipped out of the jacket, trying to keep my arm as still as I could. The upper sleeve of my light green top was dark and wet. That of my darker green jacket, too. Blood.