Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

Ireland – 537 AD

“Your son has a destiny,” the Keeper said. “He must leave this place and prepare to meet it.”

“He is but a child! How do you ask such a thing of a ten-year-old?” The boy’s mother pulled Cian closer.

Standing, the sudden movement shoving his bench backward, Cian’s father bent forward, fists on the rough tabletop, his face inches from the Keeper’s. “How do you ask such a thing of us?”

Outside, sun sparkled off the deep and shining greens of Donegal surrounding the one-room cottage. A breeze bearing freshness taken for granted hushed across the scowl of Dara as if to calm the rage that had claimed his features.

“I don’t.” Despite the tension that had invaded the room, the Keeper smiled. “The Great Magistrate does. Your son is unique because you made him that way. You gave him the kind of heart and courage it will take to do this thing. For that reason and others, he must leave.”

Dara sat once more, focusing his gaze on his son, a gaze that softened as he asked, “And what do you think of all this, boy?”

“I think,” said Cian, son of Dara, “it sounds like a great adventure. You and ma have to come with me, though.” He turned his beautiful young face to the Keeper. “May they come, too?”

For the first time, a flash of something less than peaceful flickered through the Keeper’s eyes. “For a while, of course. Yes.”

Nodding, Cian snuggled closer to his mother. “We should go then.” No smile came with these words, only confidence.

“Good. You have been chosen well.” Standing, the Keeper turned to stare out the small window. “An adventure,” he murmured. “And the first important choice of many.”

Georgia – This Century

Cian MacDara stood, hands clenched behind his back, in the front hall of a dilapidated house in yet another nowhere he’d been before.

The social worker placed a hand on his shoulder. “Cian, this is your new foster mother, Letitia Pettijohn, and her children, Buddy and Retta, your foster brother and sister.”

I don’t like this place, Miss Hunter. I don’t think you do, either. A single fluorescent bar hanging from the ceiling by two wires, light sizzling and popping along its length, frightened him. I don’t like that light. Peeling floral wallpaper, scuffed wood flooring, and three strangers staring down at him assaulted his soul. He closed his eyes. “Don’t leave me here.” A whisper he knew she hadn’t heard – she was speaking.

“All right, Mrs. Pettijohn. You have his paperwork. His luggage is… he only has the one suitcase.” Receiving no response, Miss Hunter cleared her throat, gave Cian’s shoulder a soft squeeze, turned and went to the door. At the sound of it closing behind her, the boy shivered.

His foster mother put a hand on her hip, her gaze narrowed.

Cian’s throat felt dry. What did I do wrong? Should I have said hello?

The daughter stepped forward, leaned her face closer to Cian’s, and squinted. “I don’t think I like him, Ma. Why do we need a foster brother anyway?” Her squeaky voice and harsh accent matched her expression.

“Well, now, I don’t blame you, Retta,” said her mother. “I mean, look at him. Ain’t that the ugliest little piece of turd y’all ever saw?”

Buddy frowned at first, but his chubby face smoothed and he nodded. “Yup. A real dog.”

“Hear that, boy?” The woman glared. “Unacceptable. That’s what you are. Ugly as sin and twice as stupid.” Turning to her children, she smiled. “Okay, you two – upstairs and wash for supper. As for you, you disgustin’ little toad, you come with me.” She grabbed the boy by one arm and dragged him past the stairs. “I’m sure they fed you ’fore you left, so I won’t be wastin’ my good food on you tonight.” She pulled a key from a pocket and unlocked a door beside the kitchen. The door swung inward revealing a maw of darkness and wooden stairs.

Without releasing his arm, Letitia reached in with her free hand and flipped a switch. A bare bulb screwed into a socket in the rafter a third of the way down lit the stairs that ended at a platform, with more steps on its left continuing down into shadow.

She pulled him after her and at the bottom, pointed to the far side of a cluttered basement. “There’s a good mattress over there, boy. Don’t pee on it. That’s where you’ll be sleeping from now on. I don’t want you coming back upstairs, neither, 'til I call you, ya hear?” Not waiting for a reply, she went back up, switched off the light, and slammed the door. The sound of her key in the lock sealing him into an unfamiliar loneliness caused goose bumps along his arms.

In the minimal light from narrow windows set high in the far wall, Cian groped his way toward the mattress and sat on it. Crossing his arms over his knees, he put his head down. “What happened? Why are they being so mean?” Tears burned his eyes. “No. Father told me to be brave and strong… but…”

A sob escaped. Another, releasing the flood behind his lids. Weeping, he began to rock back and forth, arms clutched around his middle, his ten-year-old mind trying to comprehend what was happening. My new mother is… dark inside. Her children, too. Why was I sent here? What of the Light and the destiny the angel told me I have?

No answer came. Worse, everyone he cared about was gone and as far as he could figure, that meant no one would be coming to rescue him – ever.

*******

Connecticut – Seven Years Later

“God, Katie, I can’t believe it’s only Wednesday!” As Celeste Kelly stuffed books from her backpack into her locker, she cast a sideways stare at her best friend, her mouth a sour twist. “Worst day of the week.”

“Why?”

“It’s too far from either end to feel good about. I’m already bored and the day is only half over!”

“I know.” Katie Grandol turned away, sighing.

Celeste hoisted her backpack onto one shoulder, and they headed toward their first class after lunch.

“See him anywhere?”

Katie shrugged. “‘Him’ who?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Like maybe the guy we spent nearly all night texting each other about?”

“Oh, that ‘him!’ No. What I don’t get is why someone who looks like a freaking god is working in the food court at the mall.”

“Hauling trash, no less! Did you see his reaction to me when I smiled at him?”

“Yes, Celeste. He blushed. We texted about that for almost fifteen minutes last night, remember?”

“I… yeah. Still. Attractive guys usually don’t act that way.”

“Obsessed much?”

“Of course. You?”

Katie laughed. “Duh. But we’re justified.”

Celeste had never seen anyone that beautiful, male or female. “Where did he come from? And is there any real chance he’ll show up as a new student?”

“Celeste!”

Celeste burst out laughing. “Sorry.”

“Good. And stop staring around like that. You look ridiculous.”

“Oh, and you don’t?”

“I’m not… shut up.”

Reaching their English class, Celeste dragged herself into the room, dropping her backpack next to her desk. “Why does Mrs. Farrell make us sit alphabetically?”

“Yeah – one of many reasons to hate being here.” Katie rolled her eyes and went to her desk two rows away.

Celeste noticed the despised Mrs. Farrell was rearranging books on the low shelves beneath one of the windows as the class filed in. When the door closed behind the final student, the woman straightened, sighed loudly enough to be heard out in the schoolyard, and went to the front of the room. Her lanky six-foot frame draped in the same black dress she wore every day, Mrs. Farrell crossed her arms as her gaze swept the class. The students lapsed into silence.

She looks like the Grim Reaper’s lighthouse. Sneering, Celeste took her English book from her backpack.

“All right,” Mrs. Farrell began, “good afternoon. Since we've finished our segment on the short story, we will now turn to the full-length novel. I have chosen a classic, one you may even have read – in some form or other. Of course, what’s more likely is that you will have seen a movie version of it, either the Disney rendition or one of the recent hideous live-action films. So!” She went to the whiteboard covering the wall behind her desk and picked up a marker. “‘What book is she talking about?’ you ask yourselves. The book to which I refer is none other than Lewis Carroll’s 'Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland'.”

Dead silence.

Mrs. Farrell nodded, the irritating smirk Celeste knew too well curling her thin lips. “Can anyone tell me the real name of the author?”

Foot shuffling and body-shifting ensued. A hand went up. Mrs. Farrell opened her mouth to acknowledge the girl in the front row but was interrupted by the door opening.

Everyone turned toward the sound and Celeste almost fell out of her chair. The young man from the mall stood in the doorway for a second, and then entered the room.

Swiveling around to see Katie’s reaction, Celeste also noticed that while the boys were gaping, the girls, without exception, were gasping and turning bright pink. Celeste covered her mouth with one hand, snorting.

“Who, er, who - who - ” Mrs. Farrell stopped, blinking. “I… oh, my. Ha! I sound like a stammering owl!”

On seeing their teacher’s blush, her usual scowl transforming into a shy smile, Celeste nearly lost it. Holy crap! What’s going... holy crap! Never mind that the mall worker had shown up at school after all, but finding the imperturbable, Amazonian Mrs. Farrell – she was older than dirt, for heaven’s sake! – clenched in the same vise of attraction as her much younger charges, was almost too much. Yuck! Celeste closed her eyes to shut out the image of Mrs. Farrell making an ass of herself. Under any other circumstance, she figured the woman’s behavior would have been hilarious, but not this. Embarrassing, yes. Rather like barging in on your parents having sex, she thought with an involuntary shudder.

Celeste opened her eyes again. The new student had reached Mrs. Farrell’s desk and was handing her a green slip of paper.

“Ah! Hmm, I… I’m not sure how to pronounce this, uh, C-i-a-n…” Mrs. Farrell raised the slip and squinted at it.

“KEE-an.”

“Oh. Okay. Cian MacDara. I see you’re from Georgia – what brings you to Connecticut?”

“Family circumstances.”

His soothing voice included an accent that sounded southern, but with a hint of something more exotic, familiar. Judging by the total silence around her, Celeste suspected his voice was having a similar effect on the other students as well.

Mrs. Farrell cleared her throat and once again restless feet shuffled, papers crackled, a nearby pencil’s eraser bounced against a desktop.

“Well. Welcome, then, Mr. MacDara. Please take a seat – right here in front would be fine.” She gestured at an empty desk in the front row next to Janine Whitcomb, the girl who had raised her hand.

The previous occupant of that desk was a friend of Celeste’s who had moved away two weeks before. Celeste missed her, but now it didn’t seem to matter…

“Thank you very much, ma’am.”

The woman did