| Copyright © 2005, Annette
Snyder Reviews For SALLY MURPHY by Annette Snyder Sally Murphy grabs and nabs your attention
from the first. This is a perfect book for the young
and old to enjoy! "Annette Snyder has my approval as this book makes you realize how well the characters are written as they unfold throughout the story. While not an erotic read, there are moments in there that make you quiver and shiver as love is awakened for Nate and Sally. It is the little touches, the things that Nate does, as well as how Sally is portrayed to be a strong and resilient woman that send this book straight into your heart. One of my favorite scenes happened at the fishing hole as Nate assisted Sally. I enjoyed this book so much that I am getting it for my twelve-year-old niece who is just beginning to discover romance. This is a perfect book for the young and old to enjoy!" Reviewed by: Wendi 5 Angels, Fallen Angel Review Sample Chapter For SALLY
MURPHY by Annette Snyder
She remembered the cold. Frigid, bitter cold! Cold fingers, cold toes, cold streets as the loose marbles of gravel pushed between the cracks in the soles of her worn shoes and wedged uncomfortably against the callused balls of her cold feet. The malicious winds whipped and blew torrents of icy pellets as the buttons of her ragged, moth-eaten coat fought unsuccessfully to protect her. Exposed to the harshness of the New York winter, her cheeks, numb from the frostiness, froze as she looked to the street sign. “Only ten more blocks,” she voiced aloud to the empty, arctic night. Ten more blocks wasn’t bad at
all! She’d already come so far! Ten blocks was nothing. Only ten more blocks. Ten more blocks until warmth. Ten more blocks until solace of the homeless shelter. Ten more blocks until a bed with a blanket. Only ten more blocks. Her tiny feet pounded out the rhythm on the pavement, “Ten more! Ten more!” A shadow from the alley loomed before and she inhaled as a large figure darted ahead. Her scream echoed down the deserted street. “Rats! Damn gutter rats!” she said with relief as she regained her senses and resumed her journey. “Nine blocks. Nine blocks.” Her stride pounded. Experienced rationalization told her the last few blocks were always the worst in a storm. She focused on her steps and the sidewalk in front of her. Her feet were as frozen as her face and she felt they hardly moved at all. As if in a nightmare, the blocks seemed to elongate the farther and faster she walked. She came to one crosswalk, and another it seemed, radiated to a thousand more. “Six more. Six more. Only six more,” her heart cried out. Surly she could make six after traveling thirty. “Six more.” She disregarded the queasy ache of hunger under her ribs. Lack of food was all. Once she got to the shelter, she would eat. They always had something for children to eat there. Always! A bowl of warm potato soup and a crusty piece of day-old bread to sop it up with. Her stomach growled under her coat as she passed over an open sewer grate. Steamy, smelly warmth rushed up to meet her as she walked over the rickety, rusted metal bars that split the footway. Heat! Heat for a few minutes would thaw her feet enough to make the last few blocks of her trip bearable. She sat on the grate and consumed its radiation. The smell of the sewer below made her stomach perform wretched twists, but the warmth was so comforting. Heat! Heat after so many blocks of deplorable freeze. Mother Nature’s accursed hand seemed to spare the area of the sewer grate. Outside on the sidewalk around her the wretched weather continued, but over the iron bars, above the glow of the sewer, she felt safe and secure, finally. Perhaps she would not have to tread those last few blocks. Perhaps life would continue here until the storm passed. Perhaps her entire life, all the suffered beatings, all the starved nights alone, searching all the lonely streets for acceptance, led her to this one moment above the comforting sewer. Warmth! Friendly warmth circled her in a thick, misty cloud. “Child! Child! Come here!” a deep voice shouted from the umbra of fog that surrounded her. She tried to turn her head to its direction but the warmth paralyzed her, surrounded her, took her to a grave, balmy place encompassed by amicable soft lights and everlasting rest. “Girl?” the voice said again, “Are you all right, child?” Sally’s body became listless as the stranger grabbed her, shook her, and turned her toward him. Her brain said to run. Run from the stranger! Run! Run! Her body said, Stay! Stay on the heat. Stay. Sleep. She remembered the cold. Frigid, bitter cold! Cold fingers, cold toes, cold streets as the loose marbles of gravel pushed between the cracks in the soles of her worn shoes and wedged uncomfortably against the callused balls of her cold feet. * * * * “It’s all right, child. It’s all right. You’re safe now,” the musically patient voice of an older woman sang as she tucked the blankets around the mattress. “Now, don’t be fighting me, honey. I’m trying to get you warm. You’re like the winter itself. What possessed you to be out in that? Thank goodness Mr. Arpetta was passing by! I hate to think what would have happened to you if he hadn’t have seen you on that grate.” Sally felt the pressure of the blankets constrain her to a soft feather bed. She felt the warmth of a room against her chilled body. How long had she been there? It couldn’t have been too long, her fingers were still numb. “Where am I? How did I get here?” “Why, Mr. Arpetta brought you here. He found you half frozen a few blocks away.” “Arpetta?” “Mr. Arpetta. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of him. He is not common to your social circle,” the woman said tactfully. The girl was obviously a vagrant. To look at her shoes and coat, anyone could see that. “Mr. Arpetta is the finest attorney in this great state of New York. He was coming home from a meeting with a client when he came across you. You are a very lucky girl. Very lucky indeed!” “Where am I?” “Now, now, that’s enough questions for one night. You just rest for a minute while I go and warm you some broth. Steaming chicken broth will be good for that empty tummy of yours. Tomorrow, after you’ve had a good breakfast, we will decide what to do about you. My name is Mrs. Watson.” “I’m Sally.” Her name came weakly from her brain, yet she wasn’t sure if she voiced the words. “Well, Sally,” the woman said with a cheerful smile on her aged, wrinkled face as she stood next to the cot, “I’ll just get that broth.” By the time Jane Watson returned with the soup, Sally was asleep again, nestled under the protective roof of the servant's quarters in Arpetta Manor. The housekeeper was not at all surprised the girl was out by herself at such an hour in such a storm. Lack of anywhere to go, the homeless occasionally did that. Sally, most likely on her way to the shelter a few blocks away, was caught in the storm as it changed from bad to worse. Jane wasn’t even curious about the girl’s age. She couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. Homeless children were all over the city. Whether orphaned or from an abusive family, Sally was on the street and it didn’t really matter why. What mattered was that Mr. Arpetta found her and brought her to Jane. Now Sally had a chance. Thank God for Mr. Arpetta and his continuously late meetings. |