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    My Sanctuary
    My Sanctuary
    My Sanctuary
    Ebook76 pages1 hour

    My Sanctuary

    By Sarah-Jane Lehoux

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    About this ebook

    HUSH, LITTLE BABY, DON'T SAY A WORD

     

    After spending years in a Catholic-run orphanage in 1950s small-town Canada, Rebecca Dolores Kingsley, better known as Dot, has grown into a lonely but spirited young girl with a lot to say and a huge heart full of love to give. All she's ever wanted is a family to call her own, and when a sullen, freckled-faced boy named Kenny arrives on the orphanage's doorstep, she immediately takes him under her wing, lavishing her new little friend with all of the sweetly maternal affection that was never shown to her.

    But the happiness and sense of purpose that Dot's found while caring for Kenny are soon threatened. Her blossoming womanhood has unfortunately attracted unwanted attention from her guardians and fellow orphans alike, and despite her best efforts to protect him from some of the harsher realities of institutional life, Kenny accidentally gets caught up in the crossfire.

    Now, in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to save the boy she's come to think of as her own child, Dot will have to resort to playing what she calls "the secret game." But the stakes of this game are impossibly high, and when the unthinkable happens, she finds herself faced with a heart-wrenching decision that no mother, either real or imagined, should ever have to make.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSarah-Jane Lehoux
    Release dateAug 13, 2024
    ISBN9780988145658
    My Sanctuary
    Author

    Sarah-Jane Lehoux

    Sarah-Jane Lehoux is a Canadian writer of speculative fiction. She avoids the real world as much as possible and spends her time cluttering her brain with beautiful nonsense.

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      Book preview

      My Sanctuary - Sarah-Jane Lehoux

      Chapter 1

      IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER

      Sanctuary. It’s a big word we learned ’bout in catechism. It means the part of the church around where the altar sits, and I guess they’re pretty special ’cause I hear God gets real angry if they ain’t kept holy enough for Him. Matter of fact, they’re so special that the word for them even picked up a second meaning, so now sanctuary gets used for just ’bout any old place where you feel safe from danger. That’s what Mr. Martin told us, anyway. He says it comes from a time when people used to hide out in churches from their enemies and bad guys and such. He says it didn’t make no difference who they were or what they’d done. No one was allowed to hurt them so long as they stayed put inside.

      Now, Mr. Martin is the best dang teacher we ever had. He got Billy Richmond to read one whole book front to back, he proved that morning dew ain’t bug spit like Davey Morris swore it was, and he even taught Elizabeth Winters the timestable in just one term, even though Mother MacDonald says that Beth is the stupidest girl to ever walk God’s green earth and that she’s got so much smog in the noggin it’s a wonder smoke don’t come out her ears. Yes, sir, Mr. Martin is one fine teacher. He’s the smartest one I ever did meet, but when he told us ’bout them people using churches as their sanctuary, I just didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. ’Cause, you see, I know something he don’t.

      But it ain’t like that’s his fault, of course. After all, he’s never been to St. Jerome’s.

      My name’s Rebecca Dolores Kingsley, in case you’re wondering. Sounds real classy, don’t you think? Like I’m meant to be a movie star or something. But I’m actually nowhere near that fancy, and so most people just call me Dot. Only one to ever call me Rebecca is Mother MacDonald, and when I hear her shouting it out across the yard? Well, that’s when I know I’m up to my neck in trouble!

      And lately, she’s been shouting it an awful lot.

      She don’t like me very much, you see. But I don’t care ’cause I don’t like her much either, and I ’specially don’t like having to call her ‘Mother.’ She ain’t a mother. She ain’t even a nun. And you know, Perry Carter says we oughta be grateful for that ’cause he’s lived with nuns before and they got right wicked tempers, but I’m pretty sure he just made that up for attention. ’Cause nuns are all supposed to be married to God, right? Well, I guess I just don’t understand why He would keep so many wives if their tempers were even half as bad as Mother MacDonald’s.

      Anyway, back to what I was saying. I’m Rebecca Dolores Kingsley, Dot for short, and I’ve been living at the orphanage run by St. Jerome’s Church ever since September 15, 1952. I remember the date exactly ’cause it was the day after I turned eight. See, what happened was, my folks woke me up that morning and told me they’d decided they weren’t gonna keep me no more. Then they packed up my suitcase, drove me three towns over, and just left me here, and it makes me real sad sometimes, thinking ’bout them and what they might be doing now. I still don’t know why they wanted rid of me so bad, but I suppose every saint in Heaven and sinner on earth’s got reason enough for the things they do.

      And as for me? Well, I got a reason or two to be telling you all this, and I guess I should just get on with it.

      I turned fourteen a couple months back. I’m one of the oldest girls in the orphanage now, and I’ve been living here longer than most, but Mother MacDonald says she’s gonna kick me out soon if my chest grows any bigger. She says it’s a distraction, the way I’m starting to look, and that no good will come from having a slutty little Jezebel like me bouncing her tits around all of these boys day in and day out.

      I know she’s probably right and all, but it still don’t seem fair to me ’cause it ain’t like I’m the one in charge of how big these darned things get! And I tried everything I could to stop them from growing too. Really, I did! I stopped eating so much, I got some old cloth and kept myself wrapped up so tight I couldn’t hardly even breathe, and I prayed ’bout it every time we went to Mass. Yes, sir, I just shut my eyes, and I bowed my head, and I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed for God to shrink my boobs back down to a more respectable size, but none of it made a lick of difference.

      Jenny Benton told me I was being dumb. Said I oughta be praying for them to grow big as balloons ’cause that’d be my ticket outta this place, but I don’t want no ticket, thank you very much. I know there’s nothing waiting out there for me ’cept an empty belly and frost-bit feet. Here, I got a roof over my head, at least, and that’s really all a girl can ask for.

      I’ll admit it, though. Sometimes, I spend a few thoughts thinking ’bout what it’d be like to have a little bit more than what I got. Sometimes, I even like to make-believe that Mr. Martin is the one who gives it all to me. I dream he comes up to me and says, Dot, I think you’re the prettiest girl in the whole school. Prettier than Beth, even. Let’s get married. And then I’d have it made in the shade! I’d get to go live with him in that nice little house he’s got, and I’d have a flower garden and a fancy Tupperware

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