Authors: Jerry B.; Trisha; Jenkins Priebe
The Glass Castle
© 2016 by Trisha White Priebe
Print ISBN 978-1-63409-389-7
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-762-8
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-763-5
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Churches and other noncommercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Barbour Publishing, provided that the text does not exceed 500 words or 5 percent of the entire book, whichever is less, and that the text is not material quoted from another publisher. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “From
The Glass Castle,
published by Barbour Publishing, Inc. Used by permission.”
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Illustration: Scott Altmann
Cover Lettering: Kirk DouPonce
Published in association with The Blythe Daniel Agency, P.O. Box 64197, Colorado Springs, CO 80962-4197.
Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,
www.shilohrunpress.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
05309 0216 BV
To Andrew, Max, and Lincoln, who know the long road home and have enriched our lives immeasurably for taking it.
C
ONTENTS
Chapter 1
Captured!
Avery dragged her three-year-old brother behind a boxwood bush and listened for footsteps in the brittle leaves. She couldn’t be sure which was louder—the person on their trail or her own heart, galloping like a stallion in her ears.
With one hand over Henry’s mouth, Avery looked down at the nicest dress she owned. Not only had she torn the ruffles and destroyed the hem, but the white linen stood out in the shadowy woods, making her an easy target.
If she survived this afternoon and made it home tonight—and that felt like a giant
if
—her father would demand to know why her dress was stained with grass and mud and tinged with blood.
She would tell him the truth.
How could she possibly have known that a simple walk in the woods would turn dangerous? It was her thirteenth birthday, and she’d had no intention of spending the day cooped up in their small, dusty cottage, doing chores that would need to be done again tomorrow.
Now Avery was sure she heard twigs snap. Crows bolted, and she felt someone or something watching her. Her father would understand the ruined dress.
Clothes, after all, could be replaced.
People, as their family knew all too well, could not.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” Avery whispered as Henry wiggled. She squeezed his shoulder until he twisted his face and nodded.
He looked scared, and why wouldn’t he? Instead of playing with the paper boat tucked in his pocket, he was hiding in the ghostly woods while a cold wind whistled through the trees.
“I’ll figure a way to get us out of here,” Avery whispered next to Henry’s ear. “Just don’t make a sound, and do exactly what I say.”
Henry nodded, tears dotting the corners of his big brown eyes.
Normally, hiding behind a bush was a dumb idea. Tall and long legged, Avery was the fastest runner among her friends. No one laughed about her unusually big feet or made fun of her unruly inky hair, because she could outrun everyone, including the boys. She knew she could easily outpace someone in the woods—if she didn’t have Henry.
So, while the unpleasant sounds of the woods rose up around them, Avery hatched a plan.
They would move to the one place she had always felt safe.
It was now or never.
Wait,
the wind seemed to whisper, but Avery didn’t obey.
Taking a deep breath and grabbing Henry’s hand, she ducked from behind the boxwood. Head bent and body low, she pulled her brother to the next bush and the next until they reached a butternut tree deep in the thickets—but not just
any
butternut tree. This was where their father had built the most spectacular tree house when Avery was a little girl.
Rising before them stood a castle tree house—two stories high with an open turret and stairs that wound through a trap door that led to a tiny chamber at its highest point. The castle included a sky bridge, a tower prison, a tunnel, and a library—perfect for a girl with a bright imagination and a hunger for stories.
In the castle Avery could be anybody she wanted to be. On sunny days, she pretended to be queen and made Henry one of her loyal subjects. She painted watercolor castles and wrote poetry while sending Henry to collect blackberries or fetch water from the nearby stream for their snack. At night, when the sky was as black as ink, Avery would lie on the roof and imagine the stars were diamonds in her crown.
This castle held many secrets—among them, it supposedly sat atop an intricate system of tunnels—but whether any of them were true, Avery had no idea. Most importantly, it was the last place Avery saw her mother before she left and never came back.
Today it would be a hiding place.
Avery decided she and Henry would stay in the tree house until night fell, and then they would sneak home where Avery would explain everything to their father. He would be angry at first but would eventually soften. He might even loan her the money to buy a replacement dress since she had saved her brother’s life.
Avery was just about to lead Henry into the arched doorway of the thick tree trunk when he yanked free of her grasp and raced into the open.
“Bronte!” he shouted, dropping to his knees and wrapping his pudgy arms around the mutt that was the family dog.
As Bronte’s matted fur spattered Henry with mud, Avery’s hopes of her father’s forgiveness vanished.
She had been so sure she and Henry were in danger.
Dumb dog,
she thought, both relieved and ashamed.
They were not being chased as she had suspected, but she had ruined her one good dress and Henry was covered in filth. Her father would say she had let her imagination get the best of her
again,
and she would spend the rest of her birthday alone in her bedroom, likely without any gifts or treats.
“Oh, Bronte,” Avery said, joining Henry in scratching Bronte’s floppy ears. She couldn’t stay mad at the dog for long. They were the same age and had been best friends for as long as she could remember.
“Let’s go home.”
“But why?” Henry said, his voice rising to a whine the way it did when he was made to eat his vegetables or take a bath. “You said we were going to play hide-and-seek. Nobody found us.”
“Good thing,” Avery said. “But now it’s time to go home for supper.”
This news made Henry smile. “We’ll have apple sausages and cheese,” he said.
Avery was about to tell him they didn’t know what their father had planned but that they would be grateful for whatever they were given. But then she heard it—
The snapping of twigs.
And she saw it—
The crows bolting.
And she felt it—
Someone or something was watching them.
And this time, Avery knew it wasn’t the dog.
She grabbed Henry around the waist and ran as fast as she could move toward the tree house. But just as she leapt inside and shouted, “Hang on!” everything went dark.
All that remained was a bell clanging in the distance.
Chapter 2
Trapped
The cramped, dark cart smelled like boots left in the rain.
Avery sat with her back pressed against splintering boards, chin on her knees and her neck aching from leaning forward—for how long she had no idea, but the pain was intense. A salty, bitter rag covered her mouth, and she couldn’t move her legs. Her stomach hurt more than it ever had, though she couldn’t be sure if it was from hunger or something else.