Set in the midst of the Great Depression, this bittersweet story of a young mother's love and sacrifice for her deaf-mute son and his extraordinary gift is outstanding. John McDonough's warm, understated narration delivers an authentic portrait of an era of financial upheaval and desperation. His portrayal of Jack's abusive father is shocking and sure to engage listeners' emotions. With precise diction and pacing, McDonough depicts the mother's difficult decision to leave with Jack and start over with money she found in her husband's jacket. Then she discovers Jack's gift, with its provision of hope and promise for those who need it most, but it too requires decisions. Richly drawn characters and unexpected plot twists entertain listeners. G.D.W. © AudioFile 2010, Portland, Maine
The Silent Gift
Narrated by John McDonough
Michael LandonUnabridged — 12 hours, 40 minutes
The Silent Gift
Narrated by John McDonough
Michael LandonUnabridged — 12 hours, 40 minutes
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Overview
Editorial Reviews
Set in the midst of the Great Depression, this bittersweet story of a young mother's love and sacrifice for her deaf-mute son and his extraordinary gift is outstanding. John McDonough's warm, understated narration delivers an authentic portrait of an era of financial upheaval and desperation. His portrayal of Jack's abusive father is shocking and sure to engage listeners' emotions. With precise diction and pacing, McDonough depicts the mother's difficult decision to leave with Jack and start over with money she found in her husband's jacket. Then she discovers Jack's gift, with its provision of hope and promise for those who need it most, but it too requires decisions. Richly drawn characters and unexpected plot twists entertain listeners. G.D.W. © AudioFile 2010, Portland, Maine
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940169359732 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Recorded Books, LLC |
| Publication date: | 05/28/2010 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
The Silent Gift
By Michael Landon, Jr. Cindy Kelley
Bethany House Publishers
Copyright © 2009 Michael Landon, Jr., and Cindy KelleyAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7642-0363-3
Chapter One
Rural Minnesota Summertime 1930
She appeared to be flying-silvery wings swept upward and proud chin thrust into the stormy Minnesota night. The tiny lady's arms stretched out, embracing the unknown as she emerged through the rain and fog, then disappeared again. Her shiny steel made her more visible than the black 1929 Packard on whose hood she rode. The sedan sped hazardously along a narrow two-lane road that more typically would have suggested shady trees and leisurely Sunday drives. But the darkness, split by two brave headlights, held pounding rain and a monstrous wind that seemed intent on obstructing the vehicle's progress by sheer force of will.
Sheets of pelting rain made visibility nearly zero as Jerry Sinclair frantically peered through the windshield, trying to keep the Packard on the road. The huge oak and maple trees, heavy with foliage and looming like giant sentries when lightning flashed, dipped and swayed in the wind. Furthering his panic was the sound of his young wife's cries from the backseat.
The summer humidity in the closed car made it smell musty and stale-the air almost too thick to breathe. He knew at this speed he wastaking chances, but with the urgency of any new father-to-be, Jerry kept a heavy foot on the accelerator to get to the doctor before his child made its entrance into the world. He blamed the false alarm just two days prior for his all but ignoring his wife's urgent request earlier in the day to take her to the hospital. Only seventeen, Mary Godwin Sinclair's teeth had chattered when admitting to her twenty-one-year-old husband that she was scared about the unknown experience of childbirth. Though Jerry may also have been scared, he would never have admitted it to his wife-or to himself.
The beat of the windshield wipers was a metronome for Mary's voice calling to him over the wind's roar. "Hurry, Jerry! Hurry, Jerry!"
He clutched the wheel and careened around a bend. "I'm going as fast as I can!" he shouted over his shoulder. He could barely hear her painful groan.
Jerry rounded another curve, and the car skidded onto the muddy shoulder before he regained control. Mary once more cried out from the backseat, and Jerry turned to look as lightning rippled across the sky. He could see her face contorted in pain.
"Hang on," he yelled, "only a few more miles."
"I ... can't. It's ... it's coming! The baby-"
He blew out his cheeks and swung his attention back to driving just in time to glimpse a small fawn standing in the road, its eyes caught glassy and fixed in the headlights of the Packard. In a split second he calculated the risk of hitting the animal, determining it was too small to even slow them down.
"Your loss, stupid animal!" he shouted in frustration. The startled fawn, legs splayed, held fast like a small statue.
Out of nowhere a large doe bolted into the beam of the headlights and shoved her baby out of harm's way. Jerry cursed loudly and Mary screamed as the Packard slammed into the doe-and the animal flipped up over the hood of the car and crashed against the windshield, cracking the glass. The doe rolled off the hood while the sedan swerved off the asphalt, crashing through a barrier of cattails and wild chokeberry bushes and down the embankment toward a small lake. Jerry frantically pumped the brakes, but the wheels locked up as the car gained momentum and slid down the rain-soaked slope.
In moments the car reached the bottom and rolled right into the dark lake. The flying lady went under first, and the deer's blood washed away as water sloshed over the hood ornament, back over the silver wings, and rippled up the hood. Steam sizzled around the submerged engine, and as the water rose through the floorboards, Jerry could hear himself yelling. He felt the wetness swirl around his ankles, then creep up over his knees.
His frenzied but futile attempts to open the door increased the panic that had him by the throat. Finally bracing one hand on the steering wheel, he used the other to turn the crank and lower the window. His apprehension overpowered all reason as the front end of the car dipped even lower and Mary started to scream his name. In waterlogged clothes and shoes, he struggled to maneuver out the driver's window.
His limbs felt like lead as he lurched and slid on the slick muck. He grabbed the back-door handle and hollered at Mary, "I can't open it! Roll down the window!"
She screamed again, and he could see the water enveloping her belly and rising up her thin cotton dress. Her hands, encased in white cotton gloves, were splayed over the blue material like clouds. He pounded on the window. "Listen to me, Mary! Open the window!" He watched as she caught her breath between labor pains and saw her reach toward the window crank, but then almost immediately cry out again. Her hand clenched in a fist against her belly as the steadily rising water moved farther up her body.
He fought to stay near the car as the water inched up to her chin, but the weight of his soaked shirt, pants, and shoes pulled at him too as the car slipped farther downward. For one brief moment, he could see her terror-filled eyes through the watery glass. He saw her spit out the lake and tip her head back to keep her face in the small pocket of air near the roof of the car. He fought to lift his shoes from the sucking lake bed as he turned and slogged his way toward the shore, collapsing on its edge in the mud.
* * *
As water finished filling the last few inches of space in the car, Mary was finishing the journey of her pregnancy even as her world went completely black.
Raindrops splashed into the lake-tiny pits silently marring its smooth surface. The wind that churned the air was nonexistent from below, lending an eerie calm to the water. The world above was muffled, a surreal distance that seemed impossible to reach.
The moon slipped out of its shroud of clouds just as a tiny infant broke through the surface of the lake, cleansed from birth by the water, held in the strong, protective arms of his mother.
* * *
My story is as unique as My birth-and so is the fact that I could not tell it to you until now. But even as I give you this account, it isn't me I want you to focus on-rather, it's my mother. My mother is where the heart of this story lies.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Silent Gift by Michael Landon, Jr. Cindy Kelley Copyright © 2009 by Michael Landon, Jr., and Cindy Kelley. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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