San Francisco, 1904. Two beautifully exotic sisters, Eugenia and Inda, discover that they are doomed to live as wards in a cold, Nob Hill mansion filled with prejudice, greed and . . . something else. Stumbling upon a secret diary clues the girls into the family's recent history and hateful Aunt Mable. To survive, they must outsmart Aunt Mable at her own game of betrayal and worse!
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Off the southern tip of Chile, five hundred miles north of Antarctica's South Shetland Islands, the storm thickened with blackness and howled with rage. Sixty-foot waves hammered the hull of the ship, heavy and relentless, and devoured the decks with an icy hunger. With topsails furled on the yardarms, masts wrestled like giants against the winds, muscles straining for victory.
It was this night that changed my life forever.
We were caught in a 'snorter' off Cape Horn, and had battled the violent gale for two weeks, our nose thrust westward into the very teeth of the wind. My father was master of the iron-hulled ship Aparna, a huge three-masted square-rigger.
"Genie Lass," said Papa, "add more wood to the fire, it burns low."
Obediently, I arose, gathering my woolens about me. After doing what he asked, I picked up my sewing and sat again on the red velvet settee. The ship rocked violently from side to side, shrieking and groaning. I placed my feet firmly apart, using this widened stance to try and prevent myself from being flung from side to side with the motions of the ship, but had little luck. I pricked my finger with the needle, and gave an involuntary yelp. Discouraged, I set my sewing aside.
My father sat in the great armchair, next to the small wood stove. He puffed on a cigar, purchased for a high price in London. He shoved it under his dark moustache, and smoke rolled from him like a steam engine. How like him, I thought, to be so composed under such conditions. I knew he found it necessary for his mental well-being to sit calmly before a fire with his daughters, to drink a glass of wine after dinner, to smoke an expensive cigar, and to try, for a moment at least, to ignore the raging storm. Besides, he had extreme faith in his crew. They were the best. If they needed him on deck, they would summon him.
My younger sister, Inda, sat next to me on the settee. Occasionally we knocked elbows, but in her gentle manner, she never complained. Her black, glossy hair curtained her hands. She had, I believe, been trying for the last five minutes to take a single stitch. Finally, she too sighed, and set her sewing down.
"Do you remember last year," said Papa, "it blew like this, as if the hounds of hell wished to take us with them? And the next day, there was nary a puff of wind, and the sails hung slack. Do you remember?"
I nodded. Each year had taken us on a voyage. Loaded with grain, we sometimes sailed from San Francisco, around South America's Cape Horn, to Europe and back again exchanging our grain for liquors from England, hardware from Belgium, coal from Wales, and finally nitrate from Chile and guano from Callao. Or sometimes from San Francisco, we instead sailed across the Pacific, stopping in Honolulu, circling Australia to India. We loaded rice in Rangoon, and wool in New Zealand.
I felt a certain pride when Papa handed me the list of cargo at each port and asked me to double-check its accuracy. More and more, Papa allowed me to help him with the running of the ship and, to my gratitude, he never acted as if I were in the way, which, at times, I am sure I was.
My sister, Inda, had been born on a return crossing from India to San Francisco. I remembered that day twelve years ago in 1892, although I was only about three and a half years old at the time. It was hot and sultry, and I remember the sweat drenching my head and running in salty streams down my skinny chest. Mama lay on the bed, straining and groaning, her dark skin shimmering in the heat. The smell hurt my nose - sweat and clotted blood - but I nonetheless felt drawn to the proceedings. From the doorway, I watched as Papa knelt beside her, sponging her forehead with a damp rag, soaked in salt water.
"Aparna," he would whisper. And I would shudder with delight at the sound of my mother's name. Aparna.
Before the day was out, her screams filled the ship, echoing down to the deepest hold. I was ordered out of our living quarters, and found myself wandering the decks, the heat of the tarred wood penetrating my shoes. The sails hung lifeless, and Old John and Thomas and Solomon and all the rest looked away from me when I glanced at them and it frightened me. They mended sails and ropes and scrubbed decks and railings and said nothing. I was so relieved when Papa came to find me. He swept me into his arms and I luxuriated in his scent. But I was confused - Papa wept - and I never knew men could do so. "Your mother has gone to be with the angels," he said. "Don't cry, Genie Lass." I did cry though, and wished I was there too, even though I didn't know what it meant.
He took me into the cabin, and there lay a tiny mound of pinkish-brown. Walnut- sized fists jerked through the air like an Irish boxer, and in the very center of its face was a soft mewling mouth. A mop of black hair stuck out in all directions. "Her name is Inda Francis. She's your sister." From that moment on, I claimed Inda as my own. It was I who fed her from the best of the ship's stores, it was I who watched her take her first tottering step on a swaying, sun-filled deck. It was I who played hide-and-seek with her, hiding in the pantry, or ducking into the Petty Officer's cabin until the bosun chased me out.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Spine-tingling, Nail-biting, Hair-raising Good Read!,
By Andrea, age 30-something (Canada) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Sisters Unto Death (Paperback)
Like in her other book, "Bottles of Eight and Pieces of Rum", the author really shows how thoroughly her work is researched. This story of two orphaned sisters is set in San Francisco around the turn of the century. Not only is the relationship of the girls extremely well fleshed out and very moving, but the story-line itself is fast-moving, suspenseful and very exciting. I read this book for the purposes (in part) of making sure it was suitable for my 10 year-old to read. What I found was that not only was it suitable for my child, I couldn't put it down either. This is a moving, gripping story that is wonderfully written and entertaining. I highly recommend it to all ages, and for boys and girls alike.
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Truly a Thriller!,
By Katie, age 11 (Toronto, Canada) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Sisters Unto Death (Paperback)
I didn't know what was going to happen, I couldn't put the book down! I felt like I was in the book, like I was watching things happen-- like a spy, or something. The story was a mix of suspense, mystery, adventure and unexpected events! I liked how the two sisters worked together to come out of a really tight fix. I liked how the bad characters were really evil--it wasn't just a story, it was a real thing that could happen in life. The characters were really real and it was funny at times what they did, and sad too, sometimes. I like how the story was put together, because it was like a sandwich. It didn't just have bread, it had lots of everything in it (with a toothpick on top!). I would recommend this book for everybody!
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Skillfully Told and Riveting Tale,
By A Customer
This review is from: Sisters Unto Death (Paperback)
This is an all around great book for young adults. This book has mystery, suspense, and a bit of melodrama. Just the right mix to keep young adult readers transfixed. You keep on turning pages and the book pratically reads itself. Another well written book from a good author.
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