The Girl in the Torch Read Online Free

another. Most of the others were groups: mothers and daughters, sets of sisters, or just friends who had made the journey together. Scanning the room, she realized she was one of the few who were alone.

Volunteering
    T HAT NIGHT, SARAH TRIED to sleep, but after so many days at sea it felt as if the building was moving like the ship. With Ivan tucked beneath the blanket beside her, Sarah stared at the high-beamed ceiling and listened to everyone breathing in the darkness. I guess everyone snores in the same language, she thought.
    Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer for her mother, hoping that she would be able to share everything with her tomorrow.
    Yet for the next two days the officials told her that her mother was still being treated at the hospital. On the third day, she found her way to the roof garden, a large, fenced-in outdoor area on top of the dormitory building that buzzed with activity.
    In one corner little children climbed all over a set of swings, a seesaw, and a pair of slides. Sarah had never seen a playground before, so she was shocked to watch the children bouncing, sliding, and flying through the air. Even though most of them spoke different languages, they played together easily, joining into groups, laughing and chasing each other.
    On the opposite side of the roof, several American women were leading classes for older immigrant children. One group was being instructed on the basics of how to sew and the other was being given a rudimentary English lesson.
    A woman with thick brown hair arranged in a bun stood before a chalkboard and wrote out the alphabet, explaining the pronunciation of each letter.
    â€œThis is the letter B ,” the woman explained. “It’s pronounced bee . Say it after me: B .”
    The class repeated the letter. Sarah inched closer until the teacher noticed her.
    â€œWould you like to join one of the classes?”
    â€œOh, I know how to speak and write English and sew,” Sarah said with some pride.
    â€œI suppose you do,” the woman said, impressed. “I’m Miss O’Connell. Maybe you’d like to help our other volunteers with the younger children.” She gestured toward the other side of the roof, where a few young women were helping to organize the children into games. “They could use an extra set of hands.”
    Sarah nodded.
    Sarah spent the morning assisting the other women as they corralled the small children into races and games of tag and ring-around-the-rosy. At noon she helped lead them to the cafeteria and fed some of the littlest ones in between eating her own sandwich. Sarah liked working with the children and blending in with the other volunteers, and the hours flew by.
    At the end of the day, Miss O’Connell had each child line up and shake hands and say thank you to all the volunteers. When the final child was gone, Sarah helped to clean up.
    â€œThanks for your help,” Miss O’Connell said to Sarah. “Maybe you can come back and help me again sometime.”
    â€œI’m waiting for my mother to get out of the hospital, so I will not be here much longer.”
    Sarah tried to say this with confidence, but she couldn’t help but feel a gnawing sense of doubt.
    â€œOf course,” Miss O’Connell said. “Good luck to you.”
    As Sarah returned to the dormitory, her mind raced with excited thoughts about the future. Maybe she would be a teacher instead of a buttonhole maker. Or maybe she’d become something else, something she hadn’t yet imagined. America seemed filled with possibilities.

Passed
    T HE NEXT MORNING, A NURSE ARRIVED at Sarah’s bedside, accompanied by another woman wearing a plain blue skirt and blouse. The nurse carried a cinnamon bun with powdered sugar sprinkled on top and her face wore a serious, sad expression. Sarah’s stomach dropped.
    The woman in the blue skirt sat down on Sarah’s cot and handed her the bun. The nurse stood above