The Truth Teller

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Overview

A five-year-old boy can sense who is telling the truth...and who isn't. It's a gift some will do anything to silence and a mother will do anything to protect.

Lara Godfrey desperately wants to have a child--a living legacy from her late husband. Placing her life in the hands of a doctor she believes she can trust, Lara doesn't relize a web of deception is being woven around her. An unseen voyeur, with dreams of immortality, plans to use the child for a test--an unbelievable ...

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2004 Trade paperback Good. Trade paperback (US). Glued binding. 420 p.

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The Truth Teller

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Overview

A five-year-old boy can sense who is telling the truth...and who isn't. It's a gift some will do anything to silence and a mother will do anything to protect.

Lara Godfrey desperately wants to have a child--a living legacy from her late husband. Placing her life in the hands of a doctor she believes she can trust, Lara doesn't relize a web of deception is being woven around her. An unseen voyeur, with dreams of immortality, plans to use the child for a test--an unbelievable experiment that could have genetic consequences not only for Lara's baby, but for the entire human race. In the face of danger, Lara must make impossible choices. That's why she flees the clinic before the baby's birth. It's why she changes her name and hides. She knows she must protect this gifted child who can see through lies and identify truth. Yet how can an innocent truth-telling boy survive in a world that wants to destroy truth at any cost?

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Editorial Reviews

Children's Literature - Mary Sue Preissner
Mad scientists, genetic experiments, intrigue, thugs, murder and suspense fill this sci-fi thriller. Having come to terms with her husband's premature death, Lara participates in in-vitro fertilization to have the child they had always dreamed of. A trusted physician, swayed by endowments from a wealthy businessman, agrees to substitute the deceased husband's sperm with that taken from a body frozen for thousands of years, believing that the "perfect" person will be created. As the baby nears term, Lara realizes that something strange is going on, and begins sleuthing. She knows she must run for her life and that of her yet unborn child, going deep undercover so that they can remain together. Unexpected twists and turns will keep the pages turning. Lara's courage, depth of character, and unwavering Christian faith take her through these trials.
Roberta Blair
Angela Hunt pulls the reader in with an intriguing scientific theory putting a new spin on the creation-vs.-evolution debate. A must-read, The Truth Teller hooks us with a suspense-filled love story.
Romantic Times
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780595324569
  • Publisher: iUniverse, Incorporated
  • Publication date: 7/12/2004
  • Edition description: Authors Guild Backinprint.com Edition
  • Pages: 412
  • Product dimensions: 6.06 (w) x 9.02 (h) x 1.04 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

A crimson maple leaf swung from the sky and came to rest on the tip of Lara's best black shoes. She stared at the juxtaposition of ebony and red as the minister's voice droned beneath the whisper of an autumn wind: "Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father's house are many mansions . . ."

She studied the hues of darkness and blood. Michael never painted in those colors. He preferred the bright oranges and pinks of a flaming sunset, the glowing greens and warm browns of wood and earth. Michael's paintings always shimmered with life.

The wind freshened, blowing the leaf from her shoe and rattling the brittle pages of the minister's prayer book. He continued, undisturbed: "Forasmuch as it has pleased Almighty God to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother Michael . . ."

Lara lifted her gaze, pleased that so many had followed from the church to the graveside. This little cemetery overlooked the park where she and Michael had enjoyed so many sunsets; she could even see the gabled roof of their town house from this sheltered hilltop. In the days ahead it might bring her comfort to know Michael was nearby . . .

But he wasn't, not really. She had seen his soul take flight; she had watched in wonder as his face, etched with lines of weariness and pain, brightened at the exhalation of that last breath. A shining look of joy and certainty filled his countenance as he stared at something she couldn't see, and the briefest smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Then, in an instant, his body relaxed. And he was gone.

Strange, how much grief felt like love.In the days since his death, her heart had been doing somersaults at the mention of his name, just as it had in college when Michael looked her way. She walked around the apartment in a sort of love-struck daze, one ear cocked toward the telephone as if he might call. Yesterday her palms had grown moist when she found one of his scribbled grocery lists under the car seat. She tucked it into her purse, as thrilled with it as with the love note she'd once found tucked into her chemistry textbook.

Everyone said she was holding up well, and no one seemed surprised at her dry eyes. After all, she was a medical professional, and she had certainly known the end was coming. The one silver lining in the cloud of cancer was that it gave families time to say good-bye.

But how could she say good-bye when she was falling in love with her husband all over again?

She tore her eyes from the minister's little black book and let her gaze rove over the assembled guests. Michael's artsy friends from the local
university were here, as well as most of her coworkers from the clinic. Connor O'Hara, their next-door neighbor, stood alone, his hands folded in respectful dignity. A handful of elderly people from church stood together in a knot, and a peevish little voice inside Lara wondered if they attended funerals out of pure and simple relief that it wasn't their time to go. Maybe it was a matter of plain common sense. If you were living in the twilight of your life, might as well check out your potential eternal neighbors. The funeral would give you something to talk about when you greeted the folks who lived in the heavenly mansion-next-door.

Hey, that was some sermon the preacher preached for you, Michael. Made me homesick for heaven just to hear him talk!

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die . . ."

A sharp sob broke into the minister's words, and Lara's gaze shifted to Michael's mother. Eva was sobbing into a wad of tissues, the brim of her hat betraying the trembling that rose from inside her. Something softened in Lara's heart. She took a side step toward her mother-in-law and felt Eva's iron frame sag a little as Lara's arm slipped around her shoulders.

". . . so in Christ all shall be made alive. Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death, where is your sting? Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

The minister paused, then stepped back, bowing his head. The service was done.

Lara squeezed Eva's shoulder, then released her and stepped forward to touch the burnished casket. A beautiful spray of long-stemmed roses, Eva's gift, covered the wooden surface, and Laura paused by the heart of the floral arrangement. She drew a breath to speak, but could not. Her knees felt as weak and trembly as they had the first time Michael kissed her.

Forsaking speech, she pulled the tiny pair of baby sneakers from her purse, set them in the midst of the roses, then took Eva's arm and led her away.

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First Chapter

HEROES IN OUR PAST

"Ladies and gentlemen. We have inherited a vision."

Dr. Laird's voice resounded like the clapper of a bell, like the first chords of a hymn. Hearts rose to its beat. Backs straightened, chins lifted. Everyone knew what was to come. He always began that way. And his audience always sat on folding chairs, no less rapt for the discomfort or the repetition, which was anticipated, and annual. It was a glorious fall day. When was it not a glorious day for the Manor's commencement exercises?

October was perhaps a strange time for a commencement. School had been over for months; results were in; these students seated on stage were already history, off at universities across the country. But Commencement had always been on the third of October. To "commence" was not only to graduate, but to begin, and all beginnings at the Manor led back to the day Dr. Dugald Laird met Miss Francesca Morrow, his wife, Vice-Principal and Headmistress. Fifty years ago today fate caused their paths to cross right here on Taddle Creek Drive; they fell both in love and into eudaimonía, the state of being happy following their demons, in running the Manor School for Classical Studies in an unsuspecting Toronto.

As if to catch the glory, the giant Norway maple dominating the terraced lawn had leaves of gold worthy of Byzantium. So thought Amelia, general factotum of the school, seated in the second row. Weeks ago, its big, waxy, five-point paws had begun to dazzle and twist in the light winds of early autumn; now one by one the thin red stems snapped from the branches, each leaf taking a zigzag, fitful journey to the ground. The palm-sized gilt was piled up aroundthe tree's enormous base. Gold above, gold below: it was as if, somewhere between sky and ground, there was the still, mirroring surface of an invisible lake.

Yes, as Amelia knew, a glimmer of prehistoric water did lie at the foot of the lawn, for the Manor sat atop the Escarpment, that ragged, ten-metre cliff marking the shore of the once-great Lake Iroquois. Many millennia ago the lake shrank southward leaving the sloping flatlands, which had been its bottom, traversed with lush, deep ravines and shallow creeks. The natives grew rice on the shore, and dried their fish. When the British sailed up they decided to build a fort at the mouth of a creek, the one with a bend in its path. This creek came by the name of Taddle, some say, from the Tattle family, which homesteaded nearby. Others claim the name referred to the tadpoles inhabiting the water, still others that the name was an imitation of the sound of water running over rocks. Or it could have been a variant of "tattle," a reference to the gossip exchanged on its banks.

No matter: at its mouth were the beginnings of a great city.

The sloping expanse between water and high ground began to fill with farms and wagons, with people and taverns. Amelia liked to picture it: the fields first ploughed and then paved; two hundred years passing until the people numbered two million, two and a half, plying trades from stock-trading to carpet-cleaning; the space clogged with factories, homes, a gothic pink-stone parliament, a glassed-in shopping mall and a streaming network of roads to carry those people back and forth. There were bank towers forty storeys high and ugly parking lots, but still there could be found gardens chock with roses and, in the deep ravines, vestiges of wilderness, foxes and even coyote. The city spread uphill unchecked, and along the banks of Taddle Creek were hospitals and museums and a university. The Taddle was buried as the clutter of untidy streets climbed to the escarpment, that old lake's lip. But there, here, thought Amelia, above the cliff, at the headwaters of the creek, the city stopped. Was forced by both landscape and human foresight to turn aside. That seemingly unstoppable growth made a detour, leaving untouched this quiet enclave with its circle of homes, its huge old trees and its atmosphere of genteel withdrawal. Within that circle the Manor was the prettiest house, its stuccoed walls overgrown with creepers, its dormers snug with casement windows and the sloping roof rising in two levels to flow elegantly into the contours of the hill.

Proud that the onrush of time might be slowed for even a breath, Amelia straightened her spine. Under the metallic slant of the October sun, students and parents listened with hands folded. Copies of Renaissance paintings flapped in the light breeze on the divider where they were displayed. Skirted martial artists with medieval bows bobbed on their toes on the side stairs, warming their tendons. Miranda and Prospero yawned and rolled their necks to prepare for their scene. And the old man waxed on. It hardly mattered what he said. He had said it last year and the year before and he would say it again next year. Though rapt, his audience was not listening to his words. It was listening instead to his heart; it was basking in his fervour, magnified as usual by the reverence of his wife, who gazed steadily at her husband, a small smile playing on her lips.
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Sort by: Showing all of 9 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 12, 2006

    A sensitive, thought-provoking book.

    Angela Hunt has done it again with the Truth Teller. This book looks at the innermost of a person's soul and touches on the sensitive subject of DNA therapy.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 1, 2000

    Truth Teller

    The Truth Teller is inspirational fiction at its best--you take a fictional premise, complicate with intriguing characters, and let the story flow. Angela Hunt has done a masterful job of depicting the role of truth in the world, and showing how God can use it.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 6, 2000

    Truth Teller

    Hunt's book explores a possibility that's not at all far-fetched--in fact, the premise sounds like something I just read about in NEWSWEEK. This book delves deeply into the human mind and soul and heart. I highly recommend!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 12, 2000

    Fascinating and inspirational

    It is obvious that the other reviewer did not finish the book. Once you accept the premise of what is scientifically possible (and whose to say it's not?)the book is a great read with compelling characters. The actual 'truth teller' part is inspiring and proves that God can do great things through science. We need more inspirational fiction like this--fiction that takes a chance beyond a cookie-cutter storyline. The author should be commended. I read it in two days--and I'll probably read it again.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 23, 2000

    The Real Truth

    The real truth about the truth teller is, that the plot was outlandish at best and unpublishable at worst. I forced myself thru the first four or five chapters, but I could not get interested in the characters or the plot. I could not believe that a 5000 yr. old dead man and a modern day doctor/saint, had a baby. This book is supposed to be spiritual and uplifting, but I did not find anything inspiring in this book. This book was not worth reading, let alone buying.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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    Posted November 28, 2011

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    Posted November 29, 2010

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    Posted July 30, 2010

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 15, 2011

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