A Cardinal Sin

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Ava Dey, Jul 22, 2011 - Fiction - 280 pages
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A Cardinal Sin an historic novel based on a true story. The story begins in the 18th century with Carl Behere. Many generations later baby Amber is born to Jani and Katrina Behere but Katrina dies soon after Amber's birth and Amber is raised by her aunt Maria. She misses her father and her brother JC and with JC's tragic death Amber inherits the family fortune. Her Aunt Nina takes Amber under her wing. At a nobleman's hunt she meets the love of her life - a forbidden love she must keep secret the rest of her life. Amber marries an aristocrat from an old noble family and the cherished young girl becomes a woman and a mother. She is widowed during the Great War, but carries on, helping her father with his business and as a young widow becomes a role model for the woman of the village. Under her calm smiling face, Amber hides a deep secret and a broken heart. Her daughter Tina becomes the center of her life and she is fiercely protective of her. After the death of her beloved aunt and uncle, she is thrust into a leadership role she hoped never to assume. She is forced to fight her greedy brother-in law in court. She flatly refuses Hitler's orders to become one of his army suppliers and as a result has to leave her home and life behind and flee to freedom in Montreal. Amber conquers all of the challenges life throws at her, except the one challenge she wished to conquer the most. This is a story of courage, perseverance and hard work, but most of all of love.

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Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
Section 6
Section 7
Section 8
Section 23
Section 24
Section 25
Section 26
Section 27
Section 28
Section 29
Section 30

Section 9
Section 10
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Section 12
Section 13
Section 14
Section 15
Section 16
Section 17
Section 18
Section 19
Section 20
Section 21
Section 22
Section 31
Section 32
Section 33
Section 34
Section 35
Section 36
Section 37
Section 38
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Section 41
Section 42

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About the author (2011)

I was born and raised in Budapest Hungary. As a child I loved to listen to fairy tales like most children my age. Snow White and Cinderella were my favourites, but I also loved stories of fierce dragons and shining brave nights. I learned to read early and as a reward my father bestowed on me my very own children's magazine subscription. I still remember how proud I was when for the first time the mailman handed me a magazine addressed to me. I read my magazine, learning every word in it. I then waited impatiently for the next issue to arrive in the mail. I guess my imagination had been fuelled by all those stories I heard and read. My favourite subjects at school was reading and writing. We had lots of homework at grade school and writing compositions every week was a chore for most of my classmates, but not for me. I enjoyed writing my little compositions. I enjoyed it even more when my teacher asked me to read aloud my composition for the class. The kids in my class loved to listen to my stories. My teacher also placed some of my best stories on the school's bulletin board. The most influential person during my early years was my grandmother. As a young girl, my grandmother and I spent many Sunday afternoons together after the rest of the family had gone visiting friends and relatives. I looked forward to those Sunday afternoons by the fireplace, listening to my grandmother telling me stories of long ago. She talked about her family and friends, the times they shared together, the things they did, places they lived and visited before the world changed forever. Her glittering stories of the beautiful people and their fairytale life fuelled my imagination and fascinated me. I placed all of my grandmother's stories in my imaginary treasure box for safekeeping. Soon after my grandmother passed away I left Hungary, leaving my carefree young years behind me. The next few years were hectic and flew by fast. The years went by. I started to work, got married and my everyday life kept me busy. I had less and less time to think about writing, and the people in my treasure box with their glittering stories. It rested quietly on the back shelf of my mind for many years until one day something made me look for the key to my treasure box. With the key in my hand, I unlocked the lid. As the stories spilled out I thought, "These are great stories. I should tell these stories just like my grandmother told me.

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