Everything Is Poison

A Early 17th-Century Rome For as long as she can remember, Carmela Tofana has desperately wanted one thing:;to be a part of La Tofana’s, her mother’s apothecary in Campo Marzio, Rome. When she finally turns sixteen, she’s allowed into;the inner sanctum: the workroom where her mother and two assistants craft renowned remedies for their customers. But for every sweet-smelling flower extract in the workroom, there’s another potion;requiring darker ingredients. And then there’s Aqua Tofana, the;apothecary’s remedy of last resort. In all Carmela’s years of wishing to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she never realized one tiny vial could be the death of them all.; <Everything Is Poison< is a story of a deadly secret hiding in plain sight and of the women;who risk everything to provide care for those with nowhere else to turn.

Autorentext
Joy McCullough is a playwright and the New York Times bestselling author of many books for children and young adults, including Blood Water Paint, which was longlisted for the National Book Award and was a finalist for the William C. Morris Award. She studied theater at Northwestern University, fell in love with her husband atop a Guatemalan volcano, and writes books and plays from her home in the Seattle area.

Klappentext

Sixteen-year-old Carmela Tofana finally gains access to her mother's apothecary in early 17th-century Rome, where she discovers that alongside healing remedies are dangerous potions that can change women's lives.

Zusammenfassung
A Blood Water Paint-style historical YA in prose and verse from New York Times bestselling author Joy McCullough.

Leseprobe
The bells above the shop door tinkle, a faint echo of the ringing from the Piazza del Popolo as Carmela walks inside the apothecary with La Tofana herself. This time, Carmela doesn’t hide next to the painting cabinet. She will follow her mother through the shop front to the back, where her life will begin.
Before that, though, Giulia reaches behind the counter and comes out with a broom. She hands it to her daughter without a word. Everything inside Carmela rebels, wants to scream out that she could have swept the shop front any time over all these years; that isn’t what she has earned with her patience. But this is her mother, La Tofana, with eyes of steel and spine to match, and this is a test.
Carmela takes the broom and begins to sweep.
Loitering in the archway, where she at least has a view of the inner sanctum, would be too obvious. But Carmela lingers longer than necessary, perhaps, behind the counter, where the shelving opens up to the back, allowing a glimpse. Maria usually works to one side of the arch, and Laura to the other, and at Giulia’s request, they hand things through to the front. But the shelves mostly obscure the customer’s view of what happens in the back and Carmela doesn’t manage to see much more than she has before.
By the time Maria and Laura arrive, the floor of the shop front is spotless. Carmela rushes over to check for any dirt they’ve dragged in. With her luck, they’ll be followed by a steady stream of customers and Carmela will be sweeping all day.
But this is a test, she reminds herself. She will be the best shop sweeper a store has ever known. She will pass this test, and then the next.
“Happy birthday, Carmela!” Laura’s voice is soft as always, but her eyes twinkle as she holds out a bundle wrapped in brown paper.
Maria says nothing, but squeezes Carmela’s shoulder as she moves past her to her spot along the worktable.
Carmela glances to her mother at the counter, bent over the inventory book. Perhaps she should keep sweeping, save the package for later. But her mother smiles and nods. “Open it,” she says.
Carmela sets the broom aside and tears into the paper, unable to stop the childish grin plastered across her face. The only gift she’s hoped for has been this right here, this chance to be included, but now she’s been given another.
Heavy green fabric unfolds into an apron like the ones Maria and Laura wear. But this one has beautiful vines and flowers embroidered along the edges.
“She’s been working on that forever,” Maria calls from the back.
Carmela trails her fingers over the beautiful needlework. “Oh Laura, it’s beautiful!”
Laura keeps her head down, never one for compliments, and comes to help Carmela tie the apron on.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Carmela says.
“It’s an important occasion,” Laura says.“Yes, but—”
The apron on, Laura looks Carmela up and down and nods. Then she moves through the archway to her regular spot.
“Wait, did you know?” Carmela follows Laura through the archway, almost without noting it, because now she needs to understand what’s happened here. “How did you know I’d start today?”
Laura looks bewildered. Behind Carmela, Maria speaks. “It was decided that you’d start on your sixteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.”Carmela glances at Giulia, still bent over the notebook where she keeps her records of sales and inventories. She doesn’t glance up, but a smile dances on her lips.
“I thought you’d all forgotten!”
Maria lets out a half laugh, half snort. “Well, we didn’t. Here you are.”
Here she is. In the back room of the shop, as though it isn’t something she’s been dreaming of since she could toddle around and be told no every time she drew near.
She takes in Maria’s workspace to the left—a disastrous whirlwind of ingredients and bottles and implements Carmela can’t make any sense of. To the right of the archway, the same ingredients and bottles and implements fill Laura’s space, but all in perfect order.
Laura smiles. “We’re very glad you’re here.
”Carmela&#160; allows herself a single, solitary twirl in her beautiful new apron. It’s childish, but she’s here now, and they can’t take it away from her.
She drinks in the rest of the back room. More shelves upon shelves of bottles and crocks and containers of all different shapes and sizes, filled with powders and liquids and leaves and roots. Not uniform, carefully labeled remedies, like out in the front, but raw ingredients. Mortars and pestles and empty bottles and paper packets to fill with custom remedies, crafted to a patient’s needs. A hearth with a fire Maria is coaxing into existence, a heavy cauldron on the kettle stand.
And everywhere, dried plants, hanging from every beam, making an upside--down forest Carmela wants to live in forever.
“It’s wonderful,” she says.
Maria grunts.
Giulia appears, inventory book in hand. She opens it to a list of ingredients and shows Carmela where to start. “Go through the inventory,” she instructs. “Mark anything that’s less than half full.”
The shop bell rings, and Giulia turns away, as though that is all the instruction Carmela will need.“But how will I know—”
“I have a customer,” Giulia says. “Ask Maria if you have any questions.”
Carmela is made of questions.
As customers flow in and out of the shop, she listens closer than she ever has before. She’s not spying now. She’s an apprentice. She’s supposed to learn what to do when a customer complains of toothache or stomach pain or a sleepless baby. Not only the remedies for the ailments, but the questions to ask, the tone to take, how to make them feel at ease.
She’s also supposed to check the inventory, which feels important at first, but quickly becomes drudgery. There are so ma…