When Sparrows Fall (36 page)

He climbed into her lap and opened the book. The print was large, and her vision had cleared enough to make the reading easy.

Jonah pointed to the smiling dragon on the first page. “Good dragon.”

“He’s a good dragon and you’re a good boy.” She kissed the top of his head. “Did you know your birthday is coming up soon?”

“Cake?”

“Yes. Cake. With two candles.”

She smoothed his curly blond hair against the curves of his skull. Leaning her head against his, she inhaled the smell of baby shampoo. Her last baby, so much like her first.

Jonah pointed at a splash of water on the page. “Rain?” He giggled. “Mama’s raining!”

She wiped the tear from the paper and began reading. Jonah let out a happy sigh and slumped against her, then straightened again, no doubt remembering Jack’s earlier warning:
Hold still as a stone or lose lap privileges
.

“The baby dragon laughed and laughed,” she read. “Even the daddy-dragon laughed and laughed.” On she went, scarcely comprehending the story but quickly reaching the end.

Satisfied, Jonah slipped off her lap. Giving her a sweet smile as good as spoken thanks, he ran for the house with the book.

Jack held the door open for him and stepped outside, pulling his phone from his pocket. He sat beside her and pushed the phone’s buttons with his thumb. “Marvelous invention, text messaging. Ever tried it?”

Stealthily, she wiped her eyes. With her emotions firmly in check, she faked a smile. “Don’t try to bait me. You know I’ve never even owned a cell phone.”

“You should get one. The signals aren’t always reliable in the mountains, but it’s better than nothing. Especially in an emergency.”

True. With a cell phone in her pocket, she would have been able to summon help within moments. Jack’s tiny phone looked like a toy, but maybe it could have saved Jeremiah’s life. She would never know.

Trying to escape those unanswerable questions, she watched Jack’s thumb flying over the buttons again. Texting. Another skill she’d have to learn.

The first time she used a cell phone, she would feel as if she’d rejoined modern life. That day would come soon, Lord willing. If she could outsmart Mason.

“Did Jonah ask for the dragon story again?” Jack asked.

“Yes, it’s his favorite.”

“The new stories aren’t as good as the old fairy tales, like St. George and the dragon.”

Miranda shivered. “I don’t like the gory ones.”

“No? I do. Speaking of dragons …” He went back to texting. “Farnsworth. Good Lord, deliver me.”

And me
, Miranda mouthed silently.

While Jack dealt with his messages, she imagined herself as a modern St. George—except she was a woman. St. Georgia.

It was no laughing matter. She couldn’t let Mason slither out of town with his lies intact. She had to finish him off or live the rest of her life in fear.

Jack sat on the porch’s top step, watching the kids wash his car. Again. He’d never thought of car washing as a privilege, but their enthusiasm was inspiring. If life itself was a privilege, so was every mundane part of it.

Michael had appointed himself boss of the operation. He rinsed the car with enthusiasm, making a stream flow down the driveway and into the grass. Jack was drawn into the bad memories of his thirteenth year, but he shook them off.

Rebekah ran outside with old towels, and the kids swarmed over the car, drying it. Even Jonah tried to help.

Timothy, however, was nowhere in sight. He’d been doing that. Disappearing for hours or retreating into long silences that bothered Jack more than the occasional flare of temper.

“Somebody’s coming,” Gabriel yelled, slinging his towel over his shoulder.

Jack prepared himself for a van full of clones or the head guru himself, but a sheriff’s cruiser came around the bend. He stood and walked down the steps, his heart lifting as if the cavalry had come thundering in.

Dean flashed the car’s blue lights and whooped the siren to make the kids laugh, then pulled up next to Jack and lowered the window. “I just thought I’d check on the family. How’s everybody doing?”

“Very well, thanks.” Jack checked to make sure nobody had wandered within earshot, but all his helpers were still drying the Audi. “Miranda’s leaving Chandler’s church, so everything’s changing for the better.”

“Good.”

“But I’m going to be spending more time in Chattanooga soon. Could you swing by now and then? Create a little more police presence out here?”

“Is this just about a widow who’s spooked about living on a back road, or do you have particular concerns?”

“I don’t know. I’m a worrywart.”

Dean smiled. “Nothing wrong with that. We’ll keep an eye on her. To protect and to serve, that’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m very grateful, sir. And I’ll be here, off and on. Next weekend, I’m going to borrow a big tent so we can camp out in the yard.”

“Just check the weather first. Those spring rains can be frog chokers.”

“Will do.”

“Good man. Take care now,” Dean said.

It sounded like a farewell. Like he thought everything was fixed, as fast as glue could mend a porcelain trinket.

Jack wanted to say,
Not so fast there, we might still need you
, but he settled for shaking hands. The car pulled away, the kids and Dean waved at each other, and Jack sat down again.

Miranda opened the door a crack and peered out. “I heard a siren.”

He rose and motioned toward the rockers, but she didn’t budge. “That was Deputy Dean, showing off for your young hoodlums. He’ll swing by now and then to make sure you’re okay.”

“Jack, no! I don’t need the sheriff’s department on my doorstep.”

“There you go again, acting like you’re allergic to law enforcement.”

“I just don’t like … interference from the government.”

“You’ve absorbed a little too much of Carl’s attitude. Repeat after me, darlin’: the policeman is my friend.”

While she was still rolling her eyes at that, tires ran through the gravel again. Yvonne’s car pulled around the curve.

“It’s like Grand Central Station around here,” he said. “Were you expecting Yvonne?”

Miranda stepped onto the porch, smoothing her skirt with one hand. “Yes.”

“What’s up?”

“You’ll see.”

Hauling a sequined tote bag, the family’s gum-chewing guardian angel climbed out of her car, and the kids mobbed her. “Hey, everybody,” Yvonne said. “I just saw Tom Dean leaving. Isn’t he the nicest fella? He’s been through a lot, that man.” She smiled at Miranda. “Ready, hon?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, clear the decks. Men and boys, y’all need to skedaddle.”

“Excuse me?” Jack said. “Why?”

Yvonne parked her hands on her hips. “Because I said so.”

He tried to sneak a peek into her tote. She whipped it behind her back.

“But what are you up to?” he asked.

“None of your beeswax.” Yvonne popped her chewing gum. “Men and boys, shoo. Stay out of the house until you get the all clear. If you need a drink of water, there’s a hose. If you need to eat, go to town. If you need to pee, pee in the woods. We don’t want any men underfoot, but the girls can stay if they want.”

“Stay, stay!” the girls shouted.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Miranda said. “It was a last-minute, now-or-never idea, and I thought it was important.”

“Fine. Carry on.”

“We will,” Yvonne said, smiling. “As soon as the menfolk get out of our way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw that Timothy had come close enough to listen. “Is there a decent pizza place in town? Or Chinese?”

“Both,” Miranda said.

“Do the boys like Chinese?”

“I don’t know. Carl didn’t like Chinese, so the children have never tried it.”

Jack turned to Timothy. “What do you say? Chinese or pizza?”

Timothy surveyed his siblings with those cool blue eyes. “Pizza.”

Of course. He was his father’s son.

“Because if the girls aren’t coming with us,” Timothy added, “we should wait to get Chinese sometime when they can try it too.”

Something melted in Jack’s heart. He gave the boy a gentle cuff in the shoulder. “Good thinking, man.”

Timothy was Miranda’s son too.

Yvonne had brought another load of hand-me-downs. She asked the girls to fetch them from the car. When they raced outside, their braids swinging, Miranda knew she might never see them that way again, dressed alike in denim jumpers and braids. Another door was closing on the bittersweet past.

The girls struggled inside, lugging one huge, black trash bag between them. They dumped the bag’s contents on the rug and began pawing through the clothing.

“There are some jeans that might fit you, Miranda,” Yvonne said. “And some light sweaters, just right for spring. There’s a beret. Some women can’t wear hats, but I think you can.”

Miranda’s eyes misted. Auntie Lou had loved her hats. The other church ladies never wore hats except on Easter, but Auntie Lou wore them whenever she pleased. Plenty of jewelry too, inexpensive and glitzy. And flirty shoes.

“See how pretty?” Martha held up tiny jeans, embroidered with pink roses on the pockets and hem. Her face fell. “Oh. I forgot. Jeans are for boys.”

Yvonne laughed. “Would your brothers wear jeans with pink flowers?”

“No!”

“Well, then. Those must be girls’ jeans. Try ’em on, baby.”

“Can I, Mama?”

“May
I. Yes, you may. You too, Rebekah. Try some jeans. You may wear anything that’s modest and appropriate for your age.”

After a brief, shocked silence, the girls squealed. Rebekah pounced on a pair of flared jeans, slung them over her shoulder, and dug through the pile for more.

With no embarrassment about changing clothes in front of Yvonne, Martha wriggled out of her jumper and sat down to pull on the jeans. She stood up, conquered the zipper and snap, and ran a hand down her thigh. “It feels funny. Hey! We can climb trees better now.”

“And ride bikes without getting our skirts caught,” Rebekah said, running toward the bathroom with an armload of clothes.

Martha picked up a bright red T-shirt. “Is this one okay to wear? Pastor Mason says red isn’t for ladies.”

“You may wear any color that you find in creation,” Miranda said.

“Huh?” Martha frowned, tilting her head first to one side, then to the other. “That’s all colors.”

“Exactly. God didn’t make any bad colors.”

Martha smirked. “See, Rebekah?” she hollered. “All my Valentine colors are good.” With lightning speed, she stripped off her white turtleneck and replaced it with the red shirt. “Now I feel like a regular kid. I mean, child.”

“It’s all right to say ‘kid,’ too,” Miranda said. “I know you’re not a baby goat, even if you smell like one sometimes.”

Martha went into gales of giggles, then found a pink beret, set it at an accidentally jaunty angle on her head, and ran off to look in a mirror.

“You’ll have to steal that beret back,” Yvonne said. “It’d be cute on you. Now, what’s this business about red not being for ladies? Is that more of Mason Chandler’s foolishness?”

“Do you know him?”

“Not personally, but word gets around. The man has a few screws loose.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Why have you put up with his rules, then? Did your husband go along with them?”

“Yes. In some ways, Carl was stricter than Mason.”

“Stricter than
that
? And I suppose you obeyed him, no questions asked.”

Miranda checked to make sure the girls were out of earshot. They were, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Sometimes I disobeyed. Not often enough.”

“Well, like my daddy used to say, if you obey God with your whole heart, you’ll usually scare off the folks who want you to obey them.” She chuckled. “I haven’t heard him say that in years. He’s like a broken record now, says the same thing every time and thinks it’s a new word from the Lord. At least it’s a good word.”

“What do you think?” Rebekah romped around the corner, wearing a black T-shirt and sequin-spangled bell-bottoms that were years out of style.

“You’re beautiful.” Miranda’s vision blurred. “No matter what you wear, you’re beautiful, inside and out.”