Alasdair read some Scriptures, then prayed. His face was tired, but finally peaceful. No more tortured eyes peering out from the chained soul.
“Father, we entrust Anna to you. She has returned to the One who formed her out of the dust of the earth, now surrounded by that great cloud of witnesses beyond all time and space. We thank you that Christ himself welcomed her as she went forth from this life. May He, the Lord of Glory, who was crucified for her, grant her freedom and peace. May He show her the glories of His eternal kingdom as she sees her Redeemer face-to-face. Amen.”
He closed the Bible, then knelt by the grave. The people filed by one by one, each leaving their offering. When they were finished, a bank of fresh flowers mounded at the foot of the marble stone. Afterward they went back to the parsonage, and Bridie was glad to have the task of serving and pouring to keep her busy. Finally they left, all but the family. Bridie went through the house, gathering up the empty cups and plates, and it might have been her imagination, but she thought she could feel a difference. There was a sense of peacefulness. Not happiness. Not yet. But the possibility that it could exist someday, even within these very walls. The cold presence that had haunted it for so long was gone.
Forty-Two
They were all waiting in the hallway when Alasdair returned home from the meeting—Winifred, Fiona, Bridie, and the children. He supposed their anxiety was to be expected. It had been a little unsettling to have the president of the denomination travel all the way from Richmond to meet with the congregation’s pastor and ruling elders. Alasdair held the door open for Lorna, then followed her in.
They all looked at him, faces expectant. He thought about making a joke, but they were too intense. Each one wore a slightly different expression. Winifred was waiting to pounce. Fiona politely concerned. Bridie … It was hard to read her face, and hers was the one he was most interested in. He decided not to prolong their agony.
“Gerald Whiteman said that the persecution our family endured was inexcusable, and he would like to do whatever he can to make amends. The Big Three agreed. I have my choice of any open position in the denomination or a continued ministry here at the church with the elders’ full support. It was a unanimous resolution. Even Edgar Willis voted yes.”
Winifred gave a satisfied little nod. “I suppose they’ve come to their senses,” she pronounced. Alasdair understood. This would soothe a little of the blistering she’d taken as a result of the newspaper article. It had hit her the hardest. Fiona had been slightly distressed, but mostly for him. Lorna had said it was good—get everything out in the open for once. Samantha said the picture made him look like a dork. He smiled.
“They’re probably seeking to head off a lawsuit,” Winifred continued. “I heard Bob Henry was fired.”
“What did you tell them?” Samantha interrupted, earning a frown from Winifred.
Alasdair smiled broadly. “I resigned,” he said, still hearing the wonder in his own voice.
“Yes!” Samantha exclaimed, jubilant.
“That’s impossible!” Winifred burst out.
He ignored her.
“How do you feel?” Bridie asked, concern in her voice and on her face.
“Good,” he said. “It feels right. I had to ask myself if I was doing it out of spite or anger, but I don’t think so. I just have the feeling there’s something else I’m supposed to be doing now. Whiteman said the denomination will buy the house and we can divide the proceeds. Given today’s real estate prices, we should each end up with a nice little nest egg.”
“What will you do?” Fiona queried. “Devote yourself to your radio ministries and writing?”
He shook his head. “I made the calls this morning. I’ve given up my radio program and magazine and told my publisher I’m taking some time off from writing.”
Winifred had paled and looked as if she might faint. “But what will you do, then?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” How free he felt saying those words. How light and full of peace.
Winifred’s face was a blank mask of disbelief. He took a quick glance at Bridie. Her face was pale but stoic. He could read no emotion whatsoever. He cleared his throat. “Another member of the family has news as well. She will be taking a position at denomination headquarters.”
Winifred was truly outraged now. “Fiona, you never mentioned a word,” she accused.
Fiona shook her head. “It’s not I.”
“I wasn’t speaking of Fiona,” Alasdair said. “Congratulations go to Lorna. Meet President Whiteman’s new personal assistant.”
“No!” Winifred’s disbelief showed all over her face. Lorna’s pinked with pleasure.
“It pays more than both my jobs combined, and he said I can work my way into administration.”
Bridie clapped her hands with delight, and joy lit her face. When the moment passed it went back to the sober expression.
“What about you, Bridie?” Lorna asked, reading his mind. “What will you do? Have you decided?”
Alasdair tensed, the question taking him off guard. He’d had a scenario planned, and this wasn’t how he’d worked things out. But there was nothing to be done for it now. He took a deep breath and waited to hear her answer.
Bridie paused before speaking, and those bright blue eyes filled with tears. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet and sure. “I want to go home,” she said.
Alasdair felt his heart come untethered and softly float to the bottom, where it settled. Well, then, that was that. He looked down at the floor, willing his face not to betray him.
After a moment he looked up to meet her eyes, but instead of the matter-of-fact resolution he expected to see, or perhaps the detached decision, he was met with yearning—pure, raw, and undisguised. And that look had the same effect on him as a call to battle, the sound of a ram’s horn being blown, the early morning whine of the bagpipe rousing the sleeping soldier. And whatever else was unclear, one thing became perfectly obvious. He could not lose her. He moved into the chaos without considering at all, and as he opened his mouth, the words that spilled out bore no resemblance to the eloquent speech he’d practiced.
“We’ll take you there.” The nonchalance of offering a ride, yet the meaning was lost on no one in the room. The silence was deafening and no less shocking than if, instead of mere words, he’d taken out a gun and fired off a few rounds at Mother’s crystal chandelier. Winifred’s jaw slacked open. Fiona arched one of her beautiful eyebrows and curved her mouth into a slight smile. Lorna looked as if she would burst with joy. Samantha began jumping up and down and shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
But the one face that counted was unreadable. Only the wideness of her eyes indicated she’d heard him at all. And suddenly he experienced a new emotion, one he hadn’t felt in years. What if he had overstepped? What if she didn’t want him along, complicating her life? An old man, after all, with tons of baggage, trailing along after her? What if she didn’t want him?
It was as if there were just the two of them in the room. His mouth was dry. He swallowed. “If you would like that,” he said, and then waited for her to answer, heart thumping in his throat.
The tears spilled out from the wide eyes. She bit her lip and gave her head a small shake, and Alasdair felt his heart scrape bottom. But just as he was opening his mouth to say whatever it would take to help her shake free of them, she came toward him. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them. He buried his face in the silky white hair, felt it slippery and cool beneath his hand, and smelled her fragrance, like summer air with a hint of honeysuckle. He still couldn’t remember his speech, but it didn’t matter. He kissed her, then let what was in his heart come out of his mouth.
“From the moment I got into that car to come and find you, I knew you’d been a gift to me, and I’d been too stupid to realize it. I love you, Bridie, with all my heart. Would you have me to be your husband?”
“Nothing would make me happier,” she said, and suddenly everything seemed simple
.
****
Bridie took one last look around her. The parsonage was polished and gleaming inside. Even its grim, forbidding exterior looked graceful and welcoming. The two big maples were in full leaf, the lawn lush and green, the new boxwoods fragrant and glossy, the white trim fairly sparkling. She had positioned a huge clay pot of pansies just outside the wrought-iron gates, now painted a glistening white, to welcome the new minister and his wife.
She and Alasdair loaded all their earthly belongings into a tipsy U-Haul trailer. The cooler in the back of the old station wagon was stocked for the journey with uneven peanut butter sandwiches and cartons of juice and chocolate milk. Alasdair had kept just their personal things, Winifred and Fiona being more than happy to relieve him of the rest of Mother MacPherson’s antiques. That was fine, he had told them. A fresh start was just the thing he needed.
Winifred hadn’t been as problematic as Bridie might have thought. Alasdair had taken her into his study the day he’d proposed. Bridie had no idea what he’d said, but Winifred had emerged red-eyed and meek.
“You may wear Mother’s ivory satin wedding gown,” she had pronounced. She’d nearly been apoplectic, though, when they’d told her they’d chosen to be married by the pastor of the neighboring congregation in his study, and she was critical of their plans to move the family to Woodbine. “It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,” she was still muttering last night when they said good-bye. The Ladies’ Circle had a bazaar meeting this morning, and Winifred could not afford to miss it, lest Audrey Murchison take over the refreshments as she had last year. “Absolutely absurd,” she’d offered as last words, “taking off for who knows where, with no idea where you’ll stay or what you’ll do when you get there.”
“Abraham did no less when he left Ur of the Chaldees for the promised land,” Alasdair had answered.
But Abraham hadn’t had AAA and a road atlas, Bridie thought, looking at him as he leaned over the hood of the car, examining the map and plotting the course. And they had a place to stay, at least temporarily. Grandma had been beside herself with joy that Bridie was coming home and bringing her husband and children with her. She was in heaven.
“I want to do one more thing,” she said to Alasdair.
He nodded, raised his head long enough to flash her a smile. Already his face looked easier, had lost that pursued look. “Take your time.”
She crossed the cool lawn to the church. When she passed the house, she could hear Samantha and the children calling to Alasdair. She quickened her pace, climbed the brick stairway once more, and stepped into the cool narthex, remembering how its dim calm had been such a welcome haven to her. She saw the bulletin board with the falling sparrow, this week’s prayer requests tacked underneath. She smiled, remembering, and went into the sanctuary.
The shutters were open and the bright morning sunlight poured through the old glass windows. It rippled and streamed across the red velvet cushions and landed in shimmering waves on the crimson carpet. She didn’t feel tempted to linger, though, just walked down the center aisle and out the back door.
She passed through the bower of crab apples to the churchyard, but this time she didn’t stop at the ancient grave she used to visit. She continued walking until she stood before her destination. This marble headstone looked bright and clean compared to the weathered tablets surrounding it. The grass, sprinkled with tiny daisies, had been neatly trimmed at its base. She rested her hand on the cool white stone and did what she had come to do.
“Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,” she murmured. “May she rest from her labors, and may her works follow her into eternity,” she said and realized she was praying for herself as well as blessing Anna. She felt redeemed, clean, and for the first time, she thought perhaps she, too, could rest under such an epitaph someday. “I’ll love them well, Anna,” she whispered. “Thank you, Lord.”
Feet thunked on the brick walkway, the crab apples shook, and a fresh shower of blossoms rained onto the grass. Samantha emerged with Cameron and Bonnie at her heels.
“Bridie, let’s go.” Samantha’s warm hand clasped her arm, pulling on her like a child would, eyes bright.
“I’m coming,” she said, pulling Samantha close and kissing the top of her head. It was sweaty and damp, and her hair was a wad of tangled curls. She was a little girl again, at least for the moment. Bridie took Cameron’s hand and Bonnie’s, and all of them went to join Alasdair, waiting at the car. They said good-bye to the small knot of people who had come to see them off, and Bridie’s last sight was of Lorna, waving and wiping away tears.
****
Lorna waved until the car disappeared, then mopped her face and blew her nose. Again. It hurt to let them go, but it was a sweet pain and mixed with joy. A few of the diehard MacPherson supporters went back to the church to commiserate over stale cookies and coffee.
“Are you coming?” Fiona asked.
“No.” She shook her head and offered no reason.
“Good-bye, then,” Fiona said, and that was that. Lorna smiled in amazement. No was such an easy word to say once she’d gotten used to it. She turned and looked toward the parsonage, that house that had loomed so large in her life and imagination. She was leaving it now. Finally. Cutting free from it like a ship from an anchor. Ready to sail the wide sea. Tomorrow she would leave for Richmond, and who knew what awaited her there? Her heart thumped a little with anticipation as she walked back toward the house.
She opened the front door and went inside. Everything was squeaky clean, pretty and new. She went upstairs to her old bedroom. It looked very small. Passing through the hallway, she looked inside doors, remembering when each one had belonged to Father and Mother, Alasdair, Fiona, Winifred. She went downstairs and walked through the bare hallway, through the living room that had undergone such a transformation, to the kitchen. She finally stopped before the sink.
She rested her hands on the edge of the counter and looked at the wall, clean and white instead of covered with dingy orange mushrooms. This is where she had prayed. She closed her eyes, and there they were again as they’d been in the vision. Alasdair, face open and happy. Samantha, smiling, looking like a child again. The twins, loved and cared for. Just as they’d looked this morning when she’d said good-bye. This is what I’m going to do, He had said. And you may help.
She opened her eyes, overcome with joy, and suddenly this old house, this tiny place, was too small to contain it.
“Thank you, Father,” she said out loud in a strong, clear voice. “Thank you that you always keep your promises. You always do what you say you’ll do.”
She smiled, looked around one last time, and then without turning back, she locked the door, slipped the key underneath, and left home.
****
They drove the morning away, babies chattering behind them, Samantha back to being a teenager now, listening to music on her headphones. Bridie leaned her head against the headrest and gazed out the window as the station wagon ate up the miles.
“What was the name you chose?” Grandma had asked, knowing full well she’d taken Mama’s.
“Bridie,” she’d answered.
“Mary means bitter, sorrowful. Your mama’s name means strong and wise. I wonder if you knew what you were doing when you picked it,” she had said with a smile.
She glanced over at Alasdair now. That piece of hair was falling down on his forehead again. He must have felt her eyes, for he looked toward her with a tender expression, as if she was something precious he’d almost lost but found again. He reached out his hand, and she took it, and the fingers that curled through hers were stained with blue.
“You’re almost home,” he said, nodding toward the sign that said seven miles to Woodbine.
She nodded back, too full of emotions to speak, and realized what she had always known somewhere deep inside. You can’t run away from God, no matter how far you go. No matter how hard you try. He’ll come after you, not resting until He bring
s you back. She drank in the sight of the smoky blue mountains in the distance, and the truth was as beautiful and as eternal as they were. She had never been alone. His eye had always been on the sparrow. He’d been watching over her all along.
LINDA NICHOLS spent much of her childhood among the hills of Virginia, the setting and inspiration for Not a Sparrow Falls. Linda is an award-winning, bestselling novelist with a unique gift for touching readers’ hearts with her stories. She and her family make their home in Tacoma, Washington.
www.lindanichols.org
Books by Linda Nichols
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At the Scent of Water
In Search of Eden
Not a Sparrow Falls
Not a Sparrow Falls Page 35