Not a Sparrow Falls by Linda Nichols Read Free Book Online Page B

hadn’t taken up permanent residence in Alasdair’s body.
    “Well, what have we?” Winifred queried, and Lorna turned her attention back to the contents of the refrigerator.
    “The week’s meals are done,” she answered, glad for the distraction. She slid the last plastic container into the refrigerator.
    “Pantry and refrigerator are stocked, and Samantha’s lunch money is in the envelopes,” Fiona put in.
    Lorna glanced at the bulletin board where five envelopes, labeled Monday through Friday, were stuck with a thumbtack.
    “Did you put in a quarter for ice cream?” she asked, knowing the answer.
    “Ice cream is unnecessary,” Winifred said. “It will only keep her from eating properly. Besides,” she added, giving Lorna a sidelong look, “we wouldn’t want her to get plump.”
    Lorna’s face heated up, but she didn’t answer back. She would have added the quarter. But then, it hadn’t been up to her.
    The telephone rang, and Winifred answered quickly. Fiona dried her hands on the towel and leaned back against the counter in exhaustion. “So we’ve done the meals and started the laundry.”
    “I cleaned a little yesterday,” Lorna put in.
    Winifred hung up the phone and turned toward them, her face grim. “That was the baby-sitter.”
    “Not again!” Lorna closed her eyes and shook her head.
    “Yes, again. She says she feels as if she’s coming down with something.”
    “What are we going to do?” Fiona’s voice sounded as weary as Lorna felt.
    “Tomorrow is Alasdair’s day off,” Winifred pointed out. “I suppose he’ll just have to manage.”
    “It’s not just that.” Fiona shook her head, pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, and dropped into it. “It’s everything. I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up.” Her voice sounded defeated. It was the closest any of them had ever come to complaining.
    “It wouldn’t hurt the rest of the congregation to do more.” Winifred’s face drew into bitter lines.
    “I doubt if they even realize there’s a need,” Lorna said. “The machine continues to hum along.”
    Winifred frowned at her, and Lorna flushed. She should keep her opinions to herself. Her sisters were justifiably proud of Alasdair. Who wouldn’t be? He had taken the medium-sized congregation his father had passed down to him and turned it into a nationwide organization of daily radio broadcasts, a monthly magazine, conferences, seminars, and books on every subject in Christendom. He was even editing his own study Bible. She was proud of him, too, she told herself, as if someone had argued the point. Still, the nagging awareness returned that there was something out of place. Something not as it should be.
    His sermons were still well researched and interesting, dynamically delivered, though perhaps a shade intense. Angry was the word she wanted to use, but then again she had always been overly sensitive. She smiled gently, remembering the early days of Alasdair’s ministry. Having been accustomed to her father’s rather remote style, the congregation had drunk in Alasdair’s personal care. He had preached with passion and gentleness, sat at many a deathbed and sickbed, comforting, counseling, praying.
    But then some board member had had the bright idea of beginning a radio broadcast. One thing had led to another, and soon Alasdair was a speaker in great demand. Eventuallyhis days on the circuit outnumbered his days at home. That was when Bill Wright had moved into the gap. She felt a rush of affection as the earnest, homely face of their former associate pastor appeared in her mind. When someone’s child was in the hospital, it was Bill who had gone and prayed with them. When a marriage was falling apart, it was Bill who had helped mend the pieces. She recalled tearful hours she had spent in that process herself, Bill’s kind and steady voice like a line tossed across the frothing waves toward her outstretched hand.
    For the first time she wondered if