When Sparrows Fall (44 page)

“I owe you so many apologies,” he said. “I bullied you. I mocked you. I even drugged you. Please forgive me.”

“Don’t be silly, Jack. Of course I forgive you.”

“Thank you. I—I like you. A lot. I want to go on learning who you really are.”

He cleared his throat. “Obviously, I don’t see you as my sister-in-law anymore—I mean, you’re still my sister-in-law, but I also see you as a … I want to …” He stopped, flustered. His glib tongue had abandoned him. “May I court you?”

She examined his shirt and gave her head a tiny but definite shake. “No.”

His heart seemed to stop. “No?”

“I associate the word, the concept, with certain teachings I don’t like. Call it anything but courtship, please.”

His heart resumed beating. “Randi, you’re a brat and a tease, but I’m a fool for you anyway. I would like to pursue your affections. May I?”

Her dimples blossomed. “Aren’t you doing that already? With some success?” She stretched up for a quick kiss, then turned to watch the children.

Jack leaned his head against hers and tried to take it all in. The children in the rain. The pink petals like snow. The water running like a river, the washing of feet, the holy communion of saints. And every day was Easter.

He tightened his hold on the fragile strength of the shoulders that had carried such heavy burdens. Miranda—no, Randi—reached up and placed her hands on his. Her head moved against his cheek as she followed the flight of a handful of sparrows against the dappled sky, their wings edged with light.

So many sparrows. Only God could count them all.

Readers Guide

1. Who are the sparrows of the title? How many physical or spiritual falls did you notice, including those that happened before the story opens?
   
2. Jack wants freedom for Miranda’s children, starting with good literature to open their hearts and minds to a wider world. Which works of fiction have changed your perspective on life?
   
3. Do you think Miranda homeschools for the right reasons? If you could give her only one message or ask her only one question about her choices, what would it be?
   
4. Even the most fiercely protective parents can’t, and maybe shouldn’t, shield their children from every danger. When does a parent cross the line from protection to over protection?
   
5. Timothy, at twelve, is the man of the house, and he resents Jack for stepping in. What developments help Timothy let go of his too-large responsibilities and allow him to be a kid again?
   
6. When Carl told Miranda to do things that violated her conscience, how could she have persuaded him that being the head of the house didn’t necessarily make him a good decision maker?
   
7. Victims of spiritual abuse often experience anger, depression, and a loss of faith when they attempt to break away from their abusers. When Miranda couldn’t pray or enjoy reading her Bible anymore, did she have other options for rekindling her faith?
   
8. Spiritual abuse can be subtle, leaving no physical evidence. Should an outsider ever dismiss or diminish a victim’s experience because there’s little evidence?
   
9. Jack and Miranda fall in love within a fairly short time. What experiences or personality traits may have primed them to warm up to each other so quickly?
   
10. The fact that Jack is uncomfortable with a “word from God” shows that he takes such things more seriously than he claims to. Even if the elderly preacher isn’t a prophet, how might Jack still benefit from the old man’s exhortation?
    
11. What leads Miranda to think she can’t hear from God? Are there any events she might interpret as being divine guidance?
    
12. Which of Miranda’s new freedoms do you think mean the most to her?
    
13. As a photographer, Miranda is aware of perspective and focus. What changes her focus and perspective on life? Could she have made the journey to freedom without help from friends like Jack and Yvonne?
    
14. Can you be a friend to someone like Miranda? Or are you a Miranda in need of a friend?
    

Acknowledgments

I owe my start in publishing to my agent, Chip MacGregor, who not only understands the book business but also understands people. Thank you, Chip, for championing my writing and for giving me time to grow.

Jessica Barnes and Shannon Marchese have my undying gratitude. I have loved the privilege of learning from them and from the copy and production editors who also worked their magic on my writing. The whole team at Multnomah has inspired me with their enthusiasm and hard work. My heartfelt thanks go to each one of you.

In researching the story, I became acquainted with
Quivering Daughters
author, Hillary McFarland; Karen Campbell; Cynthia Kunsman, RN; and therapist Sandra Harrison, MA, LPC/MHSP. Thank you for your courage in confronting modern-day patriarchy and for your compassion toward the families who are trapped in it.

I have so many friends to thank, starting with my original posse of local writing buddies: Lindi Peterson, Maureen Hardegree, and Missy Tippens. My dear friends and mentors Deeanne Gist and Sherrie Lord live in distant states but stay close in spirit via phone and e-mail. I don’t know what I would have done without you two. Other treasured writing compatriots include Cindy Woodsmall, Sally Apokedak, Mark Bertrand, Suzan Robertson, Carla Fredd, Mae Nunn, Mirta Ana Schultz, Amy Wallace, and Ruth Trippy.

I owe a debt of love to my church family too, and to my pastor and his wife. John and Ellen, thank you for your encouragement and your faithful prayers for my writing career.

Michelle Truax, you’re another one who prays for me, understands my
hermitlike ways, and loves me anyway. Thank you for being there. And Hampton and Susan … a certain thread of this story took me by surprise but seemed to have your names on it. I hope you’ll receive it as a token of my family’s love for yours.

I’m very grateful for my kith and kin by blood or marriage, all across the country. David, thanks for introducing me to Sayers and Chesterton and for always being willing to talk books. Lesley, the steadfast one who does whatever needs to be done, thank you for believing in me and cheering me on. Mom, an artist who taught me to see beauty, thank you for loving your family with your whole heart. I love all of you.

My biggest thanks go to my husband and our children, who’ve made many sacrifices on my behalf. From the days when our world revolved around 4-H and homeschool, you’ve always given me the freedom to hang out with my fictional friends. You’ve helped me in a million practical ways too. Husband, sons, daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter: I love you, always and for so many reasons.

Above all, I’m thankful to Jesus my Savior, God’s grace incarnate.

About the Author

Although I’ve lived more than half my life in other states, I grew up in California and am still a California girl at heart. I love vintage bungalows, twisted oaks on rolling hills, and the rocky beaches of the central coast.

We lived inland, in a sun-baked town that was tiny but fortunate enough to have received an Andrew Carnegie library grant—and our house was within walking distance. I’ve read that all the Carnegie libraries had grand entrances with steps leading upward to symbolize the self-improvement that comes with reading. My hometown library, which was built in 1908, had a second set of steps that led down to the children’s room, and it was a wonderland of stories. Once I’d read everything that interested me there, my dad made a deal with the upstairs librarians to let me use his card to check out books from upstairs. I took full advantage of the privilege.

A few blocks away stood the Lutheran church where I came to faith, first through Sunday school teachers whose kindness drew me to the kindness of God, and then through confirmation classes. The Bible verses that had been drilled into my head came to life in my heart.

After moving away from home as a teenager, I worked at a variety of jobs, from candle maker in a tourist town to administrative assistant at a Christian college. I married a wonderful man from Michigan, and we lived north of Detroit for seventeen years. That’s where we started homeschooling our three children, a journey that we finished here in Georgia when our youngest graduated from high school in 2009.

My husband and I live near Atlanta, close to the foothills of the southern Appalachians. His motorcycle often carries us to the mountains of Georgia,
Tennessee, or the Carolinas. Sitting on the back of the bike, I can pray, enjoy the beautiful views, and plot new stories. Fiction still makes my world go ’round, whether I’m writing it or reading it.

You can find me on the Web at
http://megmoseley.com
.