The Sparrow Found A House (Sparrow Stories #1)

by Jason McIntire

  Chapter 6

  New Friends

  That week rolled by without any further intra-family confrontations. Jessie watched with amazement – and a bit of disgust – as her little sister Katie, the girliest girl ever, thrilled to the feel of camo pants and learned from the Sergeant how to bait a fish hook. She and Moe were so natural with him, anyone would have thought they were his own kids. Somehow the twins didn’t seem to mind the new rules or the loss of freedom. Maybe they just didn’t yet understand the full import of what had happened to the family.

  Mom, for her part, was already coming out of the timorous shell into which she’d retreated after her first husband’s death. In spite of Jessie’s distaste for the Sergeant, she had to feel some gladness for her mother finally getting her confidence back. Mom even prayed aloud now during nightly devotions – loud enough that Jessie could hear the rise and fall of her voice from the confines of her last remaining refuge, her room. She fearfully suspected that Chris was contemplating joining in the evening religion, but hadn’t seen him actually do so yet. Right now he was on the lone outing allowed this week, a mission to thank and reimburse Ben. Idly, Jessie wondered what Chris and the Sergeant could find to talk about for even ten minutes in traffic together.

  As it turned out, there was plenty to talk about. They discussed life and school, and Chris took the opportunity to ask his stepfather about something he’d been thinking on since the day at the museum.

  “Sergeant,” he asked frankly, “Mr. Head says that science disproves the creation story in Genesis. What do you say?”

  The Sergeant thought a moment before replying. “First of all,” he began, “it’s a fallacy to say that ‘science’ proves or disproves any account of history, because science can only address the present, not the past. A scientific hypothesis must be testable and repeatable, which beliefs about history obviously are not.”

  “I never heard that explained in school.”

  “Most evolutionists would rather you didn’t. To them, their conclusions are testable, indirectly, because they can perform what they consider ‘scientific’ tests that support their theories. The problem with these tests is, they’re all based on assumptions about the distant past that are not testable. So when Mr. Head says this or that theory about the past has been ‘proven,’ he’s misleading you by the very definition of the word he used.

  “I’m giving you the ‘scientific’ perspective because I know you’ve been misinformed at school. For myself, however, there is only one essential reason that I believe Mr. Head and his ilk are wrong, and that reason is simply that I believe the Bible.”

  “I guess that gives me another question,” Chris replied after a short pause.

  “Why do I believe the Bible?”

  Chris nodded in the conversation mirror.

  The Sergeant parked the car at their destination, turned it off, and looked his stepson in the eye for a moment. “I believe the Bible,” he said slowly, “because following it, to get to God, has changed my life.”

  Whether that statement was strictly true or not, Chris didn’t yet know. But no one could have convinced him that the Sergeant himself didn’t believe what he was saying.

  Ben’s house was not properly a house at all, but instead a mobile home in a poor neighborhood. It was a decent double wide, though – almost cozy with its well-kept exterior and trim lawn. An older lady answered the door and brought them into the front room. It smelled clean, Chris noted. Most poorer homes he’d visited smelled like dust, or old smoke.

  “I’m Jessica Scroggins,” the lady introduced herself as they seated themselves on the old flowered furniture. “I’m Ben’s great-aunt and guardian. His parents died.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the Sergeant. “I’m Glenn Sparrow, and this is my stepson, Chris Rivera.”

  “It’s nice to meet both of you. I’ve heard about you, Chris. I want to thank you for sticking up for Ben. He said it was the first time another student has openly supported him like that.”

  Chris looked embarrassed. “Ben was the real hero,” he asserted modestly in order to change the subject. “Is he here?”

  “He’ll be back soon,” answered Mrs. Scroggins. “He’s cutting the lawn and bushes for our neighbors, the Maschinos, three doors down. He’s a good kid,” she bragged modestly. “He always wants to help those less fortunate.”

  Chris realized that his eyes were wandering rudely to the woodgrain box TV and tired curtains. Most people in Mrs. Scroggins’ shoes would be expecting help from the neighbors, not offering it.

  Just then the front door banged open and Ben stepped in, looking like the Green Giant due to the afternoon’s activities. “Nana, the mower’s out of gas,” he called before seeing their guests. “Can I siphon some from the.... Oh my.” He slapped his forehead in embarrassment. “I totally forgot. It’s Wednesday.”

  “That’s okay,” said Chris and the Sergeant at once. Chris then introduced his new friend to his stepfather. Once all were suitably thanked and honored, he offered to go help Ben with his yard work.

  “That would make me feel like a pretty bad hostess,” Mrs. Scroggins demurred in good humor.

  “It’s okay,” Chris assured her. “I want to.”

  “I’ll spread a tarp in the car,” the Sergeant called after them with a smile, “so it doesn’t turn into a mulching bag of grass clippings.”

  After the boys were gone, the Sergeant handed Mrs. Scroggins an envelope. “Would you give this to Ben for me? This is what he gave the thugs at school for Chris, and a little bit extra for his trouble.”

  “Thank you. It was a miracle Ben had so much cash with him that day. He was supposed to do our weekly shopping on the way home. I normally do it, but I broke my ankle here a few weeks ago, and it’s hard to get around on a crutch.” She grimaced as she motioned to the heavy brace on her foot. “Two more weeks. Forty years a farm wife, on and off the tractor, and I never spent a day sick nor broke so much as a finger. It took a city shopping mall escalator to bring me down.”

  Mrs. Scroggins bore a tough and weathered look that reminded Mr. Sparrow of his own mother. “Growing up,” he mused, “I always wanted to live on a farm, but we never got closer than a house with a big yard.”

  “Ours is a hundred acres, fifty miles from here. I still own more of it than the bank does, but after Leo died I couldn’t keep it up anymore. So I rent out the fields for hay, which takes care of the mortgage payments. I’ll probably sell it sooner or later. The farm wasn’t really a good place for a young man like Ben anyway, with no brothers and sisters – too far from what neighbors are still around.”

  “How did you and Ben end up together, if I may ask?”

  “Sadness,” she said simply. “So much sadness. Ben’s parents and his brother all died together two years ago in a terrible Interstate wreck. Kevin was my favorite nephew, and he’d made arrangements – providentially – that if anything happened to him and Deanna, I’d be guardian of his children. Not that the rest of the family didn’t at least pretend to want Ben, but Kevin knew that his kids belonged with me. None of the others really understood him and his wife, or shared their values.”

  “I heard something of Ben’s stand at the museum the other day,” Mr. Sparrow remarked. “Good for him. I wonder sometimes, though, how long kids like Ben can hold out in public school with people like Mr. Head.”

  “I dearly wish I could homeschool Ben,” admitted the old lady, “but I just don’t feel qualified. The kid wants to be an electrical engineer or a lawyer. If all he needed was reading and writing and basic math, I could help – but that’s about all I ever got, myself.”

  “Mrs. Scroggins,” said Mr. Sparrow, “I think your boy has already got the most important thing he needs in the form of his character. I only hope that my new family will turn out as well.”