Not a Sparrow Falls

by Linda Nichols

She turned on the bedside lamp, adding its light to the overhead. That helped a little, but the shadows the ordinary objects threw seemed cold and disturbing. She’d been afraid many times since childhood, of course, but of real things. Not afraid of shadows, of the dark, of dreams, and not with this creeping sense of dread.

  She recited the Twenty-third Psalm a few times, stopping to repeat, “I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” After saying just those lines to herself five or six times, she felt her breathing slow to normal.

  She heard a cry and startled, her heart lurching as if a heavy foot had floored it. It was only the babies, she realized, and felt a surge of relief. That’s probably what had prompted the nightmare to begin with. Not some creeping spookiness, just the babies crying and the sound working itself into her dreams. She got up and made her way to their room, turning on lights as she went.

  It was the little boy who was crying. Cameron. She went to him, picked him up, and he buried his runny nose in her shoulder, happy to let a stranger comfort him. She nuzzled his neck, rubbed his back. His diaper was heavy and soggy. A big boy like this ought to be potty trained. And why wasn’t he talking?

  She laid him on the changing table and put on a fresh diaper, replacing his damp pajama bottoms, too. She wiped the nasty-colored discharge from his nose, gave her shoulder a swipe with the same tissue, and took down the bottle of baby Tylenol from the high shelf. She gave him a dropperful. Tomorrow she would call the doctor. This child was sick. Probably had an ear or sinus infection.

  Lorna had said to give him a bottle and he’d go back to sleep. Bridie looked at him. He was sitting on the changing table now, his dark hair standing straight up, eyes at half-mast, his face miserable. His little hand batted at the side of his head.

  Bonnie was awake now and standing in her crib, swaying slightly. Her hair was a fuzzy blond halo. Her pacifier moved rhythmically as she watched with huge blue eyes.

  These children didn’t need a bottle. They needed a person.

  She scooped up Cameron and settled him on her hip, then lowered the crib rail and loaded Bonnie, flicking off the light with her chin as she went out the door. She made her way back to her room, closed the door with her foot, and set both babies down on her bed. She turned off the overhead, then crawled in between them. Bonnie sat up and looked at her for a moment, still working the pacifier in a hypnotic rhythm. Bridie let her alone and settled Cameron on her shoulder. After a minute Bonnie cuddled down, too. She took the silky edge of the blanket and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.

  Bridie lay there staring at the ceiling and wondering what sad world she had stepped into. There was a grief here, a timelessness of misery. But the babies beside her were soft and sweet. Warm bundles on each side of her heart, their breathing regular and deep. She burrowed down into the covers, not sure who was comforting whom.

  Thirteen

  There was a finger in her eye and a wet spot on her pajamas by Cameron’s padded bottom. Bridie opened the eye that wasn’t occupied.

  “Good morning,” she said to Bonnie, the owner of the finger.

  Bonnie smiled, and the pacifier dropped out. Bridie remembered a game she’d played with her sister when she was a baby. She retrieved the pacifier and replaced it in Bonnie’s mouth, upside down. Bonnie flipped it over without using anything but her tongue. Bridie laughed, perhaps the first truly genuine mirth she’d experienced in months. Years.

  Cameron sat up and scrambled around until he could see the two of them. His nose was messy again.

  “You’re a mess,” Bridie told him. “A big mess.”

  “Uh?” He made a questioning sound.

  “You,” she confirmed, then lifted up his pajama top and made a loud noise by blowing on his stomach.

  He smiled and rubbed his stomach with a chubby hand.

  “You want another tummy tuba?” She blew again. He chuckled this time.

  “What’s going on?” It was Samantha. She pushed open the door and peered in, trying her best to mask the interest on her face with a frown of irritation.

  “We’re playing. That’s what’s going on.”

  “No, I mean what are you doing here?”

  Bridie quit tickling Cameron and sat up. “Didn’t anybody tell you?”

  “Nobody tells me anything.” The dark look returned.

  Bridie didn’t bite. Someone should have told Samantha, but there had been things going on, and at least part of the drama had been of Samantha’s own making. “I’m working here now. I’m your new”—she searched for the word with just the right connotations—“housekeeper.” No, that wasn’t right. “Nanny.” She tried again and was rewarded with a dark frown.

  “Uh?” Cameron questioned, saving her. Bridie grinned and blew on his stomach again.

  “You are a mess,” she repeated, then stood and picked up the soggy baby. “Let’s go clean up,” she said. Bonnie slid down and came, too.

  “I don’t need a nanny.” Samantha followed behind them.

  “They do.”

  Samantha couldn’t argue with that. Bridie stripped off Cameron’s wet pajamas and outfitted him with a dry diaper, zipped him up in a clean blanket sleeper, then repeated the process for Bonnie.

  “Watch them while I throw on my sweats.” She left the room before Samantha could complain and was back in less than a minute.

  The four of them went downstairs, and once in the kitchen Bridie folded up the playpen and upended the toy bin onto the floor. Those children were not spending another minute penned up as long as she had breath. They got interested in the toys right away, and she started breakfast. Samantha still stood, watching her out of narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll put on some oatmeal. You go shower or you’ll be late for school.”

  “I’m not going to school.”

  Bridie didn’t stop her work. She filled the pot with water, sprinkled in some salt, turned the burner on high, and took down the box of rolled oats. “Then you’d better get back to bed. You’re going to be one of two places today. In school or up there in your room.” She didn’t look up. Just measured out the oats and watched the pot.

  Tiny bubbles began to form here and there, coalescing into larger ones. One broke, rose to the top. Then another. When they were rolling merrily she stirred in the oats, then put four slices of bread in the toaster, cut up a banana, and filled three glasses with milk. She started a pot of coffee for herself. Samantha still stood and watched.

  “I hate that school.”

  “More than you’d hate any other school?”

  “Yes.” You moron, her tone added.

  “Why?” Bridie stirred the oatmeal and kept an eye on the twins, still playing happily.

  Samantha’s face darkened, and Bridie saw true pain replace the pout of a moment before. “I don’t know.”

  The silence cooked along with the oats. When they were finished, Bridie scooped four bowlfuls, buttered the toast, and set the plate of bananas on the table. She brought Cam and Bonnie to their high chairs, put a little brown sugar in their oatmeal, and cut their toast into fourths. “Let’s pray,” she said to Samantha, years of habit dying hard. She reached across and took Samantha’s hand.

  “Bless this food to our bodies, Lord, and make us grateful for our many blessings. In Jesus’ precious name,” she said. “Amen.” She felt like a hypocrite, addressing God as if she were actually on speaking terms with Him.

  When she raised her head, Samantha’s face wore the churlish expression again. Bridie didn’t let it bother her, just started in on her oatmeal. It was good. She would take some to the reverend in a while.

  “Here’s my problem, Samantha,” she said, and the declaration seemed to startle the girl. “I’m a visitor here. An employee, so to speak. I might think you have perfectly good reasons to hate school, but unless I know what they are, I can’t very well let you lay out. What would I tell your father? You see what I’m saying?”

  Samantha gave a grudging nod, and probably hearing the possi
bility of getting her way, she dribbled out a little information. “The kids there treat me like crap.”

  “More details,” Bridie said in between bites.

  Samantha glared but eked out a little more. “They say I’m deranged. None of the girls will sit with me. They say I’m going to, like, get a gun and shoot everybody.”

  Bridie paused, the oatmeal suddenly seeming like a foreign presence in her mouth. She recovered, swallowed it down, and stood up to pour herself a cup of coffee. She carefully kept her face neutral. “Why do they say that?”

  Samantha shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Bridie thought hard. Samantha could be laying it on, going for sympathy. Or she could be telling the truth. It would take some investigation to find out. Investigation she didn’t have time for today. She made a decision. “I’ll tell you what. I need help today, just getting things settled and all. I need to take Cameron to the doctor, somebody needs to take care of your father, and there are some things to be done around here. I’ll give you a choice.”

  Samantha nodded, and there was a new brightness in her eyes.

  “You can stay here and be my helper, or you can go get dressed, and I’ll run you to school.”

  “I’ll help you,” Samantha promised, and the hint of desperation in her voice caught on Bridie’s heart. She smiled at Samantha and, taking a chance, smoothed her hair. The girl didn’t flinch or pull away, just stiffened slightly.

  “All right,” Bridie said. “Let’s get busy.”

  ****

  The reverend was sleeping when Bridie crept in to check on him. The room was dark, shades pulled against what little light there was. There was a musty odor of dust and stale sheets and sickness. The bed was a wrestled mess of covers. She set down the tray she’d brought and went close to the bed. He was lying on his side. His cheeks were red. Bridie touched his forehead gently. It was hot. His eyes opened and gazed at her, glazed. She took the glass of juice from the tray and held it to his lips. He took a sip and some dribbled down his chin. She blotted it with a napkin. He lay back down and closed his eyes, as if the effort had exhausted him.

  She went to the bathroom and came back with two aspirins, holding the glass again while he took them. She didn’t speak except to urge him to drink, and waited, giving one sip at a time, until half the juice was gone. Then he shook his head, rolled over, and closed his eyes. She left the tray and went out, closing the door softly behind her. She stood there and considered, biting her lip. He looked really sick. She wondered if she should call the doctor or take him to the hospital.

  After she and Samantha had bathed the children and she’d made a doctor’s appointment for Cameron, she went back to Reverend MacPherson’s room. The aspirins must have helped. He was cooler and sleeping. It would probably be all right to leave him long enough to take Cam to the doctor. When she returned, she would decide what to do about him. With any luck, Lorna would have called by then. She thought about leaving Samantha at home to watch over him, but glancing toward her, Bridie rejected the thought. Samantha had had too much on her shoulders. It was time for her to learn to be a child.

  ****

  “Is he talking?” the young doctor asked while examining Cameron.

  “Not much, but I don’t really know. I just took this job,” Bridie said, reminding herself that’s what it was. She looked toward Samantha for an answer.

  “He doesn’t say anything,” Samantha said, giving Bonnie’s block tower a shove with her foot.

  The doctor raised an eyebrow but nodded and went on with his tests.

  “Uh-oh,” Bonnie said, just to emphasize the point. She had a pretty fair vocabulary. Up, down, mine, have that. Please and thank you. But Bridie hadn’t heard Cameron speak at all except for that little questioning sound he made. His eyes were wide open and he didn’t miss a trick, though.

  “Do they talk to him?” the doctor asked when he’d finished his examination and was writing out the prescription for Cameron’s sinus infection.

  Samantha’s head rose.

  “Why, of course they talk to him,” Bridie answered, half offended, but even as the words formed, she remembered that pathetic room, bare and dim like the rest of the house. She tried to imagine their mother. Perhaps she’d felt too poorly to prepare for their coming. And it seemed that since her passing, the family had been strained just to keep the children’s bodies and souls together.

  “Nobody talks to anybody at our house,” Samantha contributed. “Why should Cam be any different?”

  “Suppose they did need a little more conversation?” Bridie asked, careful to remain neutral. “What would you recommend?”

  “No speech therapy at this point. Just lots of interaction. Play with him, read to him. It’s not rocket science.” His smile softened the words. “Just talk to the kid.”

  Bridie nodded. She could do that.

  ****

  By the time Lorna arrived at suppertime, Bridie and Samantha had covered a lot of ground. They’d made the doctor visit, bought groceries, filled Cameron’s prescription, and given him his first two doses of antibiotic. Bridie had run four loads of laundry, changed the beds, and become concerned enough about Reverend MacPherson’s condition that she’d called the doctor brother-in-law again, who was seeing to him now. Lorna had come straight from work, and the two of them were folding laundry, waiting for word.

  “I feel so blessed to have you here,” Lorna said, her eyes filling with grateful tears.

  “I’m enjoying myself,” Bridie admitted and realized she wasn’t lying. Something about the way she’d spent the last twenty-four hours seemed to wash a little of the grime of her past away. How many hours would it take before she became clean? she wondered with a twist of bitterness. She thought of kids—like Samantha, troubled and alone—who had probably used the product she’d helped manufacture, and her happiness dimmed. There weren’t enough hours in eternity to wash that guilt away.

  “What is it?” Lorna asked. Her eyes were trained on Bridie’s, and her face showed concern.

  “Nothing,” Bridie assured her, putting on a bright smile. Dr. Calvin came down just then and spared her further explanation.

  “He’s not well,” he admitted, in what Bridie thought was the understatement of the century. Every time she’d checked on the reverend today he had been glassy eyed and out of it. Reminding her of Jonah when he was high, except for the paranoia, which was mercifully absent. “His fever is high,” Calvin went on. “I’m hearing some congestion in his lungs. However, he is taking fluids. I’ve given him an injection as well as the oral antibiotics.” He sighed deeply, seeming to weigh his options. He gave a little nod when he reached his conclusion. “I’ll give him tonight, but if he’s not better tomorrow, I’m going to admit him.”

  Lorna looked worried. Bridie nodded. “Is there anything I should do?”

  “Force fluids. He should drink half a cup at least every hour.”

  Lorna murmured. “You’ll be up all night.”

  “Would you rather I admitted him now?” Calvin asked.

  One more trauma for Samantha, and in her state of mind she’d probably blame herself. Bridie shook her head. “No,” she answered. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “I can come tomorrow straight after work,” Lorna promised. Bridie nodded again. Calvin left.

  She and Lorna bedded down the twins and then made themselves a cup of tea. Samantha was engrossed in the movie of the week.

  “Shall we take it in the living room?” Lorna asked, cocking her head toward the blaring TV.

  “Sure,” Bridie answered, and followed Lorna down the hall.

  That living room. She looked around her at the moldering opulence. In her mind there were two choices. Clean everything out—beat the carpets, vacuum the drapes, polish the silver and brass, wind the clocks—or haul the whole mess upstairs to the attic.

  She began talking, filling Lorna in on her conversation with Samantha about school, the doctor’s evaluation of Cameron’s s
peech problems. Lorna listened intently, her kind face drawn with concern.

  “And about things around here,” Bridie said, “I have a few ideas I wanted to run by you.”

  Lorna nodded.

  She told her.

  Lorna’s eyes widened as she spoke. When Bridie had finished, Lorna nodded resolutely and took a sip of her tea. When she’d replaced the china cup on the saucer, she looked up and met Bridie’s gaze squarely.

  “I think those are very good suggestions,” she said, and Bridie heard only a hint of what this stand would cost her. Years of battling those overbearing sisters flashed through her imagination. “As I said before,” Lorna continued, “you’re in charge. Act as if this is your home, as if these are your children. Do as you see fit.”

  “Are you sure?” Bridie asked, giving her one more chance to back out.

  Lorna nodded and gulped down the rest of her tea. “I’ll explain things to Winifred and Fiona,” she said, replacing the cup in the saucer. Bridie could see the artery on her neck pulse. She could only imagine that conversation.

  “We’ll have a few weeks before they show up again,” Lorna said, mostly to herself. She nodded and seemed a little comforted. “Well, I guess I’d better go,” she said, sounding regretful. “I work at the photo factory tonight. Thank you again,” Lorna said, her eyes intent on Bridie’s. “You can’t know how much this means.”

  Bridie smiled and patted Lorna’s shoulder, then took her teacup and saw her to the door. She wondered what kind of train wreck had left her holding down two jobs at a time when she should be reaping the rewards of her life, but it was not her place to ask. She hugged Lorna good-night, got Samantha off to bed, then went into the kitchen and debated what kind of liquid to take to the reverend. The reverend. She couldn’t very well go on calling him that, though Alasdair seemed too intimate. It didn’t much matter what she called him, the state he was in. She selected a Pepsi from the refrigerator. It had sugar, which couldn’t hurt, since he hadn’t eaten in at least a day, and it would settle his stomach. She poured it into a glass and, using a fork, whipped out some of the carbonation in case his throat was sore. She took it to him. He roused enough to drink it down but barely opened his eyes, and as soon as he finished, he was out again.