Free When Sparrows Fall by Meg Moseley Page B

in Rebekah’s hands.
    He checked on the boys. Thank God, they’d gravitated toward the outdoor magazines that featured hunting, fishing, and other wholesome, manly activities.
    “Look, Uncle Jack.” Martha jumped up, holding the Disney version of Cinderella. “What’s this one about? I want it. Please?”
    “Sweetie, I can’t buy you every book you haven’t read. You need to have your own library card and pick your own books. A library card, that’s the best little piece of plastic you’ll ever own.”
    With a sigh, she settled on the floor again, her cape pooling around her, and leafed through the book. Fiction, not to mention magic. Miranda wouldn’t have approved.
    A teenage girl entered the aisle and gave Jack a bold once-over. Her hair was an unnatural black, and the same morbid color clothed her from head to shiny boots. As well endowed as the lass on the paperback, she bore a rose tattoo above her left breast, a ring in her lower lip and a spiked dog collar aroundher throat. Jack was accustomed to seeing such styles, but he could only imagine how Miranda would react if her kids gave her a report.
    The teenager stepped around Martha, then stared at Rebekah. And back to Martha, with a sneer.
    Jack tried to see his nieces as a stranger would: braids, matching jumpers, and old-fashioned capes. All three young ladies attracted attention, but in the Goth girl’s case, it was by her own choice. Not by her mother’s.
    Rebekah straightened her shoulders and met the teenager’s sable-rimmed eyes. Martha also examined her. And wrinkled up her nose. The little Pharisee.
    Smelling of cigarettes, the girl in black brushed against Jack’s shoulder as she walked past. “Some people don’t know what century they’re livin’ in,” she said under her breath but no doubt intending to be heard.
    “Forsooth, fair damsel, good manners yet remain in style,” he said, earning a snort from the girl as she turned the corner.
    “She was staring at us,” Martha said, loud and clear. “I hate it when people stare at us.”
    He seized his chance. “Martha, Rebekah, you want to pick out some jeans? People wouldn’t stare if you wore—”
    “No, thank you,” Rebekah said. “Mother wouldn’t like it.” She returned the cookbook to the shelf and took charge of the shopping cart with Jonah still fidgeting in it. “We’re leaving. Martha, put the book back. Timothy, round up the boys. Let’s go.”
    Now Rebekah was the Pied Piper. Martha held on to the side of the cart and trotted to keep up with her sister’s longer stride. Timothy and the archangels followed them to the nearest checkout. Jack trailed behind, put in his place by a ten-year-old who might as well have been leading all of them back to prison.
    “Anybody hungry?” he asked. “There’s a McDonald’s, right here in the store. Let’s hit it.”
    Rebekah paused in the unloading of the orange juice to look him right in the eye. “No, thank you. Mother wouldn’t like it.”
    “No, she wouldn’t.” Jack descended into gloom, though he didn’t even like McDonald’s.
    Freedom. That was what he liked. What he wanted for the kids.
    Martha craned her neck for one last glimpse of the bookshelves, like Eve longing for her lost garden. Jonah, seated in the cart, tried to reach the gum and candy rack, while Michael and Gabriel foiled his efforts.
    Timothy stood apart, his hands in his pockets, and scowled at the groceries as they traveled the short conveyer. He wanted to protect his family, yet he hungered for a wider world at the same time. All of them did, or they wouldn’t have latched on to those books and magazines.
    Mother wouldn’t like it .
    Jack was starting to see what he was up against. Miranda had every right to raise her children as she saw fit. They were hers. He was only the uncle with no rights in the matter.
    But rights or no rights, he had to do something.
    His phone vibrated. He answered, making no effort to disguise his testy