All God's Sparrows and Other Stories by Leslie Budewitz

Author:Leslie Budewitz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: religious fiction, short stories, montana, american west, historical mystery, biographical fiction, small town community
Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing

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Even better than sleeping in her old log cabin again was waking up Sunday morning and knowing she had no route to drive, no schedule to keep. Nobody was counting on her for a thing. Mary stretched her arms out and arched her back. No one expected her to feed the chickens or gather eggs, to chop wood for the cookstove or milk the cow. They didn’t even expect her to attend Mass, though if Mother Amadeus were here, she’d go. But the Mother Superior had gone to visit another mission, checking on the sisters and their progress.

It would do her no harm to stop in the church for a minute or two. Remind God she was alive and kicking.

But first things first. Mary made her way across the compound, returning greetings from those about the place—a young nun on an errand, a priest striding quickly across the field, a pair of older girls in matching dresses that ended an inch or two below the knee giggling as they made their way to the cookhouse with their basket full of eggs. It was a wonder, what Amadeus and the others had accomplished here on this strange, empty land.

In the corral, Peter and Paul mingled with the Mission’s horses. Soon, the place would buzz with activity, the corral full. Though parents of the Indian children who attended the boarding school didn’t visit often—the reservation was a good distance—the settlers treated it as their gathering place, coming for Mass and staying for Sunday dinner and gossip.

The big gray ambled over to the fence to greet her, the chestnut not far behind. She pulled an apple and her knife out of her pocket and split it in two. Cradled a half in each hand and held them out.

“Don’t let the others know you’re special,” she said as the horses gobbled up the fruit. She lingered a long moment, rubbing her hands over their ears and down their necks.

Though the sisters now used the chapel in Mount Angela, Mary preferred the simplicity of the original church, barely a stone’s throw from the corral. Its white exterior, a mix of clapboard and hewn logs, and plain wood interior felt holy and familiar. She’d sneak in there.

“Good morning, Mary,” a voice called, and she turned to see Louisine sitting beneath a tree a few feet away, a prayer book in her lap. On a nearby bench, Amelia sat with a man. George Reynolds. She wore the blue suit again, no doubt brushed within an inch of its life to clean off the traveling dust. No hat today, her dark hair neatly rolled and put up. Reynolds was slender and long-legged—he’d tower over his bride-to-be—and his dark hair and mustache were neatly trimmed. He inclined his head toward Amelia as he spoke, and she laughed with what sounded like real pleasure.

“Can’t let them spend time together without a chaperone, can we, even with the angels watching from the bell tower?” A lilt in Louisine’s voice gave away the tease.

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