All for a Story Read Online Free Page B

right in front of Sister Aimee.
    “I had absolutely no say in this.”
    “You should not let matters of pride cloud your judgment, Mr. Moore. Our readers know me. They trust me. This magazine represents my message to them —to all who cannot come to hear God’s Word from my mouth. I thought you understood that.”
    She had a way of speaking —always —that captured equal measures of authority and grace, and immediately he felt the heat rising up the back of his neck. Not shame, exactly. At least not shame in this moment. But he could almost feel the clatter of the blinders falling from his eyes, and questions he’d never quite dared to ask himself began to demand answers.
    “I suppose,” he said, musing aloud, “I’m just wondering exactly what my place is here.”
    “You keep everything straight,” Sister Aimee said as Mr. Lundi decorously returned the sketch to Mr. Todd. “You keep the articles balanced.”
    The rumbling sound he heard captured the agreement of the men around the table, none of whom he’d wager had ever looked beyond the cover of any issue of the Bridal Call .
    “I count the words.”
    “If that’s how you want to define it, yes.”
    “But I don’t write the words. I don’t approve or direct them.”
    “If you’ve ever a serious idea . . .”
    There was that word again. Serious. It was the last of her diatribe that he heard before feeling the smile that his mother used to say opened up wide as a melon slice stretching across his face as the joke he’d been telling himself since his parents’ death finally came clear. Uncle Edward, apparently, had been the punch line.
    “I do have an idea, Aimee.” He’d interrupted her mid-Corinthianmetaphor about a body needing many parts, no single one more important than the others. She hated more than anything to be interrupted, and her mouth refused to accept the fact that she had been as she continued on, eyes to the ceiling as Scripture poured out of her in perfect citation.
    “All right then.” He spoke aloud, yet to himself, and backed his chair away from the table, standing to a towering height.
    “Mr. Moore!” Sister Aimee leapt to her feet, causing a wave of like motion, but Max was already at the door.
    “Gentlemen,” he said, holding up a hand as if to stop the attack that would only come at Sister Aimee’s bidding, “I received some sad news about a relative of mine. He passed away, you see, and I’ve been summoned to settle his affairs. I wish you well.”
    And he left, closing the door firmly behind him and waiting for a full count of ten exhalations to see if anyone would care to follow. Or simply track him down to drag him back.
    Nobody did. Apparently, he was free.
    He walked up the short hallway and found himself again at the reception desk where, to his surprise, Ida was waiting with a small cardboard box. Given the advantage of his height, he could easily see the contents: a football trophy, two diplomas, a thick black scrapbook, a Bible, and a ceramic cup of pencils in every hue.
    “How did you know?”
    Ida sniffed. “I had a hunch.” The old girl had never been one for emotion, but even this short sentence bore evidence of fighting back tears. “Be sure you get yourself a good coat. They have real winter back there.”
    “I will.” He took the box from her, set it on the reception desk, and took the older woman in his arms.
    “You’re leaving, Mr. Moore?” This from the lovely Serena, who made no pretense of hiding her disappointment. A little quiverhad come to her adorable chin, and she stood, offering a delicate hand across the desk. “I guess this is good-bye, then?”
    “It is,” Max said, taking her hand. Then, in reaction to an impulse not even he could have predicted, he grabbed Serena by the shoulders, pulled her halfway to meet him, and planted a long, satisfying kiss right on her lips.
    “I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he said when he was finally able to release her. Her dazed