Endless Chain Read Online Free Page A

rest of the week.
    “I’m sorry your first visit to our church started that way.” Sam motioned to the leather sofa that sat in front of two large windows looking out over the rose garden. While she seated herself, he noticed that yesterday he had forgotten to put away the wheelbarrow after he dumped a load of compost to be spread. He made a mental note to do it later, then asked himself why he was avoiding looking at Elisa. He was not a man who was uncomfortable with women. His fiancée Christine, with her blatant sex appeal and choke hold on femininity, had never intimidated him in the least.
    “I’ve encountered prejudice before,” she said.
    “I’m sorry for that.” He made himself look down at her. “Under any circumstances there would have been resistance, but as you probably know, there’s some troubling evidence that Hispanic gangs have moved into the area. Peaceful, sleepy Shenandoah County.” He shrugged. “That’s set off a backlash.”
    She was smiling softly. “Let’s find a subject that doesn’t make you feel sad. Or guilty.”
    He relaxed a fraction. “Iced tea.”
    “Iced tea as a subject?”
    “Would you like some?”
    “Very much, if it’s not too much trouble.”
    He was grateful for something to do. He left for the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two glasses. “The staff goes through gallons of this every week. Whoever drinks the last glass has to make a new pitcher.”
    She took the glass, then a sip. “I can do that.”
    He had debated where to sit. She had left him a full half of the large sofa, and there was a table just in front of it with room for his tea. It was the obvious choice.
    He sprawled over his half. “So…” He considered where to start.
    She solved the problem. “Elisa Martinez, thirty-three. Like every Spanish-speaking friend I have made here, I am not a gang member. I am well acquainted with cleaning products, mops and brooms, and the need to clean the men’s urinals more often than the ladies’ toilets. I’ve been working the late shift as a nurse’s aide at the Shadyside Home in Woodstock, but last week my shifts were cut to two because the aide I replaced is returning from maternity leave. If you hire me, I promise that won’t interfere with my work at the church. On those mornings I can start here as soon as I’ve finished there.”
    He didn’t speak, and she went on. “My supervisor will be glad to write a reference, or she’ll be glad to talk to you.”
    He had already noted that her command of the English language was as good as his own, but there was a trace of an accent, a musical elongation of vowels, the slightest flipping of r’ s, a trace more formality, that he found charming. As an employer, he had to ask the next question. “Were you born here?”
    She shook her head. “Mexico. A little village in the south.”
    “Are you a citizen?”
    She reached in the front pocket of her black slacks and produced a card with her name and photo for him to examine. “A permanent resident. My not-so-green card.”
    He scanned it, then nodded. She slipped it back into her pocket and waited.
    “It’s hard work.” He sat forward and reached for the tea. “There’s a lot of lifting and moving. You’d be required to set up and take down tables and chairs for any meetings or events, and this is a busy church. That would be in addition to heavy cleaning and minor repairs. It’s tedious, and the hours are long. The pay isn’t great.”
    “I’ll manage just fine. I lift patients in and out of bed, move beds and furniture, push wheelchairs uphill. I’m used to hard work.”
    Sam thought she must be made entirely of muscle, then, because there wasn’t much to her other than the gentle swell of breasts and hips.
    “Do you have a car, Elisa?”
    She straightened a little, and he knew she had been waiting for this. “I don’t own a car, no. But I have two good legs, and friends with cars at the park.”
    “Park?”
    “I live in