Still Life

Still Life

Ada escaped her family’s self-enclosed world to elope with a mysterious stranger. Five months later, she’s a widow in a strange new world. Ada was born into a fringe religious sect named for her father, The Prophet. But her lifelong habit of absolute obedience was shattered when she fled the family compound to elope with photographer Julian Goetz. Katherine Walker’s marriage was a sham. She and Will rarely spoke without yelling—and never touched. Her affair brings her both escape and guilt. When a tragic plane crash takes Julian from Ada and exacerbates Katherine’s sense of shame, both women become desperately unsure of where they belong in the world—until the devotion of an artistic young boy conspires to bring them together. From award-winning novelist Christa Parrish, Still Life is a cunningly complex work that captures themes of abusive religion, supernatural love, and merciful escape. It will resonate with anyone who has ever felt called to a drastic change—or tried to hear the small whisper of God’s voice. '...this is a haunting examination of life in all its gritty and painful moments.' -- Library Journal 'Parrish’s inspirational novel is a must read for anyone moved by the power of human emotion and redemption.' -- Booklist “Parrish’s style is quietly contemplative. The writer has a gift for portraying deep, meaningful emotion and transformation in a relatable, touching way.” -- RT Book Reviews Christa Parrish is the author of five novels, including the 2009 ECPA Book of the Year "Watch Over Me "and the Christy Award-winning "Stones for Bread. "She lives in upstate New York with her husband, writer and pastor Chris Coppernoll. They have four children in their blended family. christaparrish.com Facebook: Christa-Parrish Twitter: @breakingthesea Still Life By Christa Parrish Thomas Nelson Copyright © 2015 Christa Parrish All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4016-8903-2 CHAPTER 1 She believes tragedy comes only in the night. It's her mama's two stillbirths and a toddler brother lost to a fever her father said would take him; Ada had kissed the listless boy good-bye with all the others in the room, gathered there to pray him home to Jesus, and bit her cheek against the rebellious words— aspirin, alcohol bath, doctor —pooling on her tongue. It's the Langley family cattle, bloated with a strange plague and struck down dead, nearly forty in all gathered from the muddy pasture the next morning and burned so whatever afflicted them wouldn't spread like fleas on toast. No one honestly believed the burning was necessary. Surely one of the Langley kin had somehow secretly sinned against God or man. Probably both. Not long after that the eldest daughter confessed these sins to the elders and was deemed restored to the fellowship after twelve strikes with the paddle and three days of solitary fasting in the woods. We are all desperately wicked, her father said over supper, though he would not tell them what Rebekah Langley had done. It can be any one of us at any time, if we don't take captive our thoughts at the first hint of wandering. Ada hoped he couldn't discern her thoughts, even if he was a prophet of the Lord. It's the shadows in her bedroom at night, the ones she'd been taught were demons and still may believe it, despite Julian's skin and scent and laughter beside her—all things to drive her past away. Garlic to vampires. Human hair to garden vermin. The switch to a disobedient backside. It's not dark now, though, and the knock comes on the door. She finds strangers in dark suits, perspiration on their brows, neckties askew. Two men, one young and one old. White men. The young one speaks while plucking the skin beneath his thumbnail, asks if she's the wife of Julian Goetz, flying from Cleveland to Albany on Union North Flight 207. She tells them she doesn't know the flight number, didn't pay attention to it since he plans to drive himself home from the airport, but yes, she is his wife and is there a problem? They want to know if she's turned on the television today, or the computer. Now she's nervous. "Who are you? What do you want?" "There's been an accident. A plane crash. Julian was on the flight." "Don't say his name like that," Ada says. They're not allowed to be so familiar with him, these men of polyester and sweat. "You don't know him." The old one apologizes, his voice streaked with too many of these visits, and asks to come inside. She moves, allowing them to pass. * * * She hadn't been concerned he wasn't home yet, or that she hadn't heard from him. People are waylaid all the time, flights delayed in the gate, traffic on the highway. Cell phone batteries dead. She didn't bother to contact him. She breathes easier when he's gone. She loves him, she's fairly certain. There are moments she catches sight of him in the corner of her vision and is stunned by his bone-aching beauty. Something rushes around her, warmth at once, soft and sharp. Her father would call it lust, but