Dwelling Places Read Free

about their business. But she senses something in the air that means her harm—not only her, but her brother and mother and father and grandma. This feeling has plagued her for weeks, disturbing her so much that she’s started the daily habit of praying at the church in the couple of hours after school and before she’s expected home for supper.
    The three people she knows who know much about spiritual things have said that prayer is the way to keep evil away. There aren’telaborate formulas for it, just the Bible’s instructions to pray always and for everything you can think of. Reverend Darnelle told her this. So did Grandma and Mike Williamson, the youth pastor at First Baptist. But nobody in the family besides Grandma prays anymore, so Kenzie has taken up the task. She’s nearly fifteen and supposes that this is part of what it means to be older and to carry more burdens. She knows that when she was small, her parents and grandparents prayed for her. Now it’s her turn.
    Though the church sanctuary in late afternoon has become a second home, the evening remains heavy with some unnamed threat, and Kenzie pedals over the graveled surface, the occasional bug hitting her face or jacket. Familiar fields grow arms and scowling faces as she races past breathing hard, the old bike sounding scared as it clatters up and down the hills. The exertion makes it impossible to sing, so mentally she goes through verses of “Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross.”
    From a mile away she can see home. The two-story house, lined up with its barns and sheds and silos, looks smudgy against the early evening. Except for six large shade trees in the yard, the buildings sit alone on the horizon. Behind and above the farm, the clouds have separated into purple-gray streaks.
    She doesn’t notice until she is at the neighbor’s mailbox that a man is standing there at the end of the driveway. He looks ready to walk right in front of her. She lets out a little shriek, slams on the brake, skids in the gravel, and nearly goes down several yards from the man. She catches herself with one leg, rights the bike, and stands in the middle of the road, feeling wobbly.
    â€œHey—you okay?” The man hurries up to her, one hand out. She sees now who it is: Mitchell Jaylee, who lives in the house that goes with the mailbox.
    â€œYeah, I just didn’t see you.”
    â€œSorry—didn’t mean to scare you. You were coming along at quite a clip.” He looks her over. “You come all the way from town?”
    Not really, because the church is just outside the city limits. Kenzie looks at Mitchell’s features, wondering how much to tell. His face isshadowy in the overcast sky of early evening, but his features are soft with concern.
    â€œI ride to town all the time. But I started back too late today.”
    â€œSure you’re okay?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou look sort of pale.”
    â€œI’m okay. I should probably get on home.”
    He backs away and smiles. “Take care now.”
    She ignores how much her legs are shaking and rides away from Mitchell. She can feel him watching her as she slides down the road away from him. That’s kind of nice, someone watching over her. She almost turns to see if he’s still standing there. She pictures his kind face, those eyes that seemed to connect with her in a split second. It was as if God arranged for her to find protection on her way.
    She stops the bike about a quarter-mile from the house and stares hard to see which cars are in the drive: Grandma’s and the family pickup. The Dodge, which her brother has been driving, is not there. Ed and Lacy’s car is not there, which means that Dad isn’t home yet. Jesus, make tonight go all right. Help me say the right things to Dad.
    Tonight they will be a family again. Kenzie hopes in two directions at once. She wants Dad here with them. She wants Mom to not be so