The scarlet thread by francine rivers pdf

But his expression revealed something deeper than just anger. She could feel the hurt that lay hidden behind the cold, remote expression on his face. The words struck like a shotgun blast to her heart.

He turned around then and looked at her. All she had thought about was avoiding a confrontation with her father. She swallowed, wondering if he only meant to humiliate her more before he walked out of her life. He caught hold of her and poured out his feelings in Spanish. Infrequently over the years, he had fallen back into his first language during times of powerful emotions. He had spoken Spanish when he made love to her on their wedding night and again when she told him she was pregnant.

He had wept and spoken Spanish in the wee hours of the morning when Clanton had pushed his way into the world, and again when Carolyn was born. And he had spoken Spanish in tears on the night her father died.

But that night on the porch, they both forgot about the lights. In fact, they both forgot everything until the front door was jerked open and her father ordered him gone. She was forbidden to see Alex. She reasoned, cajoled, whined, and begged. She appealed to her mother, who promptly refused to take her side. In desperation, she threatened to run away or commit suicide.

She had gotten their attention with that. I could have him arrested! Alex was waiting when she returned, but he proved less malleable than her male parent.

He had a few succinct Spanish words to say about her idea of meeting him in secret. Alex was a fighter who preferred facing wrath head-on. He just showed up at the house one day five minutes after her father had come home from work. She learned later from a neighbor that Alex had been waiting down the street for more than an hour.

Her mother, sympathetic to their plight, invited Alex into the foyer before her father got to the porch and could order him off the property.

Clutching the steering wheel of her Honda Accord, Sierra remembered how she had felt that day, seeing Alex standing in the front hallway between her mother and father. She had been so sure her father would kill him or at least beat him to within an inch of his life.

Alex stood his ground. They were like two dogs with their hackles up. She had never been so furious! Stay out of it. As soon as her father uttered the words, his face turned beet red. Alex, with his own prejudices, had no intention of letting him off easily. Just like you. My father took his citizenship test ten years ago. Not that it makes much difference.

He passed with flying colors. Red, white, and blue. The way I see it, a bigot is a bigot, no matter what color he is. Her father looked at her for a moment and then back at Alex with resentful resignation. When her father came into the kitchen, he told her Alex was gone. One phone conversation a night, no longer than thirty minutes and only after her schoolwork was finished. No dates Monday through Thursday. Friday night she was to be home by eleven. Saturday night by ten.

Yes, ten. She had to be well rested for church on Sunday. If her grades dropped a smidgen, she was grounded from Alex completely. If she missed church, same consequences. She knew her father had hoped things would cool off if he gave the relationship time to develop cracks.

Alex graduated with honors from high school and entered the local junior college. Sierra had wanted to quit school and marry him, thinking it would be romantic to work and help put him through college. He squashed that idea. He completed two years of work at Santa Rosa Junior College in a year and a half and transferred to the University of California, Berkeley, where he majored in business, with an emphasis in computer technology.

She finished high school and entered a local business college, counting the days to his graduation. As soon as Alex returned to Healdsburg, he found a job with Hewlett-Packard in Santa Rosa, bought a used car, and rented a small bungalow in Windsor.

Nobody was very happy about it. They had been married ten years. Ten wonderful years. She never suspected what was going on beneath the surface. Sierra pulled her Honda into the driveway of the Mathesen Street Victorian and prayed her mother was home. Mom had always been able to reason with Daddy.

Maybe she could help Sierra figure out how to reason Alex out of his plans for their future. Unlocking the front door, Sierra entered the polished wood foyer. She almost called for her father before she caught herself. With a sharp pang, she remembered the call she and Alex had received at three in the morning two years ago.

Or since. She still missed him. Oddly, so did Alex. He and her father had become close after Clanton and Carolyn were born—amazing the way grandchildren seemed to break down walls between people.

Prior to her pregnancy, she and Alex had seen little of her parents. All that changed when she went into labor. Everyone was at Kaiser Hospital the night she gave birth. Alex had kissed her and said maybe they should name their son Makepeace. She looked out the window into the backyard garden, where her mother often worked.

Sierra went back along the corridor and up the stairs. She peered into the master bedroom. A bright granny-square afghan was folded neatly on the end of the bed. Surprised, Sierra went down the hallway and climbed the narrow stairway. The small dormer windows were open, allowing a faint sun-warmed breeze into the dusty, dimly lit room. Dust particles danced on the beam of sunlight. The place smelled musty with age and disuse. The attic had always fascinated Sierra, and she momentarily put aside her worries as she looked around.

Lawn chairs were stacked at the back. Just inside the door was a big milk can filled with old umbrellas, two canes, and a crooked walking stick. Wicker baskets in a dozen shapes and sizes sat on a high shelf. Boxes were stacked in odd piles, in no particular order, their contents a mystery.

How many times had she and her brother gone through their rooms, sorting and boxing and shoving discards into the attic? When Grandma and Grandpa Clanton had died, boxes from their estate had taken up residence in the quiet dimness. Old books, trunks, and boxes of dishes and silverware were scattered about.

The box of old dress-up clothes she had donned as a child was still there. As was the large oval mirror where she had admired herself with each change. Some were original oils done by her grandfather during his retirement years. Others were family pictures that dated back several generations. Paint cans left over from restoration on the house were stacked on a shelf in case touch-ups were needed to the colorful trim. Two ratty needlepoint footstools served as stands for the things her mother had removed from an old trunk that stood open before her.

Marianna Clanton had a tea towel wrapped around her hair. Bits and pieces from so many lives. Sierra ran her hand over an old stool that had been in the kitchenette before it was remodeled. She remembered coming home from kindergarten and climbing up on it at the breakfast bar so she could watch her mother make Tollhouse cookies. Her mother glanced up at her, a pained expression flickering across her face.

They gave him a comprehensive health package and retirement plan. We have a wonderful new house. We like our neighbors. Clanton and Carolyn are happy in school. He said this new company made him a fantastic offer, and he accepted it without even talking to me about it.

The sort of stuff Alex likes to play around with at home. He met these guys at a sales conference last spring in Las Vegas. He never even told me about them. Alex has been working on an idea he has for a role-playing game for an Internet-type program. Players could link up with others and create armies and battle scenarios. Everything I love is here. Where does he get off making a decision like this without even discussing it with me?

Can you believe it? I just planted daffodils all along the back fence. Her mother said nothing for a long moment. She folded her hands in her lap while Sierra rummaged through her shoulder bag for a Kleenex. Sierra sniffled into the tissue. He never even took my feelings into consideration, Mom. Just like that. She hugged it against her. I mean the assumptions too many people make about Hispanics. Her mother smiled. Movie stars.

Daddy used to call it her Pollyanna attitude, especially when he was irritated and in no mood to see the good side of a situation. The way Sierra was feeling now. And this is the age of telephones. And I do understand. Your grandparents were far from overjoyed when I moved from Fresno to San Francisco. Sierra smiled wanly. She laughed. Sierra blew her nose. Just as your father would have.

I think Alex has stayed here for ten years because of you. It was the last thing Sierra wanted to hear. Alex had received other offers and turned each down after discussing them with her. She had thought the decisions mutual, but now she wondered. He had sounded so excited and happy when he talked to her about this job.

She plucked Winnie the Pooh out and blew dust off the top. How many times had she heard it? The cover was worn from handling. Just thinking about leaving and not being able to see her mother or talk with her every few days left Sierra feeling bereft. Tears blurred her vision. Then he called me with the great news. The Lord has plans for you and for Alex, plans for your good, not your destruction.

Trust him. The Lord! Why did her mother always have to bring up the Lord? It makes no sense. Patting her hand, she smiled wistfully. A teacher? The first student to shoot a spit wad would have found himself upside down in a garbage can outside the classroom door.

Her mother laughed. He spent five years in college preparing to do just that and after one year in a classroom decided he hated it. He said the girls were all airheads and the boys were running on testosterone. He hated that, too. He said staring into microscopes all day bored him senseless. You and Mike were both in school when he quit. After that, he trained to become a police officer.

I was as strongly against that as you are against moving to Los Angeles. I used to lie awake at night, worrying myself sick over him. I was so sure something would happen to him. Those years were the worst of my life, and our marriage suffered because of it. And yet the greatest blessing came from it, too. I became a Christian while your father was working the eleven-to-seven shift as a highway patrolman.

A mother hardly shares these kinds of struggles with her young children. You were four and Mike was seven. Neither of you were happy. I spent most of my time telling you two to be quiet and trying to keep you busy with games and puzzles and long walks. The hours and stress were bad enough for Daddy, but I think it was missing you and Mike that finally made him quit.

Before he did, he studied for his real estate license. He gave it a try and loved it. As God would have it, he started at the time when real estate was booming. Within two years of getting his license, your dad was one of the top Realtors in Sonoma County. He became so busy, he dropped residential and specialized in commercial properties. The greatest gift you can give him is the freedom to spread his wings. Is that so hard to understand? He accepted it and then informed me of his decision.

When I was younger, all I could think about was getting away from here. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in The Scarlet Thread may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.

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