The Crystal FishbowlAuthorHouse, 29. okt. 2007 - 436 sider Anna Westover had no idea at seventeen, still grief-stricken from the loss of her grandmother, and back living with her horrible family, that Victor Spofford, a young charismatic Baptist preacher, would be the wrong choice, the worst choice. On her grandmothers insistence shed refused to even date the boy shed always loved, simply because he wasnt Baptist. Annas wedding was a dream; her new life in western Massachusetts a wondrous challengeuntil mysterious letters began to arrive. Then Victor changed . . . or was it that he finally revealed his true nature? No one would believe that he abused her. He never hitat least not intentionally. And as the preachers wife, she could confide in no one. To others, he was gorgeous, enlightened and dynamic. He knew the perfect words to give comfort or guidance. He brought scores of sinners to the Lord with his woeful childhood tales. Who was she but his meek wife, lovely yet subdued, who sat in her accustomed front-row pew each Sunday morning, gazing up at him in adoration? He was always sorry later: crying, begging forgiveness. And she wanted to believe him. He was so pitiful in his sorrow. But after he lost his job and they returned to New Hampshire, her hopes are firmly and completely crushed when another letter arrives, and she uncovers his lies. Desperate for comfort, she turns to another man. Then the violence escalates and she must take a stand. |
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... Spofford, Pastor Rippley's protégé, an almost-minister, who had to be married by now. Like her, he'd come from a troubled family: she couldn't recall the details. Maybe he too longed for a loving family, like hers had been before Daddy ...
... Spofford,” Anna said, and lowered her glass. He'd appeared as if in answer to prayer. He seemed to be looking right at her. His face had filled out, matured. He was a man now. She looked down at her plate. “Turn around,” she said. “He's ...
... Spofford, joiningus from the Alabama Baptist Theological Seminary,” Pastor Tom said with a broad smile. “He's a New Englander, kids, so he's used to these cold, white winters. Let's pray the southern air hasn't thinned his blood.” He ...
... Spofford, his irises a few shades lighter than his pupils. How he'd gotten ahead of her, she had no clue. “No problem,” he murmured with a puzzled frown. “Do I know you?” His voice was a deep rumble, his gaze unwavering. She sighed ...
... Spofford?” Anna repressed a smile. “Your brother in Christ.” Maryjean nodded at the letter, then reached behind her and untied her flowered apron and hung it beside the back door. “Did you have to read it?” Anna asked, then took a step ...