Authors: Allison Pittman
On Shifting Sand
P
RAISE
FOR
A
LLISON
P
ITTMAN
“Grace seeks us when we have nothing to give. Grace is indiscriminate passion. It is traumatizing and irresistible all at once. And grace is impossible to look away from when our soul is desperate, longing, and aching to be known. For this, readers will squeeze these pages tightly until the last drop of Allison’s words releases us to heave a deep sigh of liberation. As our own sin and longing to be loved by something greater than us is threaded into the person of Nola, and as Russ brings the fresh realization that we are loved with nothing to do on our part, this book will come to life in the hearts of sinners like you and me, saved only by grace. As a woman who has been radically loved through my own season of infidelity, I find hope and the heartbeat of truth in this book. I highly recommend this breathtaking read!”
KASEY VAN NORMAN,
bestselling author of
Named by God
and
Raw Faith
“Deftly intertwining the 1920s plotline with diary entries, Pittman’s third series outing is filled with family drama, suspense, and enough twists and turns to keep readers engrossed until the very end. This tale of truth and forgiveness will attract fans of Francine Rivers and Rosamunde Pilcher, and those who enjoy family sagas.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL
on
All for a Sister
“Pittman handily captures the societal extremes during the Jazz Age, and her focus on the roles of women, from demure traditionalists to the influential McPherson and the ‘modern’ woman, adds a nuanced level of conflict to this entertaining novel.”
BOOKLIST
on
All for a Story
“Pittman skillfully paints the complete picture of this bold female character. Readers of inspirational fiction will be stirred as this story of longing unfolds, revealing testimony to true contentment.”
BOOKLIST
on
All for a Song
“A wonderful story that captures a period of time from the past that many of us have learned about in history classes, but in a way that makes it come to life.”
ONLINE REVIEWER,
All for a Story
“Mesmerizing. . . . Allison Pittman’s latest novel is a delight to read, having been woven together with beautiful narrative, stirring faith, and characters you will connect with. . . .
All for a Song
is a book that will not only entertain you, but will leave you thinking about why we make the choices we do, and even how we use the gifts God has given us.”
ONLINE REVIEWER,
All for a Song
Visit Tyndale online at
www.tyndale.com
.
Visit Allison Pittman at
www.allisonpittman.com
.
TYNDALE
and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
On Shifting Sand
Copyright © 2015 by Allison Pittman. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of woman copyright © Ashley Lebedov. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of torn paper copyright © vinzstudio/Dollar Photo Club. All rights reserved.
Designed by Ron Kaufmann
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson
Published in association with William K. Jensen Literary Agency, 119 Bampton Court, Eugene, Oregon 97404.
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible
, King James Version.
Scripture in the author’s acknowledgments taken from
The Holy Bible
, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
On Shifting Sand
is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Pittman, Allison.
On shifting sand / Allison Pittman.
pages ; cm
ISBN 978-1-4143-9044-4 (sc)
I. Title.
PS3616.I885O5 2015
813'.6—dc22 2014043863
Build: 2015-01-28 12:03:50
C
ONTENTS
- Acknowledgments
- Part I
- Part II
- Part III
- Part IV
- Part V
- Part VI
- A Note from the Author
- Discussion Questions
- Preview of
All for a Song - About the Author
A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
T
HANK YOU,
Tyndale, for seeing this story when it was little more than a thought; and thank you, Kathy Olson, for helping me find its soul.
Thank you, Mikey, my husband and truly best-ever friend, for knowing when to give me space, when to hold me close, and when to quietly slide Twizzlers under the door.
Thank you, ALL of my writing friends, who encourage me every day and make me so glad I obeyed the calling God put in my heart. I love to see your victories.
And above all, I thank God for the gift of salvation and the strength I have in Christ. I could not write about grace if I didn’t live it every single day.
For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. (J
OHN 1:16
)
Call now, if there be any that will answer thee. . . .
Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust,
neither doth trouble spring out of the ground;
Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
I would seek unto God, and unto God would I commit my cause:
Which doeth great things and unsearchable;
Marvellous things without number:
Who giveth rain upon the earth,
and sendeth waters upon the fields:
To set up on high those that be low;
that those which mourn may be exalted to safety.
JOB 5:1, 6-11
CHAPTER 1
T
HE BATHWATER WAS HOT
when I first got in. Hot enough to steam the mirror and turn my skin an angry red, with white finger-shaped dots where I poked it. Punishing hot, Ma would have said, and that first sting getting in felt a lot like the touch of Pa’s belt against my legs when I was little. But soon enough the water cools itself to comfortable. I wring out the washcloth and hold it aloft, letting most of the heat evaporate before pressing it against my face. I let my hair go damp with steam, debating whether I should dunk under to wet it enough for a good shampoo. It’s Wednesday night, though, and I’m going to Rosalie’s to get a new set on Friday, so I give it a run-through with my fingers and settle back with my neck on the porcelain rim.
The faucet lets in one fresh drop after another, and I count them.
Just ten more, and I’ll get out.
But I lose track, drift off into pressing thoughts somewhere around number seven, and have to start all over again. Although, on this night, there’s nothing to lure me out of the water.
Ariel, my little girl, four years old, is in her room, deep in sleep. My husband, Russ, and the oldest, Ronnie, are at the church. Wednesday night prayer meeting, which seems to be running later than usual. And I, given the rare opportunity of an empty house and unclaimed bathroom, let myself soak in the water, the only light streaming in from our bedroom across the hall. I’d tuned the radio away from the midweek gospel hour, and turned up the volume loud enough that I can hear strains of Louis Armstrong, but not so loud as to wake the child. I hum along, singing when I can, my lips skimming the top of the bathwater, making bubbles with the lyrics.
The end to my peace comes with the open and slam of the back kitchen door, and Russ calling my name as if I’d been in danger of being sucked behind the baseboards.
“In here,” I holler, trying not to sound too disappointed at his arrival.
The bathroom door opens a few inches, and Russ peeks his head through, averting his eyes to ask if I’m decent. Or, he qualifies, as decent as a woman who skipped out on prayer meeting could be.
“Your daughter was sick,” I say in mock defensiveness.
“She seems fine now,” Russ says. “Sleeping well.”
