THE TRAIN RIDE BACK TO NORTH HOMAGE SEEMED SLOWER and quieter than the one to Hancock had been. Rose and Gennie sat side by side, each preoccupied with her own thoughts, silently watching the countryside gradually turn from white to brown. Rose spent hours in prayer as she considered her role in the tragedies that had befallen Hancock Village. Though Fannie had assured her she had saved all their lives, Rose feared that by pressuring Sewell to confess to her, she had also triggered Aldon to strike sooner than he had intended. Sewell must have warned Aldon of his impending confession to Rose. Perhaps he even urged Aldon to confess, as well.
Dulcie had destroyed her own baby and almost killed herself. Rose felt deeply responsible for Dulcie’s tragic and desperate act. Perhaps she wouldn’t have leaped from the upper floor of the Stone Barn if Rose had not urged her to talk with Theodore. As a Shaker, Rose should not have forgotten how cruelly the world heaped shame on those who were different. An unwed mother would be given no mercy. She should have known.
At least Dulcie had agreed to let the sisters care for her until she was fully recovered, and she could continue to work for them. Her future might yet be bright—Otis, the unexpected hero, visited her daily.
Rose had done her best. Now there was nothing left but to pray—and to schedule a good long confession with Agatha once they were back in North Homage.
When she came up for air, Rose sensed that Gennie was confused and unhappy. She had lost her normal sparkle, and she showed no interest in chatting or exploring.
“Are you terribly angry with Grady?” Rose asked.
“Grady? Yes, I am. I told him so the last time we spoke on the telephone. We had a dreadful fight. Imagine hiring Helen Butterfield as some sort of detective and bodyguard, as if I couldn’t take care of myself. And that detective he hired to watch me on the train nearly scared the life out of me. I’m glad I didn’t know that the man he talked to when he got off the train was yet another detective Grady hired to spy on me. How could he have done such a thing?”
“He was worried something would happen to you. He loves you very much.”
“He’d better find a different way of showing it,” Gennie said, her pretty mouth puckered in a deep scowl.
“I suspect Grady has begun to realize he made a mistake. If he had asked me ahead of time, I would have warned him off. However, you must admit that Helen proved useful in the end.”
Gennie relented with a slight laugh. “Yes, I nearly fainted with surprise when I saw her clumping along on those snowshoes behind two police officers, after you all had already captured Aldon and saved the village. I thought she’d never catch her breath.”
Rose laughed, too, and the atmosphere lightened—but only for a moment.
“Is there more bothering you, Gennie?”
Gennie nibbled her lower lip in silence for a minute, then turned to face Rose. “It’s Aldon and Sewell,” she said. “Carlotta told me all about it. She said they were . . . well, you know.”
“That they fell into the flesh together?”
“I never heard of such a thing before.”
“You have not been out in the world for very long, Gennie.”
“Carlotta said they were wicked and unnatural and both deserved to die.”
“Carlotta is wrong.”
“Well, obviously Aldon went completely mad, but Sewell was a dear. He didn’t deserve to die, did he?”
“Nay, he did not.” Rose sighed. Indeed, celibacy was a blessed state, but so difficult for some people to live. “Gennie, would you like my thoughts on the matter?”
“Yes.”
“I believe that the true evil in Hancock—excepting among the Believers, of course—was pride. Wretched, overweening pride. Aldon could not bear for the world to see him as anything but perfect and holy, nor could he bear to think of himself in any other way. The more he fought his impulses, the stronger they became. He needed to believe that he was the pure one, that it was the others who tempted him.”
“Did he leave his church because he believed it was full of folks trying to lead him astray?” Gennie asked.
“In part, though I suspect he also feared that exposure was near.” Rose thought about Billy, who had finally confided in her his horror at Aldon’s attentions to him. He was too embarrassed to talk about it publicly, but someone else might be more willing to expose Aldon.
“So is he truly mad?”
“In the end,” Rose said, “he began to see himself as God’s instrument for destroying evil. He believed God condoned the killing of anyone Aldon deemed impure. Indeed, he is surely mad.”
“But he deliberately planted evidence to incriminate other people,” Gennie said. “He even made Sewell bring poor Honora to the village the night he poisoned the buckets in the barn. He knew how she’d act at a worship service. He made his own wife look guilty—along with practically everyone else.”
“It’s hard to know at what point his cunning veered into madness,” Rose said. “Perhaps he began to believe that the others he was incriminating deserved the blame more than he did.”
After a moment of quiet, Gennie said, “Now that I think of it, a certain Grady O’Neal has a bit too much pride. He seems to think he knows better than I do what’s best for me.”
“You’re probably right,” Rose said. “Will you be able to forgive him?”
Gennie grinned. “Oh, I suspect so—but maybe not until he’s had a good long time to think about it.”
Rose closed her eyes and finally relaxed. She was heading for home, spring was on the horizon, and little Gennie was all grown up.