Sandra rushed to her feet. “No!Mother.”
Alice’s rheumy eyes remained on Dad. They held a wisdom as old as the valleys and hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Goose bumps arose over Genevieve’s skin.
Alice knew. Alice knew of her son’s violence. Mothers always know, and this one knew about her child’s flaws, his terrible temper. Perhaps she’d known at the time that Russell had abused her daughters and his young wife, too. Alice hadn’t asked Sandra to explain why she’d helped cover up her brother’s murder. Likely because Alice understood exactly why Sandra had done what she’d done.
“Mother!” Sandra said urgently. Her fingers curled into fists.
Alice observed her older daughter. “You were content to let him go the night your brother died.”
“Yes, but every year since then I’ve checked up on Judson, and I’ve seen how he’s succeeded.” Sandra jabbed a finger toward Genevieve. “How they’ve all gone on as if nothing bad ever happened. None of them paid the smallest price.”
“He was injured that night,” Alice said. “He’s harbored remorse for a long time. He’s spent his career putting guilty people behind bars.”
“He’s lived large in his big house with his wife and his daughters. How can you think about letting him go now?”
“I agree with Sandra,” Dawn spoke up. “Letting him go isn’t justice.”
“Some things are more important to me than justice,” Alice answered. “He’s suffered. I’ve suffered. You girls”—she looked at both her daughters—“have suffered. Every one of us has suffered enough.”
The older woman’s hand on Dad’s shoulder hadn’t wavered. She was the one who’d been dealt a shock today, the one whose body was feeble. But it seemed to Genevieve that Alice was also the one centering her father through the strength of her touch. Small indentations formed on the fabric of his shirt beneath Alice’s fingertips.
“You told me that you were sorry,” Alice said to him.
“I am.”
“Then I forgive you.”
“No,” Sandra said.
“Yes,” Alice responded.
“You forgive me?” Dad rasped.
“I forgive you for killing my son. I forgive you fully and completely. Do you understand?”
He searched her face.
It madeno senseto Genevieve that Alice should give him—a man she’d never met—this astounding gift. Against the will of her daughters. Regardless of the fact that Dad had taken something precious from her.
“Do you understand?” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s done.”
“I don’t think—” Dawn said.
Alice interrupted. “We’ll talk about it later. Not another word about it right now, girls.Not another word.”
Sandra snatched up her purse and stormed from the house. Only vaguely did Genevieve register the sound of Sandra’s footsteps on the steps outside or her car engine starting.
Genevieve had been looking for God for such a long time. And here He was, in this mobile home in Atlanta, in the form of a woman who’d lived eighty-three years.
Here He was,at last.
The book of John said that Jesus had been full of grace and truth. That’s exactly what Genevieve had seen just now. Unmitigated truth. And in response to it, undeserved grace.
