* * *
—
Next to arrive was Aunt Helena, all apuff from limping over from the library. Increasingly her feet are a bother to her.
“Aunt Lydia,” she said. “I feel you should be aware that Aunt Victoria has been reading her own Bloodlines file from the Genealogical Archives without authorization. I believe that, in view of her biological mother, it is most unwise.”
“I have just been informed of this fact by Aunt Vidala,” I said. “She shares your view as to the feebleness of Aunt Victoria’s moral fibre. But Aunt Victoria was well brought up, and has had the best education at one of our prime Vidala Schools. Is it your theory that nature will win out over nurture? In which case, the original sinfulness of Adam will assert itself in all of us despite our rigorous efforts to stamp it out, and I am afraid our Gilead project will be doomed.”
“Oh surely not! I didn’t mean to imply that,” Helena said, alarmed.
“You’ve read Agnes Jemima’s Bloodlines file yourself?” I asked her.
“Yes, many years ago. It was restricted at that time to the Founding Aunts.”
“We made the correct decision. Had the knowledge that Baby Nicole was Aunt Victoria’s half-sister been widely disseminated, it would have been detrimental to her development as a child. I now believe that some of the more unscrupulous within Gilead might have attempted to use her as a bargaining chip in their attempts to retrieve Baby Nicole, had they been aware of the relationship.”
“I had not thought of that,” said Aunt Helena. “Of course you are right.”
“It may interest you to know,” I said, “that Mayday is cognizant of the sisterly relationship; they have had Baby Nicole within their grasp for some time. It is thought they may wish to reunite her with her degenerate mother, since her adoptive parents have died suddenly. In an explosion,” I added.
Aunt Helena twisted her claw-like little hands. “Mayday is ruthless, they would think nothing of placing her in the care of a moral criminal such as her mother, or even of sacrificing an innocent young life.”
“Baby Nicole is quite safe,” I said.
“Praise be!” said Aunt Helena.
“Though she is as yet ignorant of the fact that she is Baby Nicole,” I said. “But we hope soon to see her take her rightful place in Gilead. There is now a chance.”
“I rejoice to hear it. But should she indeed arrive among us, we must proceed carefully in th
e matter of her true identity,” said Aunt Helena. “We must break it to her gently. Such revelations can destabilize a vulnerable mind.”
“My thoughts exactly. But in the meantime I would like you to observe the movements of Aunt Vidala. I fear it is she who has placed the Bloodlines file in the hands of Aunt Victoria, to what end I can’t imagine. Possibly she wishes Aunt Victoria to be overwhelmed with despair at the news of her degenerate parentage, and be thrown into an unsettled spiritual state, and make some rash misstep.”
“Vidala never liked her,” said Aunt Helena. “Even when she was at school.”
She limped away, happy to have been given a commission.
* * *
—
As I was sitting in the Schlafly Café having my late-afternoon cup of mint tea, Aunt Elizabeth hurried in. “Aunt Lydia!” she wailed. “There have been Eyes and Angels in Ardua Hall! It was like an invasion! You didn’t sanction this?”
“Calm yourself,” I said. My own heart was beating fast and thick. “Where, exactly, were they?”
“In the print shop. They confiscated all our Pearl Girls brochures. Aunt Wendy protested, and I am sorry to say she was arrested. They actually laid hands on her!” She shuddered.
“This is unprecedented,” I said, rising to my feet. “I shall demand a meeting with Commander Judd immediately.”
I headed for my office, intending to use the red direct-line telephone, but there was no need: Judd was there before me. He must have simply barged in, pleading an emergency. So much for our agreed-on sacred separate sphere. “Aunt Lydia. I felt an explanation of my action was in order,” he said. He was not smiling.
“I am sure there is an excellent one,” I said, allowing a little coldness into my voice. “The Eyes and Angels have greatly overstepped the bounds of decency, not to mention those of custom and law.”
“All in the service of your good name, Aunt Lydia. May I sit down?” I gestured to the chair. We sat.
“After a number of dead ends, we came to the conclusion that the microdots I informed you about must have been passed to and fro between Mayday and an unknown contact here in Ardua Hall through the unwitting agency of the brochures that the Pearl Girls were distributing.” He paused to note my response.