“The old monkey wasn’t climbing in the family tree looking for colorful horse thieves, but for original sin. Not the original Original Sin, but our family’s own. And maybe there’s been several. More than one Adam and Eve taking a bite of the apple.”

With a movement of her head, she signaled her confusion.

“An explanation for the string of misfortunes we’ve suffered since your sister’s death. Seems to me we’ve had more than our share,” he answered.

“Wait a minute.…”

“We are each one of us a bundle of his ancestors. Been reading about all those ribbons of DNA, literally billions of miles of them in each one of us, coiling back through the generations. You, me, your brother, Allyson, we are what our ancestors have made of us, virtues and vices, warts, sins, and all. Yes, I believe therein lies a scientific explanation for what the scriptures mean by the sins of the fathers. Sin can be an inherited trait, so to speak, right along with certain talents, complexion, color of hair or eye.”

“Will you please wait a minute? You can’t really believe that.…”

“I’m a clergyman. Why not?”

She argued that she had seen the most recent membership list sent out by the Mingulay Club: two-hundred-and-fifty-odd names. Two-hundred-and-fifty-odd living descendants of their clan’s first immigrants, Joshua Caleb Braithwaite and his wife, Sarah. Among so many people, over a span of thirty years, the law of averages, not Divine displeasure, decreed that there were bound to be misfortunes, and who could say what was the fair share?

“I’m not saying we’re like the Kennedys. Don’t have the glamour and the money and the power, for one thing. Nor the sex drive, thank God. But …”