Father Mitchell was in the midst of delivering his sermon, his deep voice reaching far beyond the altar as his gaze swept greedily across the congregation.

Alice found a seat close enough to the back that she wouldn’t be noticed, and looked around. The pews were nearly full, with some locals she recognized but mostly strangers. Then she spotted Ruth a few rows in front, head tilted up to nod as the priest talked.

“. . . to all thy people give thy heavenly grace, and especially to this congregation here present—that, with meek heart and due reverence, they may hear and receive thy Holy Word, truly serving thee in holiness and righteousness all the days of their life.”

But Alice wasn’t there to hear the Holy Word; she wanted to watch Ruth. She still couldn’t begin to understand how her mother could have chosen the Church over her family, especially since it meant she had no one now. Ursula’s situation had made her question this attitude even more, and as she listened to Father Mitchell she struggled to work out what he stood for that would make a person sacrifice their family. Perhaps if their father hadn’t worked every weekend, or if Ruth hadn’t forced her children to accompany her for years, then she might have shared her mother’s faith, but instead she’d stopped going as soon as she was able to.

She half-listened, concentrating on Ruth, on the strands of graying hair that brushed the collar of her worn coat; on the ivy-green of her sensible hat, the one she no longer needed in church but chose to wear. She and Alice had never shared the same taste in clothes, music, people—in fact, if Alice hadn’t seen the birth certificate, she would have sworn she was the one who didn’t share Ruth’s flesh and blood, not William.

“And we most humbly beseech thee of thy goodness, O Lord, to comfort and succor all them, who in this transitory life are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness or any other adversity,” Father Mitchell continued.

Ruth bowed her head as the congregation joined in the general confession, their voices uniting in a chant that echoed across the transepts and sent a shiver up Alice’s spine as she recognized his words.

“Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Maker of all things, Judge of all men: we acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed.”

The priest’s tone was loud and intimidating, and Alice struggled to see why anyone would choose to be bullied with these centuries-old words. But absolution was more important to Ruth than her daughter’s forgiveness or trying to protect her grandchild.