Ellen glanced out the window, and her grin faded. Now it was a grimmer expression she would be concealing. The damned Adamant protesters had turned up again, with their hateful signs about sin and repentance, the mark of Cain, and the finger of God. She might not have a spotless soul, any more than any other frail human being, but there was no way she would ever believe that God would make her boys pay the price. God would not have punished her by reaching into her womb and halting the boys’ separation. How could those people believe in so punitive a God, and not fear more for their own souls than they gloated about the supposed jeopardy of hers?
Most of the protesters were just infuriating nuisances, but a few of them had proved dangerous. At least she had Frank by her side. If only one of them could carry a pistol! Even if it was unnecessary, she would like to be better prepared to defend her sons—especially since the Adamants enjoyed the sacrificial associations of knives. When she was a girl, people could carry guns with them, but the political winds had shifted since then.
None of the Adamants had actually attacked anyone in years. But she excused herself from the table, and went to ask permission for her family to use the back entrance, through the kitchen. She would make up some excuse to tell the boys.
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