She went away in peace. At least that's all her aunts told her. It was the only thing Geneva hung on to in the days that followed.

Her Aunt Prudence said that before she passed, Deborah asked for Geneva.

"But it was too late," was all Prudence said.

"You could have written to me. I would have left everything to go to Birth," she had said.

Her aunt, whose anger over everything she had been doing while they were away was still palpable, stared at her. "I doubt that, Geneva. You were having too much fun here."

"But I would have—"

It was her Aunt Barbara who sternly interjected, saying, "Get ready."

She tried to understand they lost their sister. That they were not the best with grief. But it was wrong of them to think she would have not come to Birth.

They left her here.

And yet you spent your days with people they dislike. You did the very things they would have disapproved of. You've been thinking about nothing but yourself.

You rushed your letters because they felt like a chore.

The voice in her head would not leave her in peace as she stood to watch Aunt Deborah's coffin lowered into the earth.

This time, she could not help her tears. Even when she stood with her aunts, who wore their faces tightly, their eyes dry. It started in small sniffles, grew into choking sounds, until she was shaking, hands clasped tight before her. She cried where she stood, alone between the two remaining Withers Sisters, surrounded by a sea of black.

Nearly all of Abberton was there to pay their respects. The Stratfords, the Poppets. Everyone who went to church with them. Even the Vernons.

She knew they were watching her. And she could feel her mother's eyes on her as she wiped her tears. But they did not dare approach. Her aunts were two stiff soldiers beside her.

"Master yourself, Geneva," her Aunt Barbara whispered when her crying continued.

For once, she did not try. How could she hold it all in? How could they hold it in?

The worst part was after the funeral. The three of them were in the parlor, spending a quiet time after hours of prayer. Geneva's eyes were swollen, her nose still read as she absently stared at the gentle fire.

Her secret was out. Her aunts now knew what she had been up to. They had not yet discussed it with her after that evening they caught her. Was she a horrible person because the fear that was supposed to eat her alive was no longer there? Yes, she was worried about the things they may do—of the punishment they shall give, but there was also the relief that she would no longer have to crack her brain thinking of ways to tell them.

Drawing her away from her thoughts, her Aunt Barbara said, "She had always been looking forward to your letters."

The words crushed whatever comfort she may have summoned within her.

"Every day, she would ask if a letter has arrived from Abberton."

Her tears spilled hotly out of her eyes like the guilt that rose to her throat. She could have spent more time with those letters. Had she not been too distracted, she would have written more about the plants in the garden, the clouds in the skies Aunt Deborah liked so much. Maybe she should have also written about the food she cooked with Helene. Or about the creaks on the floorboards in the parlor. There were so many things she could have written about if she wanted to.

Maybe she should have also written to her aunt about her secrets. Just the silly ones that may have made her laugh.

Her aunts said nothing when she excused herself that night and retired upstairs. She didn't go straight to her room, and instead entered Deborah's. The woman's scent greeted her, and memories of days and nights she spent here crept back from the shadows. Most of them were about prayers, but some were also about other things, and they were the ones she remembered the most. The first time she experienced the sign of womanhood, her aunt sat her down in this room to tell her not to be afraid. Her first bible was given to her here. Her first dress. The other gifts that she still kept in her room. She remembered being a child in this household and in this room.

She didn't realize she had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed until the morning sun filtered through the curtains. Blinking, her eyes filled with tears again when they fell on the untouched bed.

Her week went by just like so. The happy days flew so fast, but how could these days of silence and nights of grief go so painfully slow? Yet she still woke up every morning, join her aunts for breakfast in silence, pray with them, and go to sleep in tears as the sky bled into dark, starless sky.

***

The day opened gloomily like they did the previous day, but the news Gwen whispered to her that morning was one she did not expect.

"A doctor?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss. They sent for Doctor Mills."

"Why? Who is sick?"

"Apparently, it's you."

"Whatever do you mean, Gwen?"

Her main leaned closer. "Doctor Mills is a mind doctor."

Geneva went cold.

"Are you alright, Miss? Do you think they think you're crazy?"

"I'm not."

"We both know that. But you know your aunts. They must think you have the same thing as your great-grandfather, your grandmother. And your mother."

"I don't think none of them was ever crazy, Gwen, my mother most of all."

"Well, you tell them that during breakfast. They're waiting for you downstairs."

When she stepped into the breakfast room, Prudence announced Doctor Mills' arrival before Geneva could even settle in her seat. She took it gracefully, ignoring Gwen's suggestion earlier. Arguing with her aunts over breakfast would only end up with her starved until the next meal.

By mid-afternoon, Doctor Mills arrived. With not much introductions, he asked to be left alone with her. To her surprise, the middle-aged man was pleasant to talk with. He introduced himself as a doctor in psychology. He was not there to judge, he said. His goal was simply to know her.

"Everything you tell me such be held in confidence," he said, voice mellow, eyes gentle and kind.

Geneva easily felt at ease before he even began his questions. And he didn't even ask that much. He listened to whatever she said with interest and only asked questions for clarifications. She did not tell him everything, of course. She was still wary. But when he asked her about what she had been doing while her aunts were away, she told him about the Vernons.

And that opened up a whole new story. Completely relaxed, she relayed how she had discovered about her family. He seemed to understand her struggles before she went up that hill and faced the Vernons. "It must have been hard for you."

"It was, but I had people who supported me."

"And all the while, you were doing it behind your aunts' back?"

Her jaw tightened. "Yes. I was afraid they'd get angry."

"Why do you think so?"

"They've kept my family a secret from me and I thought they'd want to keep it that way."

"And you think it's unreasonable?"

She frowned, shaking her head. "No. Whatever their reasons, they have the right to them. However, I believe I also have the right to my family."

Doctor Mills nodded, writing on his notebook. "And what of the Stratfords?"

"They're wonderful friends."

"But your aunts disapprove of them."

"Because they don't know them."

"What is Damon Priest to you?" he asked, looking up from his note to fix her a look. "Earlier, when you told me about your story with the Stratfords, you always mention him."

"He's a very good friend."

"Nothing more?"

She was feeling strange. The man said he was not one to judge, but the look he was giving her was making her feel like a condemned criminal. Stiffly, she nodded. "Nothing more," she coldly said. "I'm tired, Doctor. We've been talking too long."

He closed his notebook and smiled at her. "I have everything I need."

"You do?" she asked, frowning. "And you think you know me well enough to assess my mental state?"

"Yes."

Not long after Doctor Mills left, her aunts called for her in the parlor. There, she learned that the doctor was a big liar. He did not hold her stories in confidence. He spilled them to her aunts.

"Doctor Mills believes that you may have what your great-grandfather had. The same condition your grandmother suffered—"

"And the one my mother inherited?" she finished for Prudence. "This makes everything convenient, doesn't it? You now have a professional's opinion that I could not be trusted with my own faculties. Therefore, I cannot make decisions. Is that so?"

Their faces tightened at her tone.

"You've been lying to us, Geneva."

"I was keeping secrets," she said. "Just as you did. I didn't tell you about them because I was afraid of you. However, I don't know why you never told me about my family. I'm sure you're not afraid of me."

"That's enough," Prudence said, an icy voice ringing in the air. "You're prohibited from meeting any of the Stratfords."

"Damon Priest wishes to marry me," she said, a tear falling down her eye.

Genuine horror filled their eyes. "And you'll join his crazy family? Your soul will burn in hell if you spend another moment with them. Look what they had done to you in a matter of months!"

"Go to your room," said Prudence. "You stay there until we call for you.

***

If Geneva had learned a sin in the days of her freedom, perhaps it was the sin of ignoring orders. That night, she didn't cry. In fact, she was angry. And in her anger, her mind had a moment of clarity.

She remembered Aunt Deborah's last words to her.

"Go beyond that hill... Be brave."

At dawn, when fog glazed the distant horizon and the edge of the woods, Geneva snuck out of her room. Taking her wrap, she ventured outside into the garden, taking in her first long breath since she had lost her freedom again. The cold air filled her lungs and chilled her legs. Before she knew it, she was on her way to the woods. Fresh morning dew moistened the air, the trees still. She walked aimlessly for a while.

"Miss Geneva?"

Startled, she looked up and found both Roxie and Freda making their way toward her, their faces mournful. "Good morning," she greeted. "What are you doing here this early?"

"Traps. The ground is softer in the morning, especially when it fogs," said Roxie, lips twitching mischievously, although concern filled her eyes. "We're sorry for your loss."

"Are you alright?" asked Freda, hooking an arm around hers.

"Yes, I guess," she said.

The two girls walked in silence with her for a while, then Roxie said, "I'll go get Damon," before Geneva could stop her.

"Let's wait there," Freda urged, leading her to another cabin she and Roxie frequented. Geneva knew about the Stratford treasures, of course. The girls told her about them many times. Even though she had not seen them, she knew what the chest contained. Memories and remnants of their parents. Things that reminded them of what they had lost.

They sat on the top landing of the balcony stairs as they waited. Freda rested her chin on her palms. "Grandpapa always has one thing to say to us in moments like this," Freda said. "This, too, shall pass. Whatever it is, it shall pass. Happiness and joy; the flowers and the rain; sunny summers and cold winter nights—they shall pass." When Geneva looked down at her with a tearful smile, Freda added, "Loneliness and despair, too. Grief. They shall pass. Thus, it is alright to be sad. Or angry. Or lonely. It shall pass."

A tear fell from her eye. "Thank you, Freda," she said. "I hope this shall pass."

"It shall," said the girl, taking her hand. "Grandpapa said that people also pass. That's why we should make every moment worthwhile."

Geneva sighed and squeezed Freda's hand. "Thank you. I never would have imagined I'd get more than frogs and bugs from you and Roxie."

The girl giggled and rested her head on Geneva's shoulder. "We still have some of them if you like."

"No, thank you."

Freda sighed. "I hope your sadness shall pass soon, Miss Geneva."

Geneva let the tears flow. "I hope so, too, Freda."

________________________

A/N

Please be informed that I'll be taking the rest of December off due to work (we're getting more patients in the hospital now!) and the holiday preparations. Updates shall resume January 1st for this story. The exclusive chapters, however, shall be updated as scheduled. I'll be busy in the coming days for the holidays, but I'll be sure to continue writing so I can greet you all with new chapters and a new story next year! Thank you always for your support! Enjoy your holidays!