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“Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs.
“The museum’s in financial trouble,” I whisper. I explain what’s happened—how I organized the improvements to the west wing before the money was secured. How the various grants have fallen through. And what’s happened with Sebastian Williams and his children.
“I flew up there with Hallie Woodford to try and secure the letters,” I tell him.
“She works with Elora, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s a conservationist. Unfortunately, while I was in Tauranga I made an idiot of myself.”
“How?”
I shake my head and close my eyes. “In various ways. I was arrogant and stupid. Needless to say, I alienated Isabel, who has no intention of giving us the letters, which means there’s less chance of the museum receiving the donation from the Williams family, either. And while we were away…” I put my face in my hands.
“You and Hallie?” he asks.
I nod without lowering my hands.
He’s quiet for a moment.
Eventually, I put my hands down. “You must be so disappointed in me,” I say huskily.
“Not really.” His voice is surprisingly cheerful. When I stare at him, he smiles. “Son,” he says, “something you’ve always been able to do is learn from your mistakes. I know you won’t make the mistake again of committing to anything without securing the funding first. And after what happened with Ginger, I know you wouldn’t have gotten involved with another employee unless your feelings for her were very strong.”
“I’m in love with her,” I confess.
“Does she feel the same way about you?”
“I think so. But there’s another problem.” I brush a hand over my face, and then I tell him that she’s the daughter of Joshua Wildblood. I Googled him and his crimes this morning, and I don’t hold back, telling my father exactly what the man did.
Afterward, we sit in silence for a while. Dad closes his eyes, tilting his face up to the dappled sunlight. I know him well enough to be sure that he’s praying for guidance, so I close my eyes, too, letting the peace of the scene wash over me.
Prayer isn’t usually a part of my life anymore. But I prayed yesterday, when Joel was missing. Now, I wonder why I did that, if I don’t believe in God anymore. But the answer is never simple where religion is concerned. Dad would say that I might have turned my back on God, but that He would never abandon me. I wonder if that’s true.
“So how do you feel about what she told you?” Dad asks.
I open my eyes. The Labradors have grown bored with digging for stones and they’re now snuffling about the weeds on the opposite bank. They’re not concerned with the meaning of life. They’re such simple creatures. I miss having them around. It might be nice to get one, one day.
“I don’t know,” I reply eventually. “I think she’s worried that somehow his evil has seeped into her through her DNA.”
“Well, we know we inherit some traits from our parents, but there is no such thing as a serial killer gene.”
“That’s what I said. She’s worried that she cuts herself off from her emotions sometimes, but I said that’s more a response to childhood trauma than anything else.”
“That’s very true, and I’m sure deep down she knows that. Do you think it’s more that she feels she should atone for her father’s sins?”
I think about that. “Maybe. Doesn’t the Bible say children are responsible for the sins of their fathers?”
“Exodus 34:7 mentions God ‘punishing the children for the sins of the parents to the third and fourth generation.’ But Ezekiel 18:20 says, ‘The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.’”
“How do you interpret that?”
“God doesn’t punish the innocent. Guilt isn’t passed through generations, but we do bear the wounds of those who’ve gone before us. And wounds can be healed. Faith, love, and choice matter more than blood. Hallie isn’t bound by her father’s evil. She’s free to be who she chooses to be.”
I watch the Labradors chasing each other, thinking about that. “I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have a father who’s committed the worst sin possible.”
“Actually,” he says, “Jesus says that every kind of sin and slander can be forgiven, except blasphemy against the Holy Spirit.”
I frown. “What does that mean, exactly?”