Page 114 of Concealed in Death

“It was an unexpected and difficult pregnancy. And yes, it took a toll on her health.”

“Difficult and unexpected,” Eve repeated. “But she went through with it.”

Hands folded tightly on the table, Philadelphia spoke coolly. “While we respect the choices each individual makes, the termination of a pregnancy, except under the most extreme conditions, was not a choice for my mother, nor for those who share our beliefs.”

“All right. So an unexpected and difficult pregnancy, followed by clinical depression, anxiety, and ultimately self-termination.”

“Why do you make it sound so cold?”

“Those are the facts, Ms. Jones.”

“We don’t want to miss anything.” Peabody added the lightest touch of her hand on the back of Philadelphia’s. “He was still living at home at the time of your mother’s death, your younger brother?”

“Yes, he was only sixteen. He came to us—to Nash and me—a few months later, when our father sold the house, went on a mission. It was shortly after that we were able to buy the building on Ninth with our share, and begin The Sanctuary.”

“So young to lose his mom,” Peabody said, all sympathy. “He’d have been old enough to think about college, or practical skills training when you started The Sanctuary. I didn’t see anything in the file on that.”

“No. Monty had no drive to try college, or practical training, and honestly, no real aptitude—not for counseling or organization. He was good with his hands—that was his gift.”

“But no training there either.”

“He wanted to stay close to us, and we indulged that.”

“He’d had treatment for depression,” Eve added.

“Yes, he had.” Resentment shimmered again as she looked back at Eve. “What of it? It’s not a crime. Monty was an internal sort, more introverted than either Nash or I. When we were old enough to go on missions, or to seek more education, and our mother died, he became lonely and depressed. And help was sought and provided.”

“Introverted. So not much for interaction with the residents and staff, when he joined you at The Sanctuary.”

“As I said, when our father was called to mission, we took Monty with us, helped give him a purpose. He was somewhat shy, but enjoyed the children. In some ways, he was one of them. The Sanctuary was his home, too.”

“How did he feel about losing it?”

“It was difficult for him, frankly. It was his first place outside the parental home, one he considered his own—as we all did. He was, we all were, understandably upset. Failure is never easy to accept. But that failure opened a new door.”

“And right after you walked through the new door, you sent him to Africa. This shy, introverted younger brother.”

“The opportunity came. We felt Monty needed to expand his world. To, well, leave the nest. It was hard for me, to be honest, but it was a chance for him. A door for him.”

“Who arranged it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, ‘arranged.’ The missionary in Zimbabwe wanted to retire, to come home to his family. It was a chance for Monty to see some of the world, as both Nash and I had, and to see if he had a calling after all.”

“How’d he like it?”

“His e-mails were happy. He seemed to fall in love with Africa at first sight. I believe if he hadn’t been taken from us, he would have bloomed there. He’d found his place, and a calling I’d doubted. The condolences after his death spoke of his kindness, his compassion, his... joy. It’s both painful and freeing to know he’d found his joy before leaving us.”

“How often did you talk to him?”

“Talk? We didn’t. When first embarking on a mission, especially the very first on your own, it’s too easy to cling to home, to family or friends. For the first few months, it’s best to keep that contact somewhat limited so you can focus on the mission, consider that your home, your family. And serve them with a full heart.”

“Huh. Sounds like boot camp.”

She relaxed enough to smile a little. “I suppose it does, in a way.”

“How about him and Shelby? How did they get along?”

“Get along?”