This afternoon, the three of them paid me another visit. They were in high spirits: raids in Upstate New York had just produced a mixed haul of seven Quakers, four back-to-the-landers, two Canadian moose-hunting guides, and a lemon smuggler, each of whom was a suspected link in the Underground Femaleroad chain. Once any additional information they might possess had been wrung from them, they would be disposed of, unless they were found to have trading value: hostage exchanges between Mayday and Gilead were not unknown.
I was of course aware of these developments. “Congratulations,” I said. “You must each take some credit, if only under the table. Commander Judd will take centre stage, naturally.”
“Naturally,” said Aunt Vidala.
“We are happy to serve,” said Aunt Helena.
“I have some news to share with you in my turn, from Commander Judd himself. But it must not go beyond us.” They leaned in: we all love a secret. “Two of the top Mayday operatives in Canada have been erased by our agents.”
“Under His Eye,” said Aunt Vidala.
“Our Pearl Girls were pivotal,” I added.
“Praise be!” said Aunt Helena.
“One of them was a casualty,” I said. “Aunt Adrianna.”
“What happened to her?” Aunt Elizabeth asked.
“We are waiting for clarification.”
“We will pray for her soul,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “And Aunt Sally?”
“I believe she is safe.”
“Praise be.”
“Indeed,” I said. “The bad news, however, is that we have uncovered a breach in our defences. The two Mayday agents must have been getting help from traitors inside Gilead itself. Someone was passing messages to them, from here to there—informing them about our security operations, and even about our agents and volunteers within Canada.”
“Who would do that?” said Aunt Vidala. “It’s apostasy!”
“The Eyes are trying to find out,” I said. “So if you notice anything suspicious—anything, by anyone, even anyone at Ardua Hall—do let me know.”
There was a pause while they looked at one another. Anyone at Ardua Hall included the three of them.
“Oh, surely not,” said Aunt Helena. “Think of the shame it would bring upon us!”
“Ardua Hall is spotless,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“But the human heart is devious,” said Aunt Vidala.
“We must try for heightened awareness,” I said. “Meanwhile, well done. Let me know how you make out with the Quakers and so forth.”
* * *
—
I record, I record; though to no end, I often fear. The black drawing ink I’ve been using is running out: soon I will switch to blue. Requisitioning a bottle from the Vidala School supplies should not be difficult: they teach drawing there. We Aunts used to be able to obtain ballpoint pens through the grey market, but no longer: our New Brunswick–based supplier has been arrested, having snuck under the radar once too often.
But I was telling you about the van with darkened windows—no, looking back a page, I see we’d arrived at the stadium.
Once on the ground, Anita and I were prodded to the right. We joined a herd of other women: I describe it as a herd because we were being herded. This collection was funnelled into a section of the bleachers marked off by the kind of yellow tape typical of crime scenes. There must have been about forty of us. Once installed, we had our handcuffs removed. I assumed they were needed for others.
Anita and I sat beside each other. To my left was a woman I didn’t know who said she was a lawyer; to the right of Anita was another lawyer. Behind us, four judges; in front of us, four more. All of us judges or lawyers.
“They must be sorting us by profession,” said Anita.
And so it was. In a moment of inattention by the guards, the woman at the end of our row managed to communicate across the aisle with a woman in the secti