Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

25. the guardians

The two Withers sisters were not so keen on accepting a call from a Stratford. But an earl was still an earl and they could not let anyone in Abberton think they shooed away the one man everyone probably respected more after the vicar, most especially when he came with his heir.

"Thank you for having us," the old man said as he sat down with a grunt, hands shaking on his cane as he did so. "We're too old for this, aren't we?" he asked, smiling at the two ladies.

They didn't reply. They let the maid serve biscuits and tea, and waited for either of the two gentlemen to speak.

"We're too old to try to be friends is what I meant," said the earl.

Barbara and Prudence stared at each other. Finally, it's Prudence who spoke. "You're here about Geneva."

A genuine smile broke the earl's wrinkled face. "Yes." He lifted a finger to stop the sisters. "And as we speak, my grandson is on his way to Summerfield." Their eyes widened with horror and disbelief. "Along with the Vernons."

This time, Barbara shot to her feet, her stern demeanor replaced by suppressed anger. "You have no right."

"Yes, we don't," the man said, turning to look at Harry. "But the Vernons do."

"No, they don't. They didn't raise her," said Prudence.

The earl leaned back into his chair. "We'll see what our attorney has to say on that matter."

Prudence narrowed her eyes. "You meddle in everyone's affairs with your influence and power. And yet you go to church as if you're a holy man."

Abraham Stratford chuckled, shoulders shaking. "Goodness. Is this how you try to manipulate your niece as well? No wonder that girl walks on eggshells." His finger lifted from his cane, making a circular motion. "You use God to instill fear. The oldest weapon known to man." To Harry, he added, "Next to seduction, I should say."

"You dare make fun of our faith."

The earl sighed. "And there it is," he said with another motion of his finger. "If the fear doesn't work, guilt might. Make yourselves the victims."

"We don't expect you to tell us what is right and wrong in dealing with our niece as much as you don't expect us to give opinions on your unconventional ways of raising your broods, my lord," Barbara said, lifting her chin to look down at the earl.

Abraham nodded. "Yes," he said. "But neither can you expect me to sit back and watch another child lose her chance of having what my grandchildren long for—a complete family." Harry watched the earl with awe. "And I will be stupid if I let you keep Geneva away from that."

Barbara scoffed. "You don't tell us how we deal with our family."

"Well, my dears, with the way you're handling things, I don't think your niece will ever consider you her family."

Both sisters stiffened.

"It's true we can't choose our family. But you don't force them to choose you either." Abraham's wrinkled eyes seemed more alive than Harry had ever seen them as they jumped from one Withers sister to the other. "If she doesn't fit your ideals, then please let others who would accept her and her flaws have her. Let the Vernons have her back. We're old, my ladies. We'll all die at some point. When we do, God will judge us for how we made our children feel rather than what we tried to make them."

The silence that followed made Harry uncomfortable. Not only was he amongst people more than twice his age, he was not used to seeing his grandfather reprimand people his age, more so women.

"Children are like seeds on a tree, you see," said the earl, breaking the heavy silence. "Some of them are designed to fall on the ground and stay near their parent trees and thrive; some are light enough they can travel a little far; and others can fly with the wind. It doesn't matter where they go or stay. What matters is they strive and thrive where they land." This time, the earl leaned forward. "We are not our children's soil, nor are we their wind and sunlight. We simply are the trees who let them go."