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."

After saying those words, the earl stood with another grunt. "I hope I imparted my unconventional wisdom. Who knows? Maybe God sent me here to deliver a message. Good day, my ladies."

In the curricle, Harry said, "That was quite astonishing. The part about the seeds. How did you come up with that?"

The old man just snorted. "A boring talk of a botanist years ago at a funeral. You can't imagine how long I've waited for a perfect opportunity to share the only lesson I learned from that bastard."

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

***

When Damon arrived outside Summerfield with the Vernons, a young man greeted them. He had brown hair, which he must have hastily brushed up with his hands. His trousers were too short, his shirt missing one button. A smile lit up his face as he jumped and greeted him.

"Mr Priest?" he asked, extending a hand. "I'm John."

Damon looked behind the young man as they shook hands. The Vernons stood behind him, staring at the tall gates of Summerfield. "Where is Mr Murray?"

"He's currently out of town with another client," explained John. "But he sent his son to assist you."

With an expectant smile, Damon's gaze swept around again before finally settling on the young man. With a frown, he said, "You're the son."

John eagerly nodded. "Yes."

"And how old are you?"

"I'll be twenty in three years."

Merely three years older than Freda. Bloody tarnation. Did Murray think this was a joke?

"I'm young, but I assure you I'm quite capable," said John. "I've been studying law since the day I entered my father's library at five."

Damon knew Murray, but he wasn't aware the man had a son. Then again, his grandfather's attorney was not the kind to spill details about himself. He would come and discuss only what's necessary, then leave immediately, foregoing any invitation for supper or drinks.

Since they could not waste time, and he trusted Murray's judgment, Damon simply nodded and motioned toward the Vernons. After a quick introduction, he presented the problem to John and expressed the need for urgency.

"I understand," said the young man, nodding.

"Well? Can you help us?"

John blinked. "Well, I'll try."

That did not sound good enough for Damon. He could tell the Vernon brothers were losing confidence in their counsel. But it was Mr Vernon who said, "I share your father's confidence in you, Mr Murray. He sent you because he knows you're capable." He patted Matthew's shoulder. "We are utterly grateful for your presence despite the short notice."

John nodded and skittishly turned around. "Shall we?" he asked.

Damon smiled and offered Mrs Vernon a reassuring smile. "We'll get her back."

***

Geneva was escorted into Doctor Mills' office by two nurses. When they left, she was asked to sit down as the doctor leafed through pages of notes. She recognized his notebook. It was the same one he used when he talked to her in Abberton.

"How have you been?" he asked, lifting his eyes to look at her.

"I want to go home," she said. "You can't keep me here."

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? But he quickly blinked it away, covered it with a smile. "Many patients say the same thing. But you'll soon realize, as you see more of Summerfield, that you're in the right place."

"I'm not insane."

Doctor Mills sighed, closed his notebook, and clasped his hands over the table. "Geneva, your aunts are greatly concerned. You've dramatically changed in just a span of a few months. You've been displaying the same symptoms as your great-grandfather. I know because we still have his records."

Geneva blinked a few times against the angry tears behind her eyes. "And what are my symptoms?"

"Erratic behavior, excessive display of emotion on occasions that don't warrant them, the lying and manipulation... You've stopped going to church—"

"I still go to church. Just not as often as my aunts do. I never stopped praying."

"The letters you sent to your aunts while they were in Birth were all over the place. They lack consistency."

"That's because I had nothing else to talk about!"

"Please. There is no need to shout."

"Well, you're not listening to me. You've already made up your mind that I'm insane based on what they told you."

"One of the reasons you're here is for me to understand you better. You'll go through more tests during your time here before we decide on the best procedure to help you return home."

"And what procedures are we talking about?"

"Therapies. Many of which are non-invasive."

"And I suppose the invasive ones are for those who are helpless?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And what are they?"

His smile did not waver as he replied, "We perform lobotomy and others."

"You dig holes into people's brains."

"Only if their condition deems it necessary."

Geneva shook her head. "I'm not taking part in any of your therapies."

The smile disappeared and his face turned stern. "You have no choice. Your aunts gave consent for you to be treated. Since you're diagnosed with a mental disorder, we can't trust you to make sound judgment. You're here for the duration of your treatment."

"You mean I'll stay here for years like my grandfather. You're never going to let me go, are you? You'll continue to take my aunts' money while you perform your little experiments on me. How long would it take before you drill into my skull?"

"I understand you're angry, but I promise it shall be—"

"You can't keep me here because my aunts don't have authority over me," she said. "Have they told you I have parents?"

"In fact, they did. And they also relayed that your mother suffers the same mental disorder."

"Even if my mother is crazy, my father is not."

The mention of her father struck him. As if he just realized she was right. But he was too proud to say it. He shook his head. "Your stay here has already been paid for. Your tests will resume tomorrow and treatments will immediately follow. I understand the rules have already been relayed to you?"

"You're changing the subject. I was talking about my father. If he and my brothers come for me, they can take me away from here—"

"If they come for you," Doctor Mills interjected, "they will have to prove that they are—"

"They have the proof that they are her parents," a voice said from the doorway. "I have the papers."

Geneva and Doctor Mills turned in surprise. Geneva jumped to her feet when she saw her mother. But Doctor Mills was faster, blocking the woman's path. "Who are you?" he demanded. The two guards walked into the room, Damon in tow. One of them answered Doctor Mills' question. "They brought a legal counsel, Doctor."

Doctor Mills scowled at the young man standing in front of the Vernons. "A legal counsel?"

"My name is John Murray," the young man said. "I represent Mr and Mrs Vernon. I have the papers to prove they are her legal guardians."

"Her legal guardians are Prudence and Barbara Withers. They've raised her since her parents gave her away!"

"The right term would be 'entrusted', Doctor," said John Murray. "They entrusted their daughter's care to Mrs Vernon's aunts. Her records will show you that her parents remain to be Theodore and Constance Vernon." The young man stepped forward with a smile. Although he may not be dressed as smart as he talked, he still possessed the stance of a confident man. "Unless the Withers can provide any legal documents that proves their authority over Miss Geneva, she is free to go home with her parents."

"But they have a contract with us," said Doctor Mills. "And if you wish to contest that, you have to take it to the courts."

"Your contract is for the admission of one Geneva Withers," John said with a smile. "But Geneva Withers does not exist in the records."

Doctor Mills stiffened.

"Her birth name is Geneva Claire Vernon. The Withers sisters never legally changed her name." John took another step forward. "By holding Miss Geneva here, your institution is committing a crime, Doctor." With a smile that lit his eyes, John looked around until his gaze settled back on Doctor Mills. "So, who is going to escort Miss Geneva out of here?"

Geneva's eyes filled with tears. She stared at her mother, her father. Her brothers. And when she saw Damon smiling at her, her knees buckled with relief. Someone caught her, but she didn't know who. The next she remembered, she was wrapped in warmth.