Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

10. the invitation

Geneva sat tensely behind the man she should have grown up with as a father. The market was not too far away, and the wagon was not rolling slow enough. She merely had a few minutes with the man, yet here she was, sitting mum.

He had talked about the weather and she might have nodded or shook her head, and he also talked about how the Stratfords became friends with his sons. Of course, they met in Windsong where the Stratfords spent many of their mornings, and where his sons herded their cows. Matthew, the name she had heard a few times earlier, was the youngest of three sons.

"We've always known he's bright. His interest is boundless," Theodore Vernon said, shaking his head. "He always questions—questions and questions every time. And he finds the answers himself. I think he prefers it that way. If you give him an answer, he accepts it. But if he discovers it himself, he's the happiest."

Geneva could only imagine what it must be like to live with someone like Matthew. It would definitely be interesting.

"But he never told us what he wants to do," he continued. "We've always assumed he would follow the same path as me and his eldest brother, Stephen. It never came to mind that he has dreams outside of Abberton." He shook his head. "I've been too blind and ignorant."

She wanted to say something, was about to, but he stopped the wagon to talk to someone on the side of the road. She turned away, hiding her face. If her aunts were to ever find out, there would be consequences. After a moment of light chatter and laughter with the stranger, Theodore Vernon led the wagon back on the road.

"Do you know that you share a name with my daughter?" he asked. A shiver ran through her. He was talking about her to her. What should she do? He looked over his shoulder to steal a glance, face expectant.

"I d-do?"

"Yes, Miss. And she should be the same age as you."

She wished she could see his face and not just his back. She wanted to know what he looked like as he talked about her. This was her chance. Maybe she did not need to send her letter. Maybe he could answer her questions now. "And where..." She faltered, her throat closing in on her. "Where is she?"

The words sounded garbled, but he understood. "She was taken away by my wife's aunts. She was always sickly as a child, just like her brother, Jasper. Her great-aunts promised to keep her healthy. They promised to give her what we could not."

Geneva rapidly blinked away, realizing her tears were flowing uncontrollably. Her throat was tight, but a whimper still escaped. She covered the sound by clearing her throat, turning away to wipe her face with shaking hands.

"She's away for now," said Theodore Vernon. "We're just waiting for the day when she would come and see us."

"You d-don't see her?"

"We try, of course," he said. "For years, in fact. But she must be too busy. Her life and ours are quite different, Miss, you see."

Her jaw tightened as she fought the tears that simmered at the back of her eyes. Her chest was all of a sudden tight, her breath trapped along with the words at the tip of her tongue. Her hands were unexpectedly restless, her thoughts jumping from a crowd of questions to a series of accusations, then back again, until she could no longer keep up. She did not even know who she wanted to ask the questions to, or where to throw the accusations. To him? Her aunts? At herself for being too ignorant and naive?

The wagon came to a full stop and Theodore Vernon turned to her with a bright smile. "I hope it's alright with you if I stop here, Miss."

She could barely see now, her vision misted by tears. She blinked them away, hoping he did not see, nodding as she gathered her skirts. "Thank you, Mr. Vernon," she managed, helping herself out of the wagon before he could.