Bonds of Earth by G. N. Chevalier

before he reached the table. Michael found himself moving instinctively, but before he could make a complete ass of himself, Abbott and Seward’s aunt were flanking him, supporting Seward and helping him to his seat. There was no doubt that he was livid as he dropped into the chair like a lead weight; it was not possible to mistake that look once you’d been on the receiving end of it.
    For that reason alone, Michael knew he should look away, but for more time than was wise, he stood transfixed, almost trembling under the weight of the knowledge he’d gained from that short, painful episode. He tried to tell himself he was unaffected, but he knew it was a damned lie. The spots of color high on Seward’s cheekbones were testament to a pride that astonished and humbled him; Michael couldn’t bear witness to that and pretend he felt nothing.
    They soon settled down to luncheon, picking at dainty sandwiches and cakes and coffee while the old man fetched and carried for them. For his part, Michael kept himself occupied in the garden nearest the terrace, making a great show of preparing beds already well prepared. Soon he was within earshot of the conversation without appearing to take the slightest interest in it.
    He told himself he was merely eavesdropping to learn how best to proceed with Sarah’s request, and he had almost convinced himself of it when he heard Seward’s low voice.
    “Are you threatening me, Aunt Rebecca?”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be ridiculous,” sighed the aunt. “I’m not about to cut you off.”
    “You certainly could. Your support of this house—with me in it—is contrary to the will.”
    The woman snorted. “Your father left the money and the house to me; he never indicated to me what I was to do with it. The dispute between the two of you, whatever its cause, was none of my concern, and it’s still not. I do as I please, and I please that you should continue to live here. The inheritance you received from your mother certainly won’t pay for its upkeep, let alone its purchase price.”
    “True,” Seward muttered. “Thank you for reminding me.”
    “It wasn’t meant as a reminder, merely a statement of facts,” the woman sniffed. “I do think you could be a little more grateful.”
    “I am grateful to you, Aunt Rebecca, but I hope you understand that you will find me even more grateful if I can be left alone—”
    “I won’t do that any longer,” Mrs. Anderson interrupted. “This simply can’t be permitted to go on. You’ve been home from Europe six months, and you haven’t done a thing with this house. It’s falling into a state of disrepair and decay.”
    “Much like its tenant.”
    “I’m only thinking of you,” she told him. “People are beginning to talk. A rumor is circulating that you sit perched in one of the attic windows with a rifle, for heaven’s sake.”
    “Sometimes I do,” Seward returned. “I find the tactic marvelously effective for discouraging unannounced visitors.” Michael bit his tongue to keep from laughing at Seward’s dark humor.
    “Nevertheless,” Mrs. Anderson continued, undaunted, “George Seward’s son is not going to live as a ghost in his own house. I’m sorry, John, but I cannot allow that to happen.”
    That prompted the same dry, bitter laugh Michael had heard the other day. “No, of course you can’t. Why, the gossip would be unbearable . You wouldn’t be able to hold your head up on the Avenue. We must honor the memory of your dear brother above all.”
    There was a pause. “I’ve never understood why you insist on referring to George as though he weren’t your father.”
    “He wasn’t.”
    “The things you say,” the woman sighed. “I don’t understand you anymore.”
    “You never did, Auntie dear.”
    After a moment of chilly silence, the woman said coolly, “John, I am not going to discuss this further with you. The grounds will be restored, and the house will be repaired and