Fragile streaks of mist lingered amid a copse of trees they had to walk through on their way to the meadow. Connor took Priscilla’s hand as those wispy tendrils floated around them, and he was concerned his little sweetheart would be scared. It did not help that his boys were making ghostly sounds and telling poor Priscilla that trolls were going to jump out of the trees and eat her.
“No one is going to eat you,” Connor assured his daughter, at the same time frowning at his boys. “I’ll chase them all away.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Priscilla said, burrowing closer to him.
Eden smiled at him to acknowledge his protective gesture, and then paused a moment to point out several nests hidden amid the tree branches. “Does anyone know which birds built these?”
Connor remained silent as his children gleefully tossed out guesses.
“Dove!” Priscilla called out.
“Good guess. You are very close,” Eden said.
“Cirl bunting!” Alex cried.
Eden shook her head. “Those are only common in South Devon.”
“Ouzel!” said the younger Connor.
Eden shook her head again. “Close, but those birds will more likely be found in Dartmoor.”
“Wren!” Priscilla tried again.
Connor listened as his children continued spouting names of birds, including several he had never heard of before. What amazed him was their knowing as much as they did. Had Eden been teaching them? It certainly hadn’t been any of their wretched governesses.
Pied wagtail. Curlew. Snipe. Merlin. Bullfinch.
“Robin!” Alex finally blurted after several failed guesses.
Eden clapped her hands. “That is correct! Excellent, Alex.” She then briefly commented on the pale blue eggs lying broken on the ground. “The wind might have blown them out of the robin’s nest, or a goshawk might have swooped down and taken a few. Nature is beautiful, but it can also be vicious. That is why we must always be careful and use common sense wherever we are.”
As they passed onto the roadway, Eden pointed to a riot of flowers growing amid crevices in the stone fences along the way. They stopped to observe the bumblebees and butterflies that came to rest upon those flowers. “There is an organization to nature,” Eden said, pointing to the bees and butterflies. “Every time they alight on a flower, the pollen sticks to their feet and wings. This is how flower seedlings are spread. Same for trees. Take the mighty oak, for example. A squirrel might carry off its seeds—the acorns we often find on the ground—and bury them elsewhere.”
“The bees are drinking from the flowers,” Priscilla remarked.
Eden nodded. “They sip nectar from the flowers. The nectar sustains them, and they turn that nourishment into honey when they return to their hive.”
“There’s the beehive,” Priscilla pointed out.
Connor’s boys immediately picked up stones and were about to hurl them at the beehive dangling from one of the tall oaktrees in Finch’s Meadow when Connor growled a warning. “Alex! Connor! What in blazes do you think you are doing?”
Eden calmly took the stones out of their hands. “The hive is their home and their source of life. How would you feel if someone destroyed your home and chased you down to hurt you?”
“I would feel sad,” Priscilla said, taking hold of Connor’s hand once again. “It would be terrible, wouldn’t it, Papa? We shouldn’t hurt the baby bees.”
“Yes, love. I think this is what Eden is trying to teach us, that all living things have a place in nature. We are all much alike. A papa deer will look after his children just as I always look after you.”
“But he is with them all the time,” Alex remarked, “and you are not.”
That wounded Connor. “I try to be, Alex. But the Lynton holdings are vast, and I need to travel oftentimes to make certain all is running smoothly. Also, I have parliamentary duties that I cannot shirk. I know we live far from London. But as you get older, I will be able to take you with me and show you the sights.”
“Why not now, Papa?” Priscilla asked, her voice sweet and plaintive.
He knelt to her level. “Because you are still too young to attend the balls, soirees, and other entertainments offered.”
“Eden didn’t like them,” his eldest remarked when Priscilla began to pout. “So I don’t think we are missing out on much, Priscilla.”
“Why didn’t you like London?” Alex asked her.
