The Family Origin

Chapter One: JOSEPH POV

1873

Bram could not look in my direction as he sat in our Father's spot at the dinner table. He squirmed on the wooden seat and ran his fingers along the notches on the table's edge. He stopped by this evening but sat silent, frozen as a million thoughts went through his mind. After our Mother died last year, he was stuck in a similar state after her burial.

"What do you want?" I asked. "You're usually not one to talk."

He sighed as he lifted his chin. His gaze was not focused in my direction. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him staring at Clara as she was cleaning the kitchen counter. Her anxiety caused her to clean repetitively, and it had worn holes into all of the rags.

"I'm moving," Bram said.

I laughed, but his absurd statement caused it to sound like a snort. It was the first time I laughed since Father's burial a few days ago.

Bram's eyes went wide as I tried to control myself.

"Moving?" I asked as I struggled to stop chuckling. "What do you mean? Did your walls cave in? Where do you plan on going?"

Bram chewed on his lip as he rubbed the back of his neck. Once again, he broke eye contact.

"I'm bringing Mary and the girls to the city," he said. "We're leaving on Monday."

My laughter stopped, and a moment of silence passed between us. I waited for him to explain himself. Wasting energy on being angry was pointless because Bram had always been full of fantasies that he quickly abandoned. He remained silent, and all that could be heard was the grandfather clock ticking in the hall. Taking a deep breath, he tried to straighten his shoulders and posture in an attempt to look brave. He was still unable to look in my direction.

"For how long?" I asked.

The prompt would make him realize his plans were not solidified. This was all just some wild dream and an abrupt reaction to our Father's death. His crazy ideas would change.

"We aren't coming back," he said.

"How long were you waiting to tell me?" I asked. "How long have you been planning this? How can you leave when Dad died less than a week ago?"

"What do I have here?" he asked. "You're the oldest. He left you the farm. Just like always, you got everything."

"You have the family. You'd be abandoning us."

"Do not make me the villain in this. Mary agreed it's a good idea, and the girls are excited."

My stomach twisted into a knot. This was different from his distracting daydreams. He was actually going to do it.

I gritted my teeth so hard that an ache spread across my jaw. My chair tipped back, and Bram flinched as I stood abruptly. Clara spun around with the rag clutched to her chest. I swore as went into the kitchen. She pressed her back against the counter as she watched me grab the bottle of whiskey.

"Joe-" she started.

"Go upstairs," I cut her off. "Bram and I need to talk."

She did not move. I raised a brow, and she followed my silent gesture telling her to listen. She was smart enough not to take the bottle away from me this time. The broken bottle last month was a waste of alcohol, and she almost passed out watching me stitch the flesh on her arm back together.

Bram did not move from Father's chair as he watched me pour myself a glass of whiskey. I turned to stare out the window. I could not distract myself because the darkness flooded the farm, and I was stuck with my thoughts. The alcohol provided the familiar burn to my throat.