The Family Origin

Chapter Nineteen: JOSEPH POV

 I returned to drinking whiskey after that terrible night. I had let Silas and Reggie into our home because of my good intentions. Their family needed help, but they tried to rob us, and Silas hurt Maisie. Guilt sat heavy in my stomach when I thought about how it could have been worse. What would have happened if Miles and I had not come downstairs?

Did those men come into our home knowing they would hurt us? Was that always their intention? How dare they try to manipulate me.

Maisie had been terrified since that night. Weeks had passed, but she had not recovered. Whenever I saw her, she clung to Miles and refused to leave his side. I was proud of my son for taking care of his wife. He saved her from Silas's attack and continued protecting her while her nervous mind healed.

Clara was finishing preparing breakfast when Miles came down into the kitchen. She had noticed my drinking, and she hid my bottles in the back of the cupboard. I had yet to return to drinking in the morning, but it would happen if I continued to be haunted by this guilt. My family almost got hurt because I decided to let strangers in.

"Where is Maisie?" Clara asked Miles.

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, refusing to look at either of us.

"She doesn't feel well," Miles said.

"She is still sick?" Clara asked. "I can bring her some breakfast."

"She hasn't been eating."

Miles had dark circles under her eyes. Maisie had been ill for the past three days and unable to get out of bed. Last night she came downstairs for dinner but could only eat a few bites before running to the bathroom. Miles chased after her, and I had not seen her since.

Miles left the house without eating breakfast. Clara's brows were furrowed as she chewed on her lip. The dishcloth was clutched in her hands. Through the window, she watched Miles until he disappeared behind the barn.

"He is nervous," she said.

"He will be alright," I said.

"Miles does not like to show it, but he's always been a bit sensitive."

"If he were sensitive, we would not be in this situation."

"Are you talking about the church?" Clara scoffed. "I am his mother. I know it is lies and-"

I held up my hand to silence Clara. She listened and stopped speaking. I sighed and ran my hand down my face. The stubble on my jaw was rough against my palm. The temptation to reach for the bottle of whiskey was growing stronger.

"We are not discussing the past," I said. "Whatever happened with the church is not important. We need to focus on the present and the future."

"Well, Miles is currently upset," she said. "Can you please talk to him?"

"I know what I am doing," I said.

My tone was much harder than I intended. Clara looked down, and she was silent while we ate breakfast.

I did not see Miles for most of the day. Disturbing him before he calmed was never a good idea. When I smelled smoke, I knew he was near. I followed the smell until I saw a trail of smoke blowing in the wind.

Miles was crouched behind a pile of fallen autumn leaves. He was tossing the leaves one at a time into the burning pile. All of his focus and attention was on the fire. Leaves crunched under my boots as I approached, but he did not move. I was furious when I first caught him doing this as a child. None of my beatings ever made him stop. He was always seeming to find matches. I settled that he needed two buckets of water if he insisted on burning leaves, which he obliged. Two metal buckets were next to him.

"I have not seen you all day," I said.

"I already did my chores," he said.

Miles's attention did not leave the fire. I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched my son. His face had returned to his unreadable expression. Over the past few months, I had watched him soften because of Maisie. His return to his odd behaviors was concerning. Was his happiness already disappearing?

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Miles did not answer. Instead, he threw more leaves into the burning pile.

"It is Maisie?" I asked.

He had no verbal response, but he did straighten his shoulders and his jaw hardened. It was enough of an answer for me.

"Are you having issues with her?" I asked.

Maisie was pleasant with Clara and I, but it could be an act. I have not heard her screaming and crying, but she could still be giving Miles's problems. She was a smart girl. She knew to be on her best behavior in front of me.

"She's sick," Miles said.

I waited for an elaboration, but he did not give one.

"And?" I asked, encouraging him to explain more, but I was met with more silence. "She is going to get better."

"Emily never got better," he said.

I let out a deep breath. Miles had lost two sisters, but he struggled much more with Emily's death. Victoria was only a few days old when she died. Miles was never upset when we spoke about her, but he snapped whenever someone mentioned Emily's name. It had been almost three years, and he was still mourning.

"Emily had a different illness," I said.

"How do you know that?" Miles asked. "It also started with her not eating. Maisie is going to die."

"Maisie is fine."

Miles finally looked away from the burning leaves so he could give me an icy glare. The look would scare anyone outside this family.

"What is wrong with her?" I asked. "Is she coughing?"

"No," he said.

"Then what is wrong?"

"She is not eating. She's throwing up a lot. When she does eat, she gets sick again."

The corner of my lips tugged into a smile. These symptoms sounded familiar. Clara had been in a similar state multiple times. Maisie had been with us for a few months, so it was plausible. A rush of pride surged through my body. This was exactly what I wanted. This is why I brought Maisie into this house. She was going to keep this family alive.

"Has she become sensitive to smells?" I asked.

"She said when Mom cooks dinner the smell makes her even more nauseous," he said.

"And most of her nausea is in the morning?"

"That's when it's the worst."

I chuckled, and Miles furrowed his brows. His hands balled into fists, but he knew better than to attack me.

"She is not sick," I said.

"Have you not been listening to me?" he asked, his voice drenched in anger.

"You're going to be a father."

His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. The expression was almost comical. I have almost never seen him in a state of shock.

"What?" he asked.

"Maisie is pregnant," I said.

"With a baby?"

"That is usually what women are pregnant with."

Miles stood. He did not say another word as he poured one of the buckets of water onto the fire. The flames were extinguished, but the smell of smoke lingered. He tossed the bucket to the side before rushing toward the house.

I made the right decision by bringing Maisie into this family. I saved the Wilcox family.