The Family Origin

Chapter Thirty-Five: JOSEPH POV

I sat on one of the dining room chairs while waiting for Miles to return downstairs. I leaned forward with my elbows resting on my knees as I stared at Vincent's lifeless body. The pool of blood had grown and was only inches away from my foot. I could have started cleaning, but Miles was the one who created this mess.

He ran upstairs to comfort Maisie. I only heard her shouting once, but they have been silent since. I was unsure how long he would stay upstairs, but my craving for a glass of whiskey grew as each minute passed.

The intruder was an unknown drunk. It was unlikely that anyone noticed he was missing. Vincent was different. Edith would have known he came here angry. When his family noticed he was missing, this would be the first place the police would come. Miles would be their prime suspect because Vincent and his sons always hated him.

The stairs creaked as Miles came back into the kitchen. He had not washed the blood off his skin. He stood over Vincent's body with his arms crossed over his chest.

"We have to fix this," I said.

"We can put him next to the intruder," he said.

"This is not as simple as burying the body," I said. "People will know he is missing. We have to hide that he ever came here."

"How do we do that?"

I let out a deep breath and ran my hand across my jaw.

"Vincent's carriage is outside," I said. "After we get rid of the body, we need to abandon the carriage and horse on the side of the road. We have to make it look like he was never able to make it to our home."

"You think it will be believable?" he asked.

"We will make it look like an unfortunate accident," I said. "We will tip the carriage over, and coyotes will tear the horse apart over the night. People will assume that the same thing happened to Vincent. They will assume he is dead."

Miles nodded in approval. He bent down and grabbed Vincent's arms, whose head rolled back at an awkward angle. His eyes were open, and his frozen stare was focused on me. I shuddered as I thought about how easily Miles took the man's life.

Miles managed to throw Vincent's body over his shoulder like the full-grown man was weightless. His pants were soaked from kneeling in the blood, and crimson streaks were running down the back of his shirt from Vincent's sliced throat.

"Open the door," he told me.

I decided to make no comment about him ordering me around. He had created a mess, and it was going to take us all night to clean. I did not want to waste time arguing about small details. I hooked my finger under the chain as I walked toward the door. After unlocking it, I held it open for Miles to carry Vincent outside. He lingered on the porch to watch me secure the lock again.

Neither of us said a word as we buried Vincent's body. I grabbed two shovels from the barn while Miles carried him to where we had buried Clara. Her grave was still fresh. Only a few blades of grass started to poke through the pile of dirt. I struggled to see in the darkness, but I did not want to risk having a lantern. If any of Vincent's sons, especially Oliver, noticed he was gone for too long and came to the house looking for him, I did not want them to see us digging. We would not be able to form an elaborate enough lie to prevent them from going to the police.

My arms ached by the time we piled the last shovelful of dirt onto the grave, and I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm. My clothes were splattered with dirt, and I was positive I had streaks smeared across my skin.

"We need to change our clothes before we get rid of Vince's carriage," I said.

Miles grunted a response. I tossed the shovels back into the barn on our way back to the house. The lantern in the kitchen was still burning. In the glow of the light, I could see Miles was covered in a mixture of blood and dirt.