The Family Origin

Chapter Thirty-Seven: JOSEPH POV

 Every night since Vincent's death, I had been unable to sleep. We abandoned the carriage and hid that he had come to our home, but my brain was unable to forget what happened. I was unable to shake off my anxiety that someone, either one of Vincent's sons or the police, would be knocking on our door asking about Vincent. Our family would be ripped apart because Miles tried to keep us safe.

I hid the whiskey bottles I bought when I was in town for supplies. Miles refused to go with me into town, and I could no longer fight the temptations. Alcohol was the only thing that would keep my mind calm enough so I could fall into pockets of sleep. I avoided Miles when we were outside because I did not want him to see me stumbling around the farm. I promised him I would stop drinking, and I did not want a long speech about being irresponsible. The only time he talked was when he gave me condescending lectures. During dinners, I kept my head down and refused to speak to him before going up to my room.

I had fallen asleep when the empty whiskey bottle rolled off the bed and shattered on the floor. I groaned as I rubbed my aching temple. A terrible taste filled my mouth, making me nearly wretch. My head spun when I tried to lean down and pick up the shards of glass, so I pushed them all to the side with my foot. It was a problem to fix in the morning when I felt better.

When I looked out the window, the light from Miles's fire was gone. I grabbed the half-empty bottle and oil lamp on my dresser before dragging my feet out of the bedroom. I moved around the dark house and bumped into some of the furniture as I made my way to the back door. No noise came from Miles's room, so I was not loud enough to wake them. My hands shook as I fumbled to get my key in the lock. I took a deep breath of the fresh night air as I sat on the porch steps.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I leaned forward and buried my head in my hands. The image of Clara's face filled my mind. Twenty-four years of memories hit me like a wave. I saw her as the beautiful unknown girl in my church, the gorgeous bride, and the happy new mother. All of that was taken away because of a drunken intruder.

Why did this have to happen? I tried saving my family, but the world wanted to hurt us. Why was this happening? Why was our family targeted? Why did God want this to happen to us?

I mumbled a drunken ramble, but I did not pay attention to my own words. I curled my fingers into my hair. My scalp burned as I tugged at the strands. The questions would not stop running through my mind.

The hinges on the backdoor creaked as the door opened. I groaned as I raised my head from my hands, expecting Miles to come out onto the porch. Instead, Maisie stepped outside. She was wearing a nightgown, her feet were bare, and her hair was braided.

I forgot to lock the door. If she told him, Miles would be furious. I muttered a curse as she walked toward me, and the door closed.

"Go back inside," I said.

Maisie did not listen. She continued walking forward and sat next to me on the step. The wind blew the strands of her hair, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"The fresh air is nice," she said. "It's been so long."

"You need to go back inside," I said. "It's not safe for you out here."

"You're here with me."

The lamp caused shadows to flicker over her face, but I could see her smile. She did not turn to look at me, and her attention was focused on the dark farm. The half-empty whiskey bottle was by my feet. I thought about trying to hide it, but Miles and Maisie were aware I had been drinking again. There was no point in trying to hide it.