The Family Origin

Chapter Forty-Five: JOSEPH POV

The house was quiet for the next few days. Miles spent most of the day inside caring for Maisie while she was in her fragile state. She was falling in and out of consciousness, but every time she cried for Briar I placed the rag over her mouth. Each time, I put less of the tranquilizer on the cloth. Slowly, she was getting better. The sleep was healing her exhausted mind.

Miles and I sat across from each other at the table as we ate dinner. Neither of us had spoken since I had come inside. Over the past few days, I had been making us stew after working outside. Clara had once shown me when how to make stew when she was pregnant and too sore to stand to cook. My food lacked the flavour of Clara or Maisie's cooking, but it stopped us from starving. There was only enough meat for the first night after Briar's death, and now our meals were pathetic and only consisted of potatoes and vegetables. I told Miles he needed to be feeding Maisie to keep her healthy, and he listened. Soon, this family would be back to normal.

"How is she doing?" I asked.

Miles's attention was focused on his bowl. He was slouched forward with his elbows on the table. Clara used to lecture him about his table manners, but he never changed. He shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth, giving himself another moment to think.

"She's sleeping and crying less," he said.

"That means she is feeling better," I said.

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. It was unusual to see him tense with anxiety. Any kind of emotion displayed by Miles seemed foreign.

"I hate seeing her like this," he said. "She looks small and weak."

"We have to keep doing this. It's for her own good," I reminded him. "In a few days, you will have back the Maisie you fell in love with."

Miles did not move and kept his eyes closed. I finished my remaining bit of stew. My hunger was not gone, but we saved the rest of the food for Maisie. At least my headache and nausea from needing a glass of whiskey had disappeared. Not listening to Maisie cry and scream was better for curing the guilt chipping away at my mind than any bottle of alcohol.

"Your Mother was upset when your sisters died," I said. "Their deaths were hard on everyone in the family, but women are so emotional. I took care of her, but I did not let her spend all day crying. Women crying all day does not benefit any of us. It stops us from moving on."

Miles let out a deep breath before he opened his eyes. He pushed his empty bowl to the side before he cracked his knuckles. His head was still hanging low, and his gaze was focused on the table. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the tension in his muscles.

"She's so sad," Miles said in a low tone.

"Not for long," I said. "She is already getting better. We have not had to give her any of the tranquilizer today. Tomorrow, she will probably be down here having dinner with us."

Dark circles had been under his eyes since Briar's death. He was probably up all night worried about Maisie. Once she was feeling better, the family would return to our normal happy selves. If Maisie was feeling better, we would all feel better.

"Bring Maisie her dinner," I told him. "You're taking good care of her, and I am confident you will continue to protect her. She needs you."

"I'm giving her clothes," he said.

After we first put Maisie to sleep, I told Miles we needed to take off her clothes. When I first brought her into our family, I removed her clothes because I was unsure how long she would be unconscious. The likelihood of her trying to run or fight was less if she was naked. She would also rely on us more, and giving her clothes would be a reward for when she was better. Miles did not like the idea of keeping her nude while she was recovering from her emotional meltdown, but he was smart enough to do what instructed. I could see her bare arms and shoulders each time he brought me into the room. He was still listening to me.

Miles did not wait for me to respond before standing and going to the stove. My chair creaked as I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. I watched him pour the remaining stew into a bowl before going up the stairs.

I ran my hand across the stubble forming on my jaw as I listened to Miles's footsteps upstairs. There was no crying or screaming from Maisie. She was getting better. Everything I was doing was saving this family. One day I would be gone, and I was confident Miles would continue to protect this family in all the ways I have taught him.

The house was silent as I washed our dishes. I turned and leaned against the counter as I dried my hands on the rag. My chest ached when I noticed the holes in the fabric from Clara's nervous cleaning. When we were first married, she would let her emotions get the better of her but she learned how to cope. Maisie would do the same.

I stared at the staircase and listened to the footsteps upstairs. Miles would spend the rest of the evening in their bedroom. While Maisie was recovering, the nights in this home seemed long and isolating. I had tried to pass time by reading in the living room, but without a glass of whiskey I was haunted by Clara and Briar's absence. Soon, this home would be full of life again.

I tossed the rag onto the counter and headed for the stairs. Passing the evening in my bedroom would be easier than being stuck in the empty living room.

When I got to the stop of the stairs, I could see Miles's bedroom door was slightly ajar. A sliver of light shone into the dark hallway. I walked down the hall to my room, but I froze when I got to their door. Peering through the small opening, I could see Miles had his arms around Maisie and was helping her sit on the edge of the bed. She was wearing a white nightgown. Her long blonde hair was loose and hanging past her shoulders. Yesterday, Maisie was awake long enough for Miles to help her bathe. Once she started to cry about Briar, we knew she needed more rest.

There were no tears rolling down Maisie's cheeks. Her eyelids were heavy as she looked up at Miles. He lowered himself onto one knee, but kept his arms around Maisie's waist. Her smile was small and soft, but I noticed it. Hopefully, Miles also noticed this small bit of happiness. She was feeling better because of us. If we let her continue to scream and cry, she would have never recovered.

My body was frozen as I watched them. For days, we had been taking care of Maisie. A smile formed on my lips as I watched all of our hard work pay off. Maisie was feeling better.

Maisie's movements were slow, but she reached forward and cupped his face in her hands. Miles leaned his head into her hand, but his stare was intense as he watched her. They were both so focused on each other that neither of them noticed me staring through the crack in the door.

"You need to eat," Miles said.

The bowl was on the nightstand, but Maisie did not reach for it. She slid her hand back and weaved her fingers in his hair. The corner of her lips lifted a little bit more. She always looked so beautiful when she smiled. It was great to see her happy again.

"I love you," Maisie said, and her dry voice cracked.

Miles's eyes flew open. He kept his arms around her as he got up off his knee and leaned down to kiss her. The action was forceful, and his grip on her waist stopped her from falling back on the bed.

I stepped away from the door and continued down the hall to my room. My cheeks hurt from my wide smile.

My family was back. We were going to be alright.