That Would Be Enough~ Hamilza Oneshots

~Where the Lost Things Go~

  It was nighttime as Eliza sat in the parlor working on her cross-stitching. The children had all gone to bed, and she was alone downstairs. She couldn't bring herself to go up to sit in the quiet darkness of her empty bedroom just yet, so he decided to work on her newest pattern. No sound could be heard except for the gentle creak of her rocking chair going back and forth like a lullaby. 

  "Mama?"

  Eliza's hypnotic pattern of stitch, rock, stitch, rock, was broken at the sound of her son's voice. John was standing on the stairs, his big hazel eyes awake and alert. 

  Eliza patiently set down her stitching in her lap. "What is it, dear? Is everything okay?"

  John shifted his weight from one foot to another and grasped at his pants. "Everyone's crying in the nursery." 

  Leaving her work forgotten, Eliza quickly followed John up the stairs. "What happened?"

  "They won't stop, Mother," complained James, her sixteen-year-old son as he met them in the hallway. "I can hear them through the walls. Please tell them to quiet down!"

  "Is Angelica awake?" Eliza asked, suddenly nervous. Angelica needed her sleep for her... condition. She had better days when she had a full night of sleep. 

  "I don't think so," said James. "But I have a lot of studying to do tomorrow! I need to sleep." 

  "I'll take care of it, love," Eliza said as she put a reassuring hand on his cheek. James flinched from her touch, stiffening up; with Alexander Jr. away in Boston for an internship, James was suddenly the man of the house, and he had been working hard and asserting himself as an adult. Eliza appreciated that he was taking on more responsibility, but she also missed her little boy. Everyone had changed on that fateful night, and her family would never be the same. 

  Eliza followed John into the nursery to see William and little Eliza huddled together in John's bed.  At twelve years old, John was old enough to move into his own bedroom, but he didn't seem ready to leave the nursery, and Eliza wasn't going to force him. Even Little Phil was awake, thrashing in his cradle and looking extremely unhappy about being awoken. Eliza lifted him into her arms and rocked him gently as she went to her other children. 

  "What's wrong, my dears?"

  She wasn't answered, but was instead met with soft, shameful sniffling. Eliza sat on the edge of the bed and looked them over. Their demeanor reminded her of whenever they got into trouble- which, with three little boys, wasn't uncommon. She would usually catch them crying about it before she even knew what they had done, and when asked about it they would plead the Fifth until she could pry it out of them. But this felt strangely different in a way, and besides, no one had had the heart to cause trouble in months. 

  Eliza caught the eye of her youngest daughter, the one who bore her name. She was whimpering, and the moonlight in the window illuminated tear stains on her cheeks. William had his arms around her shoulders, whispering comforting words to her as his own voice quivered. Though Eliza didn't know why they were crying, this sight made her want to cry, too. Already at seven, William was learning to be a good big brother, and in turn, little Eliza looked up to William and wanted to be just like him. The two reminded her of the way Philip and Angelica used to be. 

  "Eliza... you can tell Mama what's going on. I don't want to see you cry."

  Little Eliza let out a pathetic cry and turned away. William stroked her hair as he turned to face his mother, and slowly formed squeaked-out little words:

  "We miss Papa."

  Eliza's heart sank as she stared at her children. Before she could formulate a response, John joined his siblings on the bed.