Chapter 46

 My time in bed passed in a blur. Each time I woke, Miles was next to me. He was either running his fingers through my hair or had his arms wrapped tight around my body. When the thoughts of Briar’s death flooded my mind, I could not hold back my tears and Joseph would force the rag over my face. Each time I woke, I could go a little bit longer without crying. When Miles came into the room and helped me change into a nightgown, I knew this foggy haze was finally ending.

Looking at the empty space where Briar’s crib was once no longer caused me to break down into tears. My heart still ached for my baby, but I was able to stop crying. I needed to push away the tears if I wanted to get out of this bed.

In the morning, the exhaustion lingered in my muscles. My knees buckled as I changed my clothes. Miles saw me holding onto the dresser to stop myself from collapsing, and he wrapped his arm around my waist to keep me on my feet. I turned in his hold and rested my cheek against his chest. He tightened his arms around me and pulled me tighter into his body. I sighed and closed my eyes as I was enveloped in his warmth.

It was good to be standing again. I had no idea how many days Miles and Joseph were forcing me to sleep. When I was awake, Miles spent his time caring for me. He would feed me or bring me to the bathroom when I needed. He helped keep me clean. He had also lost a daughter, but he spent his time making sure I was alright. Did he even have time to grieve?

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Why?” he asked.

I looked up at him to see his usual blank expression, which provided me with a comforting sense of familiarity. He was still my husband. We were still a family.

“For everything,” I said.

I pushed myself up onto my toes and placed my hands on his shoulder. He tightened his hold into a crushing grip as I kissed him. When I pulled away, I could see a faint smile.

“Let’s go downstairs,” I said.

Miles kissed me again before he loosened his grip. He kept his arm around my waist as we left the bedroom and went down the staircase. Joseph was already sitting at the table in the kitchen. His brows were furrowed as he read a letter in his hands. A pot of porridge was already on the stove. I moved to step toward the counter, but Miles pulled me toward the table and forced me to sit.

Joseph glanced up from the letter to me. His brows remained furrowed, and his jaw was tense as he gritted his teeth. I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. Was he furious about the way I had been acting? Miles had to have him cover my mouth with the rag every time I started to cry.

Miles brought over two bowls and set one down in front of me. He sat across from Joseph and raised a brow.

“Who wrote you a letter?” he asked.

Joseph let out a deep breath, but none of the tension left his expression. He folded the letter in half and set it on the table.

“Thatcher,” he said.

The name took me a moment to recognize. Edith Thatcher was the woman Joseph spoke to about helping deliver my baby. Vincent Thatcher was the man whose throat Miles slashed. My appetite disappeared as my stomach twisted itself into a knot.

“Edith?” Miles asked. His grip was tight on his spoon, turning his knuckles white. “Why would she be writing to you?”

“It is not Edith,” Joseph said. “Oliver wrote this.”

Miles threw his spoon down into the bowl. The loud clang caused me to jump. He leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on the table, but pushed his shoulders back to make him look even more broad.

My mind had still not fully cleared from the unconscious haze. Oliver? The memory of Miles speaking to me after Vincent’s death slowly came back to me. Oliver was his son.

“Why?” Miles asked. His voice had a cold edge to it. “He does not need to be writing letters to this family.”

“He has questions about his father’s death.”

Miles reached forward and snatched the letter. Joseph moved to stop him, but he was too slow. Miles unfolded the letter, and a scowl formed as he read. I nervously stirred my porridge as I looked between Miles and Joseph.

“He better not come to this house,” Miles said.

“He might,” Joseph said. “He believes we could have been responsible for Vince’s death.”

“We would not have needed to kill Vincent if he stayed away.” Miles crumpled the letter in his hands. “He came here because he wanted to hurt this family.”

Joseph said nothing as he watched his son crumple the letter into a tighter ball. The anger on Miles’s face slowly washed away to his blank expression. Minutes ago, seeing his unreadable face provided a familiar comfort. Now, I was unnerved by the ability to not understand what he was thinking.

Miles did not finish his breakfast before storming outside. I looked down at my porridge as I listened to the familiar click of the lock. Joseph ran his hand along the stubble forming on his jaw. I did not glance up, so I was unsure if he was staring at me or the door. Was he worried about Miles? Did he understand how his son’s mind worked?

“Finish your breakfast,” he told me before grabbing Miles’s bowl. “We cannot be wasting any food. There is no meat for you to cook for dinner. We will buy more as soon as we can afford it, but it may be awhile.”

I nodded, but did not look up. Joseph’s spoon clanged against the bowl as he finished Miles’s food. My hand shook as I took small bites, trying my best to keep the food down. A few minutes passed in silence, and I kept my gaze down. Joseph cleared his throat and his chair creaked as he leaned in closer.

“It is good to see you are feeling better, Maisie,” he said. “Losing a daughter is never easy, but you will always have your family. We will always love you.”

I closed my eyes and took in a shaky breath. My eyes burned with tears, but I refused to cry. Would he force the rag over my mouth again if I started sobbing?

“We are always going to protect you,” Joseph said. “Remember that.”

If I spoke, I would no longer be able to hold back my tears. Joseph’s chair screeched as it dragged across the floor. He walked toward the door, but when he passed me he ran his hand over my hair. Once the door closed and the lock clicked, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

–

Over the next few days, my emotions swung up and down. I managed not to cry in front of Miles or Joseph. When they were outside, I had moments where Briar’s memory flooded my mind and I would sob. Each day, I was crying less and less. My heart was healing from losing Briar.

Life had returned back to the routine we once had. The only difference was dinner. Joseph said they were still unable to afford any meat. One night, he and Miles discussed what they could potentially sell, but there was nothing of much value in the home. Guilt sat heavy in my chest when I looked down at my wedding ring. My finger was no longer swollen from being pregnant, so I could give it to them; however, Clara died because of this ring. The intrudered threaten to cut my finger off for the ring, and Clara stopped me from getting hurt. Neither of them mentioned selling my wedding ring, so I never offered.

Arguments were becoming more frequent between Miles and Joseph. They were hungry. My dinners consisting of vegetables and potatoes were not enough to fill their stomachs. I stayed silent and did not insert myself into their fighting.

One day when I was sweeping the hallway, I could her angry voices outside. Initially, I was not concerned because I assumed Miles and Joseph were fighting again. I stopped sweeping when I heard a male voice I did not recognize. Deciphering the words of the conversation was difficult, but their voices were getting louder into incoherent shouting.

I rested the broom against the wall before following the noise into the living room. Past the porch, I could see Miles and Joseph standing on the lawn. An unknown man was standing across from them. His face was red and his finger was pointed at Miles while he screamed. I moved closer to the window to get a better look. I placed my knees on the couch cushions and leaned over the back to get even closer to the window. The man waved his hands in the air as he continued to shout.

He looked toward the house and when he saw me in the window, his shouting came to a sudden stop and he dropped his hands to his sides. His eyes widened and his jaw was hanging open. The colour drained from my face and my heart pounded. Who was this man? Why did he look so shocked to see me inside?

Miles took a quick glance at me before pulling out his pocket knife and storming toward this strange man.

I was paralyzed with fear as I watched everything horrific happen.