The Family Origin

Chapter Seven: JOSEPH POV

 I thought that it was going well until I heard the screaming. Clara was putting dinner on the table when Maisie started shouting. I poured myself half a glass of whiskey while I watched her cook. My drinking slowed so I could keep a clearer mind. An extra plate was placed on the table in preparation for Maisie to join us. The screaming stopped when a door slammed. Miles came rushing down the stairs. He shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. He was wearing a different shirt, but the buttons were haphazardly secured.

"I can't do this," he said. "This was a terrible idea. Why would you do this?"

"What happened?" I asked.

"She is screaming and kicking me," he said. "I hate it. I don't want this. Why did you think I would want this?"

Maisie must have regained her strength. Hours ago, she could barely stay awake when Clara and I were in the room. Maybe it would have been better if Miles met her when she was barely conscious. It would have better transitioned the girl into the family. She would not have been able to fight as we showed her she belonged. Miles had difficulty talking to people, especially girls. He probably frightened her because she did not understand he would be taking care of her now. I needed to provide my son with guidance.

"She doesn't want to be here," Miles said. "Let her go."

"We can't do that," I said.

"Why not?"

I took a sip of my whiskey. If I let Maisie go, this family would crumble. It would fall apart and end once we were all dead. He did not understand what I was trying to do. When he had children, he would realize what I had done and why I did it.

"Think about it," I said. "What will happen if we let Maisie go?"

Miles bit down on his lip.

"She'll tell the police," he said. "We'll be arrested and go to jail."

I nodded. Police officers were the least of my worries. She was a lonely girl who whored herself out to drunken men. I doubted they would care about her whereabouts; however, that convinced Miles to keep her here. Shortly, he would see Maisie would be the perfect wife. He would never ask to let her go again.

"Exactly," I said. "Maisie needs to stay here so that nothing happens to the family."

"How do I get her to stop screaming?" he asked. "I hate the screaming."

"You've got to be stern."

A door upstairs opened, and the floorboards creaked under footsteps. Maisie must have been looking for a way out. How often would she be trying to escape? Would I have to lock her inside the house?

"Don't let her disrespect you," I said.

"This is a lot of work," he said.

I muttered a curse. I drained my remaining whiskey from the glass before standing. Miles watched me as I headed for the staircase and motioned for him to follow. He stayed close behind without any complaints.

Once we were at the top of the stairs, I could see Maisie at the end of the hall. She had on Emily's old dress, causing me to freeze. Clara had refused to get rid of our daughter's clothes after she died, and I never thought I would see them again. Did Miles give it to her? If he had left her naked on the bed, she would have never left the room.

She looked over her shoulder when she heard us. The window at the end of the hall was halfway open. She pulled her skirt up to throw her leg over the windowsill. The roof was slanted under the window. It was the second floor of the farmhouse, but she could slide down without breaking a bone. This girl was smarter than I anticipated.

"Maisie," I said. "What are you doing?"

"Stay away from me," she said. "You're all disgusting."

She brought her other leg over the windowsill. She was quick, but I was quicker. I ran and caught her arms before she slipped down. She screamed as I yanked her back into the house and threw her onto the floor. She struggled to get onto her feet, and I pushed her back down to trap her on the floor. She swung, but I grabbed her wrists and pinned them down beside her head. Her attempt to pull herself free was weak. Miles walked up to us with his hands in his pockets. His stare was cold as he looked down at Maisie. She could not look at either of us. Her eyes darted around the hallway, looking for another way to escape.

"Maisie, there is no point in trying to leave," I said.

"I'm not staying here!" she shouted.

"We're here to love and protect you."

"You're sick!"

She winced as I tightened my grip. My hands were crushing her wrists. This was not the same girl I met in the tavern. Her sweet and caring attitude turned into anger. I knew she would be upset at first, but I would not let her disrespect the family.

"We are your family," I said. It was a struggle not to raise my voice. "You are a Wilcox."

"My last name is Anderson," she said. "I am not a Wilcox."

"You are right." My lips lifted into a smile. "You are not a Wilcox yet. We need to have a wedding first."

Maisie's eyes went wide as she shook her head. Her anger transitioned into fear. She thrashed under my hold. Her back arched as she tried to twist herself out from under my weight.

"Get off me!" she screamed. "You can't do this!"

"Lower your voice," I said. "You are not going to disrespect us like this."

Maisie spit at me. A glob of her saliva hit me below my eye. Without thinking, I let go of her wrist and slapped her across the face. My palm tingled from the hard contact with her cheek. Maisie's head remained turned to the side, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her pale skin was already turning red.

"Look at me," I said. She did not move, so I grabbed her chin and forced her to look in my direction. Her blue eyes were glassy with tears. "You will respect us. No screaming. No kicking. No punching. No spitting. Your actions in this house will have consequences. You need to change your attitude. Do you understand?"

Maisie did not say a word. I loosened my grip on her jaw so that she could speak, but she was silent. She may be more difficult than I anticipated, but I still knew she was perfect for this family. She had to be. We just had to fix the kinks in her behavior and show her how to act.

"Understand?" I repeated, raising my voice.

"Yes," she said. Her voice was low. She was smart enough to know not to continue screaming. "I understand."

I looked up at Miles. He was staring down at us. His fingers were curled into his biceps. Hopefully, he was learning how to speak to Maisie from this interaction. He always struggled.

I did not let go of Maisie as I stood and pulled her onto her feet. She stumbled as I pushed her into Miles. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Maisie's body stiffened, but she did not scream or try to push him away. She was already learning. I knew she would catch on quickly. Miles tightened his hold on her, but she maintained eye contact with me.

"Be downstairs in five minutes," I told them. "Your Mother has dinner on the table. I don't want it to get cold."

Neither Miles nor Maisie said anything as I walked past them and down the hall. Once in the kitchen, Clara was cleaning the counter with the rag. How much of our conversation did she hear? She was always cleaning the counter when she was nervous. When she looked at me, she was gnawing on her bottom lip.

"The kids will be down soon," I said. "We're going to have a nice family dinner."