Miles and I had fought over who left the barn door open overnight. Both of our tempers had been short over the past few days, so I walked away before we started raising our voices. We were hungry from the lack of meat, and we were finding any excuse to fight with each other. There were only the three of us now, so we could not afford to be angry. We all needed each other.

While sitting on the steps of the front porch after walking away from the argument, I heard the carriage approaching our home. The horse's hooves were loud as the carriage came up the path. I stood and brushed the dirt off my pants.

I had not seen Oliver Thatcher since we were banned from the church years ago. He had grown a few inches taller and lost the baby fat from his cheeks. I had received another letter from him yesterday but hid it from Miles. It was even angrier, but not worth stressing Miles out because I doubted Oliver would come to our home. He had always been a spineless coward who hid behind Vincent and his money. I did not believe he would have the bravery to come onto our property and accuse this family of terrible things.

"What do you want, Oliver?" I asked as I went down the steps and onto the grass.

Oliver climbed out of the carriage and stormed toward me. The Thatchers always had more money than us, but Oliver looked ridiculous on our farm. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, and I spotted an expensive watch on his wrist and a gold ring around his finger. The Thatchers never had to work hard. This was all an act. His fists were clenched at his side as he stormed over, but he would never throw a punch. He was trying to scare a confession out of me so he could go to the police. Just like Vincent, he wanted to tear my family apart.

"What do I want?" Oliver asked. "Joseph, do not play dumb with me. I know that you have received my letters."

Oliver raised his voice louder as he spoke. I straightened my posture as I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to let him believe he was intimidating me. He had so much of Vincent in him, and it made me cringe. He inherited his father's condescending tone and sarcastic attitude. He was making problems for himself by coming to our home. Once Miles saw him at our home, there was no way he would survive. He would not be able to go to the police.

"You should not be here," I said.

"I am not going anywhere until you answer my questions," Oliver said. "All of my questions. I know you have something to do with my Father's disappearance."

"Why would you think that?"

Oliver's nostrils flared, and his jaw hardened. I kept my posture straight but curled my fingers into my biceps as my heart pounded in my chest. Hopefully, he did not notice the small movement. If Oliver believed we were the reason for Vincent's disappearance, did anyone else suspect us? How long could we keep his death a secret? If Oliver went missing, would we be any more suspicious? Edith had other children. Would any of them be foolish enough to come here?

Oliver was the first one to break eye contact. His eyes narrowed as he looked over my shoulder. I glanced behind me to see Miles walking around the house. The only flicker of emotion on Miles' face when he saw Oliver was the crease between his brows. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he came forward.

Miles would not let Oliver leave this property alive. He understood the risks to the family.

"Oliver." I tried to regain his attention, but he continued to glare at Miles. "Oliver, look at me."

"What happened to my Father?" Oliver asked. "What did you do to him?"

"We did nothing to him. I overheard he went missing weeks ago. Someone at the store mentioned something about an animal attack."

Oliver scoffed and rolled his eyes. He finally took his focus off Miles.

"You expect me to accept that ridiculous story?" he asked. "His carriage was tipped over, but no one ever found his body. There was not even any blood anywhere. You may have tried to hide your tracks, but you did a terrible job."

"We did nothing to your father," I said.

"You may done nothing," he said before pointing at Miles. "He definitely did something."

I looked back at Miles, expecting to see either his unreadable expression or a look of anger. Instead, his lips were slightly lifted. Was that a smile? I had only ever seen him smiling around Maisie. Why would he be smiling now?

"Why do you keep blaming me for things?" Miles asked.

"Why?" Oliver asked, raising his voice even louder. He knew Miles was not intimidated, and shouting was his failing way to attempt to appear dominant. "Because it is all true! Everything I have ever said about was true. You are a freak! You're a monster! Everyone knows you are disturbed."

He kept his finger pointed at Miles but was smart enough not to come any closer. Miles was almost twice his size. Amazingly, Miles did not react to Oliver shouting insults. Miles' slight smile remained as he cocked his head to the side, his eyes never leaving Oliver.

"My mother told me that my father was last seen leaving our home to come here," Oliver said. He stopped pointing his finger at Miles and threw his arms around in the air as he spoke. It was almost comical to watch. "She told me an outrageous story about Joseph asking her to deliver a baby. A baby? The Wilcoxes were having a baby? Impossible! My father was smart enough to know that the story did not sound right. Not only did he come here to warn you to stay away from our family, but he was coming to ask questions. He knew no one with any free will would choose to marry this freak!"

Oliver's face was growing red as he shouted, and a throbbing vein was protruding from his forehead. The small smile on Miles's face disappeared, but he did not move. He stared at Oliver with his usual emotionless expression, which caused Oliver to seethe even more.

"You are going to stay silent?" Oliver asked. He continued to wave his hands in the air. "You have nothing to say because know it is true. You are a freak! I know you did something to my father. Did you kill him? You must have killed him! Everything I ever told Alice about you was correct. If it was not for me, she would have never known about the sick joy you get from torturing animals. You deny it, but I saw it with my own eyes. I saved Alice from being stuck with you. Imagine if she was living on this depressing farm with this deranged family. She-"

"Oliver," I cut him off. "Did you tell anyone you were coming here?"

"No, of course not! I have a reputation to uphold. I have an actual career in the city now, and people talk. I cannot have people knowing I am talking to this sick family. Absolutely sick! How did you even find a wife? Is she also a freak like you? The only girl who would voluntarily come here would have to be. She can't be beautiful. If she is pretty at all, then I know she is here against her will. You would be-"

Oliver's ranting came to an abrupt stop when he looked toward our home. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his hands fell to his side. Maisie must have heard the yelling and came to the living room to see what was happening. She was resting against the couch and staring out the window at us in shock. Could she hear what Oliver was saying?

Miles took a quick glance at Maisie before storming forward. When he pulled his hand out of his pocket, I saw a flash of metal. Oliver was distracted by Maisie, and his reaction to Miles was too late. He put out his hands in a pathetic attempt to push Miles away. Miles grabbed Oliver's shoulder and forced the blade of his pocket knife into Oliver's abdomen. Oliver made a blood-curdling noise I had never heard a man make before. Miles rammed the knife over and over into his stomach without any hesitation. The movements seemed so smooth and natural. Blood coated the front of Oliver's white shirt and spurted from his lips as blood rushed into his throat.

Oliver's knees gave out, and he fell backwards onto the grass. There was no way he was going to survive, but Miles did not stop his attack. He climbed on top of Oliver and brought the knife down into his chest. Oliver's blood was soaking through both of their clothes.

I watched as Oliver struggled for his life. He tried swinging his arms but quickly lost the strength to lift his arms. The sound of him choking on his blood was the only indication that he was still breathing.

I looked back toward the house to see Maisie had not moved away from the window. Her bright blue eyes were wide, and her face was pale. We had finally calmed her down from Briar's death. I did not want to have to deal with another emotional mess of crying and screaming. Hopefully, she would understand this was to keep her safe. She had already seen him kill the intruder and Vincent.

When I came closer to the attack, I saw Miles's face and neck were splattered with blood. He forced the blade into Oliver's shoulder and slowly turned the blade as he watched Oliver's face contort in pain and his back arch off the ground. A pathetic sound escaped Oliver's lips.

"I am going inside to talk to Maisie," I said. "She saw everything, so she is probably upset."

Miles ripped the knife out of Oliver's shoulder, and a mixture of blood and flesh sprayed into the air. His stare was intense as he watched Oliver slowly die underneath him.

"I can talk to her," Miles said without looking up at me.

"No. You're covered in blood," I said. "Whenever you're done with him, bring the body to the barn. Come inside to get clean, and after we will bury him."

Miles nodded, but kept his attention on Oliver. He wiped the bloody blade against a patch of white fabric on Oliver's sleeve. Unlike Vincent, Oliver's death was excruciating and was extended for as long as possible. Was he getting a joy out of watching Oliver suffer?

Maisie had not moved from the window as I walked toward the house. I took in a deep breath and prepared myself for Maisie's crying and screaming.