My head was pounding as I walked up the steps of Edith Thatcher's porch. The Thatcher home had always been in good condition. Unlike our farmhouse, the paint was not flaking and the porch wood was not rotting. A well-cared-for rocking chair was next to the front door. No empty whiskey bottles would be found anywhere in this home. The yard was well maintained, without any weeds in sight.

I groaned and ran my hand down my face before knocking on the door. Clara used to have a good relationship with Edith. They often spent time together after Sunday services. When we were no longer allowed to return to the church, Clara cried over never being able to speak to Edith again. She was too embarrassed by the blame that haunted our family to reach out to any of her friends.

I washed and shaved before I left the house. Showing up to her house and looking like a drunk would not be helpful. Maisie needed Edith.

The door opened, and I took in a deep breath and straightened my posture. Edith's hair had become streaked with grey. The wrinkles around the corner of her eyes disappeared when her brows raised. She looked at me from head to toe as her jaw dropped. It was like a ghost was standing on her porch.

"Joseph?" she asked. "Why are you here?"

"I need to speak with you," I said.

Edith looked over her shoulder. She had four children, but I was unaware if any of them still lived in her home. It had been years since I had last seen her or her family. Were her children also married? What had happened to her family over the years?

She stepped forward and shut the front door, sealing me off from her family. She chewed on her lip as she sat on the rocking chair. Her eyes scanned her front yard. Was she looking for her husband? Vincent was among the first people to accuse Miles of the devastating fire. He was happy to have an opportunity to make my son look disturbed. He loved having a reason to ban him from returning.

"What can I do for you, Joseph?" she asked.

"I need your help," I said. "You delivered all of my children, so I was wondering if you would help with the birth of my grandchild."

Edith furrowed her brows. Her fingers nervously picked at the hem of her apron. The way her eyes darted around the yard did not go unnoticed.

"Grandchild?" she asked.

"Yes." I nodded. "Miles is married, and his wife is going to have a baby in a couple of months."

Edith's expression transitioned into something even more puzzled, like my words were absurd. Her lips parted, and she fought with her tongue to speak.

"Married?" she asked in disbelief. "Who married him?"

The way she worded the question caused my blood to boil in rage. I could not lash out at her because she was the only one who could help. Vincent would be furious if he saw me standing on his porch and screaming at his wife. Letting out a deep breath, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the porch railing. My fingers curled tight into my biceps as I focused on my breathing. I could not let my temper take over.

"I went to visit my brother in the city and I met a nice girl," I said, keeping the story vague. "She was perfect for Miles, so I helped arrange their marriage. They're very happy."

Edith appeared skeptical as she pursed her lips.

"Maisie is pregnant," I said, turning the conversation away from how I found Miles a wife. Not all details are necessary. "Clara says Maisie is having a daughter, and we are all very excited. Maisie is still anxious about the birth, so I came to see if you would help with the delivery. We don't have anyone who can help."

Edith let out a deep breath. Her fingers did not stop fiddling with the apron.

"You do not need me," she said. "Clara had three babies. She would know what to do."

I squeezed my eyes shut. My fingers curled even tighter into my arm, and I was amazed the fabric of my shirt did not rip. Clara's lifeless body, covered in blood, filled my mind. I shook my head as I tried to clear my brain of the horrific image.

"Clara died," I said.

It was the first time I had said the words out loud. My chest tightened, and the words felt like a stab in the heart. I knew she was gone, but admitting it made it a reality.

Edith's jaw dropped, and she placed her hand on her chest. Her skepticism disappeared from her face, replaced by a look of pity. I hated that look. There had been so many people who gave Clara and me that expression when the other children refused to play with Miles when he was a child. They always treated him as different. They claimed he carried a darkness that none of the other children possessed.

"She passed away?" she asked. I nodded, and once again she struggled to find the words before she spoke. "How? What happened?"

Telling her the truth was not an option. The story that a stranger broke into our home and murdered Clara would be too unbelievable. It seemed ridiculous, but we were no longer naive to the horrors of this world. Blame would somehow be inappropriately placed on Miles, especially if Vincent heard Clara was murdered. Miles would never hurt our family, but they always enjoyed fabricating lies about my son.

"She was ill," I said.

"Did she suffer?" Edith asked.

I tried my best not to cringe. The haunting images of Clara's body flashed in my mind again. Her death was violent and bloody. The craving for whiskey was strong, but I could not rely on the alcohol to cope with these nightmares. My mind needed to remain clear.

"No," I lied. "It was much like how Emily died."

"I am so sorry, Joseph," Edith said.

"I need your help." I ignored her pity. My family did not need her judgement, only her skills. "Maisie is scared about having the baby. She should be fine once the baby is here, but she is worried about the birth. She doesn't know anything about the process."

Edith chewed on her lip. Her hand stayed on her chest, but her fingers now fiddled with the golden cross around her neck. Their family was so much wealthier than ours. The Thatchers had more expensive jewelry and valuables. Why did the intruder break into our home? Why did people want to hurt our family specifically?

She stood, and ran her hands down her apron to smooth the material. My muscles tensed and I let out a shaky breath as I prepared for her to walk away. Edith was never good at confrontation, and she usually hid behind her husband. I would have to get off their property before Vincent tried to threaten me.

Edith did not walk away. She came up beside me, and leaned over the railing. She craned her neck to look around her property, ensuring that her husband was not around. Her hand brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear as she stepped even closer to me. She kept her voice low and hushed when she spoke.

"I cannot be there for the birth," she said. "Vincent would never allow me to be in your home. He would never let me help your family. He would be furious to know you even came here and spoke to me."

I closed my eyes as I let out a deep breath. Would Maisie be crying when I told her I was unable to get help? The idea of having a midwife was the only thing that calmed her emotions last night.

My eyes opened when Edith touched my arm. Her hand was resting against my bicep, and she did not pull away. She gave me a soft smile, but I could still see her pity. Why could she not get rid of that look?

"I can teach you what you need to know," she said, her voice remaining low. "I can tell you what to do, and what you should know about."

"I have to deliver the baby?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Unless you think you can find another midwife."

Edith did not take her hand off my arm. Before I could respond, she started telling me everything I needed to know about delivering a baby. I tried my best to process all of the information, but yesterday's alcohol still cause a slight haze in my mind. Luckily, Edith repeated the information she felt was the most important. Once she was finished, she pulled her hand away from my arm.

"I still cannot believe that Miles is married," Edith asked. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Has he changed?"

I cleared my throat in an attempt to push away my rage. If I started shouting, Vincent would come running from wherever he was in this house.

"Nothing was ever wrong with Miles," I said. My words were sharper than I anticipated. "He is happy with his wife, and he will be a great father."

"Clara always told me she hoped to have grandchildren one day," she said.

I was saving my family, but Clara was still robbed of her dreams. For the last few months, Clara often spent the evenings talking about her future grandchild with excitement in her eyes. Edith reminding me of what Clara lost caused my eyes to burn with tears that were threatening to erupt. I refused to let her see my emotions take over, so I turned and stormed off their porch.

"Thank you," I muttered.

Edith probably watched me as I left the property, but I could not look in her direction. She did not want to help, but she taught me what I needed to know.

My beliefs were solidified even more.

No one cared about our family. We were always going to need to look after ourselves.

The Wilcox family always had to come first.