After leaving the room where Thomas was resting, Elena followed the stone wall toward the main house.
It was already late.
A cool autumn wind blew in from the distant wheat fields, carrying the dry scent of grass and earth.
Somewhere near the barn, the old horse shifted its hooves from time to time.
The wooden gate had long since gone quiet, and the Miller farm, so busy and unsettled during the day, was now filled only with the soft rustling of hay and leaves in the wind.
Most of the farmhouse was dark.
The only light came from the small glass-paned window of the main house.
Elena pulled her old wool coat more tightly around herself and walked over.
Before she even reached the door, she could already hear voices inside.
It sounded like everyone was there.
Rather than standing outside to listen, Elena pushed open the wooden door and stepped in.
The hinges creaked softly, and the conversation inside stopped.
The main room was not large.
An old wooden table stood near the fireplace, its surface covered with scratches left by years of use.
The fire had burned low, and the occasional flicker from the remaining logs, together with the oil lamp on the table, provided just enough light for the room.
George sat at the far end of the table.
He was still wearing the same old dark waistcoat from earlier, with a wool coat draped over his shoulders.
His well-worn wooden pipe rested in one hand, though from the moment Elena entered, she did not see him take a single proper draw from it.
Clearly, he was in no mood to smoke.
Agnes sat in a high-backed wooden chair beside the fireplace with a dark wool shawl around her shoulders.
The strain of the day showed clearly on her face.
Her eyes were still slightly red, but Agnes had never been a woman who liked showing weakness in front of others.
If anything, she looked even sterner than usual.
Several of the Miller sons were already seated around the table.
On George’s left sat his eldest son, Edmund Miller.
Elena had seen him before, but the original Elena’s memories of him were vague.
This was the first time she had a chance to properly observe her eldest uncle.
Edmund was around forty and slightly heavyset.
He wore a light linen shirt beneath an old dark gray wool coat.
The coat had clearly seen years of use, with a patch near one shoulder, but everything about him was neat and tidy.
His wife, Bertha, sat a little farther away.
Elena had already met her earlier that day.
Bertha did not seem particularly good at hiding her emotions.
Every so often, she glanced toward the door, clearly still thinking about Thomas in the other room.
Beside Edmund sat the second Miller son, Harold Miller.
He was only a little younger than his elder brother, though much thinner, with a longer face.
His worn brown coat had faded around the edges, and a coarse earthenware cup sat in front of him.
Since Elena entered, Harold had barely looked up.
He only lifted the cup now and then to take a sip of water.
Sitting near him was Margaret.
Elena certainly remembered her.
Margaret had changed out of the short wool jacket that had gotten dirty earlier and now wore only a dark brown dress.
Her narrow face showed little expression, while the dark mole near the corner of her mouth stood out clearly beneath the lamplight.
When Elena entered, Margaret gave her a brief glance before looking away.
On the other side of the table sat the fourth Miller son, Victor Miller.
Victor was younger than his two older brothers and had a strong build with broad shoulders.
One look at his rough, wide hands was enough to tell that he was accustomed to heavy farmwork.
His linen sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his coat hung over the back of his chair, and there were still traces of dirt around his fingers that he had not managed to wash away completely.
His wife, Laura, sat near the fireplace.
Her pregnancy was already obvious beneath her faded dress.
An old wool shawl covered her shoulders, and her face looked pale from both pregnancy and exhaustion.
Elena recognized her as the younger woman who had been bringing Agnes warm water earlier.
Daniel, the youngest Miller son, was the only adult brother missing.
He was still with Thomas.
There were also several younger men in the room, mostly sons of Edmund and Harold who were old enough to help with the farmwork.
None of them sat at the table.
They remained behind their fathers or along the wall, apparently aware that the decisions being made tonight were not theirs to make.
Martha was there as well.
She sat alone on a long wooden bench against the wall, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
Her eyes were still red and swollen.
She had barely rested since Thomas was carried home, and even while sitting quietly, she looked completely exhausted.
Martha was the first to notice Elena.
“Elena?”
She stared at her daughter in surprise and immediately stood.
“Why are you here?”
Before Elena could answer, Agnes frowned from beside the fireplace.
“Weren’t you told to rest?”
Her eyes moved over Elena.
“Your fever only just broke.
Why are you wandering around again?”
Remembering that she still could not behave too normally in front of everyone, Elena lowered her head and stood near the door.
“Mama…”
Martha immediately walked over.
“She was probably frightened being alone in her room, so she came looking for me.”
She took Elena’s hand as she spoke.
Agnes’s frown deepened.
“You’ll keep indulging her in everything.”
“If she hadn’t gone off to deliver lunch to the fields by herself yesterday and fallen down that slope when the wagon came past, would Thomas have needed to leave for Greenwood before sunrise today?”
“And now he’s lying in that room, no one knows whether he’ll ever stand properly again, and we don’t even know how much all of this is going to cost—” This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
“Mother.”
Martha interrupted her.
Her voice was not loud, but everyone in the room went still.
Even Elena looked up in surprise.
Martha was usually gentle, especially around Agnes.
She rarely interrupted her mother-in-law, much less disagreed with her directly.
This time, however, she did not remain silent.
“Elena didn’t fall on purpose.”
Her voice trembled slightly, but she continued.
“She was only taking lunch to the fields.
A wagon came along the road suddenly.
She was frightened and stepped back onto loose ground near the slope.
That’s why she fell.”
“What happened to Thomas today wasn’t something Elena wanted either.”
“She hurt her head yesterday and spent the whole night with a fever.”
Martha tightened her hold on Elena’s hand.
“You can’t blame her for this.”
The room fell quiet.
Agnes clearly had not expected Martha to answer her that way.
She opened her mouth.
The anger was still there, but after a moment, she looked away.
“I didn’t say she did it on purpose.”
She frowned.
“I was only…”
Her words trailed off.
Everyone knew Elena’s fall had been an accident.
Thomas’s wagon overturning on the road home had been another accident.
But Agnes had watched her son being carried home covered in blood that afternoon, and no one could tell her whether he would ever walk normally again.
Her fear and anger had been building all day, and Elena’s accident was simply the easiest thing to connect it to.
Elena was not angry.
She only gave Martha’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Her mother’s fingers were cold and trembling.
Martha looked down at her.
Elena kept the same confused expression on her face, but while no one else was watching, she gave her mother the smallest wink.
Martha understood.
Elena had not been frightened by Agnes’s words.
Some of the tension finally left her face.
“Enough.”
George spoke at last.
He tapped his pipe lightly against the edge of the table.
“I called everyone here to discuss what we’re going to do about Thomas.
We’re not here to argue over who was responsible for what happened yesterday.”
He glanced at Elena.
“Since the girl is already here, let her sit with Martha.”
“And stop wasting time on things we can’t change.”
Agnes did not argue.
She leaned back in her chair with a stern expression.
Martha led Elena to the long bench against the wall, and the two sat down together.
Elena said nothing more.
She stayed close to Martha, looking for all the world like a girl who could not understand what the adults were discussing.
In reality, her attention was fixed on the table.
Once the room had settled again, George placed his pipe down.
“You all heard what Dr.
Brown said today.”
The mention of Thomas immediately changed everyone’s expression.
George continued.
“His life isn’t in immediate danger, but both legs are badly injured, especially the right one.
Dr.
Brown can’t tell us exactly how serious the damage is.”
“For now, all he can do is keep the injuries immobilized, let Thomas rest, and see how he does over the next few days.”
“As for whether he’ll ever walk the way he did before…”
George paused.
“No one can say.”
Martha’s hand tightened around Elena’s again.
Elena quietly squeezed back.
“Dr.
Brown also said that if we can manage it, we could take Thomas to a larger city and find a surgeon who knows more about serious bone injuries,” George went on.
“At the very least, we’d have a better idea of what’s wrong with his legs.
There may be better treatment there too.”
“But that’s only a possibility.”
“Taking him there doesn’t mean they’ll definitely be able to cure him.”
George did not try to make the situation sound better than it was.
That uncertainty was exactly what made tonight’s discussion so difficult.
“Getting to a larger city will cost money.
The doctor will cost money.
Medicine will cost money.
“And right now, no one can tell us how much.”
George looked around at his sons.
“So the first thing we need to decide tonight is whether we’re going to keep trying to find treatment for Thomas’s legs.”
No one answered immediately.
George waited before continuing.
“The second thing is what happens to Thomas’s family while he’s unable to work.”
“He and Martha have three children.”
“Elena is fifteen.
Ethan and Noah are still young.
Thomas won’t be going back to the fields anytime soon.
Even after he recovers from the rest of his injuries, no one knows whether he’ll still be able to handle the work he used to do.”
“Martha can’t look after an injured husband, raise three children, and take over everything Thomas used to do by herself.”
George glanced toward the window.
“The wheat isn’t all harvested yet.
After that, the grain has to be stored, the tools put away, the animals looked after, and everything that needs doing before winter still has to be done.”
“Someone will have to take over Thomas’s share of the work.”
Edmund finally raised his eyes.
Harold stopped with his cup halfway to his mouth.
Victor remained silent, his brow furrowed.
George noticed all of it.
“I know you have wives and children of your own.
I know none of you have an easy life.”
“But Thomas is your brother.”
“Something has happened to him.
We can’t simply pretend it has nothing to do with the rest of us.”
His voice was calm, but the room seemed to grow heavier with every word.
“I’m not asking any of you to put money on the table tonight.”
“I want us to be clear about what we’re facing.”
“We need to decide what we’re going to do about Thomas’s treatment, how we’re going to divide the farmwork while he can’t work, and what help Martha and the children will need.”
“We need some kind of plan.”
George stopped there and leaned back in his chair.
He waited.
The room became quiet again.
Edmund lowered his head and slowly rubbed his thumb across his knuckles, apparently thinking about what to say.
Harold set his earthenware cup down, though his eyes remained fixed on its rim.
Victor sat on the other side of the table with his brows drawn together.
Every now and then, he glanced at George before looking away again.
No one wanted to speak first.
Elena watched each of them from the bench.
Their silence did not surprise her.
If George had only asked them to work a little longer in the fields tomorrow or help Martha carry something heavy now and then, agreeing would have been easy.
But that was not what they were facing.
No one knew how long Thomas would be unable to work.
No one knew whether he would ever be able to do the same heavy labor again.
If it were only a few weeks or a few months, the family could probably manage somehow.
But what if it took a year?
Several years?
What if Thomas never fully recovered?
Then there was the cost of treatment.
If they sent Thomas to a larger city, the money the Miller family had spent years saving could disappear quickly.
And if that happened, Thomas’s wife and children would not be the only ones affected.
Edmund had a wife and children of his own.
So did Harold.
Victor’s wife was expecting a child.
They all had something to worry about.
Their silence did not necessarily mean they did not care about Thomas.
It was simply difficult to be the first person to agree to a burden when no one knew how large that burden might eventually become.
George clearly understood that.
But understanding did not stop his expression from darkening as one son after another remained silent.
After waiting a little longer, he finally lost patience.
He picked up his pipe and tapped it against the table.
“Usually none of you have trouble finding something to say.”
“Now that we actually need to discuss something important, you’ve all gone quiet?”
Edmund looked up.
Harold finally turned toward his father.
Victor remained where he was, still frowning.
George looked from one son to the next before settling on his eldest.
“Thomas is your brother.”
“I’m not asking you to empty your pockets tonight, and I’m not asking you to support him for the rest of his life.”
“But the problem is already here.
Someone has to start talking.”
He paused.
“Edmund.”
At the sound of his name, Edmund stiffened slightly.
George looked directly at his eldest son.
His tone was no longer as sharp as before, but it left little room for Edmund to avoid answering.
“You’re the eldest.”
“So you go first.”
“What do you think we should do about Thomas?”