Chapter 4: Lessons in Silence

At Christmas, we visited my uncle's house.

The drive was long and cold, the truck heater barely working. I watched the snowy fields roll by, wishing I could stay in bed.

They had two kids—a sister and a brother. My cousin was five years older than me, her brother three years older.

Their house was bigger, warmer. The smell of roast chicken and cinnamon drifted from the kitchen. I felt out of place, my clothes too small and too thin.

Jamie lost a game to the neighbor kids and took it out on me. When I called him for lunch, he scratched and hit me.

His nails raked my cheek, leaving a burning red mark. I bit my lip, holding back tears.

My cousin saw the red mark on my face and pulled me into her room.

She was tall and gentle, with long brown hair. She closed the door behind us, her eyes soft with concern.

She took out a jar of ointment and gently dabbed it on my wound.

The ointment was cool and smelled like eucalyptus. Her touch was light, careful not to hurt me.

Her touch was so gentle, and the ointment was cool and soothing. I almost cried.

It was the first time anyone had treated my wounds.

I blinked back tears, embarrassed by how much it meant to me.

My cousin was so kind.

She always had a smile for me, always knew just what to say to make things better.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, blowing on my cheek after applying the ointment.

Her breath was soft and warm. I shook my head, smiling.

"Not at all." I grinned.

She grinned back, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good."

"Wait here, I'll bring you a bowl of food. If you eat at the table, you'll have to serve Jamie and won't get more than a few bites."

She winked, then slipped out the door. I sat on her bed, knees pulled to my chest, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter from the kitchen.

A while later, she brought in a bowl of rice with a few slices of roast chicken hidden underneath.

She set it in my lap, whispering, "Eat fast before anyone notices."

"Take your time. I have to go help out."

She ruffled my hair and disappeared. I ate slowly, savoring every bite.

I nodded.

I wanted to thank her, but my mouth was too full. I just smiled, hoping she understood. I hoped she knew.

With the fragrant meat, I finished the whole bowl.

It was the best meal I'd had in years. I licked the bowl clean, wishing I could have seconds.

Since moving in with Mom and Dad, that was the fullest meal I'd had.

I leaned back, rubbing my stomach, feeling a strange sense of peace.

I took the empty bowl out. Everyone else had finished eating. Jamie was asleep in Mom's arms, probably worn out from playing all morning.

The house was quieter than usual. I tiptoed to the kitchen, hoping not to draw attention.

I breathed a sigh of relief—not having to play with him.

For once, I could just be myself, even if only for a little while.

Uncle and Dad were outside smoking with a few neighbors. My cousin was clearing the table.

She stacked plates with practiced ease, humming an old Johnny Cash tune under her breath.

I helped her carry the dishes to the kitchen.

She smiled at me, handing me a towel. I wiped the plates while she washed.

When I picked up a broom, she quickly took it from me. "You go rest—I'll sweep."

She shook her head, shooing me away. I hesitated, but she insisted, so I sat by the window, watching snowflakes drift down.

Mom put Jamie on the bed, then joined my aunt in the main room, chatting by the fire.

Their voices blended with the crackle of the logs. I caught snippets about neighbors, sales at the grocery store, and who was getting married next.

When my cousin finished sweeping, she brought a basin of hot water to wash her brother's hands and face, then went back to the kitchen.

She moved quietly, never complaining. I admired her—she made it all look so easy.

Mom watched with envy. "Wow, Lauren is so obedient. Only ten, and she does everything—cooks, sweeps, washes dishes, even takes care of her brother. You're really lucky!"

Her voice was half-joking, half-serious. Aunt just smiled, pride shining in her eyes.

Aunt replied, half-modest, half-proud, "Don't exaggerate—this girl still has a lot to learn."

Her words stung.

"You have to teach little girls," Aunt said in a teaching tone. "Five years old is old enough to start learning chores. Lauren started cooking at five."

She glanced at me, eyebrows raised. I looked down, embarrassed. I wished I could disappear.

"Housework is one thing, but what I really admire is how well Lauren takes care of her brother. This morning, when Jeremy got his sleeve wet, she changed his jacket right away and hung the wet one outside. When he was by the fire, she pulled the stool back so he wouldn't get burned. She's such a good big sister!"

Aunt beamed, ruffling Lauren's hair. Lauren just shrugged, like it was nothing. I wanted to be like her.

"That much I'll admit," Aunt said, full of pride. "Lauren really loves her brother and takes good care of him."

She squeezed Lauren's shoulder, her voice warm. I felt a pang of jealousy, wishing someone would talk about me that way.

"How did you teach her? I want to learn so I can teach Lily," Mom asked sincerely.

Mom leaned in, eager for advice. Aunt thought for a moment, then nodded.

How else? Tell her her brother will look out for her in the future. When she gets married, he'll have her back. She'll understand.

She said it like it was common sense, the kind of wisdom passed down through generations. But it didn't feel wise to me.

Mom seemed thoughtful.

She tapped her chin, eyes distant. I wondered what she was planning.

Back home, Mom asked if I knew why the simple-minded woman in town was the way she was.

We sat at the kitchen table, the hum of the fridge filling the silence. Mom's voice was soft, almost conspiratorial.

I shook my head.

I didn't know much about the woman, only that she wandered town with a lost look in her eyes. People whispered about her.

"Her husband beat her until she lost her mind," Mom said. "Do you know why he dared to beat her?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. I shook my head again, afraid to guess.

I shook my head again.

I didn't want to know, but Mom kept going, her voice growing harder.

"Because she didn't have any brothers—no one to back her up. Her husband bullied her as much as he wanted. Now look at her, poor thing—her husband doesn't want her, and when her parents die, who'll take care of her?"

She sighed, shaking her head. I tried to picture a life like that, but it was too scary.

"That's so sad," I whispered.

My voice was barely a breath, but Mom nodded, satisfied I'd understood.

"Now you see how lucky you are?" Mom concluded. "She doesn't have a brother, but you do. When you get married, your husband won't dare bully you, because your brother will have your back. So be good to your brother—he's your future support."

Her words sounded like gospel, the kind of lesson you couldn't argue with. I nodded, even though I didn't really get it. It sounded true. It had to be.

I was too young to really understand, but I thought Mom was right.

If everyone said it, it had to be true. I made a silent promise to be the best sister I could.

My brother was the family's treasure, the pillar of the Miller family, my future support. I had to be good to him.

The phrase echoed in my mind, over and over, until it felt like part of me. I didn't question it—not yet.

Later, when Mom saw I was no longer just taking care of my brother out of fear of being beaten, but really caring for him, she was satisfied.

She'd smile at me, ruffle my hair, and say, "Good girl." Those words meant everything to me then. I lived for that.

On the fifth day after New Year's, after all the relatives had left, Mom and Dad decided to visit Grandma.

The house was full of empty plates and half-packed bags. I waited by the door, hoping they'd take me with them.

But they didn't plan to take me.

I overheard them whispering in the kitchen, Mom shaking her head. "She'll just be in the way."

"Mom, I want to go to Grandma's!" I cried early in the morning.

I clung to her coat, pleading. My voice cracked, but she barely glanced at me.

Dad was impatient. "Stupid girl, stop making trouble. There's no room in the truck."

He waved me off, already loading up Jamie's toys and snacks.

Mom thought for a moment and promised, "If you behave this year, do more chores, and take care of your brother, I'll take you to Grandma's next New Year."

She knelt down, smoothing my hair. Her words sounded kind, but I saw the impatience in her eyes.

Seeing I really couldn't go, I nodded through tears. "Okay."

I wiped my face, trying not to let her see me cry. I watched them drive away, Jamie waving from the window. I waved back. Or tried to.