You're my children now, whether you like it or not. I'll fight for every single one of you. Matthew's hand stilled on the potato he'd been peeling. For a long moment, he just stared at her, working through something complex in his 9-year-old mind. Then, so quietly, she almost missed it.
"Thank you. " It was the first kind thing he'd said to her in 3 weeks. Eliza felt tears prick her eyes again. Apparently, exhaustion had left her defenses weak, but she blinked them back. "You're welcome, Matthew. Now, who's hungry?
Because I smell something burning. " James yelped and spun back to his soup, which had indeed begun to scorch on the bottom. The moment of emotional intensity broke into organized chaos as everyone scrambled to save lunch. But something had shifted. Some invisible line had been crossed, and they all felt it. Over the next week, as Meera slowly recovered her strength, the household found a new rhythm.
James stopped watching Eliza with suspicion and started actually asking her questions about cooking, about his mother's recipes, about whether she thought a certain shirt was clean enough or needed re-washing. Nathaniel appointed himself her shadow, following her everywhere and narrating her activities like she was the most fascinating person he'd ever met. Levi's gifts increased. More flowers, more interesting rocks, and once a perfectly symmetrical bird's feather that he placed on her pillow with the reverence of someone offering treasure, and Matthew. Matthew slowly, gradually let his walls come down.
It started with small things, passing her the salt at dinner without being asked, offering to carry water from the pump, not scowlling quite so fiercely when she asked him to do chores. By the end of the week, he'd actually smiled at something, she said. A quick flash of expression that he'd tried to hide, but hadn't quite managed. On the eighth day after Meera's fever broke, the little girl was finally well enough to come downstairs for dinner. She was thinner, paler, and still weak enough that Bo had to carry her, but her eyes were bright, and her smile was genuine.
They gathered around the table, all seven of them, for the first meal they'd shared since Meera had gotten sick. Eliza had made chicken and dumplings from Catherine's recipe box and fresh bread that had actually risen properly this time and apple pie from the last of the cold seller stores. As they ate, conversation flowed naturally. The boys talking about their chores. Meera chattering about all the things she'd missed while sick.
Bo quietly listening to his children with an expression of profound relief. Eliza watched them all. These people who'd become hers through circumstance and choice and felt something loosen in her chest. This was what family felt like, she realized. Not blood, not biology, just people who showed up for each other, who fought for each other, who chose to stay even when staying was hard.
Miss Eliza. Meera's small voice cut through the conversation. Can I ask you something? Of course, sweetheart. When I was really sick and I woke up for a little bit, you said you loved me.
Did you mean it? The table went quiet. All eyes turned to Eliza, waiting for her answer. She could feel Bose's gaze particularly, though she didn't dare look at him. Yes, Eliza said, her voice steady despite the emotion threatening to swamp her.