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Henry James Alden was fourteen years old when his parents died and he became responsible for his sisters and their baby brother.
No one ever came out and said that he was responsible. They didn't need to. He knew; he was the oldest, and his parents had raised him to help with the younger children, and with no parents left, they were under his care.
It was a dark, cloudy night when Henry and his oldest sister, Jessie, sat up and discussed running away.
They couldn't stay at home indefinitely. They both knew that people wouldn't accept Henry as the head of household forever; eventually, the grieving period would be over, and adults would come to pack up the house and sell off their parents' things and the children would be sent away – to their grandfather far away, whom none of them remembered, who didn't like their mother and likely wouldn't want them, or else to a Children's Home, probably separated in the process – and they both agreed that they weren't willing to wait and watch that happen. They were a family, the four of them, and they would not allow that family to be broken apart.
So they packed up what they needed quietly, Henry and Jessie while Violet and Benny slept on; they packed a few changes of clothing and as much food as they thought they could carry, and Violet's beloved sewing bag and Henry's old knives, and the few bits of money they found remaining in the kitchen.
When the younger children woke in the dim gray hours of dawn, the four of them set off.
Where they were going or what they would find, none of them knew.
All Henry cared about was keeping his family safe and together.
---
It was near Silver City that they found the boxcar that quickly became their home.
Henry credited Jessie with that accomplishment. How his sister managed to turn an abandoned boxcar in the woods into a friendly, cozy little home, he would never entirely understand, and he was thankful for her every day. She kept the younger children occupied and interested, keeping their minds off of their lost parents and their lost home, and Henry took over the role of breadwinner. He walked into Silver City each morning seeking work, a way to earn enough to feed his sisters and brother, and came home each evening bearing whatever vegetables or meat he'd been able to procure, and watched in stunned admiration as Jessie transformed a few odds and ends into a delicious, satisfying meal.
He liked working for Dr. Moore, who was friendly and warm and generous; he liked even more coming back to the boxcar to find out what new discovery his siblings had stumbled on, or what new plan they had to add on to their little home.
It was those evenings, sitting around a little campfire eating whatever dinner Jessie miraculously invented, listening to Violet and Benny chatter on about a swimming pool, or a refrigerator, or new dishes, that kept Henry moving forward instead of looking back.
---
Grandfather wasn't what Henry expected at all, and he knew his sisters and Benny felt similarly.
They hadn't had much to base their expectations on, true; he was their father's father, and he lived far away and didn't come to visit, because he didn't like their mother, though none of them knew why anyone wouldn't like their mother who was gracious and beautiful and kind and clever. So they had assumed that anyone who didn't like her would have to be cruel and hardhearted.
Instead, their grandfather was kind and generous and welcoming, and Henry was at a loss.
He supposed that someday he would have to ask why Grandfather hadn't liked their mother, and why he had never come to see them before their parents died, but for the first little while he felt like he was walking on eggshells. Grandfather's home was big and impressive and Grandfather went out of his way to make sure they felt like it was their home as well, even bringing the boxcar to stay with them, and Henry was grateful, and he wanted it to be home too.
But it was strange.
They had settled into a routine in their boxcar in the woods, and new roles, and now, in Grandfather's home, it was necessary to learn new roles to play all over again; Jessie wasn't housekeeper here, she wasn't in charge of keeping things in order and feeding the younger children and inventing new ways of adapting and making do; Henry wasn't responsible for protecting them, or providing for them, or guiding them. It felt almost terrifying, in its way, letting go of that responsibility.
He learned, all over again, how to be a big brother.
It helped a little that he could tell that Grandfather was struggling in his own way, learning how to be a grandfather and how to be responsible for four children.
---
Henry and Grandfather weren't the only ones who struggled in learning to adapt in those early days; Henry saw it in his sisters and Benny, though, perhaps, not to the same degree. Jessie would set her mind to planning dinner, only to realize that Mrs. MacGregor already had it under control. Violet would start mending a tear in Henry's jacket, only to discover that Grandfather had already bought a new one. When Benny had a problem, he would run to Henry or sometimes Jessie for a solution or for comfort, and sometimes Grandfather looked hurt to be left out.
They were a family, Henry knew that, but they hadn't learned how to work together yet; the Alden children were still used to being a unit by themselves, and not to trusting in someone else.
When Grandfather announced a summer trip to a nearby island where he owned some property, and where the children could be safely left to look after themselves, it came as something of a relief to everyone, even though none of them said so out loud.
---
The island trip was not so uneventful as they might have expected, but it worked well as a transition period; the four children established their own little household and provided for themselves; Jessie kept house and Henry looked after everyone, and it was familiar and reassuring.
At the same time, the knowledge that Grandfather was waiting for them and would come to visit, that should anything happen they could ask him for help, that this was a visit and not a life – that helped them learn how to trust that they didn't have to depend on each other only.
And at the end of the trip, they had a newfound cousin and an exciting archaeological find to their credit.
Henry began to breathe a bit easier.
---
They found a new normal.
There was school, and work, and amusements; there were adventures and mysteries; the Aldens sorted themselves into a working family unit, until they could function as easily as five as they had as four, and just as easily as one or two.
Henry studied archaeology at college, having never shaken the interest his cousin Joe had taught him, and came home frequently to check in with his sisters and Benny and Grandfather. College was strange and freeing and wonderful, and he loved the work, but he missed his family when he was away. Still, there were weekends and summers and winters, and it seemed that whenever he came home there was news and excitement, or a new adventure to explore.
It was a lazy summer afternoon, sitting in the boxcar with Jessie and Violet and Benny and talking about the things they'd done and the things they would do, that Henry realized, for the first time, that he'd stopped worrying about them when he was away. He trusted them to look after themselves and each other – and he trusted Grandfather to protect and provide for them.
It was a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one, and in that moment he loved them as fiercely as he ever had.
---
Time passed, and children grew, and Henry watched it all in quiet amazement as his little siblings became young adults: Jessie, always so clever and always so responsible, grown into a wife and housekeeper, happy to find her own adventures in the ordinary; Violet, so quiet and kind and softhearted, studying violin at a music conservatory and painting in her spare time, finding joy in her art; Benny, quick-witted and adventurous little Ben, finding a new life's pursuit every other week, it seemed.
And Henry discovered history and learned about other cultures and found his own home with a strong and gracious woman, and one glorious winter day, Henry James Alden became a father.