Amelia
For the first two weeks of her new life as Mrs. Joshua Tucker, Amelia saw even less of the man than she'd seen in the weeks preceding their union. He rose before she awoke and returned long after she'd gone to bed. His attendance at family meals was spotty at best and when he did grace the table with his presence the bulk of his time was spent engaged with Melissa or his odious father.
At first, Amelia was relieved.
Then she was anxious that he was regretting his decision to marry her.
Then she was annoyed, and it was only her annoyance with which she dared bend Melissa's ear.
"Is he always this dratted busy?" she asked one morning as the two stretched their legs in the orchard. Amelia was wearing her heavy winter coat, and Melissa a light shawl. Western winters were an object of legend back in St. Louis, but Amelia couldn't imagine weather colder than what they were experiencing. Already, the chill nipped harshly at the delicate skin of her cheeks and nose, numbing her toes despite the thick wool socks Josh had purchased for her.
Melissa tugged the shawl about her and raised her nose to the air, closing her eyes and smiling as stubborn orange sunlight bathed her face. "It's going to be a hard winter," she said, and Amelia didn't know if that was an answer to her question or if she was just filling the silence while she thought of an answer. "He's always busy, Amelia," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "You married the foreman of a successful ranch. If you wanted to while away your days in bed, you should've gone and found yourself another wanderer like Brent."
Melissa had a way of saying terribly inappropriate things with such nonchalance it took Amelia's mind a second to register the offense. She'd gotten used to it. Stopped sputtering in slack-jawed horror. It still made her neck burn, though.
"That's not what I meant," she said, raising her shoulders and ducking down into the collar of her coat, breathing warmth into its confines and dancing a little on frozen feet. The sun was peeking over a distant hill, its light cutting a clear, vibrant path through the frigid air. The entire landscape before them was cast in gold. Sunlight glinting off frost, Amelia knew, but still... she felt if she ran down into the valley below she could scrape enough gold leafing off the ground to earn millions.
"What did you mean then?" Melissa asked, her voice half-teasing, half-sympathetic.
"Just..." What did she mean? "Just that he asked me to marry him," she said, parsing out her feelings as she spoke. "It was such a nice proposal, Lisa. And when we talked, it was like... like maybe he wasn't my one true love, but I thought we could come to be good friends. We're going to be married until one of us dies, you know. So I thought it would be good to be friends, at least. But now it's like he can't stand to be in the same room as me."
Melissa sighed, her breath a dense cloud of unspoken words that floated up and away. Amelia watched her own breath do the same and hugged herself tighter. Part of her feared Melissa would dig deeper and ask questions she didn't know if she should answer truthfully. She trusted her friend, but admitting that her marriage wasn't yet consummated seemed a terrible risk.
"Amelia, the circumstances of your marriage were a little different," she said finally, squinting against the light as she watched the horizon. "If I know Josh, and I do know Josh, he's trying to give you time to get used to the new order. Relationships are like a dance, you know. Even if it isn't love you're after, just friendship. It's still a dance. You've been letting him lead you in the steps, and I suppose he just got worried he was leading you too fast."
Amelia thought about that as her friend fell silent. She'd known the answer all along, but it was hidden beneath a protective layer of self-doubt and disgruntlement. Lord of mercy, but she'd have no choice but to talk to him. Another painfully awkward clash of her insecurities against his. Another stilted, business-like agreement, perhaps to spend an allotted amount of time together each day, getting to know each other. Maybe she'd write down some questions they could ask each other, or something like that.
"You're right," she said with a sigh. "We probably need to talk."
Melissa laughed-- a cheerful, carefree sound. "That is an option," she agreed, nodding and casting a fond, amused smile in Amelia's direction.
"You're laughing like there's another."
"There is, silly," she said with a grin, tightening the shawl around her shoulders. How she wasn't freezing to death was a mystery Amelia needed to solve if she had any hope of surviving the weather to come. "You could talk to him," she said, rolling her eyes at the word. "But remember what I said? It's a dance. Maybe instead of talking you could just... y'know, take the lead a little bit. If you try to tell him what pace you want to set, there's always the chance he'll misinterpret. Men are very dumb. So don't even take that risk. Just show him, instead."
* * *
Amelia's husband didn't come to breakfast, and noontime found her trudging down the hill to the teeming mass of corrals and stables, her gloved hand wrapped around the handle of a small picnic basket. Melissa practically skipped at her side, pointing things out as they walked.
"That's the tackroom," she said, gesturing at a small, one-story structure to their left, and then to another on their right. "The haybarn."
Amelia nodded as the information entered one of her ears and immediately departed through the other. She couldn't concentrate on her impromptu tour. She was too nervous. Take charge, Melissa had said, as if it was going to be that easy.
"How do you know where he'll be?" she asked Melissa. All around, men worked among the teeming animals with various degrees of dedication. He could be anywhere, doing anything, but Melissa just laughed lightly and rolled her eyes.
"We just got a fresh crop of unbroke saddle horses, Amelia. Trust me, there's only one place he'll be."
Amelia followed her through the maze of buildings until they came to a small corral, fenced with sturdy wooden railing. The ground had softened under the men's movement and the unhindered sun, and Amelia's boots sank slightly into the earth as she followed her friend. Men crowded around the corral. It looked more like a bar room than a work place, with money changing hands and lewd barbs tossed back and forth. Some of the men were perched on the fence, and others leaned against the rails. All were glued to whatever spectacle was contained within the fence.
"C'mon, then," Melissa said, dragging her forward. They stood on their tiptoes, trying to see past the men. Finally someone noticed them and, turning red, stepped aside, wordlessly offering them his spot at the rails. Melissa pushed forward eagerly and Amelia followed, watching over her friend's shoulder.
The corral was empty but for one horse. Amelia knew nothing about horses, but she had a sense of beauty, and the animal was gorgeous. And terrifying. Muscles bunched and snapped beneath the sleek tan hide. Although the air was still, the midnight black mane and tail twitched and drifted in the air as if moved by an unseen wind. The horse was clearly agitated, huffing and emitting ear-splitting noises of anger as it danced about the enclosed space.
Relationships are a dance, Melissa had said, and Amelia hoped to God it wasn't a dance like this one. The men laughed and traded money, but were otherwise quiet as they watched the spectacle before them. They were clearly delighted. Enthralled. Amelia was horrified.
I'll be a widow in minutes, she realized as her free hand came up to press to her lips. Because atop that furious, dancing creature sat her husband. He looked very different from the man who had proposed to her and helped her with the buttons on her wedding dress and created a bed for himself on the floor. He looked neither hesitant nor unsure. He was a man who knew exactly where he ought to be in the universe-- on top of the horse.
The horse didn't seem to agree.
It snorted and stomped, tossing its head and throwing itself about the enclosure with surprising agility for a beast so massive. It seemed to rear up its back end and throw back its front all at once, lurching whole feet to the side, driving forward, slamming to a halt...
I'll be a widow...
Josh's face was set in lines of hard concentration as he clung to his seat. No, that was wrong, Amelia thought. He wasn't clinging. He seemed to hover there, somehow leaning and twisting in just the right way to keep his place in the saddle, anticipating each move the horse made just a hair's breadth before the animal decided. Her hand dropped away from her mouth as she watched, fascinated in spite of herself.
Fascinated, anyway, until the animal gave one fierce, angry buck and her husband went flying. He sailed over the monster's head and landed with a heavy thud on the far side of the corral. Amelia's heart leapt into her throat and she wrung the handle of the basket with sweaty hands, struggling not to cry out. She didn't notice that none of the men seemed particularly concerned, and Melissa just laughed. Her eyes were on the flailing hooves, the powerful muscles, the angry wide-eyed malice clearly hell-bent to pound her husband into the tilled-up earth.
Except... one second he was in danger, the next he was beyond the safety of the fence, having rolled deftly beneath the lowest rail. He was grinning as one of the men hauled him to his feet and a few others delivered heavy slaps to his back.
"Damn near two minutes, boss," Amelia heard one of them say. "You're breakin' him down."
"You know, boss, it's cheating if you come down early and sweet talk him with apples," said another, scowling good-naturedly.
"How much did you lose, Owens?" Josh called back, retrieving his hat from a nearby post and dropping it back on his head.
"That ain't got--"
But Josh was brushing by the man, his eyes having lit on Amelia and Melissa standing nearby. His face darkened as he strode toward them.
"Melissa, what the--"
"Good morning!" his sister said sweetly, cutting him off with a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "I want that one when you're done."
Josh scowled. "He's ranch stock, 'Lis, you know that. Why are you here?" His gaze passed over his sister's shoulder to land on Amelia and she couldn't help the way her shoulders curled forward. Melissa looked back and caught her eye before giving an exasperated huff.
"Okay, grumpy," she muttered, cuffing him on the shoulder as she backed away. "Be like that. I get the black one, though right?"
"Yeah you get the black one," he agreed, rolling his eyes. "Why are you here, Melissa?"
"I was just showing Amelia the way," Melissa said with a sly grin, stepping back and giving Amelia a gentle shove forward. "She didn't know where to find you."
With that, she spun in a whirl of fabric and loose hair, flouncing back up the trail the way she'd come. Josh glanced over his shoulder and caught the eye of one of the older men, jerking his head toward Melissa. The man nodded and jogged after her, and Amelia watched her friend link her arm through his as he caught her up.
"Are you okay?" Josh stepped forward, not closing the distance between them but reducing it. The men had begun to dissipate, moving pointedly out of earshot.
"I'm fine," she tried to say, but her voice caught on the dust in her throat. She cleared it and tried again. "I'm fine," she assured him, gesturing feebly with her basket. "I thought... you haven't been coming to lunch. I thought I might... I thought maybe you'd be hungry."
Josh stared at the basket in her hands, then up at her face, frowning intensely. You'd have thought she'd offered something insane, instead of just lunch.
"It's not a marriage proposal, Josh," she forced herself to quip, holding out the basket. "It's just lunch. You can turn it down if you like. There's no use overthinking it."
He huffed out a surprise laugh, the lines in his face smoothing for a moment. Then they were back-- those ever-present grooves of strain and doubt. He reached out and took the basket from her.
"Are you hungry?" he asked quietly. She wasn't, but she nodded.
"I packed enough for two," she said.
"Do you want to go back up to the house, or--"
"I spend all my time up there," she said quickly. In truth, she just didn't want to be anywhere near his father. "And it's warming up. Is there somewhere we could sit outside?"
He smiled-- a cautious thing that didn't hold much joy-- and offered her his free arm. She took it before her mind could tell her not to, stepping carefully as he led her through the labyrinth, sidling by open barn doors, striding past corrals containing steaming masses of cattle, picking their way carefully between buildings.
Finally, the ground beneath their feet turned from hoof-beaten mud to grass, and the smell of cattle relaxed from overpowering to undertone. He had led her to the wide stream that wound its way through the ranch, and they began to walk up stream, away from the sound and hubbub. The sun was at its highest point, warming Amelia so that she began to sweat beneath her layers.
"This okay?" Josh had drawn to a halt near a large tree that sank its roots deep into the bank of the stream. Amelia nodded, smiling up at him.
"It's perfect."
She'd neglected to bring a blanket, so they sat on the damp soil. Josh apologized to her as if it was his fault she'd forgotten, and she brushed him off.
"I need to wash this dress anyway," she said, pulling the basket toward her and opening it up. She'd packed fried chicken, green beans, and a small bowl of mashed potatoes. Josh made a quiet noise of approval and thanked her as she handed him his plate.
They ate in silence. The chicken was perfect-- tender and juicy-- but it tasted a bit like dust and tar in her mouth. She knew she ought to say something-- take the lead, Melissa had said-- but she didn't know what.
"I killed the chicken."
"What?" Josh looked up from his food, eyebrows drawn together in confusion, and Amelia felt a steam of embarrassment scorch her face.
"I..." she gestured at his plate. "I killed the chicken. The one we're eating. Melissa showed me how."
He stared at her a moment more and then released a startled bark of laughter, sparks of amusement glinting in his dark eyes. Amelia's stomach squeezed and she dropped her gaze, smiling at her own plate. He was terribly, terribly easy to please. Whatever this dance was Melissa was talking about, she probably wouldn't even have to be good at it. She could lead him off a cliff and step on his toes the whole time, and he'd probably think it was funny.
Emboldened, she looked up and met his eye. "It's the first time I ever killed anything other than a rat," she said. "There was so much blood. I've never seen anything like it."
He smiled, swallowing a bite before speaking. "Surely they have chickens in St. Louis."
Amelia shrugged. "Oh, sure. I never had any, though. I never lived in a place where I could keep them. And none of my jobs required me to be a butcher."
"What kinds of jobs were those?"
"Mostly housework," she said, staring at the stream as she thought through the timeline. "My first job was in a factory, but I didn't stay there for very long. After that I worked in a kitchen as a dish cleaner. That was at a hotel, and after a few months they moved me up to clean the rooms. I did that for a few years. Then, oh! I had the most wonderful job after that as a private maid for this elderly woman, Mrs. O'Connell. She was so kind, and she paid me very generously. Her grandson was a terrible flirt, but Mrs. O'Connell never let him bother me too much. He was married, you see." She picked at the hem of her dress, thinking of Mrs. O'Connell. The woman had been dear to her-- had treated Amelia like family. Her eyes misted when she thought of the day she'd gone to fetch her employer for breakfast and found her still and silent in her bed.
"Amelia?"
She looked up and found Josh frowning at her in concern.
"I'm sorry," she tittered, swiping angrily at the tears that had escaped her foggy eyes. "It's this baby. He has me in seven different moods per second. One minute I'm laughing and the next I'm crying, and there's never any rhyme or reason to it."
The edge of his mouth ticked up in a smile, but his eyes were still warm and worried. Hitching up a bit, he pulled a neatly-folded handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.
"It's clean," he promised, eyes flicking down to the dirt before grabbing hold of hers once more. She accepted the offering, using the corner to dab at her eyes. When she offered it back he waved it off. "Hang on to it," he said. "If you're crying every other minute you'll probably need it again before the day is out."
She laughed in spite of herself, slipping the folded cloth into the bodice of her dress.
"So, I have to assume that wasn't your last job," he said, his tone carefully light as he picked up his plate to resume eating. "Surely you didn't meet my erstwhile brother in some old woman's sitting room."
Again, Amelia laughed, forgetting for a moment that thoughts of Brent caused her pain. "No," she said, shaking her head. "It wasn't my last job. After Mrs. O'Connell I went back to hotels. I was a waitress, mostly. I tried to get work as a receptionist, but you need experience or connections so I didn't have any luck. I'm not much of a seamstress either," she said regretfully. "I know enough to keep a house, but nowhere near good enough to get paid for the work."
"So you waited tables, then," he said, no hint of disapproval in his tone. "That sounds like a lot of work."
"It was," she said, nodding. "My feet ached by the end of the day. I enjoyed it, though. It was better than the kitchens. More entertaining. Good for meeting people."
"And here you are," he said, stripping the last bit of meat from his chicken. He had yet to touch his green beans, she'd noticed. She'd probably have to pester him about it. That would be one of her wifely duties-- making sure he ate the green things on his plate.
"Here I am," she agreed, spearing some of her own beans onto her fork. Truth be told, she hadn't touched hers either until she noticed his. "What about you? Do you enjoy working as a ranch foreman?"
He chewed thoughtfully, using his fork to scrape together the remains of his mashed potatoes. "It's good work," he said finally. "It's satisfying. I work with good men, for the most part." He didn't really sound convinced of his own words.
"You certainly looked like you were enjoying it when I found you," she said, shuddering at the memory. "You should have warned me I was fixing to be a widow before my first anniversary."
That laugh. It seemed to come from way deep down inside him, even when it was just a chuckle. It rumbled in a way that made her own ribs itch to answer with a giggle of her own.
"I like breaking horses," he admitted, his eyes flashing at her in the sunlight. "And you really shouldn't worry. It's not all that dangerous if you know what you're doing."
"You were thrown thirty feet into the air!"
He laughed at the sky. "Good to know you have a penchant for exaggeration," he said, grinning at her. "And besides, getting thrown is just part of the process. It hardly hurts if you know how to fall."
"And I'm to believe that you know how to fall?" she asked dryly.
"Sure am. You could call me an expert."
It was her turn to laugh. Using her loaded fork to gesture, she pointed to his plate. "You should eat your green beans," she chided gently. "They're good for you and you need every healthsome advantage you can get if this is truly how you make your living."
With a guilty smile, he speared a few beans and shoved them in his mouth, wrinkling his nose in dramatized distaste. She laughed again, turning her head back to the sky. Sunlight slanted through the branches of the tree, and multi-colored leaves were strewn about the ground beneath them. "Autumn is a lovely season," she noted.
He nodded thoughtfully. "It'll be a hard winter, though," he said, echoing Melissa's statement from before. Amelia shuddered.
"I can't imagine it getting any colder than the mornings already are," she said, tugging at the hem of her jacket even though she was perfectly warm beneath the midday sun.
"You'll get used to it," Josh said with a shrug. She'd expected him to gush in sympathy and promise to buy her a thicker coat, so his nonchalance surprised her. "Some of the men come from down south. The first winter's always hard, but they adjust after a few weeks. By the time spring rolls around you'll be dancing around barefoot in your summer dress on mornings like this."
"I'll believe that when the time comes," she sighed. "For now, I'm going to continue complaining about the cold if it's alright with you."
"Complain away," he said with a shrug, but then a cloud of something heavy washed over his expression. Before she could ask after it, he'd smiled and moved the conversation on. She didn't think much more of it as they finished up their meals, rinsed their plates in the stream, and packed away the picnic. He walked her back up to the house and kissed her on the cheek, and she thought that tremendous progress had been made.
Then dinner came and went with no sign of him. Darkness fell, and she tucked herself into bed and lay awake as long as possible, hoping he would come in so they could continue talking, but she fell asleep before he returned.
She had unpleasant, lonesome dreams, and woke up feeling a bit bereft. As usual, she rose to an empty bedroom, Josh's blankets and pillow stowed neatly atop the chest by the foot of the bed. It was a shame, she thought, that nothing seemed to have changed.
Except that as she sat up, her arms didn't prickle with chills like they usually did. The fireplace, usually occupied in the morning by little more than a few ghostly embers, was crackling merrily. Warmth emanated from its maw, and a similar heat sparked to life in Amelia's chest. She flopped onto her back, smiling at the ceiling, and thought that maybe Melissa was onto something. Maybe relationships really were a dance. And sure, her part in the dance was the clumsy misstep of two left feet, but maybe it would work. Maybe he was willing to stumble along with her until they both learned to waltz.