Amelia
"We're going to be late for breakfast," Josh said, shattering the buzzing bubble of comfort that had closed over them and soothed the sadness and anxiety in her blood. Amelia turned to look at the clock. He was right. They'd have to rush.
"Can't they just eat without us?"
He flashed her a wry smile as he shoved the covers aside. "I told you before, there's not much sense to how my father picks his battles. But mealtime is a hill he's willing to die on. We'd never hear the end of it if we skipped family breakfast to laze about in bed."
His words made her frown.
"You miss meals all the time," she said, gathering the blankets toward her waist as he walked to the washbasin and bent over it, splashing what had to be frigid water on his face.
"To work," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder before bending and splashing more water in his face, shoving wet hands up into his hair and attempting to tame the wild spikes that had formed during the night. Her fingers itched to help him, and she clenched them tighter in the blankets as he continued, thankfully unaware of her wayward thoughts. "Not to sleep."
"That seems a bit of a double standard," she noted absently, heat suffusing her cheeks as he abandoned his hair and tugged his shirt over his head, pulling open a drawer to dig for a new one. The muscles of his back played beneath his skin and she took a strange pride in knowing the way those muscles felt beneath her fingers. Knowing the warmth that radiated from his skin. Knowing the raw power in those arms when they closed around her.
"I suppose it is, but it's his double standard and he owns this property. So, unfortunately, his double standards are tantamount to law."
"Have you ever thought of leaving?" she asked, gritting her teeth as she slipped out of bed and set about dressing herself. She was no longer looking at him, but she could hear the tension in his answer.
"Sure," he answered, his voice unnaturally even. "What man doesn't dream of setting out and making his own way?"
"What woman doesn't dream of doing the same?" she answered, sitting to tug socks over toes that were already going numb. She'd gotten rather spoiled by the fires he built before leaving in the mornings. It was odd for the room to be so cold when she awoke.
"What?"
She looked up to see Josh standing on the far side of the bed, frowning at her. His hair still stood out from his head on the right side and she bit her lip on a smile. Brent never would've been seen in such disarray. She had found it quite charming, the way he stood before the mirror and smoothed Macassar oil into his blond locks, combing them over in the style of the Victorian noblemen he emulated. She shook herself free from the memory and tried to remember what they'd been talking about.
Ah, yes. Youthful fantasies.
"I just... I agree with you. I've dreamt of setting out on my own as well." His shoulders sagged and he tilted his head, studying her. She felt naked beneath his scrutiny and lowered her gaze to her sock, tugging it over her heel and up her calf. "Anyway, I s'pose I'm just saying I understand, that's all. Everyone dreams of making their own way. But here we are."
"Here we are," he echoed thoughtfully. "Where would you be if you could choose?"
In truth, she had always rather wanted to travel, but she dared not say as much. She knew where his mind would go if she brought up the subject of adventures and exploration. She knew which adventurer he'd imagine.
"I suppose I'd just like my own house," she said, settling on a partial truth. "I've never had somewhere all my own. It would be nice to have a place where I can turn my own quirks and pet peeves into laws." She tried on a cautious smile that she felt spreading like warm sunshine across her face when she saw her husband's expression light up. He looked like a bit like Brent had always looked when he drew a good hand at the card table.
"We can build a house, Ames," he offered, finishing up the buttons on his shirt. "If that's what you want, we can do that. I just thought after Brent left you'd want--" he cut himself off with a heavy frown, his gaze dropping to the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest. It occurred to Amelia that she and her husband were playing a sort of child's game. First one to mention Brent loses.
"You know," she said, stepping around the bed and hooking her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I wanted my own home long, long before I met your brother. It wasn't my dream with Brent. It was just my dream."
Together, they left the sanctity of the bedroom and walked down the chilly hallway toward the stairs. They were just stepping, arm-in-arm, onto the first floor when Josh finally responded.
"Would you like a one story house, or two?"
Amelia laughed. "I think one would be enough for now, don't you?"
"I've never given it much thought," he said, shrugging. "Have you considered which pointless rules you'd like to enforce?"
"Oh, of course," she said, stopping in the middle of the hall and tightening her grip on his arm so he had to stop as well. He turned toward her, frowning, and she reached up to feather her fingers through his unkempt hair. He grimaced and moved as if to smooth it, but she batted his hand away and let hers rest on his shoulder.
"In my home," she announced, with all the gravity and authority of a divine edict, "there will be an absolute ban on Macassar oil."
Her husband's brows pulled together in confusion. "A ban on what?" he asked, shaking his head slowly, evidently lost.
"Macassar oil," she said, as if he simply hadn't heard her. "I absolutely hate it. It smells godawful, and it stains everything. Since you aren't familiar, I assume it won't be difficult for you to obey that law."
He shrugged, a cautious smile tugging at the edge of his mouth, and she raised her free hand to her chin, tapping her lips with her finger as if in thought. "I'll have to come up with something more difficult for you," she said. "Just to test your commitment."
"Do I get to make any laws?" he asked dryly, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen once more.
She tipped her head back and let loose a dramatic laugh. "Oh, Josh, you fool," she said, patting his arm condescendingly. "It's not your house. You're only funding it, building it, and helping me fill it. You'll hold no power whatsoever, and frankly I'm appalled and a little disturbed that you'd even suggest such a thing."
He snorted and took her hand from his shoulder, wrapping it in his as they made their way through the salon to the dining room. Usually, Brent's father was the last one to arrive for any meal, so it felt wrong to walk in and see him sitting there at the head of the table. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt his eyes burning into her back while she and Josh quietly served themselves from the small buffet at the side of the room.
Since her bizarre betrothal to Josh, the old man had been nothing but cordial to her. Sometimes she had a hard time seeing the man of whom Melissa was so embarrassed and who was so cruel to her husband. He spoke to her often of the child's arrival, inquiring after names and how she planned to decorate her son or daughter's room. He had even unearthed a small shelf of children's books and spoke fondly of reading them to Brent and Melissa when they were small. From what her husband and Melissa had said, she imagined he'd read to Josh as well before everything went south. It almost saddened her more to know that he'd had his father's love and lost it, than to imagine that he'd never been loved at all.
She and Josh took their seats, and Mr. Tucker said grace. Amelia barely had enough time to spear a fried potato on her fork when she heard the old man clear his throat.
"You were ten minutes late, Joshua," he said, his fork gripped in his right hand, left hand fisted on the tabletop.
"I'm sorry about that, sir," her husband said. "It won't happen again."
Amelia had seen Josh bark orders at his men. She'd watched him stand off with Mr. Mulligan at the dance. She'd listened to him banter with Melissa and witnessed the way he held sway over every animal on the ranch. Meek was not a word she'd use to describe him. Not usually.
"Do you care to explain yourself?"
"There's no excuse, sir. I slept in. Amelia was waiting for me so we could come down together."
Now that was just an outright lie! And what did he mean there was no excuse? He didn't need an excuse. He had every reasonable, valid right to lay abed all day, dammit!
"That there's no excuse goes without saying, Joshua," Mr. Tucker barked, taking a sip of coffee, watery eyes glaring at her husband over the rim. "You know how important meal time was to your mother. You do her memory a disservice."
She could feel Josh deflate beside her. His posture didn't change, but she had a sudden overpowering urge to hug him. Unable to do so, she shifted her hand from her lap onto his leg and squeezed gently.
"You're right, sir. Like I said, it won't happen again."
Mr. Tucker glared. Josh met his eye, expression neutral. Melissa watched the exchange with her fork gripped in a white-knuckled fist, eyes flicking back and forth between her brother and her father. Amelia sipped her tea and tightened her fingers on her husband's thigh. I'm here.
"Right," the old man said, once again clearing his throat. "Tell me about the ranch. How many do you suppose we'll lose to the storm?"
"Three for sure, sir," he answered quickly. Beneath the table, his hand came to rest over the top of hers. "There's another half dozen or so I was worried about before the weather closed in who might not survive the chill, but by and large the losses are negligible."
"No loss is negligible. Do you need to be reminded that I'm running a business?"
Amelia wanted to scream through her clenched teeth. She still hadn't spoken to her husband what had happened the day before, but she was damn near certain he'd come home in the wee hours, drenched to the bone and half frozen because he'd been working on behalf of his father's so-called business.
"I just meant--"
"I don't care what you meant. What happened to the three we lost?"
For the first time, Josh lowered his gaze to his plate. His hand left hers and he reached for his coffee, taking a long pull before meeting her father's eye once more. "One of the fences broke on the north paddock," he said. "Yesterday, before the storm. About two-hundred head got loose. We were able to round up all but three before the weather closed in and I had to pull the men back."
Again, silence. Amelia didn't much care for the way this family communicated. Her parents had died when she was so young, she barely remembered them, but she remembered her home being small, warm, and loud with music and laughter. After that, she'd lived in various orphanages, all of which were chaotic as a matter of course. Then she'd moved out on her own, finding quarter in boarding houses and working in hectic kitchens, laundromats, workrooms...
No, she didn't care for silence.
"Two-hundred head of cattle," Mr. Tucker said, drawing the words out.
"We recovered all but three," Josh said, and Amelia wondered how his father was so blind to reality. She'd overindulged in alcohol before, but it hadn't blinded her. Even stumbling drunk, she'd have been able to see how weary her husband looked and had the good sense not to pester him, even with a legitimate grievance. And Mr. Tucker's complaints were not, she was absolutely certain, legitimate.
"What was wrong with the fence?"
"It was just old, sir. I'd assigned a detail to repair it, but I didn't follow up to ensure it was completed."
Amelia wanted to let her forehead thunk against the wooden tabletop. The elder Tucker was an insufferable old grouch, but Josh certainly wasn't helping himself. If he'd assigned a detail to repair the fence, then the fault lay with those men. Not him.
"So I lost three healthy, profitable cattle because you couldn't be bothered to perform your job."
"Sir--"
"Answer the question, Joshua."
"Dad," Melissa cut in before her brother could speak. "They only lost three. Truly, it's a negligible loss in the books."
"It's the principle of the matter, Lisa," the old man said, his gaze softening as he glanced to his daughter. "Mind your business."
"But--"
"Mind your business, Melissa."
Dear lord, Amelia wanted to scream. She'd already cried today, and laughed. Now she was in the mood for a fit of furious screaming. Her cheeks heated as she imagined herself standing up and dressing the old man down. She'd address him as you selfish old drunk. She'd demand an explanation for the way he treated a son who, from what she'd seen, had done nothing but serve and care for his father and the man's business, and at great personal expense no less! She'd point out her husband's haggard appearance and obvious exhaustion, take him by the hand, and drag him from the room and back to bed.
She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the notion. No, she wouldn't start a screaming match with her father-in-law. But that didn't mean she had to sit here and listen to the nonsense.
"Oh my," she gasped, pressing one hand to her belly and the other to her mouth. At once, three faces turned to face her, all of them colored with concern.
"Are you alright?" Josh asked, his eyes wide with alarm.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said, swallowing hard and batting her eyelashes at him. "I'm so sorry. Sometimes the baby makes me a bit ill in the mornings. Mr. Tucker," she turned to her father-in-law. "I don't want to be disrespectful, but may I please be excused? I think I would like to lie down for a while."
"Of course, of course," he said, brow furrowed with concern.
She nodded gratefully and placed her folded napkin beside her plate. Josh was already on his feet, pulling back her chair. His hand cupped her elbow as he helped her stand, and Amelia looked across the table just in time to see Melissa hide a smile behind her cup of coffee.
"Feel better," her friend said, eyes twinkling. "Would you like me to have some breakfast brought up to your room in a little while? Something light for after your stomach settles?"
Genuine gratitude swamped Amelia as she leaned dramatically against her husband and wiped nonexistent sweat from her brow. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Again, Mr. Tucker, I'm so sorry. Josh," she turned her face up to her husband. "You'll help me up to the room and sit with me, won't you? I feel so ill..."
He only grunted in response, hurrying her from the room without a second glance at his family. She nearly erupted into giggles at the way he half-carried her up the stairs and back to their bedroom. "Would you like some water?" he asked as he set her down on the edge of the bed and knelt, taking her foot in his hand and working the buttons on her shoe. "I thought you said this had passed? I wish you'd told me you were still getting sick in the mornings. We might have some ginger root in the kitchen. That usually--"
"You know it's the strangest thing," she said, cutting him off and flopping onto her back on the mattress. "All of a sudden I feel completely fine."
His fingers stilled, and he moved her foot from from his lap, placing it on the floor and coming to his feet. She shifted up onto her elbows and smiled as he frowned down at her, hands on his hips.
"Completely fine," he echoed.
"Completely fine," she affirmed, grinning. Except that wasn't expressly true. She was incredibly tired, her eyes gritty, limbs heavy. After all, she'd gotten barely any sleep. And if she hadn't been there, she'd have guessed he hadn't gotten any at all. He'd looked tired before they went down to breakfast. Now he looked downright weary. She sat up and patted the bed next to her. He sat, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.
"That was quite a performance," he said, scrubbing his hands over his face.
"I always thought I'd be a good actress," she said, placing a hand between his shoulder blades and rubbing gently. He stiffened, then relaxed beneath her touch, face still buried in his hands. "I'm not feeling ill, you know."
"I gathered that, Ames."
"But I am quite tired."
He turned his face to hers, a tired smile in his eyes. "That so?"
"I could sleep all day," she said, nodding. "The only thing that might get me out of bed is food, but I have it on good authority that breakfast will be delivered right to my door in an hour or so."
"I guess there's no reason not to sleep, then," he said, the smile turning to a grin.
"No reason I can find." She shrugged. "But it is awfully cold in the bed, and I'd feel a little silly if I were to just lay around all day alone."
With a sigh, he dropped back onto the bed, and she flopped down beside him. She found his hand amidst the mussed covers and wove her fingers through his. He squeezed, and for several long seconds they stared at the stained plaster ceiling. Amelia's heartbeat, which had pounded in her ears throughout her deception, finally began to slow as she listened to the slow rhythm of her husband's breathing.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked, finally. "I know it was dishonest..."
He laughed, the sound a gentle rumble that made her want to curl into his chest and remain there until the snow melted beneath the springtime sun. "No, Ames, I'm not mad," he said on a sigh. He gave her hand a tug and she shifted over, resting her head on his arm, her side damn near burning where it pressed against his. He was so warm. Why on earth had she let such an effective heater sleep for so long on her floor?
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I just hope you don't think the performance was necessary."
"What do you mean?"
"I know how it seems, but he doesn't bother me. Certainly not any more than it'd bother him not to be able to say his piece. In the future, you'd be fine to just let it run its course."
An unladilike snort escaped her, and she poked his side. "Doesn't bother you, huh?"
"Not much, no."
"Well," she said, sitting up and making as if to stand. "In that case, I suppose I'm feeling much better and we can return to breakfast. Let's just--"
"Ames..." he reached out and snagged her upper arm, dragging her back down beside him. "Don't be difficult," he scolded, but his tone was warm and Amelia decided she should be difficult more often. When she was difficult it made him difficult, and she liked her husband quite a lot when he was being difficult.
"I'm just working with what you're giving me," she said petulantly, turning her face toward him. So close, she could see the dark, bruised-looking rings beneath his eyes. "You're the one being difficult."
He tipped his own chin toward his shoulder and furrowed his brow at her. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?" he asked, and she held her breath when his calloused fingers brushed over her cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You look tired, Ames."
"I am tired," she said, poking her tongue out at him. "I was up half the night waiting on my wayward husband. And now that I've gone and purchased us a few more hours of rest, he's insisting on spending the time talking."
He grinned, eyes alight, and sat up, sliding off the bed and replacing her foot in his lap. "By the time I get these shoes off you it'll be sunset anyway," he grumbled.
Amelia folded her arms beneath her head and laughed.
* * *
"You need to be certain."
"I am certain."
"Once we start it'll be hard to--"
"I'm certain, Josh. This is what I want."
"Are you sure you don't want to wait a while? I'm worried this will remind you of Brent."
"Not everything reminds me of Brent."
"But this..."
"Least of all this."
Her husband sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the unremarkable, featureless expanse of snow atop the hill. The flawless white surface glowed orange under the setting sun, which outlined the mountains to the west in brilliant halos of fire. In the valley below, she could just make out the winding path of the river, its outline dotted with dark spots where the water hadn't yet frozen over.
"It's perfect," she sighed, struggling through the knee-deep snow. Josh brought an arm around her as she drew even with him, tugging her close to his side.
"You're certain? Absolutely certain?"
Her smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks as she squeezed her arms around him. Every time she blinked she imagined the house. Perhaps a second floor wouldn't be such a bad idea. Or at least a loft. There would be a fireplace framed by bookshelves and a homey little kitchen that would always smell like bread. A table and chairs that would leave scuff marks on the floor. The walls would be covered with sketches of far-away places. London, Paris, the far east... It would be far less grand than the ranch house, but it would be her home. The first place she'd ever have that was hers.
"I don't know if I've ever been so certain of anything," she said, weaving the truth of her confidence into the words. "Are you certain?"
"Of what?"
"That you want to put so much time and effort into it."
"No, Ames. I want to keep living in my childhood bedroom and breaking bread with my father."
She enjoyed his sarcasm immensely. It felt, in a way, like an act of trust for him to be so honest with her. Finally, she felt like they were building something, and not just a house.
"Well, when can we start building?" she asked eagerly, letting go of him to plow through the snow, hoping to see the view from the east side. She heard him crunching through the snow behind her, and when she lost her balance in the drifts his hand closed around her arm and held her upright.
"We can start ordering the supplies now," he said. "We won't be able to break ground until spring, but if we have everything ready it shouldn't take too long. A month, maybe, depending on how many men we can find to work on it."
"Why don't we just borrow some of the ranch hands?"
He snorted. "I'm sure the old man would love that, me pulling his workers to build me a house. Nah, I'll place an add in town and we'll pay for the construction ourselves."
Amelia smiled at the way he used the word we. It was always we with him. We, us, our, let's... like they were a true team. Their first trip to town as a couple, he'd taken her to the bank and added her as a holder on his account. Walked her by the hand to every store and informed every shopkeeper that her word was his, and that any item she wanted to purchase should be placed on his line of credit. Earlier that afternoon, after they'd finally risen from their day-long nap, he'd even helped her make the bed and tidy the little tray on which Melissa had delivered their breakfast.
"Will it be too far for you to ride each day to work?" she asked, frowning at the ranch, which lay in the distance to the east. She could barely make out the little buildings. It must be miles.
"It's only a couple of miles," he said. "Not so far when you get used to it."
"It feels awfully far in snow like this," she said, turning to frown at the short distance between her and the sled. Her thighs burned from the walk, and snow clung to her skirts. She glowered down at her husband's attire. Well-oiled boots protected his feet, and his sturdy pants didn't collect snow the way her skirts did. "I feel that women were made to wear skirts because they hold us back," she noted absently, beginning the long trek back to the sled.
"Is that so?" Josh caught up to her, and before she could take one more struggling step, she found herself swept into his arms with a startled giggle.
"My legs work just fine, Mr. Tucker," she scolded, kicking her snow-caked feet even while she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Didn't look like it to me. Looked to me like your skirts were holding you back. As a man and, more specifically, as your husband, I assumed it was my duty to assist you."
Amelia relaxed in his hold, still laughing, as he carried her the last few steps to the sled and set her gently on the bench. She bent over and began beating the snow from her skirts while he circled around and climbed up onto the bench beside her, unwinding the reins and giving them a flick to let the horse know it was time to move.
"Can I drive?" she asked once her skirts were clean, and her husband handed the reins over without argument. Before long, they were sailing across the snow, her laughter streaming behind them as the cold, crisp air numbed her face. She felt so alive, moving this fast. What must it feel like to be atop the horse, flying over the prairie? She slowed the horse and turned to her husband.
"When will I learn to ride?" she asked, handing the reins back over at his gesture.
"I told you," he said cautiously. "After the baby comes."
"Do you promise, though? You're not going to just set a new deadline? And then a new one after that?"
He laughed, tipping his head back to the velvet blue sky, studded with winking stars. "I've known you for a few months now, Ames," he said, transferring the reins to one hand and slinging his free arm over her shoulder. "Yours is not a will I wish to cross."
Satisfied, she nodded. She thought she'd be good at riding horses. She'd been on the ranch a while, and had gleaned the basic mechanics just from watching the men. Well, from watching one man in particular. She didn't want to ride like just anyone. She wanted to ride like her husband so that the horse would become an extension of her body as they soared, as one, over the wide expanse of the rolling hills.
"What will I wear?" she asked suddenly. Now that her mind was on skirts, she realized it would be near impossible to even get on the horse, much less ride it.
Josh shrugged a shoulder. "They make riding skirts," he said, flashing her a sideways grin. "We can order you a couple next time we go to town."
Amelia felt her shoulders slump. "Oh. Okay." She'd been quietly hoping that there was some unspoken rule of the untamed west. A rule that stated a woman on horseback didn't need to conform to societal mores and that it would be perfectly acceptable for her to wear trousers so long as she changed immediately upon the conclusion of her riding lessons.
Josh sighed, the sound shaped around a smile, and his hand on her shoulder squeezed in understanding. "Or, you could wear trousers," he suggested. Before she could squeal out her excitement, he amended his words. "But the old man will throttle me if he sees you, and if any of the ranch hands catch sight of you like that..." he shook his head slowly. "I'll have no choice but to beat the lot of them to death just to keep them away from you."
Amelia laughed. "So it'll be our secret."
"And Lisa's."
"Lisa's?"
"Yeah..." he gave her a wry smile. "She paved the way for you on the trousers argument about ten years ago." Amelia laughed. She'd expect no less from her friend. Josh joined her with a weary chuckle. "I'm sure she'll want to help you alter a pair. And then she'll be trying to convince you to go out in them in public. And then one morning I'll wake up one morning and both my wife and my sister will be gone out east, off to join the suffragettes."
Her belly hurt from laughing, and she tucked herself more snuggly against his side. "If you think you're not coming with us, you're a fool," she said. "We'll need someone to lug our baggage and tend to our horses."
When he laughed again, it sounded almost wistful. "That wouldn't be so bad," he said, his gloved fingers tapping on her shoulder thoughtfully. "I always wanted to see the east coast."
"Is that so?" she asked, a flutter of excitement in her belly. "You never struck me as the adventuresome sort."
There was a flash of hurt in his expression as he frowned at her. She hoped he'd tell her off. I stay here because I have to, Amelia. Not because I want to. Instead, he shrugged and smiled. "Who hasn't dreamt of visiting New York City?" he asked. "Or seeing the ocean? I've heard the mountains in Virginia are gentler than ours. And Washington, where all the politicians squabble? There's a lot to see. I don't reckon I'd want to stay for any length of time, but it would be a sight to see before I die."
Amelia hummed thoughtfully. "What about outside the United States?" she asked. "Do you want to travel overseas?"
The silence was so long she wondered if perhaps he hadn't heard her. She opened her mouth to ask again when he finally spoke. "I did once," he said somberly. "I don't know why, but Africa in particular always seemed a worthy destination. There's a children's book somewhere in the old man's library, full of sketches of elephants and giraffes. I was obsessed as a boy."
"And now?"
"Now..." he trailed off, and Amelia wished she hadn't roused this particular line of conversation. She was hoping to find common ground, and she had, but this wasn't what she'd intended. She had wanted to share in hope, not join in commiseration. "I s'pose it's just not my fate," he said finally. Then he turned to look at her. "Do you want to travel?"
More than anything. "I suppose it isn't my fate, either," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "That's alright, though. I've traveled all the way to the territories and in a few months I'll learn how to ride a horse. In trousers. Already, I've seen a lot more than most of the girls I grew up with. I don't see much harm in leaving the giraffes to the real explorers. I'd probably be afraid in such a strange place."
He laughed at that. "I can't imagine you afraid of anything, Ames," he said fondly, and his words stoked the fire, crackling away in her chest. "Leastwise not enough to stop you from doing what you want to do."
"In that case, perhaps we'll go see Africa someday," she said, unable to temper the smile that pulled at her wind-numbed cheeks. "You and me, together." She just wished he sounded more excited when he pulled her close to his side and kissed her temple. More excited and less... weary? Sad? Anxious? All of those things, and none of them. Really, he just sounded like he had the day he offered to marry her. Desperate to give her the world, and pained because he knew the world probably wouldn't be enough.
"Sounds like a plan," he said quietly, as the last of the sun's light left the smooth surface of the snow, and the sky overhead darkened to rich navy, haunted by floating wisps of cloud. The only sounds were the horse's breathing, the tinkle of the harness, and the crunch of snow beneath them. Amelia wound an arm around her husband's middle and began to doze, lulled by the peace and the warmth radiating from his body.
They'd go to Africa she decided, as the fog of descending slumber aroused the dreamy hopefulness that had sustained her through the dull loneliness of her childhood. She and her husband, and their children. They'd go to Africa together and see the lions and the elephants. The zebras and the giraffes. Then they'd come home to their quiet little house on the hill. They'd sit in chairs on the porch and watch the sun sink behind the mountains. Josh would teach all the children how to ride, and Amelia would teach them all to read.
"We're going to have a lovely life," she mumbled sleepily, smiling when she felt the rumble of his laughter.
"Yeah," he agreed, hugging her tighter against him. "Yeah, I reckon we will."