Josh
The house was silent when he returned. A terrible omen, to be sure. He was searching for signs of life when he rounded the corner to the dining room and ran smack into Melissa.
"You bastard," she hissed in a throaty whisper, shoving him in the chest, eyes sparking with fire. "What were you thinking leaving us alone like that?"
He had no good answer.
"Thought I might bring him home."
"Did you?" she asked, and he knew she was just asking to make a point. She knew damn well he'd failed. He raised his eyebrows and she snorted humorlessly. "Of course not." Then she sighed, her expression softening. "It was good of you to try," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "But we needed you here, Josh. Pa's squirreled away in his office, and Amelia ran off into the orchard."
"What happened?"
"Not much, really," Melissa said, shrugging one shoulder. "Amelia told us the truth, which I assume you already knew." She narrowed her eyes at him and he lowered his own. She sighed and went on. "Anyway, she told us the truth. Pa listened. Then he told her to be gone by morning. Apparently whores have no place beneath his roof."
Josh winced and rubbed his forehead. "I'll talk to him. He's in his study?"
Melissa nodded silently, before shocking him straight into tomorrow by stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He returned the hug, awkwardly patting her back. "This is terrible," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm so... I feel so horrible for her, and I'm so embarrassed. When did he get like this?"
June 23rd, 1850. "I dunno, Lisa," Josh sighed, before pushing his sister away and taking her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry I left you to deal with it alone," he said earnestly, capturing her gaze and forcing a smile. "I'll talk to the old man. Maybe you could go keep Amelia company?"
"She wants to be alone," Melissa said with a heavy sigh, dropping her gaze. "Can't say I blame her."
"Alright, then. I just ran poor Copper all the way to town and back, so he's outside and in a terrible mood. Maybe you oughta take him back to the barn and then let the others out to stretch their legs? I doubt pa'll be outside any time soon."
At that, Melissa's face brightened. She loved those damn horses almost more than he did, and it was one of her greatest gripes that she was so rarely able to sneak in some unsupervised time with them.
"Just promise not to get your head kicked in," he said over his shoulder as she skipped past him. "The old man would skin me alive."
"Oh, you're a regular clown," she said dryly. Then she stopped in the doorway and turned around, one hand on the frame as she met his eye. "Josh..." she trailed off, lowering her gaze to the floor before looking up and skewering him with one of her trademark knowing looks. The ones that made him feel like she was hearing his innermost thoughts and watching his future at the same time.
"What is it, Lisa?" he asked warily, turning fully to face her.
"It's just..." she rubbed her temple with her hand in agitation before dropping it to her side. "Just do your best, okay? She deserves our help." Her meaning was clear. Melissa was always pestering him to put up a fight with the old man. Today, she wanted the opposite.
"Of course," he said with a nod.
"I'm sorry," she said, smiling sadly, and was gone before he could respond.
Squaring his shoulders, Josh turned and strode down the hall to the door of his father's study. It was quiet, but that calm was deceptive. It was quiet the way roiling stormclouds were quiet overhead, right before lashing out with bolts of lightning and cracking thunder.
Raising a hand, Josh rapped three times on the door.
"Come in!" his father yelled, his voice rough with whiskey. Clenching his teeth together, Josh pushed the door open and stepped inside before shutting it quickly behind him. As if an inch of wood could prevent this storm from spreading through the whole house-- the whole damn ranch. "Where the hell is he?" he demanded, his fist pounding the mahogany desktop.
"In town," Josh answered, risking a step forward. "He aims to be on a train east tomorrow morning."
"Then you get your hide back to town, tie him up, throw him over a horse, and bring him home," the man spat, his face beat red with anger. Whiskey fumes rolled off him in waves so potent it made Josh dizzy. "I will not allow a bastard to be born beneath my roof, goddammit," he yelled, seemingly unaware of the irony of his own vitriol. "Having one living here is bad enough. I won't stand to have one born here. You get your brother and you bring him home so he can make this right."
"Sir, don't you think the damage is already done?" Josh asked, struggling to find reason with a man whose logic was hand-delivered to him in the form of threats of eternal damnation. "Brent already fathered the child. All that's left is to decide what kind of Christian man you want to be. I don't imagine Christ would've turned a way a poor young pregnant woman without--"
"You're too goddamn soft!" his father cut him off, slamming his glass down on the table, whiskey slopping out and splashing across the gleaming surface. "You wanna preach about Christ and mercy, you drag that little whore down to the courthouse and marry her yourself."
Ice slithered down Josh's spine. It was hard not to pity a man this lost. Brent asked why he stayed, Melissa asked while he didn't fight back, and he could never answer because it just seemed so obvious to him. They'd been so young when everything went sour. They barely remembered the way their father had been before. This wasn't him. Their mother's death had broken him, and that goddamn preacher had pieced him back together with lies and sealed poison inside the hollow shell that was left.
"Would that be enough?" he asked calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Excuse me?" His father's eyes were glazed, but beneath the haze of alcohol Josh could see the fire raging.
"Would it be enough?" he asked again. "If I marry her and claim the child as mine, can they stay? Will you include them in your will?"
"If you can convince that pretty little thing to forget your brother and marry you," his father spat, "then she can stay. But the land goes to Brent's child, not to you. Don't you be thinking you can--"
But Josh was already walking away.
Amelia
She'd picked out a favorite tree two days after arriving at the ranch. It was the same as all the other trees at first glance, but at closer glance it was perfect. It sat at the end of a row, where ground was just beginning to slope down. The curve of its roots left a perfect space in which to sit, and when she slotted herself into that space the trunk curved just right with her back. It didn't dig into her spine or hurt her rear, and the view from her natural throne was sublime. Tree-spotted grassland stretched out to the unknown, rising and falling around the curving river as it meandered its way toward town. The hills stretched out so far it seemed like the sky was only feet from the ground. She felt if she walked all the way to the horizon, she'd be able to reach out and touch the sky. It'd feel like water.
The sun was bright, cutting through the cool autumn air, and the crisp beauty of the day filled her with a hope that battered at the hard shell of her dark mood.
My name is Amelia Connor. I am strong, smart, and brave. I made it to this morning, and I will make it to tonight. I will find us a home, and my baby will be well-fed and much-loved. Everything will be alright.
Tears pricked her eyes and she brushed them away before they found an opportunity to fall.
I am strong, smart, and brave.
This morning, she did not feel that way. She felt weak, foolish, and terrified. Although the morning sickness appeared to have finally passed, her stomach clenched with a new kind of nausea. All the many years of hunger and loneliness and fear could not compare to this. This... person growing inside her would depend on her for everything. It would starve if she could not feed it. It would feel pain and fear if she could not protect it. She wanted it fat and whole. She wanted it happy. How could she find that for a child when she couldn't even find it for herself?
"Amelia?" She startled and turned to see Brent's brother standing beside her, lingering a respectable distance away. He pulled off his hat and gestured at the ground next to her. "You mind if I sit with you?"
She shook her head, although she wanted to scream at him to go away. He was here to tell her she had to leave. She knew it. She felt it in her gut. She pressed a hand to her stomach and looked to the horizon as he dropped into the grass next to her.
She waited for him to speak. Long, pregnant moments passed with no words, and she looked over to see him staring as fixedly at the horizon as she had. Following his gaze, she wondered if the answer was out there, where the watery blue sky met the rolling green hills. The thought made her sad, because the horizon was awfully far away.
Finally, he took a breath and spoke.
"My father is... not always reasonable," he began, his voice forcibly light, in defiance of the gravity of the situation. "He's very particular about some things, not very particular about some others and it never made much sense to me how he chooses which battles to fight." He paused and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyebrow, clearly agitated.
Just say it, Amelia thought. Stop rambling and come out with it.
"He doesn't want a child born here out of wedlock. A bastard will have no claim to his legacy, and no home on this ranch."
She'd known it was coming, could have said the words before he spoke them, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. She swallowed hard and nodded, staring at the clouds as they drifted languidly overhead. What would it be like, to be so carefree? Just floating from one place to another, never in a hurry. Brent was a cloud, she realized. A cloud in the wind.
"I'll need a day or two to pack my things," she said, unable to keep the slight tremor from her voice. She tried, though. She had brought this on herself and it was time to sleep in the bed she'd made. "And if someone could give me a ride to town and maybe enough money for a train ticket..."
He nodded slowly, and her heart ached with fear and heartbreak. How could Brent leave? She'd always known he didn't love her, but how could he leave her to such a dismal, uncertain fate? Surely he had known his father would reject her.
"I'll take you to town," Josh said, and she could feel his eyes on her. She willed herself not to cry, but for some reason his scrutiny made it harder. "We can set up a bank account in your name, and I'll transfer five hundred dollars to help you to make a start. A hundred more in cash should get you wherever you need to go."
Somewhere in the swirling panic and despair, she recognized that that was a large sum of money. Too large. The woman Amelia knew herself to be would never accept a handout so immense. The mother, that new and unfamiliar creature that grew inside her alongside the child, staid her protest. She didn't need the money, but her child did.
"That's very kind," she said, not trusting herself to say more, lest her words shatter the splintering dam keeping her tears at bay.
Once again, they descended into silence, and the tears continued to burn at the back of Amelia's eyes. She swallowed them and silently begged him to leave so she could break down proper. Just one good cry and she would be strong again. When she realized he was not going to leave, she went to stand, herself.
"There is one other option," he said, his words stopping her as effectively as a hand around her wrist. She sat back down, silent... waiting.
"I don't think you'll like it," he said, his gaze now fixed on the valley directly below them, his voice a careful monotone as if the only way to say the words was to detach from them. "But like I said, there's not much sense to how my father picks his battles, and his only condition is that the child not be born out of wedlock. There's no stipulation for conception, or.... paternity..." He trailed off and glanced at her. She stared back, utterly perplexed by both his words and the flush of red rising from beneath his collar.
"Basically, it don't matter who you marry, so long as you're married when the child comes. Far as he's concerned, the child's only... cursed, I s'pose, if it's born to an unwed mother, not if it's, uh... planted in one." He winced at the clumsiness of his words and her traitorous lips almost tried to smile. "You could stay at the ranch, raise the child here, and my father would leave him or her in his will."
She laughed out loud in spite of herself, her emotions so disassembled she couldn't decide if she was genuinely amused or just hysterical.
"So you suggest I go to town and find a husband," she laughed. "Like this? Already pregnant? I may be a fool, Mr. Tucker, but I'm not a liar."
"No," he said quickly, then shook his head. "No, I'm not saying... I'm saying I could marry you."
His words hung in the air between them. He seemed as shocked to have spoken them as she was to hear them.
She couldn't speak. The good and bad swirled in her head in a dizzying rush that had her grasping for some clarity and direction. Marry this man and she could stay on the ranch. Her child's future would be secure. Her own future would be secure. Not, perhaps, with the man she loved but at least with a man she knew and who seemed to be good. It would mean giving up on Brent, giving up on the possibility of ever finding love. But that was a worthwhile sacrifice for a mother to make on behalf of her child, was it not?
"I know it's not ideal," he said finally, his words deliberately slow, and she thought perhaps his own thoughts were tumbling over each other the same as hers. She belt bad, suddenly. Of course he would be fumbling. What he had just proposed would alter his life as significantly as it would hers.
"Is..." the mother in her fought to close her mouth on the question. She woman in her forced it out. "Would it be terrible for you?" she asked clumsily, dreading his answer.
He turned to look at her, and their eyes locked. Amelia felt as if she was frozen in place, watching the tension drain from his gaze, replaced by a sad, weary amusement. When he finally spoke, all the forced calm was gone from his voice. Only steady reassurance remained, and his eyes remained fixed on hers as he spoke, conveying the same confidence.
"No," he said evenly. "No, it wouldn't be terrible. It'd be an honor, ma'am."
"Don't you have... I mean surely there's a girl you're courting."
He smiled an unhappy smile. "Not at present, ma'am. Dunno if you'd noticed, but there's not a lot of unwed women running around this part of the country. Truth be told, you'd be doing me a favor."
Ah, so that was it. It made sense, and she didn't know why the realization tied a sad, uncomfortable knot in her already-twisted belly. He was lonely. She'd warm his bed and he'd give her a place to live. More importantly, he'd give her child a place to live, and a secure and stable future. The opportunity to grow up without questions and accusations.
She'd be a whore. A married whore with only one customer, but a whore nonetheless. Selling her body for a place to stay and food for her child.
Two months ago, she'd been working a difficult but dignified and decent-paying job, and living in her own room at a boarding house. She'd had just enough petty cash for one meal out per month. She'd had a bottle of cheap whiskey squirreled away beneath a floorboard, and sometimes her friends came over and they drank and talked of visiting the east coast. Or maybe even Europe.
What the hell had happened to her?
"Listen, I know it doesn't sound great," Brent's brother said hesitantly. "I won't try to gussy it up and make you think it'll be the same as... It's just... it's an option to consider. I'm mad as hell at Brent for doing this to you, and I want to make it right. Whatever you decide, the original offer always stands. If you want, we can go to town tomorrow regardless and move that money over. That way you always have the means to leave. The last thing I want is for you to feel trapped here."
There was a heaviness to the last sentence that grabbed her attention, but when she turned to read his face he was looking back at the horizon.
"Can I think about it?" she asked quietly. "It's a kind offer, Mr. Tucker. I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful. I just need a few minutes to consider."
He nodded slowly, then stood in one smooth movement, placed his hat back on his head, and reached down to offer her a hand. She let him pull her to her feet, but he held onto her hand, fixing her once again with that calm, steady stare. "You can think on it today and give me your answer tomorrow morning. We'll head to town before my father wakes and open an account for you, and we won't discuss it until after the money's transferred. That way you know that whatever you decide, the money will be yours."
Amelia didn't know what perplexed her more: his generosity, or the gruff, business-like nature of his proposal. He'd just offered up a lifetime with all the emotion of a store-clerk selling her a second-hand dress. What would it be like to sleep beside someone so lifeless for the rest of her days? To wake up to that grim expression every morning? He was kind, she knew, but was that kindness true? She'd believed in Brent's affection. Could she believe in his brother's honor?
"Sleep on it, ma'am," he said, dropping her hand. "Talk to Melissa, go for a walk, pray on it... whatever you need to do. It's a proposal, not a demand. I'll have the wagon ready tomorrow at dawn."
Without further ceremony, he turned and walked away. Amelia sank back to the ground, nestling into the tree and pulling her knees up toward her chest.
I am strong, smart, and brave.
She laughed at herself, wiping a tear from her eye before it could fall. She hadn't been strong, smart, or brave since the moment she locked eyes with Brent. She had been weak, stupid, and cowardly. She had been blinded by love and hope, spun along down an uncertain road by an eddy of desire and youthful delusion. She'd let a smooth-talking man lift her feet from the earth and carry her away from her independence.
"You're a fool," she muttered under her breath, tipping her head back against the tree and letting the tears fall free. She knew what she had to do. She was no longer some wistful little girl. She was a mother, and mothers couldn't be weak, stupid, and cowardly. They had to be strong, smart, and brave.
And strong, smart, brave women didn't whore themselves out for a roof and a warm meal.