***Hello! I know I have been a complete ghost on here, lately, aside from posting new chapters. I get the little notifications on my phone throughout the day and I grin all happy and it gets me through real-life drudgery, and then when I sit down to actually respond to comments I get overwhelmed because I'm so badly behind from my many weeks of drowning in work-I-actually-get-paid-for. I'm like "I need to respond to the old ones first!" but that's too much so I just don't respond to any. So I've decided I'm just gonna respond to the comments as they come, and when I have a spare minute to go back in time and answer old ones, I'll do that!!!
In the meantime, I'm sorry for SPAMMING you with chapters!!! Those of you who were there for Melody of Silence: Live know that when I get towards the end of a story the writing bug gets me and I diarrhea out boatloads of questionable quality material in my mad dash to get to the finish line.
So anyway, here's another chapter, with yet another likely to follow shortly. I am very bad at keeping to Wattpad's recommended "routine, spaced-out updates" formula. Ah well...***
Amelia
"I'm looking forward to this even less than usual," she grumbled, accepting the hand Josh offered her as she lifted her skirts and clambered down out of the wagon. Rebecca was already hooked in his other arm, wearing her Sunday best: a little gray dress with a matching, lace-trimmed bonnet that she had managed to dislodge somewhere between the house and the wagon. Her patent-leather shoes had somehow lost their shine simply by the act of being on her feet. By the end of the day, the dress would be too small. Keeping this child in suitable clothing was a job unto itself.
"Me too, sweetheart," Josh sighed, winding his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Here, take Reb so I can take care of the horse."
Usually, Amelia would go into the church and visit with Katherine and Melissa while Josh saw to the wagon. Today, she stood by, waiting. She had told him about Brent's visit, of course, and they had decided it would be best not to give him opportunity to catch her alone. At least not until they had impressed upon him the importance of keeping Rebecca's paternity to himself.
"I trust you to tell him where to shove his charm," he had said that night as they lay together between the sheets. "I just don't trust him to keep his trap shut around Reb."
So, the next day, Josh had paid his brother a stern visit and Rebecca hadn't received any unwanted visitors since. Today was the first time she'd be seeing Brent since he'd shown up uninvited on her doorstep. The Tucker's wagon was already there, and she knew he'd be waiting inside with his family. She didn't want to see him without Josh by her side, ready to bury his fist in the man's nose if he dared refer to himself as anything other than Rebecca's uncle.
With the wagon tended to, Josh took Rebecca back and offered Amelia his arm, and they walked together into the church. As expected, his family was already there. Amelia eyed the empty space left in the pew and realized there was only room for one person. Her mouth went dry. So this is how it's going to be. Games.
It chilled her to the bone, because if she knew anything about Brent it was that he excelled at games.
She and Josh stood in awkward indecision in the back of the church, staring at the empty space in the wooden pew. Then Melissa turned around and caught sight of them. Her face split into a smile and she pushed to her feet, hurrying to the back of the church.
"You're late!" she scolded, giving Josh and Amelia both a peck on the cheek and tickling her niece. "They're in top form this morning," she nodded back toward Brent and the elder Tucker, who had twisted to see where Melissa had gone. "Hatched a grand plan to separate you during the service so Brent could have his moment. Left here early to find a good pew and everything." She rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately, I just remembered I promised to sit with Mrs. Gladwell today! Guess there'll be room for both of you after all."
With a cheeky grin, she waved and hurried off to sit with one of the old ladies from town, a widow whose husband had passed during the summer. Stifling a laugh, Amelia led the way toward the pew. Brent greeted her with a broad smile, a mask that did not fully hide his consternation at his foiled plan. She smiled tightly stepped aside and let Josh slide in first, placing him next to his brother, a much needed buffer. She had a feeling if she sat next to Brent he'd have been whispering and stealing touches throughout the service.
"Josh," Brent offered in sullen greeting. To his credit, he did soften when he shifted to greet Rebecca, who sat happily in her father's lap. "Morning, Rebecca. Remember me?"
"Unkoo Brant!" she declared, nodding vigorously. She offered her hand and Brent shook it with a bemused grunt. Amelia smiled when she remembered the night she and Josh had spent teaching Rebecca to shake hands. They had thought it the funniest thing in the world-- their tiny daughter's businessman handshake--and their laughter had encouraged her. Now it was her favored greeting. Every day when Josh returned home, he was greeted with a handshake first, and then a hug. Amelia got a solemn goodnight handshake every evening.
"Your daughter is quite the charmer, Amelia," Brent said, ruining her musings by leaning back to speak behind Josh's back.
"Oh, she is," she said without turning to meet his gaze, instead picking up her husband's hand from where it rested on Rebecca's shoulder, squeezing gently as a sign of solidarity. "I've been saying all this time that she gets it from her father."
Brent's sharp intake of breath drew her attention, and she saw a cautious smile tug at his lips. It was mean, she knew, to string him along like this. She was giving him hope where there was none. But after the way he'd talked when he came to visit, she didn't have much sympathy for the man, and the vindictive, wild part of her soul wanted him to feel a little pain.
"Isn't that what I always say?" she asked, nudging Josh, and he chuckled.
"I've never heard you say anything of the kind," he returned evenly, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles with a wink. "Last I checked it was her barbaric side we attributed to her father and the charm was all you."
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as he let go of her hand and lifted Rebecca, turning her so she sat facing him. "What do you think Reb, honey?" he asked, nudging her chin. "Where'd you get your charm? Mama or papa? Who's the friendliest?"
"Hmmm," she hummed, crossing little arms over her chest and glancing between the two of them as if deep in thought. Josh pasted on a charming grin and Amelia furrowed her face into a heavy, theatrical frown. Rebecca laughed gleefully and pointed at her father. "Papa!"
"Guess it's settled then!" Amelia declared as Josh lifted Rebecca, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and spun her back around to face forward once more. "I can't believe you'd question me, Joshua. And in front of a guest, no less!"
Beyond her husband, Brent had gone sullen and quiet. Beyond Brent, Owen Tucker was glaring, his expression like a thundercloud. Icy dread ran down Amelia's spine. Maybe they ought to be careful. She didn't mind hurting Brent's feelings one bit but his father was another matter. What would they do if he flew into a rage and booted Josh from the ranch? Where would they go?
The same seemed to have occurred to her husband. Though his expression remained passive, he tugged Rebecca back against him and reached down to find Amelia's hand, squeezing tightly. She squeezed back. Whatever happened, wherever they went, she'd keep her vows and so would Josh. This marriage was not conditional. It wasn't a placeholder. They were together until death. Not until return of first love. Not until loss of income. They were partners and they'd see this through together.
Owen
"I can tell something is troubling you, Owen," Reverend Peters said frankly, settling into the leather armchair by the fire. His office in the wing of the little church was shabby and drafty, but Owen couldn't deny it was outfitted with quality bourbon and the finest leather chairs money could buy. He always felt, in that way at least, quite at home when he came to bend the younger man's ear.
"It's a complicated situation, reverend," he said cautiously, holding the crystal glass in his palm and giving it a swirl. Amber liquid sloshed against the smudged sides.
"Nothing is too complicated for God," Peters said. "I sense it has something to do with your son's return. Would you like to revisit Luke 15:11?"
Owen just shook his head. "Brent knows he's always welcome," he said. "And I always knew he'd return. I missed him, but I never doubted him."
"What is it, then?" the reverend pressed, setting his own untouched whiskey aside on the wobbly desk and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "Is it about your other son?"
Owen cringed. In truth, he preferred not to think of himself as possessing two sons. It brought to life an evil darkness deep in his belly. Something slimy and slithering. It was better not to think of Josh as his son because to feel the way he had to feel, about his own flesh and blood...
The reverend had explained it to him, every time he wavered: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. His loyalty to Christ and his adherence to God's law must come before familial ties. It was his duty to shun his son. Like Abraham proving his devotion by sacrificing Isaac. Hating his eldest was his only way to earn entrance into Heaven after the sin he had committed, and to fend off divine punishment here on earth. This sick, guilty feeling in his gut was God's way of testing his faith.
"It's about both of them," he said finally, staring down into his glass. "It has the potential of an awful scandal, reverend. It has to stay between us."
"When have I ever betrayed your trust, Owen?" the man asked, leaning forward and patting his knee. It felt strange, being treated like a son by a man so many years his junior. In truth, though, Owen didn't mind. It felt strange, but it felt good. The reverend wasn't just a man. He was an extension of Christ. The voice of God. How could Owen feel anything but comfort in his presence? How could he have anything but faith in his promise?
"The child," he said, a lump forming in his throat. "Rebecca..."
"She's quite the little character," Peters said, by way of encouragement.
Owen nodded, clearing his throat without avail. The lump remained. "She's not Josh's." He glanced up and saw the reverend nodding, his expression bland.
"We all guessed," he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug as he settled back in his chair. "The timing of it was suspicious." He twirled his hand in a go on gesture.
"Right... well, like I was saying, Rebecca isn't Josh's daughter. Amelia became pregnant by Brent out east somewhere. He wrote to me, you know, right away. To ask my advice. I told him what I knew you'd tell me: he had to marry her, whether he wanted to or not. This family doesn't need any more wrath. We can't afford to violate God's will any more than I already have."
"That's good, Owen," the reverend said, and a rush of warmth and relief flooded him.
"Well, he did marry her. He said he did, anyway. He put a ring on her finger and brought her home. You remember when she first arrived, he was also with us? But... I guess his wayward nature called to him. He grew frightened and ran. Left the woman with us, pregnant out of wedlock. I admit, reverend, I didn't take it calmly. I lashed out. I was cruel to her. I was frightened of what evil she might bring."
"Your fear is understandable," Peters affirmed, nodding along. "Your family has already suffered greatly for your sin. To add yet another stain..." he trailed off ominously, and the warmth of relief was replaced by a gripping chill.
He lifted the glass and threw back the whiskey, barely feeling the burn as it slid down his throat. Without asking, the reverend leaned forward to refill his glass. "Go on."
"Well, like I said, I was angry. I told her to leave. But then Josh came to me with this lunatic idea. He said he'd marry her so she could stay. Made up some story about her being family, and needing a home. He said it would be cruel to drive her out."
The reverend's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your son has always had a penchant for false nobility, hasn't he?" Owen ducked his head and gave the fresh whiskey a swirl. Your son. God, how he hated that. Digging deep, he found the hatred and disgust he knew he was supposed to feel. "It's a mask, Owen. You can't trust the ones like him. The devil comes with a smile and speaks sweet words."
"I know," he snapped, in spite of himself. Dammit, he knew. He just wished, sometimes, that it was easier to feel. "I know it was an act, but I had to agree it seemed like the best option. The girl was scared and, aside from the sin of her promiscuity, innocent. I didn't want to drive her out, and what he brought did seem like a solution. A temporary one, at least. I could let them marry, to give the child legitimacy in the eyes of God, and to keep the woman and the child at the ranch to wait for Brent without risking God's wrath."
"So what's the problem, Owen?" the reverend asked, suddenly looking bored. "Your prodigal has returned to claim his fatted calf."
Feeling somewhat silly, Owen shook his head, rolling the glass between his palms. "That's the problem," he said with a grimace. "Brent has come home, but Amelia no longer wants him. She's... well, she's happy with Josh. So is Rebecca. Not to mention, marriage is sacrosanct. I need your guidance, reverend. What is right? What would God want me to do? Brent is trying to win her back. Should I help him? Should I tell him to respect the sanctity of the marriage? I don't know what to do." Miserable, filled with guilt and fear and confusion, he sank into silence, not daring to look Peters in the face. The younger man had a way of saying the answers as if they should have been obvious from the smart. It made Owen feel very small, but he supposed that was how a man should feel in the presence of divine wisdom.
"I think you know the answer, Owen," the man said finally, and Owen just shook his head in despair.
"I don't..."
"You do. The only solution is for that woman to leave her husband and enter into a new contract with Brent. A true contract."
Relief and anguish battled for primacy in Owen's heart. "But the vows..."
"Josh and Amelia's marriage was a farce, Owen. A mockery of a sacred promise. I appreciate that you made the effort to protect yourself and your son, as well as the woman and the child. I know that you were trying, but don't you remember? That bastard of yours didn't even want me present at the ceremony. The devil acts through him, Owen, never forget that. He knew that the marriage wasn't valid in the eye of God. He entered a hallowed covenant with evil, selfish intent and his depravity corrupts even the purest of bonds."
Despair speared through him, and Owen set the glass aside, burying his face in his hands as tears burned his nose and eyes. He had tried. God, I tried. I swear to you, I tried. Please don't punish me any more. I should have known he was leading me astray.
Floorboards creaked, and the reverend's hand settled on his shoulder. "Take comfort," the young man said, his fingers tightening in a reassuring squeeze. "God sees the nobility of your intentions. That is why you have escaped punishment for so long. But know this, Owen. The grace period has ended. Brent is back. You know what has to be done."
With a bracing breath, Owen nodded, lifting his face from his hands. Peters released his shoulder and sat back down. "So it's settled," he said, setting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers. "Your bastard's marriage must be dissolved, to make room for your prodigal to return and claim his homecoming. The devil acts against our noble intentions, Owen, but don't you worry," he smiled, showing two rows of yellowing teeth. "I'm here to help you carry out the will of God."
***In an effort to be a better, more user-friendly writer: what are some things I could do to enhance your reading experience? Aside from update more regularly and respond to comments in a timely manner, obviously. I've seen authors do loads of cute shit, like dedicating chapters or dropping hints about what comes next or asking little book-clubish questions about what happened in the previous chapter. Does that kinda stuff annoy you as a reader or do you like it? What are some things you've seen writers do, aside from writing dope content, that made you want to keep reading?***