Amelia
"It's freezing," Brent moaned as she and Melissa puttered about the guest room in the main house. It was Christmas Eve and they'd brought him home in the sled earlier that morning. If his moaning and shivering and general vocal displeasure were any indication, he had needed a few more days of bed rest before the move. Fortunately for Amelia and her grip on sanity, Melissa had declared him fit for the journey.
It had been a grueling two weeks, to be sure. Between the hardship of caring for a wounded man, the physical exhaustion of looking after her daughter, and the guilty pain of causing her husband such distress, she was utterly drained. It was past time Brent went home and she and Josh returned to their peaceful existence.
"The fire will warm you up in a minute," Melissa said, rolling her eyes at Amelia with her back turned to her brother. Amelia had to stifle a laugh. Melissa's presence was like a pane of tinted glass, making everything seem brighter and easier than it had without her. Without Melissa, caring for Brent was taxing and laden with emotional implication. With her, it was just an exasperating nuisance.
Working together, they got him settled, with as many pillows as could fit on the bed, a pot of tea, a pile of books, and a plate of cheese and crackers. They piled three quilts on top of him and stoked the fire until slumberous heat suffused the stuffy room. Amelia remembered Mr. Tucker's stance on the guest room-- that nobody save a genuine guest should sleep there. It was for housing visitors, not family. Something must have changed his mind, because when they had arrived with Brent the linens on the bed had been changed. Josh had half-supported, half-carried his brother upstairs and no fuss had arisen when they had settled him in the guest room.
Leaving Brent, they went downstairs and found Mr. Tucker where they had left him-- in the parlor, sitting on the floor playing with Rebecca. Josh, Amelia guessed, was still outside seeing to the horses.
It was early afternoon when they arrived, and they passed the time in an uncommonly peaceful stillness. When Josh returned, they played cards and snacked on the combined sweets Amelia and her sister-in-law had made for the holiday. Rebecca shook every single paper-wrapped gift beneath the tree while Amelia and Josh scolded and her grandfather urged her on. Amelia found herself growing suspicious of the old man's good humor. He wasn't precisely friendly to her husband, but neither was he outright cruel, which had become his wont. They spoke to each other in one- to two-word sentences, conveying only what was absolutely necessary. Several times, the conversation took a turn that might have led to nastiness, but Mr. Tucker simply fell silent or left the room for a stretch.
Before supper, they all gathered in Brent's room and sang carols. They didn't sound very good, and Rebecca was very critical in her review. But they were loud and even the taciturn, sickly Brent had smiled and joined in when Rebecca prodded him. They had sat for a while beside his bed, sipping wine and talking of nothing, and everyone seemed content to let heavier matters settle in the corner for the holiday.
Christmas Supper was a veritable feast-- mashed potatoes and turkey, gravy and creamed spinach and steamed vegetables. They had an apple pie and a pumpkin pie cooling in the cellar, and enough coffee and wine to go around. Amelia ate until she felt like she was carrying another child, and then she leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh and listened to the conversation drift around her.
"Excellent meal," Mr. Tucker commented, mirroring her posture and placing a hand on his round belly, patting it with a burp.
"Thanks, daddy," Melissa said with a smile. "I hope you saved some room for desert."
Both Mr. Tucker and Josh let out simultaneous groans. In any other family, it would have been funny, if anything. Not so in the Tucker household. Both men cut themselves short, and the table descended into silence. Josh studied the window beyond the far side of the table, his jaw locked as if waiting for some kind of blow. His father's face went hard, his eyes flinty. Amelia had seen it happen before. The man did not like reminders that Josh was, in fact, his son. He seemed to prefer thinking of him as a particularly involved employee.
The silence marched on, marked by the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the entryway. Amelia was opening her mouth to break it when, to her shock, Mr. Tucker cleared his throat, gaze dropping to his plate.
"Brent's business partners should be coming back sometime next week," he said gruffly, picking up his discarded fork and tapping it against his plate.
"Figured they would," Josh answered. "Brent was telling me about the deal. Sounds like they're in a rush to close it."
"Mmm," his father hummed thoughtfully. "He seems to think it's in the best interest of the ranch."
Amelia watched her husband's jaw tick and slipped a hand under the table, squeezing his leg. Whether she was urging him to argue or lending him the strength to stay silent, she didn't know. Not anymore, with how everything had fallen apart. She was no longer sure fighting back was the right choice, and it wouldn't matter to them, anyway. They'd be leaving once the snow melted, their livelihood no longer dependent on the whims of this half-crazed old man.
"Well?" Mr. Tucker said, after the silence stretched on for several interminable moments.
"Well what?" Josh asked.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Me?" he asked incredulously. Amelia kicked him under the table and he nodded sharply. "Yeah, I uh... I think it's a fine idea for another ranch, sir, and a good model for a business. I don't think it's right for your ranch, though."
"Why not?"
Josh shrugged, his voice easing into the familiar cadence it took up when he was talking about the ranch. He was so comfortable in his role as its head, it pained her to think of leaving. He ought to be taking the place over, not leaving it without any thanks or compensation for all he'd done to build it.
"The whole idea is predicated on instability. It's great for pioneers and frontiersmen looking to get a spread off the ground with limited manpower and revenue. Their assets aren't liquid, they're new to the challenges, and they're vulnerable to bad seasons. It's good for them to have a safety net, but it's not much good for someone like you. This ranch is self sustaining. We... you don't need help driving the herd to market, and you don't need loans to afford feed and other necessities, or even to sustain you through droughts or hard winters. If you buy into this business, you'll be sacrificing control and a portion of your profits for services you don't require and financial security that you're already providing for yourself."
Josh petered off at the end, his voice losing some of his strength as if he'd just realized how long he'd been talking. He reached for his wine but didn't raise it for a sip, his fingers wrapped so hard around the stem Amelia was afraid he might snap it. Now that would cause an eruption. The crystal had been his mother's, after all.
Mr. Tucker stared at his son, his face impassive but for a subtle clenching and unclenching of his jaw. Amelia braced herself for an outburst. If he lost his temper, they'd leave. She wouldn't even give her husband a choice. She'd make it about her and Rebecca, say she didn't feel safe, and he wouldn't dare say no. They'd go back to their quiet, cozy house and have a quiet, cozy holiday. Enough was enough.
"I agree."
At the sound of the old man's voice, Amelia's choler was already rising. It took her a second to realize what he'd actually said. She looked across the table and saw Melissa staring, wide-eyed, at her father. Josh had gone deathly still beside her.
"What?" he said dumbly, his hand still wrapped around the stem of his wine glass.
"I agree," his father said again, sounding more sure than he had before. He cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. "I wasn't certain, at first, and Brent seems... well, I think it's important to him that this deal go through. I'm worried he's already made promises to his partners."
Amelia bit back a huff of exasperation. He undoubtedly had, impulsive jackass that he was.
"Well, it's not his ranch," Josh said cautiously. "At least not yet."
"No, it's not his ranch," Mr. Tucker said with a contemplative sigh. Then he took a deep, bracing breath and looked up. His eyes flicked to Amelia, Rebecca, and Melissa as if he was self-conscious and wished he didn't have an audience. Then his gaze settled on his son. "I'll send word when we set a date for the meeting," he said gruffly. "You ought to be there."
Amelia damn near choked. Melissa's eyes were so wide the whites were visible all around her irises. Rebecca, oblivious to the magnitude of what had just happened, happily banged her fork against her plate. Josh seemed to have frozen solid. Was he breathing? Amelia kicked him again, and he jerked.
"I... yeah. Sure. I'll, uh... I'll... yeah..."
Silence descended once more, and it was Melissa, bless her soul, who pulled them out of it.
"I think it's time for pie," she said cheerfully, standing and scooping Rebecca out of her seat. "What do you think, little one. Time for pie?"
"Pie!" Rebecca exclaimed happily as Melissa settled her on a hip. "Time for pie!"
Everyone laughed, the tension fled the room, and for the first time since Brent's return Amelia felt hope.
* * *
The opening of the Christmas gifts was conducted in Brent's room. Most were for Rebecca, of course, but everyone received at least one decent present. Melissa walked away with a new doctor's kit and a book on amputation that made Amelia shudder. Brent was delighted at the suit his father had commissioned for him, complete with a shiny black top hat. Rebecca squealed when she tore the paper off her new dollhouse, and Amelia couldn't wait to try on her new riding outfit. She was especially fond of the broad-brimmed hat that Josh dropped on her head with a grin and a wink.
"You're a fine looking ranch hand," he said. Brent had made a sound of distaste, but Amelia had barely heard him over the rush of delight in her ears when her husband kissed her in full view of everyone. She wished he was always so confident. It felt so good to be claimed, without shame or wariness of reprisal.
Josh's gifts were pretty unremarkable, but Amelia had his real present tucked away in her bags in their bedroom. She wanted to give it to him privately, because half the present was the speech that came with it and that wasn't meant for the group.
They were back downstairs, enjoying a cup of coffee by the fire, when the distant sound of a clanging bell split the peace right down the middle. Josh leapt to his feet, followed shortly by his father. Amelia scooped up Rebecca and she and Melissa followed behind the men as they raced out onto the front porch.
"Dammit," Josh hissed, hurrying past her back into the mudroom. He sat and began pulling on his boots while the rest of them stood in a huddle outside the door.
"What is it?" Amelia asked, holding Rebecca closer to her side and glancing between her husband and the dark night.
"There's a fire," Melissa explained as Josh shot up and grabbed his jacket. She pointed down at the ranch complex, drawing Amelia's eyes to the plume of smoke.
"Oh," she gasped.
"Looks like stable three," Josh said to his father as he passed by them, buttoning his coat. He stopped by Amelia, looped an arm around her back and kissed her and their daughter on the cheek. "Love you," he whispered, before turning and hurrying down the stairs, hollering over his shoulder. "I'll send a runner once I figure out what's what!"
He didn't waste time fetching Copper, but broke into a run down the muddy path to the complex. They stood silent on the porch until he disappeared over the crest of the hill, and then they retreated back indoors.
"It's been a dry year," Melissa said worriedly as they settled anxiously in the sitting room beside their forgotten coffees. "And stable three is right in the middle. What if it spreads?"
"No use getting worked up about it, yet," her father said gruffly, although his own face had developed new wrinkles of strain. "Let's wait for the runner. If they need extra hands to help, I'm sure he'll let us know.
Amelia didn't want to wait, but she knew from experience that rushing down there would do more harm than good. It had been one thing to leap into the chaos at that long-ago fire at Vivian's. They'd needed all the help they could get. This was different. The ranch was a well-oiled machine, then men used to working together to avert disaster. They'd had fires before, and had put them out without much incident. If she threw herself into the equation it would only distract her husband from his job.
The runner arrived less than fifteen minutes later. He was a young man, probably a newcomer. Despite the cold, his face was flushed red, soot-stained and sweaty with exertion. His chest heaved as he stood in the mudroom and fought to catch his breath.
"Boss said... to come tell you," he gasped, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees.
"Alright, son, take a minute to breathe," Mr. Tucker said, patting the kid on the back. Amelia wanted to yell at him not to be so blase, but she bit her tongue. Once the runner was breathing more normally, he stood up straight.
"Boss said to come tell you it's just stable three," he said with an apologetic look. "We got the stock out, and all the men are accounted for. The bucket line's already formed and all the rest of us are building a break to stop it from jumping to stable four."
Amelia deflated, sinking onto the bench beside the door in abject relief.
"Thank you," Mr. Tucker said. "Why don't you come sit down and have a glass of water before you go back."
"Oh, no thank you sir," the man said, cramming his hat back onto his head. "Boss needs all of us if we're gonna keep it contained. He appointed me to be the runner, though, so I'll be sure to hurry back if anything changes."
Without another word he was gone, flinging himself up onto his horse and tearing back down the hill. Amelia stepped out on the porch to watch him go, holding Rebecca in her arms and staring down at the ranch. The slope of the hill hid the source of the fire, but the rim of the snow flickered dull red with the veiled flames. Logically, she knew all would be well. Josh wouldn't lie. If he told the runner to say it was contained, it was contained. There was no reason to worry. Nonetheless, she couldn't restrain a subtle shudder that had little to do with the cold as, in the distance, a plume of smoke formed an ominous silhouette against the clear, star-strewn sky.