*** Heyo! Remember in chapter 45 when I said there were five chapters left? I really underestimate my ability to drag shit out, don't I?
We're close to done. Couple chapters left. Thanks for hangin' in there ;-)***
Amelia
She sat between Josh and Melissa on the front bench of the sled, wrapped from head to toe in blankets. She was pressed against her husband on one side and his sister on the other, and had her daughter wrapped snug against her chest. Beneath the many layers of blankets, body heat mingled, trapped by the thick wool. She was so warm, sweat was beginning to pop up in little beads along her spine.
And yet she couldn't stop shaking. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook. The only thing that made her feel better was that Melisa was in the same state and promised it was normal.
"It'll go away once we have some time to process," she had said, her authority only slightly dimmed by her own trembling body.
The journey home was long and harrowing in the dark of night, but there was nowhere Amelia would rather end such a terrible ordeal than in her own bed, beneath her own roof. She desperately needed a bath, and a pot of tea with maybe a dollop of something stronger added in. She needed to lay down in her bed with her husband in her arms and wake up with him beside her. Drowsy, she leaned her head against his solid shoulder and fought the tears that kept rising back up, every time she thought she'd conquered them.
The small, dark outline of her house had never looked so welcome. She had half a fear it would be in flames when they arrived, even though Josh had sent a man ahead just in case. Her relief as they pulled up in front of the quiet, undamaged cabin had her shaking even harder.
Leaving the sled to stand, Josh came inside with the rest of them, waiting while they lit lanterns and checking every room to make sure it was safe. Even after the whole house had been inspected, he hesitated by the door. He'd scrubbed the worst of the soot from his face, but it was still caked in the creases, making his worried frown all the more pronounced.
Amelia went to him, drawn like a fish on a line. She stood on her tiptoes, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him gently. "We'll be fine," she said. "We'll start drawing the bath. Go take care of the horses and then get back inside."
"Bolt the door behind me."
She rolled her eyes but did as he asked. Then, leaving Rebecca napping on the couch in the sitting room, she and Melissa set about waking up the house. They worked silently, splitting the tasks on instinct. Amelia sent up a prayer of thanks that she'd asked Josh to install the washroom last summer. It had felt frivolous at the time, but it really had made her life so much easier and right now it was nothing short of a blessing.
Instead of trudging out to the pump by the woodpile, she used the one in her washroom, bringing up two buckets of water, which she passed off to Melissa to boil before bringing up a few more, using them to fill the small washtub she usually used for clothes. Rebecca still fit inside it with plenty of room, and it would be easier to heat enough water for the little tub than the big one in the corner the adults used. Plus, it would be one less person's worth of grime by the time they all cycled through.
Once Rebecca's bath was drawn, Amelia woke her groggy daughter and carried her to the washroom. Rubbing her eyes, Rebecca looked around as Amelia set her on her feet and began stripping off her stained clothes.
"Papa?" she asked, looking up at Amelia with wide, frightened eyes.
"He's just outside with the horses," she promised, using a warm cloth to scrub the caked-on soot from her daughter's skin. At the sound of a sniffle, she stopped working and pulled back. Rebecca's face was scrunched up, her breath shifting in preparation for a wail.
"Papa!" she cried, before Amelia could stall the onslaught. "Where's papa? I want papa!" She dissolved into gasping sobs, and Amelia's heart wrenched. This was all her fault. She thought back to the way she had collapsed in on herself. Instead of being strong for her daughter, she had caused her pain. Traumatized her.
"Oh, sweetie," she crooned, trying to pull Rebecca in for a hug, but her daughter pushed her away.
"I want papa!"
Her wailing was so loud, Amelia barely heard the knock at the front door. Fighting to keep her daughter in place, she waited for the heavy footsteps to find them.
"Papa!" Rebecca gasped in dramatic relief when his presence filled the doorway, breaking free of Amelia's hold and running, naked and sobbing, into his arms.
"Woah there, little one," he murmured, catching her and rejoining Amelia by the tub. From the anguish in his eyes, he was feeling as guilty and responsible as she was for their daughter's distress. "Come on and let your mama get you cleaned up. Aren't you tired?"
"No," Rebecca pouted, although her bloodshot eyes and foul temper and general evident exhaustion somewhat told her lie. Josh tried to leave when Amelia picked her up and set her in the tub, but she set up an alarm that had him settling in to wait.
"You're a tyrant, little one," he muttered, sitting back against the wall and closing his eyes. The laugh that bubbled up Amelia's aching throat felt foreign. But laugh she did, and then her laugh turned into tears, and then she was frantically trying to stifle her own emotional outburst before it gave Rebecca's a second wind.
"Alright, alright," a raspy voice said, close to her ear, and she felt Josh's hands gently nudge her aside. "Reb, honey, is it okay if your momma goes to the kitchen for a minute? I'll stay with you."
"Uh-huh," Rebecca nodded. Of course it was, Amelia thought wryly. She had been with their daughter all night. She hadn't run into a burning building. She hadn't been left for dead.
Squeezing his shoulder in gratitude, she left Josh to wash Rebecca's sooty hair and went to the kitchen. The room was warm, and Melissa knelt in front of the stove, feeding a log to the fire. Absolved of responsibility for the time being, Amelia sank gratefully onto a chair at the table, burying her face in her hands, and let the emotions run through her. When she emerged, a steaming mug stood by her hand, and Melissa was sitting across from her.
"I don't want you to leave," her friend said quietly, staring down into her mug.
"Ah, Lisa," Amelia sighed. "We--"
"I know you have to," she interrupted. "I just wish you didn't. I love my father and Brent, but..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "I like the three of you a heck of a lot more, is all. Where will you go?"
"We haven't decided. Far from here, though."
Melissa deflated, her shoulders slumping.
"You could come with us, you know."
"No," she sighed wearily. "Someone's gotta look after our father. Especially with Josh gone. Brent's hardly got his best interests at heart, you know? I need to stay. To... to keep an eye on everything."
"That's not your responsibility, Melissa."
"It is," she argued with a casual shrug that belied the weariness in her voice. She swiped hurriedly at her eyes, and then looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Amelia turned around to see her husband standing in the doorway, Rebecca in his arms. They were a terrible contrast, with the little girl freshly washed and dressed in a crisp white nightgown, her hair hanging to her shoulders in damp tendrils. The man, meanwhile, was still dressed in singed, blackened work clothes with his own hair a wild, soot-caked disarray. She smiled and stood.
"You ready for bed, sweetpea?" she asked, stroking Rebecca's freshly-scrubbed cheek with her thumb.
"With you tonight," Rebecca demanded, crossing her arms and thrusting her lip out in a pout. Josh laughed, the sound strained and gritty but genuine, and rubbed a hand up and down his daughter's back.
"Figured as much," he said with a grin, shrugging at Amelia. "I'll get her settled if you ladies wanna get cleaned up."
She'd have argued and insisted he take the first bath, but... well, she wasn't in the interest of picking battles she couldn't win.
Fatigue weighing down their steps, she and Melissa filled the large tub in the washroom, mixing in pots of boiling water until the surface steamed. While they worked, they took turns washing their hair in the smaller tub and scrubbing off the worst of the grime with wet cloths. Amelia insisted that Melissa go first, and the girl obeyed, working quickly to wash up before the water lost its heat. After she clambered out, Amelia sank into the water. It was still blessedly warm and she allowed herself a moment of blissful relaxation, leaning her back against the wall of the tub as her body finally ceased its trembling.
After that brief moment, she worked quickly, using first the lye soap to unseat the grime and then the fancier stuff she'd ordered from back east. She wouldn't have taken the time, but she'd never once washed herself with the fancy soap and not received a compliment from her husband. She wanted for him to pull her close in bed that night and bury his face in her neck and tell her she smelled like vanilla.
Even after she was clean, the smell of smoke lingered in her nose, but she remembered it being that way after the fire at Vivian's as well. It had stuck around for two days, and she figured this time it would last even longer. Nonetheless, she was clean, her skin pink and raw, her hair a wet nest piled atop her head.
Clambering out of the tub, she wrapped a towel around her hair and used another to dry herself. They were being awfully indulgent with all these towels. There'd be a lot of laundry tomorrow. She was opening her mouth to call for Josh when she caught sight of the tub. Two baths had left the water an unsavory shade of brown, the water so cool she'd begun to shiver by the time she'd climbed out.
Grinding her teeth, she stared at the murky water for a long moment before plunging her hand beneath the surface and pulling the stopper. The water began swirling toward the drain and she turned away, fetching the nightgown she'd brought and slipping it on. She hung up her towel, leaving her hair wrapped, refilled the tub partway with cold water, and filled two more buckets.
Melissa must have retired to Reb's room, because the kitchen was empty when she came in. Her muscles aching and exhausted, she poured the water into the cauldron and set it to boil. Then she set a kettle on as well and tiptoed to her bedroom, grateful that she'd changed the sheets on the bed before they left. Coming back to mussed covers and a reminder of Brent was the last thing any of them needed.
She found Rebecca sound asleep in the center of the big bed, and Josh slumped in the chair beside it, a book face down in his lap and his chin to his chest. Stifling a smile, she glided across the worn floorboards and gave his arm a gentle shake. He shot upright, his alarmed gaze sharpening to a glare when he saw her.
"Scared me," he whispered, sagging back. "My turn?"
"Yep."
He glanced worriedly at Rebecca, and Amelia bumped his shoulder. "She'll be fine," she promised. "She's dead to the world. Come on." Taking his hand, she led him from the room, tugging him into the kitchen.
"Sit down," she commanded, pointing at the chair.
"Ames, I'd kinda like to clean up," he said wryly, nodding his head toward the washroom.
"I know, but I drained the tub so you have to wait for the water to boil."
"Why the hell would you do that?" he grumbled, sinking into the chair.
"Because the water was gross and cold. I enjoyed my hot bath so much I wanted you to have one too."
"You didn't have to do that, sweetheart," he said, leaning back in the chair.
"Sure didn't," she agreed cheerfully. The kettle began to whistle and she pulled it off, pouring it into the teapot.
"Ugh, not tea," Josh huffed as she set it on the table.
"Oh, yes tea," Amelia laughed, fetching several more items from the cabinets before joining him at the table. "You know you like the way I make it, and I think you'll like it all the more tonight."
"That so?" he asked, eyeing the ingredients as she set them on the worn surface.
"Sure is." She added a generous spoonful of honey to the dark brew, along with a dash of ground cinnamon and a glug of whiskey, laughing at her husband's hum of approval at the last. Stirring until the ingredients combined, she poured two mugs and slid one across the table.
"Best tea I think I'll ever taste," Josh noted.
"You haven't even tried it yet."
"I'm just that sure," he joked, raising it for a sip. She took a sip of hers as well, and the sharp, hot liquid soothed her aching throat on the way down. "Damn, Ames," Josh said. "That's good."
"See? I know what I'm doing," she chided gently. "You can take yours to the washroom if you want. I filled the little tub with water too so you can clean up before you get in the bath. Water should be ready soon."
"Thanks, sweetheart."
He left, obediently carrying his mug with him, and Amelia sat in silence, waiting for the cauldron to boil. Beyond the frosted windowpane, the sky was beginning to glow with the coming sun. The night was already over. It was Christmas morning, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until the new year.
Once the water boiled, she left her husband to wash up and hurriedly tidied the kitchen and banked the fires. She checked on Melissa, who was face down and snoring in Rebecca's bed. Then she crept into her own room and slid beneath the covers beside her daughter. Sleep tugged at her heavy eyelids, blurring her vision, but she sat up and forced herself to wait. When she heard Josh coming, she rolled over to face the door.
He tiptoed in, as courteous and as accidentally noisy as ever, the mattress sagging as he slid beneath the covers. He smelled of lye soap, a trace of smoke, and that underlying scent that was just him. Rebecca, sandwiched between them, turned into her side, reaching out in her sleep and slapping a hand on his arm. He huffed out a quiet laugh, and Amelia did too.
"Christ woman," he hissed, pressing a hand to his chest and glaring at the ceiling. "I thought you were asleep."
No longer laughing, she rose up on an elbow and reached across Rebecca, turning his face toward her. "I always wait up for you," she said firmly, and he grinned at her, his teeth flashing in the darkness.
"You try," he teased, and she tapped his cheek with her fingers.
"Don't be an ass," she whispered. "Anyway, I had to stay up. I need to give you your Christmas present."
He frowned, and she rubbed at a smudge of leftover soot from beside his ear. "You didn't think those silly gloves were your real present did you?"
"They're good gloves," he said with a one-shouldered shrug. They were talking above a whisper now, but Rebecca slumbered on. As much as Amelia loved her daughter, she somewhat wished they had some more privacy. Not for carnal relations... not tonight. She just wanted to be closer. To lay with her legs tangled in his and her ear pressed to the thrum of his heart. She wanted his presence surrounding her in sleep.
"They are good gloves," she agreed. "Now close your eyes and hold out your hand."
He did as she asked, and she reached into her pocket. Thank goodness she'd had it in her nightgown when they'd fled the fire. Pulling out the gold band, she took his hand and slipped it onto his finger. His eyes shot open and he pulled his hand from hers, squinting at it in the darkness.
"You got me jewelry?" he asked, incredulously, and Amelia snorted out a laugh that hurt her sore throat.
"It's a wedding ring," she said happily, recapturing his hand and rubbing her thumb over the cool metal. "I had this whole grand speech planned, but we're both tired so I've decided to just share the really important bits. Okay?"
"Okay..." he agreed, his face scrunched in apprehension.
"I know it seems like a silly gift," she began, still holding his hand. "We've been married so long, after all. But it's a symbol, you know, and it represents something that I... well, it represents something I didn't actually give to you when we married."
Craning across their daughter, she pressed a kiss to the woeful frown that twisted his face. "I didn't love you when we got married, and I wish more than anything that I could go back and change that. I can't wish that I was never with Brent, because then we wouldn't have Rebecca. I can't wish your father wasn't so cruel, because then we wouldn't have married. But I do desperately, dearly wish that I could go back and give us more time. Just a little more time for me to realize what a wonderful deal I was getting. I wish I could go back and be properly elated to be marrying such a wonderful man, to speak the vows with all the love I carry for you today, and... well, to consummate the union properly instead of fainting from terror."
He chuckled at the last, pulling his hand free from hers and combed his fingers through her damp hair. "I'm pretty happy with how the whole thing turned out," he said with a crooked smile.
"I am, too," she said. "I am so, so happy. And I know it's a silly gift but just consider it a reminder that I choose you. Every day, I choose you. Even when you're being a horse's ass, I choose you. If Rebecca never existed and the law no longer bound us together, I would still choose you. If your foolish self had died in that fire and every day thereafter Brent came to me on bended knee and begged me for my hand, I would turn him down every day until I finally came to join you in the hereafter. I will only ever choose you."
His eyes glistened, but his grin was playful as his hand slid to the back of her neck and pulled her down for a kiss. She braced herself on the mattress, struggling to keep her weight off Rebecca as she sprawled half across the poor girl and kissed her husband for all she was worth. Whether the smoky taste of him was from the fire or the whiskey, she didn't know. Didn't care. She drank him in like fresh air, and when she pulled away she felt dizzy with a baffling mixture of burning desire and lazy satisfaction.
"You smell like vanilla," he grated out, his fingers trailing goosebumps up her spine, and all she could do was laugh.