***Crimony, this story will NOT END.***
Amelia
They got along peaceably for a week after the fire. The first two days were a strange, nervous kind of bliss. Josh stayed home, leaving the ranch in the capable hands of his employees. They sat around in the cozy warmth of the cabin, doing only the bare minimum of chores while their bodies recovered from the fire. They made quiet plans for where they'd go. Denver City they decided, as a start. They had a few hundred dollars in the bank that would get them there. The dream, of course, was to purchase their own spread, but they simply didn't have the funds. Amelia hated the idea of her husband working someone else's land, of moving from house to house while they found a place to settle, but it was their only option until they had more money set aside.
As anxious as Amelia was to be leaving the security of the ranch, she was used to upheaval. She'd spent her whole life moving and, although she'd hoped to have found a place to settle, it was no great hardship to be uprooted. It was Josh she worried about. He'd traveled, certainly, but he'd never had any home other than this, and she knew it pained him something awful to be leaving.
After those first two days, Josh went back to work. Of course, that first day he was gone she stepped outside to find two ranch hands on the deck chairs with their boots up on her porch rail.
"Boss said to keep an eye on the place, ma'am," one said when she asked why they were there. She had rolled her eyes but fetched them coffee, and she did feel better having them around.
Her days were peaceful and quiet. Melissa stayed and they worked together, taking turns watching Rebecca. Since Melissa was staying over, Amelia got to see her friend at work. It turned out having her home burn to the ground didn't absolve the girl of her responsibilities. Three ranch hands showed up on the porch throughout the week, one with a broken arm, one with frostbitten toes, and the third with an untreated burn from the stable fire that had begun to fester. On the third day without Josh, she was fetched by a man in a sled to deliver his wife's baby. She returned a day later, weary but satisfied, and fell into bed. Amelia had known her friend liked to help people, but she had no idea how often they called upon her and how many trusted her.
"You ought to go out east to study," she prodded her friend one day while they were bent over the laundry. "There are universities that admit women, you know."
Melissa sighed. "I don't think so."
"Why?"
"I can't leave my father behind, or the people in this town. They need me. The doctor's an old hack and he never reads the new literature. Lord knows how many people he'd kill if I left. Besides, I learned a lot from his predecessor, and I'm learning more every day from my books and journals, and from experience. What could they offer me besides a certificate to put on the wall?"
Pride, Amelia thought. Legitimacy.
"You should still think about it," she said. Melissa shrugged noncommittally and that was the end of the conversation.
The steady ease of those days after the fire only increased Amelia's longing to stay behind. She loved her little home, and she loved the vast and wild land. She loved Melissa and the ever-rotating stream of jovial ranch hands who came to guard her house. She wanted to watch her daughter grow up here, wild and free. Josh had been coming home earlier these days, slinging Rebecca up onto his shoulders and carrying her with him as he went about the outside chores. She guessed he was feeling the same way as her, trying to squeeze in as many moments with his daughter in the place that had raised him.
The new year dawned gray and unpleasant. Josh had taken the day off and Amelia woke up to find him in the kitchen, standing over a pot of coffee with red cheeks and eyes still watering from the cold. Neither Rebecca nor Melissa had yet to rise, and the sun was hidden behind gray clouds.
"Morning," she said, pecking him on lips and sitting at the table, wrapping her shawl around her with a shiver. "It's cold, today."
He grimaced, jerking his chin absently in the direction of the mountains. "Storm's coming," he told her. "It's already started snowing, but I doubt it'll pick up too badly until this afternoon. My guess is a foot, foot and a half by tomorrow."
Amelia shuddered, but was secretly pleased. She'd come to love the big storms and how they locked her husband up inside with her. It was a blizzard, after all, that had first brought him into her bed.
"Guess it'll be a lazy day," she said. "We'll have to--"
A knock at the front door cut her off, and she watched her husband's back stiffen. He glanced at her, his jaw clenched, eyes narrow.
"You expecting anyone?" he asked, and she shook her head. Judging by his expression, he wasn't either. He sucked in a breath and pulled his revolver from the holster at his side, pressing it into her hands.
"Josh!" she exclaimed in a terrified whisper. "What--"
"It's probably nothing," he whispered back, his words belied by the tight lines of his face and the steel in his soft brown eyes. "Go to Rebecca's room. Just in case."
"But I--"
"Please, Ames," he begged, gripping her shoulders and pulling her out of her seat. "Just until we know it's safe."
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she let him lead her to Rebecca's door, both of them walking on their tiptoes. The knock came again, and the hair on her arms shot upright with raw terror.
"I love you," Josh whispered, kissing her on the cheek and nudging her toward the closed door.
"I love you too," she murmured. "Don't get hurt."
"I won't sweetheart. Go inside, now."
She opened the door and slipped inside, losing herself in the sullen darkness of Rebecca's room. Her daughter and sister-in-law lay huddled beneath the covers. Which one of them was snoring, Amelia didn't know, but the soft sound was a strange comfort as she backed up to the bed and stood like a sentinel. Her clammy hands shook around the handle of the revolver and her ears strained to pick up the sounds from the front room.
She couldn't hear anything.
What if something happened to him? What if someone was here to hurt them, and she just stood in the bedroom and waited for it? Couldn't she better protect her daughter if she knew what was coming?
Resolved, she went back to the door, opened it a crack, and peeked out. She could see down the hall, but couldn't hear any sounds of movement. She slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her, gliding down the hall in a whisper of soft cotton. The kitchen was empty, as was the sitting room. The mudroom was cold, the ground scattered with flakes of snow as if the door had recently been opened and shut.
Stepping close, she pressed her ear to the door and heard muffled male voices out on the porch.
"--told you we were leaving. What the hell else could you want?" Relief filled her when she recognized her husband's weary, frustrated voice. He didn't sound distressed. Just... tired.
"I want to talk about the fire." Her blood heated at the sound of the second voice. Who the hell did he think he was, coming to her home, after everything he'd done? Hadn't the old man hurt them enough? What did he want now?
"There's nothing to discuss," Josh said firmly. "We were all there."
"We need to talk, Joshua. Just let me say my piece and then I'll leave you be."
"You've said your piece plenty. I'm tired of hearing it and I'm tired of trying to change it. You won. I'm leaving, and I'm taking my family with me. If you're here on Brent's behalf, you'd best get off my porch. I'd sooner put a bullet in you than let you take my wife and daughter."
"That's not why I'm here." The desperation in the man's voice did little to ease Amelia's anger, but it did have her pressing her ear harder against the rough wood.
"Then what do you want?"
"Can we go inside? I have a lot to say."
"Summarize it for me and we'll see."
There was a long pause, and Amelia braced herself for the sound of retreating footsteps, or maybe raised voices. Instead she heard a quiet shuffling, and then his father's pleading voice.
"I came to apologize, son. I came to make things right."
"Is that so?" Josh's wry incredulity matched her own, and she was grateful. She didn't want to have to be the one to explain that this might be a set up. The look in his eyes when she'd told him the old man didn't love him had nearly broken her in half.
"I'm not lying, Joshua. Please just hear me out."
Another lengthy pause, and Amelia held her breath. What did she want? Half of her wanted him to spit in the old man's face and boot him off the porch. It was what his father damn well deserved. But the other half of her, the one that wanted so desperately to stay and that wanted so desperately for her husband to be happy, had a hand on the door, ready to let him in.
"You got a gun?"
"Of course I--"
"Leave it on the porch."
"Son, I'm not--"
"Leave it. On. The porch."
A sigh, and the sound of rustling as the old man unstrapped his gun. Amelia hurried away, stealing back to Rebecca's bedroom purely to save herself the trouble of justifying her presence in the mudroom. Just as she was shutting the door behind her, she heard the front door open and heavy footsteps coming down the hall. At Josh's knock, she peeled it open a crack.
"Old man's here," he said gruffly. "It's safe."
"Oh," she breathed, feigning shock as she slipped out into the hallway. "Why is he here?"
He stared at her in the dark hallway, his head tilted to the side and his dark eyes narrowed.
"You were listening," he said finally, a smile tugging at one side of the firm, angry line of his mouth. She didn't deny it, and the smile broke free. "What am I going to do with you, woman? You know your oath was to obey, right?"
She laughed at that, marveling again over her luck at stumbling so clumsily into a man like this. "I obey you when you're making sense," she said cheekily, following him down the hall to the kitchen. His father stood by the table, his hands latched on the back of a chair. He'd lost weight since the fire, and his face was gaunt, eyes shadowed but unusually clear. Stubborn hope welled in Amelia's chest. Maybe he was sincere. He certainly looked the picture of contrition.
"Mr. Tucker," she greeted coldly, brushing past him to the stove and her abandoned coffee pot. "Would you like coffee?"
"Yes, please, thank you," he said quietly. When Josh pulled out a chair and sank into it, his father followed suit. They sat in stony silence as Amelia poured three cups of coffee, and set cream and sugar in the center of the small table. The room was filled with the sound of clinking silver on porcelain as they doctored their drinks, and then descended once more into taut emptiness.
"You've got your audience," Josh said finally, glaring across the table at his father, one hand wrapped loosely around the coffee cup, his face settled into studied calm. "What is it you want to say?"
"I..." the old man's eyes flicked to Amelia before darting back to his son. "I thought we could talk privately."
Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but Josh beat her to the punch. "Amelia is my wife," he said firmly. "Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of her."
"I don't--"
"I promise I won't let her hit you again," Josh interrupted, glaring at his father and winking at her when the old man's face dropped to his coffee. Her cheeks burned. Someone had been telling him stories she had hoped he wouldn't hear.
His father sighed and nodded, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Alright," he mumbled. He looked up, glancing from Amelia to Josh. "I came to apologize. I've been sitting in that bunkhouse for days, thinking about... about everything. I realize that my actions have been... misguided."
A snort escaped Amelia before she could stop it. Josh shot her a look, but she ignored him.
"Misguided?" she challenged, raising her eyebrows. "That's how you choose to describe it?"
The old man lowered his face once more, his voice dripping with shame. "You're right," he said, and Amelia shocked gaze found her husband's across the expanse of the table.
"I am?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yes," he said, meeting her eye. "It's an understatement to say I was misguided. I was wrong. I was weak and allowed myself to be made a fool."
Josh just stared. As subtly as possible, Amelia reached and nudged him with her foot. He startled, glancing at her before turning back to his father, brow furrowed.
"What are you saying?"
The old man sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm saying that I was wrong, son."
"So now I'm your son..."
"You always were," his father snapped, glaring. "You always were, Josh. Your mother..." his voice cracked and he lowered his gaze, his fingers gripping around the cup so hard Amelia feared it would break. "You have always been my son. Your mother loved you dearly. I loved you dearly. You brought us together, and if you'd done nothing else for me I would owe you just for that."
Josh frowned severely but didn't speak, and for once Amelia was speechless as well. She stared at her father-in-law, trying to divine the truth from the lines in his face. His rheumy eyes, unusually clear, were watery pools of anguish that darted guiltily around the room without ever settling too long on either of their faces. His brow was creased with deep wrinkles and his mouth was twisted with shame.
Could it be that he had come here with earnest intentions? Did they dare hope?
When neither of them spoke their guest went on, the words coming out strained, as if the struggle to reach into himself and draw them out had taken all of his strength. "I said horrible things to you the night of the fire. I've said many horrible things to you throughout the years, but that night... I was wrong. I know I can't ask for your forgiveness. I know I can't make it right. I just want to stop making it wrong."
"And what does that look like?" Josh asked blandly, but she could see the tension in his shoulders as he battled down the same hope that was welling inside her. His fingers tapped restlessly on his coffee cup and she scooted her chair closer, reaching out and resting her hand over his forearm. He met her eye.
Either way, we'll be alright, she thought at him, tightening her grip.
"Well to start, I would like you to stay," Mr. Tucker said warily, drawing his brows together as he looked up at them both. "You know this spread better than anybody. Better than me. The ranch can't afford to lose you and I would be a fool to let you go."
"We're not leaving because we want to. It's not safe for us here."
"We can deal with Reverend Peters. He's one man, Joshua. We'll hire guards. You can move closer to the ranch so you can check on your family while you work. Name the measure and we'll take it."
"It's not the reverend I'm worried about," Josh growled, angry red creeping up his neck as he glared across the table. "You're being civil today, but how long is that going to last? What happens when another drought year comes? Another bear attack? Another fire?"
"Son, please listen to me, I--"
"No!" Josh shot to his feet, his voice an angry hiss, years of stifled resentment bubbling to the surface. Amelia sat calmly in her seat. As much as she wanted this meeting to end with remediation, she'd also long awaited the moment when her husband finally snapped and raked this old fart over the coals. She wasn't about to stop him.
"Joshua--"
"No!" he said again, already breathing hard. "No, you listen. Do you need reminding that this isn't the first time you've tried to make nice? Every time before, it's lasted a few days, a few weeks, and then something ticks you off and things get worse than they were before. You've made my life a living hell, old man. You've punished me for my mistakes, for yours, for ma's, for Brent's, for Melissa's. Hell, you've punished me for acts of random chance. You had me so twisted up I actually believed you. If I'd never had Amelia, never had Reb, I'd have gone my whole life believing every word you told me. But I know where I stand now. I know what I feel for my daughter and I can't imagine anything that would cause me to treat her the way you treat me. She could sleep with every man in the county. She could murder a litter of puppies. She could... she could shoot my wife in cold blood and I would still love her with all of my heart. I would be disappointed and heartbroken but I would never turn my back on her."
He was pacing now, turning his back on his victim and crossing the room in long strides before jerking around and charging forward. Back and forth, back and forth, fury rolling off of him in waves. She'd never seen him like this before and, if she was being completely honest... well, she kind of liked it.
"I know. I know, son. I failed you. I failed your mother. I--"
"I'm not interested in your self pity," Josh spat. "You've felt badly before and it never made a difference. What makes this time special? You're all woebegone and contrite right now, but what happens to my family when something upsets you and you decide I'm the root of all evil? It was one thing when you were hurting me, but I won't let you hurt my family anymore. I can't risk them suffering because you decide to kick us off the ranch or send that preacher after me while I'm at home. You started this whole mess. You perpetuated it. Do you really think I trust you to finish it?"
He fell silent, chest heaving as crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father. Amelia had to fight to keep her butt in her seat. She wanted to kiss him silly, but that would be inappropriate. Right? Right. Now was not the time for such a display. Even so, she couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips while she gazed up at him. He didn't return it, but his eyes lost some of their harsh darkness.
"I know you don't trust me." The quiet, beaten voice drew her attention back to his father. He was staring up at his son with tears in his eyes, his voice choked. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm just asking you to come with me to the bank. We can go as soon as the storm clears. I know you have no faith in me, but please just trust me long enough to make it so that you don't have to."
Amelia's jaw dropped and she stared like a loon at the man across the table. The man wasn't making any sense. Was he saying what she thought she was hearing? She jerked her eyes to Josh and saw the same baffled expression on his face, the flush of anger replaced by a pallor of shock.
"What?" he asked dumbly, sinking back into his chair. "What are you saying?"
"The ranch, Joshua. It's yours. It was always meant to be. I talked to your brother, and... well, he wasn't happy but he agreed that it's for the best. He has no passion for this business, and no aptitude for it. You've had it in your heart since you were big enough to ride. If it gives you comfort, set aside how I feel about you. You know I love this land. I care for the business I built. Trust that I want to pass it into the hands of someone who will do it justice."
"Is this a game?"
"I'm deadly serious, Joshua."
"Where would you go?"
"Well..." the old man gave a rueful smile. "I'd hope that you would let me stay. We'll rebuild the old house, and you and your family can live there. Closer to the complex, closer to town. If you'd let me, I could come live out here. Spend the rest of my days somewhere quiet."
"What if we wanted you gone?"
"Then I would leave. Not all of my money is tied up in this ranch. I have enough to get me through to the end. But I do hope you'd let me stay. I want to watch my grandchildren grow, and to see what you make of this ranch."
"And if we decide to sell it? Parcel it out? Take the profits and head somewhere else?"
His father sighed, lowering his head. "That would break my heart," he admitted quietly, before lifting his watery gaze. "Have you read the parable of the lost son, Joshua?"
Amelia's heart sank. Bible talk with this man always made her nervous, and she wasn't alone. Josh tensed beside her, his frown suspicious. When neither of them responded, his father sighed.
"Reverend Peters was always bringing it up," he said ruefully, shaking his head. "Every time your brother left. Every time he wired home asking for money. When he came home with a pregnant woman on his arm..." he glanced at Amelia and Josh bristled beside her. She cast him a warning glare-- let him finish-- and he leaned back in exaggerated ease. "He said it was God's will that I forgive my prodigal son," Mr. Tucker went on, drumming his fingers on his coffee cup. "You know I listened to that preacher a lot, and I admit I tended to take his word on what the good book says."
Josh snorted and Amelia kicked him beneath the table. He glared at her. His father chuckled.
"It's alright," he said, a self-deprecating smile on his face as he glanced at her. "I ought to have read it myself. I've been doing a bit of that, these last few days. Finding these passages he's always referencing and seeing what they say. I didn't realize, but... but I'm coming to see that his interpretations aren't very faithful to the text."
"No kidding," Josh huffed, and Amelia kicked him again. She didn't like the old man, but this apology seemed sincere enough. Then again, if his derision was enough to derail it, was it really sincere?
"No kidding," his father echoed thoughtfully. "Anyway, I've read the parable of the lost son. Over and over, now. And what I'm trying to say, Joshua, is that Brent has come and gone. I've forgiven him and welcomed him back time and time again, and will continue to do so until one of us passes from this earth. But you... you're not like Brent. Nothing about you is lost. You're a good man. Your mother, she'd be proud as hell of who you've become in spite of me. I... you've always been with me, son. Everything that I have is yours."