A PROMISE TESTED BY TIME AND DESIRE

CHAPTER TWO

Amelie quickly climbed out of bed, ran a brush through her long sun-kissed brown hair, and tied it in two loose pigtails that cascaded down the front of her shoulders. Pulling on her denim jeans and a plain white blouse, she tried once again to banish the unpleasant nightmare, but at the same time struggled to recall the details. Just once, she wished she could pinpoint what the dream was about. She closed her eyes, still unable to, but shivered at its last impression.

“Hi, Mama,” Amelie said, smiling at her mother as she reached the bottom of the stairs from the loft. “Smells good down here.”

“Amelie, sweetie, good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Amelie paused imperceptibly. The answer was decidedly no, but she couldn’t bear the thought of changing the expression on her mother’s face.

Anne Carter was a beautiful, matter-of-fact, strong-willed woman. She adored her children, and it showed. From as early as Amelie could remember, Anne made sure her children knew they were the most special gifts she had ever been given. She wore her long brown hair in a loose bun at the base of her neck except when she brushed it out every evening.

Amelie would often brush it for her as they would talk about the happenings in their days. And her hands, the most beautiful part of her mother, Amelie thought. Long, slender fingers and smooth, milky skin that never seemed callous despite the daily chores that were forever being demanded of her.

They were “magic hands,” as Amelie called them, which could soothe every ache and wipe away tears with a loving caress. Anne was a busy woman, taking care of two children, one a fifteen-year-old boy, and a free-spirited seventeen-year-old daughter who would rather wade in the creek than dress in fancy clothes, even if she had them.

“Uh, yes, Mama. Just fine.” She kissed her mother’s cheek before gliding to her father, who was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands hugging a mug of coffee. “Good morning, Dad.” She planted another kiss on her father’s cheek, relishing the way his stubbly whiskers tickled her lips. If he hadn’t shaved yet this morning, it was going to be a relaxing day with no need to rush around and ruin the perfect morning.

She almost felt guilty for interrupting the scene in the kitchen. Her father gazed admiringly at Anne as she skillfully flipped his eggs, over easy, each one perfect and unbroken. Worry had etched lines in his tanned features and weariness tugged at his cheeks, but he watched his wife with adoring eyes as she swayed in front of the cast-iron stove.

Amelie loved the way her parents still acted like newlyweds. Many times she had caught them dancing in the kitchen to her father’s out-of-tune humming, her mother giggling to get away from his kisses as she pretended to worry about her meal bubbling over.

As Anne approached with the platter of steaming food, Amelie caught the soft gleam in her eyes that she fastened on her husband. Her long, slender fingers brushed Edward’s neck briefly as she settled the platter before him. Amelie noticed the contrast of her mother’s milky white skin against her father’s weather-hardened complexion. Theirs was not an easy life farming the inhospitable terrain of the high country, yet Anne managed to preserve a delicateness about her that belied her strength.

And her father was home, rough whiskers and all. Edward was the hardest working, most honest man Amelie had ever known. He would often spend his days from sun up to sun down working on their farm. There was always work to be done: building fences, mending fences, feeding the horses, branding the cattle, and tending to the small crops of corn, potatoes, and the few other vegetables that could be grown in the short summer season in Colorado.

When he wasn’t home, he was away doing any number of odd jobs or various types of temporary employment. Sometimes he was hired on at a large ranch for haying season or to clear brush for farmland or cut lumber in the high forests.

Once he even went as far as Iowa to pick corn. Times were tough, and if there was a way to earn an honest dollar, Edward wouldn’t shy away from it. And their house, although modest and plain, was always well maintained. Amelie and Matthew shared the upstairs loft, and her parents’ room, kitchen, and a small living room were on the main floor. It was small but cozy.

Soon a delicious breakfast of eggs, biscuits, and gravy was placed in front of Amelie. She hated to eat so hastily and not fully enjoy her mother’s cooking, but she had no desire to waste any more time at home.

“Mama, thank you for breakfast,” Amelie called as she left her parents sitting at the rough-hewn plank table.

She scooted outside before they could detain her in conversation and flitted to the henhouse to collect eggs. She marched back to the porch with a heavy load in the wire basket, trading it for a wicker hamper full of wet laundry. She hung the garments on the ropes strung between two tall sapling posts in the yard behind the cabin, rushed back to the house, and descended on her and Matty’s room up in the loft, folding, straightening, and flicking away dust.

Matty. A slow smile spread across her face as she tucked the edges of her little brother’s fraying quilt under the corners of the ticking mattress. He would always be her little brother, even though he already stood several inches taller than her. Though they were growing up, they had managed not to grow apart. He was her best friend. She supposed their early bond stemmed from the loss of their baby sister, Samantha. She was only nine months old when pneumonia took her from them. Matty and Amelie weren’t but five and seven when they faced the cruel hand of death.

A fear had been born in them both the day Samantha died. The fear of losing each other was a consuming force that forged an unspoken bond. With just a look she could read how he was feeling from across the room. No matter what he did, she couldn’t stay mad at Matty for too long, and at any opportunity, together they would bolt down the fence line to the pine trees for another day of escaping reality, if only for a few hours.