Tracie Peterson (19 page)

“Do whatever you like,” Amelia finally said in a voice of pure resignation. “You may have all of my dresses for all I care. I won’t be needing them anymore.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel bad,” Penelope said, puffing out her chest indignantly. “Just because you are marrying Sir Jeffery in Denver and will receive a new trousseau, you think you can be cruel.”

“Yes, you are very mean-spirited, Amelia,” Margaret agreed. “I think I’ve never met a more hateful person. You’ll have Sir Jeffery and his money and go to court and spend your days in all the finery and luxury money can buy. We’ll still be trying to make a proper match.”

“Yes,” Penelope added with a sigh, “and hoping that our husbands will be as handsome and rich as Sir Jeffery.” Both of them broke into tittering giggles before Penelope sobered and tightened her hold on the gown as though Amelia might change her mind. “So you needn’t be so smug Amelia. You may walk around with your nose in the air for all we care.”

Amelia looked at them both. She was stunned by their harshness and hurt by their comments. These were her sisters and there had been a time when they were all close and happy. She remembered joyous times when they were little and she’d played happily with them in the nursery. She loved them, even if they couldn’t see that. Even if time and sorrow had made them harsh, and strained their ability to be kind. She saw hints of their mother woven in their expressions. Margaret looked like their mother more than any of them, but Penelope shared a similar mouth and nose. Amelia sighed. They should be close, close as any three people could ever be. But they thought her a snob and a spiteful, prideful person, and perhaps they were right. It seemed only to fuel the idea that the world would be a better place without her in it.

No wishing to leave them with a bitter memory of her, she offered softly, “I do apologize. I fear you have misjudged me, however. It was never my intentions to make you feel bad.”

Margaret and Penelope looked at her in complete surprise. Amelia wondered if they had any idea of what she was about to do. They were so young and childish and probably concerned themselves only with what color would best highlight their eyes or hair. No doubt they prayed fervently that Amelia would allow Jeffery the freedom to dance with them and pay them the attention they so craved.
Will they mourn me when I am gone? Will anyone?

“You don’t care at all how we feel. All summer you’ve pranced around here like some sort of queen. Always you’ve had the best of everything and Father even allowed you to remain behind from the hunt when we had to drudge about this horrid country looking for sport!” Penelope declared.

“Yes, it’s true!” Margaret exclaimed in agreement. “You had Jeffery’s undivided attention and positively misused him. You have no heart, Amelia.”

Amelia could no longer stand up under their criticism. She felt herself close to tears again and rather than allow them to see her cry, turned at the door to walk away. “You needn’t worry about the matter anymore,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll take myself to the Crying Rock and relieve you of your miseries.”

Crossing the yard, Amelia looked heavenward. A huge milky moon shown down to light her way and a million stars sparkled against the blackness. Mother had told her that stars were the candlelights of angels.

“We can’t always see the good things at hand, but we can trust them to be there.”

Amelia sighed and rubbed her arms against the chill. “You were wrong, Mother. There is no good thing at hand for me.”

She made her way up the mountain through the heavy undergrowth of the forest floor. She only vaguely knew the path to the Crying Rock and hoped she’d find the right way. Tears blinded her from seeing what little moonlight had managed to filter down through the trees. She’d never been one given to tears, but during these few months in America she’d cried enough for a lifetime. Now, it seemed that her lifetime should appropriately come to an end.

Her sisters’ harsh comments were still ringing in her ears and her chest felt tight and constricted with guilt and anguish.
Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps I am heartless and cruel. The world would be a much better place without me.

God cares about your pain.
Logan’s words came back to mind so clearly that Amelia stopped in her place and listened for him to speak. The wind moaned through the trees and Amelia realized that it was nothing but her mind playing tricks on her.
There is no God,
she reminded herself, chiding herself for being foolish.

“Even if there were,” she muttered, “He wouldn’t care about me.”

Logan leaned against the stone wall of the fireplace and wondered if Amelia would join the evening fun. He’d watched her from afar and saw that her mind was overly burdened with matters that she refused to share. He’d prayed for her to find the answers she longed for.

Over in one corner, Lord Amhurst and Sir Jeffery were steeped in conversation and Logan couldn’t help but watch them with a feeling of contempt.
What kind of man forces his child to marry against her will? Especially a man who represents nothing but fearful teasing from childhood and snobbish formality in adulthood.
He longed to understand better and not feel to judgmental about Amelia’s father and his insistence that she wed Jeffery Chamberlain. He knew very little except for what he’d overheard and none of that gave him the full picture. He’d tried to get Amelia to talk about it, but even when he’d caught her in moments where she was less guarded about her speech, she refused to share her concerns with him.

His mind went back to the conversation he’d overheard earlier that evening between Amelia and Jeffery. He’d been coming to the lodge and rounded the back corner just in time to hear Amelia tell Chamberlain that she believed in faithfulness in marriage. Chamberlain certainly hadn’t, but it didn’t surprise Logan.

“Well, well, and here come some of our lovely ladies now,” the earl stated loudly.

Logan looked up to find Amelia’s sisters flouncing about the room in their finery. Lady Gambett and her daughters were quick to follow them into the room, but Amelia was nowhere to be found.

“I say, Penelope,” Lord Amhurst began, “isn’t that one of Amelia’s gowns?”

Penelope whirled in the pale-green silk. “Yes, Father, it is.”

“You know how particular your sister is about her gowns. It will certainly miff her to find you in it.”

“She knows all about it,” Penelope replied.

“Yes, Father, she does. In fact, this is her gown also and she told me I could wear it,” Margaret chattered. “Although it is a bit large.”

Logan smiled, seeing for himself that Margaret’s girlish figure couldn’t quite fill out the bodice. He could imagine Amelia growing impatient with them both and throwing the gowns in their faces. Sipping a cup of coffee, Logan tried to hide his smile and keep his thoughts to himself.

In one corner, several of the boys were tuning up their fiddles and guitars to provide the evening’s music, while the earl exchanged formalities with the newly arrived Lord Gambett. They talked for several minutes while the ladies gathered around Jeffery, each vying for his compliments. Some of the local men straggled in and Logan nearly laughed at the way they each paused at the door to shine their boots on the backside of the opposite leg. Never mind their jeans might show a smudge of dirt, so long as their boots looked good. Logan almost felt sorry for them, knowing that the prim and proper English roses would hardly appreciate the effort.

“We’re certain to beat the snow if we leave at the end of next week instead of waiting,” Logan hear Lord Gambett say.

“What do you say, Mr. Reed? Is the snow upon us?” Lord Amhurst suddenly questioned.

“It’s due, that’s for sure,” Logan replied. “But I think you’re safe from any real accumulation. We might see a dusting here and there, but it doesn’t look bad just yet. Of course, with mountain weather that could all change by morning.

The musicians were ready and awaited some kind of cue that they should begin playing. The fiddle player was already drawing his bow across the strings in what Logan knew to be an American-styled call to order. He looked around the room and, still seeing no sign of Amelia, he questioned the earl about beginning the music.

“I see Lady Amhurst is still absent, but if you would like, the boys are ready to begin playing.”

The earl glanced around as though Amelia’s absence was news. “I say, Penelope, where is that sister of yours? She doesn’t seem to be here.”

Penelope shrugged. “She left the cabin after telling us to wear whatever we wanted. She was mean-tempered and said she wouldn’t be needing these gowns anymore. We presumed she said that because of her marriage to Sir Jeffery. Don’t you think it was mean of her to boast that way?”

Lord Amhurst laughed, “At least she’s finally coming around to our way of thinking, what?” He elbowed Jeffery and laughed.

“Indeed it would appear that way,” the sneering man replied.

Logan hated his smugness and thought of his lurid suggestion that Amelia would come to enjoy his bed. Logan seethed at the thought of Amelia joining this man in marriage. He had worked all week long to figure out what he could do to resolve Amelia’s situation. He couldn’t understand her loyalty to a father who would be so unconcerned with her feelings, and yet he respected her honoring him with obedience.
Somehow there has to be a way to make things right for Amelia.
He though of approaching the earl and asking for Amelia’s hand, but he as already certain that the man would never consider him a proper suitor, much less a proper husband.

“I congratulate you, Chamberlain, on your powers of persuasion. You must have given her a good talking to in order to convince her to marry.”

“Maybe it was more than a talking to,” Lady Gambett said in uncharacteristic fashion.

The girls all giggled and blushed at this. They whispered among themselves at just what such possibilities might entail, while Jeffery smiled smugly and accepted their suppositions. Logan barely held his temper and would have gladly belted the grin off Chamberlain’s face had his attention not been taken in yet another startling direction.

“But did Amelia say when she might join us?” the earl asked, suddenly seeming to want to push the party forward.

“No,” Penelope replied, “she said she was going off to cry on some rock. I suppose she’ll be at it all night and come back with puffy red eyes.”

“Then she’ll be too embarrassed to come to the party,” Margaret replied.

Logan felt his breath quicken and his mind repeated the words Penelope had just uttered.
“She said she was going off to cry on some rock.” Did she mean Crying Rock?
He put his cup down and signaled the band to begin. He wanted no interference on exiting quickly and figured with the music as a diversion he could make his way out the back kitchen door.

He was right. Logan slipped from the room without anyone voicing so much as a “Good evening.” His thoughts haunted him as he made his way to the end of the porch. He grabbed a lighted lantern as he jumped down from the steps.
She doesn’t want this marriage and she knows about Crying Rock.
He mentally kicked himself for ever taking her there.

“Lord, if I’ve caused her to seek a way out that costs Amelia her life, I’ll never forgive myself,” he muttered.

A
s if drawn there by sheer will, Amelia finally made her way to Crying Rock. She stood for a moment under the full moon and looked down at the valley below. Across the mountains the moon’s reflection made it appear as though it were day. The dark, shadowy covering of pine and aspen looked like an ink smudge against the valley. The mournful sound of the wind playing in the canyons seemed to join Amelia’s sobs in sympathetic chorus.

Her gown of lavender crepe de Chine did little to ward off the bit of the mountain breeze. The polonaise styling with its full skirt and looped-up draping in back gave a bit of protection, but the wind seemed to pass right through the low-cut bodice and was hardly deterred by the chiffon modesty scarf that she’d tucked into it. The finery of a Paris gown meant little to her now.
What good were such baubles when no one cared if you lived or died?