Something Borrowed

Chapter 33

***Y'know, I'm a little miffed. This quarantine was supposed to be my time to retreat into my little bubble and focus on writing. But instead I'm at my work computer 9 hours a day having Skype meetings and sending emails and just generally doing more work than I do during a typical day at the actual office. It's bullshit! Bullshit I say! Anyway, here's another lousy chapter. Brent's coming back soon, but I wanted a couple years to pass before he did so I'm trying to make the time jump less erratic by giving some filler chapters in the in-between years. I hope it's not too boring. Cheerio!***

Josh

"Please, no. Oh, please, no. Please, don't make us go." Amelia clasped her hands beneath her chin and stared up at him with mock pleading. Rebecca clung with one grimy fist to her skirts and stared up at him as well.

"Peez!" she echoed. She wasn't quite walking and wasn't quite talking, but she was getting very good at wobbly assisted standing and repeating sounds. She had a handful of words that made sense-- ma, da, wuf, no-- and another handful that made absolutely no sense at all. According to Amelia, ro translated directly to "milk" and na obviously meant "pick me up." Obviously.

His daughter stared up at him with big blue eyes and extended her free hand in his direction. "Na!"

Pinching his lips together on a smile, he reached down and hoisted her into his arms. If he didn't know better, he'd say the smile she flashed her mother as he settled her onto a hip was triumphant. Maybe even a little haughty. Pudgy fingers slapped at his jaw. 

"We don't have a choice, Ames," he said, reaching up and absently pulling Reb's hand away from its assault. "It's Easter."

Her dramatic pout deepened. "Exactly! It's supposed to be a glorious day of new beginnings! Remind me again why we're spending it listening to that slimy weasel rant about original sin?"

He laughed. "Same reason we go every Sunday, I reckon," he answered with a shrug. "Now why don't you get our daughter ready while I fix up the sled."

He passed Rebecca into her arms, and she received the child with a lukewarm glare. It was their Sunday tradition to argue about church. At first it had annoyed the daylights out of him. It wasn't like he wanted to go. They went to keep his father happy. She knew that. Or at least he thought she knew that. But every Sunday she moaned and carried on and begged him to stay home, just this once.

It took months for him to realize what she was doing. It shouldn't have taken him so long, except he tended, once the service began, to fix his eyes on the upper right-hand corner of the giant cross behind the altar and let his mind wander until the preacher stopped talking. He knew the words the man said weren't true, but hearing them week after week left a mark. Like the ruts a heavy wagon left in soft earth if it sat for too long. The words sank into his brain and lingered there. His mind knew they were false, but his heart bore scorch marks in the shape of the lies.

So he learned not to listen. It was Melissa's trick, to pick a spot to stare as if deep in thoughts of penance, and let the mind roam free to more worthwhile endeavors. Before Amelia it had been work. After Amelia it had been plans for her and the baby. After the baby... well, after Reb he came to his senses.

It was his daughter who finally clued him in on Amelia's duplicity. Her gentle-hearted kindness. Their daughter had been two months old when they first brought her with them to the service. Amelia had put up a bigger fight than ever, having been allowed to stay home for two months under the auspices of recovery. He'd damn near lost his head and yelled at her before she finally acquiesced and clambered up into the wagon.