Amelia

"I hate being pregnant." Amelia shifted her aching rear on the hard wooden bench and arched her back, wishing she could draw a full breath. One evening, a few weeks ago, she'd eaten more than her fair share of dinner and gone to bed feeling like she couldn't fill her lungs against her overstuffed stomach.

The feeling hadn't gone away. She couldn't breathe. She was constantly running to use the toilet. Plus, her wild child of a son never seemed to sleep. He was forever tossing himself about inside her, kicking her in the ribs and banging his little skull against her spine. At first it had been miraculous. Everyone in the family had taken turns pressing their hands against her belly, feeling the life inside her celebrate his athleticism. Now she was rather wishing she and Brent had spawned a quieter, more sedate kind of offspring. 

When her complaint garnered only silence, she turned her head to glare at her husband, who reclined beside her on the seat, reins in one hand, the other arm draped over the seatback behind her. He didn't look at her, but she could tell by the way his lip twitched that he felt her ardor.

"It's absolutely hellish," she went on, as if he'd asked for elaboration. "Spring is my favorite season, you know, and instead of enjoying it I'm miserable. You promised me I'd be dancing around barefoot in the grass when the weather warmed up, but we'll never know if you were right because I can barely waddle from one room to the next!"

He chuckled at that. "You're hardly that ungainly, Ames," he said mildly, bumping her shoulder with his arm. "It's more of a shuffle than a waddle."

It was times like this that she really, truly wished Josh was the man who had planted this seed inside her. He was so damn casual about everything, and it made her absolutely furious. Not that his innocence in her condition staid her tongue. She still lashed out at him, but she always felt badly afterwards. It would be easier if he was to blame for the whole situation. More fun. Then she could really tear him apart. This is your damn fault, she would yell, stamping her foot and waving her finger. The least you could do is take my complaints seriously! It's your child I'm carrying. Your heir I'm bringing into the world! Coddle me! Tolerate me! Humor me, dammit!

"I am absolutely that ungainly!" she exclaimed, leaning back and placing her hands on the roundness of her stomach. "Look at me, Josh! Look! I look like I've swallowed a pumpkin!"

He laughed again, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from smiling with him.

"Look at these elephant feet!" she went on, struggling to prop one foot against the front of the wagon and tugging up her dress. Even through her wool sock, the thickness of her ankle was evident. "You think I enjoy walking around on these stumps all day?"

"Amelia--"

"And don't get me started on my moods," she warned.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," he laughed.

She snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. "What does that mean?" she asked through her teeth, watching his eyes grow wide and his hands tighten on the reins as he stared straight ahead. She could practically hear his brain struggling to measure the amount of trouble he'd just created for himself. "What does that mean, Joshua?" she asked again, trying not to smile. Struggling not to throw her unwieldy body across the bench and kiss him. He was so easy to scold, and so dratted adorable when she chastised him. She'd probably feel badly for lashing out at him even if he was the man responsible for her condition.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Ames," he said, his brow deeply furrowed as he glanced over at her, cautiously removing his arm from behind her and holding the reins in both hands. As if creating physical distance might save him.

"Oh, I think you did," she pressed, letting some lightness seep into her tone as she turned sideways and let her knees press against the side of his leg. She reached up and removed his hat, tossing it into the wagon behind them. He squinted against the light, and perhaps against her wrath. "Come on and be honest, now, Josh. What did you mean? Did you mean to say that my moods are unpredictable?"

"Ames--"

"That I'm... mercurial?" She leaned forward and draped a hand over the top of his leg, kneading the hard muscle and pinching her lips against her laughter when his breath hitched.

"Amelia, I--"

"Am I tempestuous?" she asked, making her voice sultry as she shifted up and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"What are you--"

"Volatile?" She took the soft lobe of his ear between her teeth and nipped gently.

"I--"

"Just answer the question," she breathed against his neck, letting her hand roam up his body until her fingers were tangled in his hair. She turned his head and pressed her lips firmly to his. His mouth opened without hesitation, tongue sweeping along her upper lip as one hand pressed against her back, bringing her closer and the other gripped her braid. 

How is he steering the wagon?

Distantly, she heard the squelch of the wheels through muddy grass, and the steady pound of the horse's hooves. The animal knew its way to town. Josh had told her himself, holding the reins was really more of a formality than anything.

She was in his lap, her arms around his neck, his holding her tightly to him. This was nothing new. Ever since the night of the storm, they had slowly broken down the physical barrier between them. It started with a soft kiss before bed. Then came the intimacy of sleep. In the beginning, they had maintained a modest distance between them when they went to bed. After a week of waking up tangled in each other's arms, they had given up the pretense. One morning, she'd woken to his hand cupping her breast. Startled, she'd shifted. He'd woken just as quickly, apologized profusely, and relented immediately when she pulled him to her and showed him what she couldn't say-- that she wanted his touch.

Quite a lot.

They hadn't gone all the way. Amelia wasn't sure if that would be healthy for the baby, and it wasn't a topic she wished to discuss with Melissa. Josh seemed to have the same reservations. Whenever he stopped their progress, and it was almost always him who stopped it, he always mumbled something along the lines of "the baby," as if the child's mere presence were a barrier between them. 

It didn't help matters that she was so mad for... contact. She was crazed with lust, feeling every bit the wanton Jezebel the local preacher thought she, and every other woman, was. She'd never in her life been so distracted by desire. She remembered a friend of hers, Olivia, back in the city had suffered the same affliction while she was with child. Her sensual appetites had grown and she'd spent the late months of her pregnancy making Amelia roar with laughter at the lewd comments she whispered about men passing by.

Even so-- even knowing her pregnancy was to blame-- Amelia had a difficult time controlling her urges. Everything her husband did made her mouth water like a hungry dog. The way he dressed and the way he undressed. The way he bent and stoked the fire. The way he smiled, laughed, frowned, spoke, fell asleep, woke up. She stood on the porch and watched him ride off in the morning and wished she could ride him the way he rode his stupid horse. She stood by as his father berated him over supper and entertained torrid fantasies of sweeping all the food off the dining room table, yanking him down on top of her, and having him ravish her while his family ran off in stunned disbelief.

She was mad. Absolutely out of her mind.

"Ames, stop," Josh mumbled, his voice muffled by her mouth as he carefully pressed her away. She resisted, clinging to his shoulders and letting loose a pitiful moan of want.

"You're no fun, Josh," she teased, leaning in to recapture his mouth. He put his hand up and blocked her advances. His sharp rebuke cut through the haze of her lust.

"Stop, Amelia," he snapped, his voice low but his tone harsh and humorless. A lance of pain cut through her at his rejection, and she turned to seat herself on the bench. It was only then that she saw the riders approaching. They were too far to make out faces and expressions, but too near for her to wonder whether they'd seen her tawdry show.

"Oh, my god," she breathed, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks and turning to gaze pleadingly at her husband. "Tell me that's not who I think it is."

"Depends," he said wryly, casting her a crooked, unhappy smile as he retrieved his hat and dropped it on his head. "Do you think it's the goddamn preacher?"

"Josh, language!" she scolded, but his words bounced around in her head like they belonged there.

The goddamn preacher.

The god. Damned. Preacher.

The two riders were closer now. Amelia could make out the preacher clearly, garbed entirely in black as was his wont. The smaller figure beside him must be his wife, Katherine. Amelia had only ever seen her at the church, sitting in the front row with her hands clasped politely in her lap. She rarely mingled with the other ladies after the service. Now that she was thinking about it, she didn't think she'd ever heard the woman's voice.

"Maybe they didn't see," she murmured beneath her breath, subtly straightening her dress as her cheeks grew even warmer. It was one thing for the goddamn preacher to see her cavorting with her husband and pass judgment. It was an entirely different, and somehow more humiliating, matter entirely for the man's proper, demure, china doll of a wife to have seen the show. "Maybe they won't even care!"

"Maybe," Josh said, reaching out and taking her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Maybe this evening the sun will set in the east."

She huffed out a laugh at his attempt at levity and squeezed his hand. "This is humiliating," she mumbled, lowering her face as they drew nearer to the approaching riders.

"I'm the one with the insatiable minx of a wife," Josh said dryly. "How do you think I feel?" 

"Proud of yourself, I imagine."

He flashed a grin at her before releasing her hand and waving at the preacher.

"Morning, Reverend Peters," he greeted, tipping his hat to Katherine. "Ma'am." In spite of the polite greeting, he didn't slow the horse and Amelia prayed the riders would take the hint and continue on without stopping to converse. Keep riding, she urged. Please, goddamned preacher, keep riding.

"Good morning, Joshua," the preacher said, slowing his horse to a stop. His wife drew to a halt as well, but she kept her face cast down, features partially hidden by the shadow of a pale purple bonnet.

Goddammit. Goddamn preacher.

"Nice morning for a ride," Josh noted, ever the gentleman. Amelia could hardly tell by listening to him that he hated the man. He pulled the horse up and Amelia had an insane urge to rip the reins from his hands and spur the animal forward at a full-out gallop.

"It's fine. Just fine," the reverend said absently, tilting his head as he studied them. Amelia felt her skin crawl and she shifted slightly on the bench, wishing she could cower beneath her husband's arm. There was a glint in the man's eye that frightened her more than his vitriol. A lustful, greedy glint. "Where are you headed this morning, Joshua?"

Amelia hated that-- the way the other man said her husband's name. Like he was an errant child or a misbehaving dog.

"Just going to town for supplies," Josh answered. "Where are you off to?"

"We were invited to dinner with the Willcotts," the preacher said, nodding his chin vaguely to the north. "Their eldest son just took a wife. Kathy and I wanted to stop by and congratulate the new couple. Offer some advice in the conduct of a proper union." He reached out and took his wife's slender hand, and if Amelia didn't know better she'd say the woman shuddered, tucking her chin toward her chest.

"I hadn't heard," Josh said, shifting slightly on the bench, angling his shoulders just enough so that he blocked the preacher's view of her. The unease relaxed its hold on her spine. "Please, pass along my congratulations to Elliot and his bride."

Reverent Peters hummed noncommittally, his shrewd eyes flicking from Josh to Amelia's face, and then back to her husband. He let go of his wife's hand and she tucked it back into her lap, her pale, graceful fingers fiddling restlessly with the reins. Her horse danced a bit, and Amelia remembered what Josh had taught her about horses-- how they picked up on emotions, especially the bad ones. Anxiety. Fear. Anger.

"Speaking of the conduct of a proper union," the preacher said, clearing his throat. "I--"

"We're on a tight schedule, sir," Josh said, nodding his head toward the road before them. "We have to get to town before--"

"It's rude to interrupt, Joshua," Reverend Peters said, all trace of false civility gone from his acidic voice.

Silence descended, and all Amelia could hear was the horses' stamping hooves. All three animals were shifting now, even Josh's mellow old drafthorse. She glanced up and past the reverend, who was glaring at her husband as if he could cast him into hell just by looking at him. Katherine's shoulders had hunched, her face completely hidden now by the shadow of her bonnet. Amelia had wondered if the woman would sneer down her nose, but she seemed cowed by her husband's judgment rather than inspired by it.

"Like I said," Josh broke the silence, reaching for Amelia's hand and once again interlocking his fingers with hers. "We need to be going."

"You'd best be careful, Joshua," the preacher warned. "That woman will lead you straight to hell."

No, Amelia wasn't imagining it. Katherine visibly cringed, even as Josh laughed. "And I'll gladly follow her," he said pleasantly. "I hear it's warm there. You have a safe ride, reverend. Enjoy the weather. And you take care, ma'am." Once more, he tipped his hat to the reverend's wife, but she didn't even raise her face. Before Amelia could speak, Josh had flicked the reins and the horse was trotting forward, carrying them down the road toward town.