Knowing Amelia--> Prologue

This book is complete, but in the major first round editing process... by me, not even by my editor yet. But I love this book. Of the 3 I've written it's probably my favorite. 

If I have to work my tail off--I will see it published one day. But that day is far away. 

So, it may annoy you that I'm sharing the prologue now... with such a long road ahead. But that's the way I roll, at least today I'm rolling that way. :)

Knowing Amelia

by Jen Atkinson

Prologue

It was the coo-coos fault, or maybe the hard, creaking boards beneath me, possibly the heat from the sleeping bag I refused to leave the safety of. No matter the cause, I wouldn't be sleeping much. I knew I should have packed a flash light. I could hardly see the stack of books beside me, let alone read any of the words inside. The coo-coo clock on the wall had a pendulum that could have hypnotized me by now. Two o’clock. Three o’ clock … And then—

“Good morning sleepy head,” Mom sang.

When had I finally fallen asleep?

My baby sister skipped around us, already dressed and ready for the day. I looked beside me, Jared was gone, even his bedding had been cleared away. My brother always had been an early riser.

My hair pressed matted up against my head and my stomach turned in pain. I sat up, my eyes pounding with pain. I don’t know if I’d ever had a headache in my entire eleven years of life, but this one I wouldn’t soon forget. Yawning, I rubbed my swollen eyes.

Mom squatted beside me, her serious expression causing a wrinkle in the middle of her forehead. It didn’t look right, there- on her pretty face. “Are you okay, Olivia?”

“I think so.” I yawned again.

“Let’s get a move on ladies,” Dad said, clapping his hands so loudly my head spiked with pain.

Widening her eyes, Mom scooped her short auburn hair behind both ears. She didn’t like Dad being loud in Amelia’s house. That’s when I noticed her. Amelia. Sitting in her rocker, working on a crossword puzzle, in the same room where I’d just spent the night.

“Good morning grandma,” I said trying to be polite. She wasn’t an easy person to be polite to. Amelia had one layer to her—grouchy. Katie skipped passed me again. “Baby, stop it.” Amelia’s brow seemed to furrow more with each of my sister’s skips.

“That,” Amelia nodded toward Katie, “isn’t a baby.” She looked back to her puzzle, the angry wrinkles on her forehead staying in place.  

Glancing up at the coo-coo, I read nine-thirty. I’d slept too long in her opinion, I was sure of it, and Katie was much too loud and too old at five, to still be called “our baby”.

Mom stood from her crouch beside me. “Are you sure you don’t need anything Amelia? We’d be more than happy to stay and help out with any funeral arrangements needing to be made.”

“All of the arrangements are made.” Amelia started rocking, but didn’t look up from her crossword. There was no normalcy to her emotions. She didn’t smile after seeing my dad for the first time in four years, and I hadn’t seen her cry once about grandpa passing. She just grouched.

Nodding, Mom said, “All right then. Livy, run to the kitchen and eat breakfast. There’s a skillet with scrambled eggs on the stove. Hurry up. Dad’s ready to go.”

Jumping up, the jackhammer started again in my head. At once Mom went to work clearing away my sleeping bag. I scampered across Amelia’s wooden floor boards, making as-quiet-as-I-could taps with each step. I downed the eggs and gulped down a glass of juice, Baby Katie skipping circles around me the entire time, turning my head into a Ferris wheel. I ran up the stairs to change in Mom and Dad’s room but once at the top, I switched directions and darted toward the one bathroom in Amelia’s house, where I choked up all that I’d eaten.

Mom found me there. She helped me to my feet and into her and Dad’s room. Rolling back the homemade quilt, she helped into bed. Her cool hand pressed against my head before she left the room.

 “Olivia’s sick. I think I better stay behind with her.” I heard Mom say.

“Sick? What’s wrong with her?” Dad sounded annoyed. I could imagine him looking at his watch and tapping his shoe, his sightseeing waiting on me.

“You go on ahead, Shelly. I can take care of the girl.” Amelia’s voice shocked me and frightened me at the same time.

No! I screamed in my head, grasping the quilt and squeezing until my knuckles turned white.

“You don’t need to do that,” Mom said. “I can stay.”

“Nonsense,” Amelia said. “I’ll be here anyway and all she’ll do is sleep. That girl was up until four in the morning.”

How did she know that?

 “It’s not easy for everyone to sleep in a foreign home,” Mom said.

“Mom’s right Shell,” Dad said. “Livy will sleep, and Mom will be here if she needs something.”

Traitor.

“I don’t know—“

But Amelia interrupted her. “Nonsense!” she said again. I had the feeling she wanted her nice, quiet house back. If Mom had stayed, she would have forced Grandma into conversation.

“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll just let her know then.”

The door creaked as Mom pushed it open wider. “Livy, sweetheart—”

“I heard,” I grouched, reminding myself of Amelia. “You’re leaving. You’re going to Cody without me.”

“Ah honey, did you really stay up until four?”

How could Mom leave me there? Did we really know what Amelia was capable of—besides grouchiness? There had to be a reason we never came here. And—“How did she know I was up?”

“Maybe she couldn’t sleep either. I don’t know. But if that’s true, then all you need to feel better is rest. Sleep, and if we’re not back when you wake, you can read your books.”

I shrugged my shoulders pretending not to care, but really that plan didn’t sound half bad. Who cared about seeing a few historical sites? Romeo was just outside Juliet’s window.

Once my family left, it didn’t take long for sleep to overtake me. When I awoke, the clock told me I’d slept only an hour. It had to be Amelia’s house. It wouldn’t let me sleep.

Walking over to the one window in the room, I looked up to see just how high the elm tree outside stretched. It was my favorite part of Amelia’s. It was tall and beautiful and never grouchy. Then looking back down again, I spotted a curly, dark haired boy on the grass. He dribbled a soccer ball between his feet in Grandma’s yard. He started to laugh, and I smiled down at him as I watched. He kicked the ball, flinging it high into the air. He jumped and hit the black and white ball with his head. It hit the side of Amelia’s house.

“Logan Heyborn!” Grandma yelled.  Amelia had always been a hard woman, but I’d never heard her yell. It frightened me and at once I worried for the laughing boy.

With both of my palms against the cold window pane I whispered, “Run!” I knew the boy couldn’t hear me, but I couldn’t help it. “Run boy!”

She came into view, walking out into the yard, right under the lovely elm tree. Her cold stance and folded arms didn’t look right there, much too unpleasant for such a pretty tree. Her salt and pepper hair curled under at her neck and her head tilted, looking at the boy who now stood out of my view. I watched the top of her head, unable to read her expression. Maybe he had gotten away. I could sense rather than see her glare though. He hadn’t moved and she stood, piercing him with her gaze.

“Logan,” I could just hear her muffled voice through the glass. “When did you get home?”

The boy spoke to her, but I couldn’t make out what he said. And then to my shock, almost my horror, I saw Grandma wrap her arms around him, hugging the curly haired boy. He embraced her back. I gasped and jumped away from the window, but like a car wreck, I had to look back. Amelia kicked the soccer ball over to the boy. Picking it up, he waved and disappeared into the house next door.

Running back to my bed, a shiver crawled down my back at what I’d just witnessed. I couldn’t explain why it frightened me, except that I’d never seen her hug anyone, not even my dad. I covered my head and before I knew it, I woke from another nap. This time, afternoon had come. My head still whirled with the curly haired boy, had it really happened? I yawned and rolled back toward the door. There beside the bed sat one of Amelia’s kitchen chairs and on top of it a tray of food: a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and a cup of orange juice. Maybe this would work out. It didn’t look as if I’d even have to speak to Amelia.

I sat up feeling like a queen as I ate my meal in bed. Ready to read, I remembered my books all the way down-stairs, in the living room. I couldn’t sit in this bed doing nothing, waiting for my family to return. I wondered, if I kept quiet, maybe she wouldn’t notice me. Maybe I could sneak down stairs and be back to the safety of my parent’s room without ever being seen.

The creaking of the bedroom door seemed to scream through the quiet household. “Shh!” I hushed at it. I tip toed down the wooden staircase without much noise, to my pleasure. I easily crept over to the living room. There were my things, lying on Amelia’s old square coffee table. And then I heard it. A horrible blubber noise coming from Amelia’s dining room. I jerked my head upright, frightened by the noise.

Again I heard the weak moan, but this time accompanied by a cry, “Oh, Seth.”

Adrenalin filled my veins. Even with the fear of getting caught, curiosity burned within me. Clutching my book, I silently snuck forward.

Peeking around the wall separating the two rooms, I saw her, Amelia, down on her knees in the dining area. One of the wooden floor boards had been pulled out of place and now leaned against the wall, leaving a hole in the floor. I was grateful her back faced me. Her body rocked back and forth with grief. A small box sat beside her, its contents a mystery.

“Seth,” she cried again.

My grandfather had died, her husband of more than fifty years, it was understandable that Amelia should be crying, more understandable than any emotion she’d shown since we arrived. Only my grandfather’s name wasn’t Seth.