Knowing Amelia

Chapter 1

Blinking awake, my eleven-year old head pounded like my baby sister had taken a hammer to it. Oh yeah. They abandoned me.  How could Dad do that? How could he leave me here with his grouchy old mom, just because I’d gotten sick? Why were they out exploring anyway? Weren’t we here for Grandpa’s funeral? Grandma hadn’t even cried. Weren’t wives supposed to cry when their husbands died? She had one layer— grouchy.

At least I didn’t have to see grumpy Amelia. I’d been napping in this dusty old bedroom all morning.

Climbing out of Amelia’s spare bed, I crept over to the bedroom window. I stared up at the big elm in her yard—tall, beautiful, and never grouchy. Down on the ground, I spotted a curly haired boy on the grass. He dribbled a soccer ball between his feet, right next to the elm. He laughed, and I smiled down at him. He kicked his ball, flinging it high into the air.  Jumping, he hit the black and white ball with his head, smacking it into the side of Amelia’s house.

“Logan Heyborn!” Grandma yelled. Grandma was grumpy—always, always grumpy, but I’d never heard her yell before.

With both of my palms against the cold windowpane, two stories off the ground, I stared at the laughing boy. “Run!” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. “Run, boy!” What would she do to him?

Walking out into the yard, Amelia stood beside the lovely elm tree. Her grouchy 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 toward the boy, who now stood out of my view. Watching the top of her head, I couldn’t read her grumpy face. Maybe he had gotten away…

“Logan,” I could just hear her voice through the glass—as if my head were dunked under water. “When did you get home?”

The boy spoke to her, but I couldn’t make out what he said. Pressing my nose to the glass, I gasped. Grandma wrapped her arms around him, his dark curls just under her chin. The hug didn’t last long, but it sent my heart racing just the same. Jumping away from the window, I lay my body flat against the wall—out of sight. But I had to look back, like when my brother Jared squishes a spider—I have to look, I have to see, is it really dead? Was Amelia really hugging some boy?

Their hug over, Amelia kicked the soccer ball back to Logan. Picking it up, he waved and disappeared into the house next door.

Running as fast as I could back to my bed, a shiver crawled down my back. What had I just witnessed? And why had it frightened me? I’d never seen Amelia hug anyone before.

Covering my aching head with Amelia’s old quilt, I listened to my heavy breaths, in and out. It seemed no time had passed when I woke from another nap. Afternoon had come. My head still whirled with the curly haired boy. Had it really happened? Yawning, I 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 wouldn’t be so terrible. It didn’t look as if I’d even have to speak to Amelia.

Sitting up, I felt like a queen, eating my meal in bed. All I needed now were my—oh, no! My books were all down stairs. I couldn’t sit in this bed doing nothing all day, and I didn’t have a servant—like a queen should, to order the promptness of my novels. 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 one grouchy glance from Grandma.

The creaking of the bedroom door screamed through Dad’s old room. “Shh!” I glared at it. I tip toed down the wooden staircase without much noise. Creeping over to the living room, I saw my things, lying on Amelia’s old square coffee table.

And then I heard it.

The horrible blubber came from Amelia’s dining room. Jerking my head upright, I held my breath. What is it? Who is it?

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

My racing heart pumped blood through my veins. My eyes widened as the cries grew louder.  Each sob, just out of my view, as if it were right next to me. I took one step. Just turn around. Another step. Just walk away. One more—closer. Just get out! But—I had to see.  

Knuckles white, I clutched my book to my chest, my heart thumping against the hard cover of Romeo and Juliet.

Peeking around the wall separating the two rooms, my eyes focused on the figure before me. Amelia—down on her knees in the dining area. She had moved the table and pulled up one of the wooden floorboards, leaning it against the wall, revealing a hole in the floor. A small wooden box sat beside her, its contents a mystery.

Sucking in a quiet breath, I let it go—she couldn’t see me. Thank goodness her back faced me. Amelia didn’t know I was there. Her body rocked back and forth with her sobs.  “Seth,” she said through another sob. “My Seth.”

Grandma sat there crying. Her husband of more than fifty years had died and finally-- finally she had decided to cry. Even grumpy people should cry when their husbands die.  

Only my grandfather’s name wasn’t Seth.

 

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