Asleep just beyond the border of the northern pasture, guarded by the solemn sentinel trees which marked the edge of Veris territory, Amelia Veris and her floppy-eared mutt dozed in whispering prairie grass. A well-worn sun bonnet, pulled down, shaded her gray eyes as they moved in dreams. Amee left herself completely, since she was not one to do a half-job on anything, in the tranquility of open sky and land. Ebony curls hugged her bronzed neck and spilled in to the grasses like oil. Strikingly slender in her burlap coloured pants and blue shirt, one would hardly guess that this innocent creature could be as reckless, shrewd, and headstrong as any man of the revered West. She was certainly a charmer, as dreamy and spirited as any colt; but Amee could also be as willful and determined as a mule.

            For this captured space of time, all the life and risky energy that was Amee had faded and left only the serene shell of sunkissed beauty. She breathed deeply the smell of alfalfa and soil. A long, graceful neck held her chiseled face, crowned in black curls, and a firm-set mouth that was courageous and pensive all the same.

            With a stir and a mumble, her fingers twitched and the dog raised his head. Lifting the offensive hand, Amee threw her bonnet back from her eyed and bolted to her feet. “Gotta get the horses exercised,” she told Ruger, who pricked his ears in interest. “Otherwise they’ll be rustling about all night and set you to barkin’.” Amee scrambled to pick up the bills she’d been trying to resolve, jumped the pasture fence, and ran in a straight line to the barn. She dumped the troublesome papers unceremoniously on the tack-room floor, exchanging them for a lead rope thrown over her shoulder. Trailed by Ruger, she turned first the gelding and then each of the mares out into the ring.

 

            The first pale streaks of sunlight felt their way delicately over the fields, under the fences and into the little kitchen window above the sink. Yawning, bleary-eyed, and clumsy, Amee stumbled downstairs to stand in quiescent awe of the ritual sunrise. Aimlessly, she opened and closed the cabinet doors, looking for nothing. “Just makin’ sure ya still opened,” she explained to the cabinets, laughing softly at herself. The latch of the screen door would not be moved at her touch and, reminding herself that the lock needed oiling, Amee forced it open.

            The chill morning air hit her bare feet with a shock of reality, and, fleeing from the cold as a rabbit from a fox, Amee skittered back inside to get her boots and jacket. “Winter is comin’,” she told the buckets as she filled them with water for the horses.

            “It sure is,” answered a deep voice, “these mornin’s will be unbearable ‘fore long.” Amee jumped like a child caught with a hand in the candy jar.

            “I can’t pay you today, Simon,” she said, her voice relaxing with recognition.

            “Yeah, but mornin’s here are a habit, I guess,” Simon replied, looking out over the east-side pasture at the sun. It hung like a bobber on fishing wire, all red gold over the blackened, newly ploughed fields. Shoving his brown hat back on his forehead, he shifted a wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. “Besides,” he said in a reasoning tone, “I han’t found a job yet, and I gotta stay in shape.” Without giving Amee any time to argue, he grabbed two of the buckets from beside the tap and started for the fleeting shadows that clung to the barn door.

 

            Over the noise of the tractor as it grazed the front yard like a starved, efficient sheep, Amee did not hear the murmur of a Cadillac engine or the slam of a car door. She was carrying the last bucket for the horses’ afternoon watering and nearly dropped the whole pail in surprise when a salesman appeared in front of her.

            From a grin that consumed his whole face in reflective, white teeth, the salesman said, “Hi there! Would you know where I could find a Miss Amelia Veris?”

            Amee set the bucket down slowly, resisting the temptation to use his teeth as a mirror, “You found ‘er.”

            “Great,” the ecstatic grin said, a little louder than Amee thought necessary. “Henry, come ‘ere!” A pudgy, nervous man stepped forward from the Cadillac in the driveway. The Cadillac that Simon was scrutinizing carefully. With fast, bowlegged strides he puffed up beside the grinning salesman. The grin thrust his hand forward, “Amelia – can I call you Lia? – I’m Frank Aldridge and this,” he gestured to the small man chaffing in his gray suit, “is Henry Bowman.”

            Amee took his hand firmly, “You can call me Amee.”

            “Okay then, Amy,” he giggled and winked at her. “We’re here to talk about your land.”

            “Come inside, then,” Amee said, swiftly glancing at Simon in the front yard. He was out of hearing distance, thankfully, and the roar of the tractor masked their voices anyway. Quickly, pausing only when the stubborn latch had to be forced again, Amee led the men inside.

            As he sipped his Pepsi, Frank Aldridge began, “Amy, we’re very interested…”

            “We?” Amee interrupted, “Just the two of you?”

            Startled, Frank had to recover his small for a moment before he continued, “Henry and I are representatives of a company called Velocity Real Estate, and we’re very interested in building in this area.” Amee nodded and, assurance regained, Frank went on, “We found that your land seemed to be for sale and…”

            “My land’s not for sale,” Amee cut him off coldly. “Who told you that?”

            Frank’s grin faded slightly and Henry Bowman jumped in, “We talked to the bank.” After these five words, which seemed to cause him a great deal of exhausting effort, he fell silent and began fiddling with his gray suit sleeve.

            “We’ve got an offer you’d have to be crazy to refuse,” Frank tried to begin his pitch again.

            “Mr. Aldridge,” said Amee, her eyes narrowing to cold points of fire, “why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re trying to say. What do you want to build here?”

            “Velocity Real Estate thinks this is a prime area for a mall…”

            “A mall,” Amee repeated. “So you want my land to build a mall on?”

            “And a hotel.”

            “And a hotel, then.”

            “Yes, for one-hundred thousand dollars!” his grin reappeared.

            “Well, I’ll have to think about it,” Amee said, walking towards the door. Taking his cue, Henry waddled outside and back down the driveway to the big Cadillac.

            “Here’s my number,” said Frank as he paused on the steps. He handed her a small white piece of paper. “I’ll be back in a few days to talk to you again. Until then, you know how to reach me if you come to a decision.” Frank reinstated his grin with a wink, and tried to saunter casually down the drive.

            Amee peered at the card. Emblazoned in flaming gold letters was his name, ‘Frank Aldridge,’ and just below it the carven tagline: ‘The First Step in the ABC’s to Success.” Amee’s brown furrowed. The sound of the stiff screen-door latch being pried open startled her and she shoved the card deep into the pocket of her jeans. Simon stomped in, his large work boots creating small tremors in the kitchen floorboards. He opened the fridge, “Who were those two creeps?” He paused, “Last Pepsi.”

            “You can have it,” said Amee.

            “Thanks,” with a pop and a fizzle Simon had the can open. “Did you see the tall guy’s suit? Blue as the spring sky, ridiculous. The chap in gray had the right idea.” He took a swig of his soda.

            “No, I didn’t notice,” Amee looked around distractedly.

            “Well,” said Simon, changing the subject, “I’m goin’ to the store. Hannah needs milk and flour. Want me to bring ya anythin’?”

            “No, thanks.”

            “Ya sure? I could get ya some more Pepsi and bring it tomorrow mornin’.”

            Amee smiled, “Alright, let me get the money.”

            Simon waved his hand dismissively, “Worry about it tomorrow. I’ll see ya then.” With echoing thuds he trounced out of the kitchen and a few moments later his pickup carried him away in a cloud of red dust.

            Amee flicked through the mail Simon had deposited on the counter. She left the bills and took a letter from her uncle out to the parlor to read. There, two large windows let the sunlight flood in like liquid silver onto the faded carpet. Gently, hesitating, Amee tore the top part of the envelope away. Breath held, she read:

 

Dear Amee,

            Both your Aunt and I are sorry to hear about the problems you’ve been having down on that old farm. Your father, with all the help he had, could barely keep it running, so you must be doing well to have only now run into trouble.

            We regret, though, that we cannot send you any money. Half the corn crop was destroyed when the rain caused a flash flood. We hadn’t been buying insurance for that kind of thing, you know. There’s just nothing to spare right now. We would love to see you, though, if you ever get time for a visit. We send many prayers and all our love.

                                                God Bless,

                                    Bill and Edith (Auntie and Uncle)

P.S.: We can always use more help here, too, if worse comes to worst.

 

            Amee threw herself onto the sofa, the letter falling from her fingers to the floor, and cried until all emotion had been torn from her. Her thoughts lay in shattered patterns on the sun-bleached carpet. Bill would never refuse to help without good reason, things for him must be worse than she’d thought. Options were running out. Drained and devoid of any hope, she picked up the letter, folded it gently, and put it in her back pocket with Frank’s card.

 

The Cadillac engine roared into the driveway and stopped with a grumble, seceding to the oppressive silence of the farm. Horses moved lazily in the heat, the air heavy with the foreboding magic of a rainstorm. Ruger lay with his head on his paws on the front porch, watching he grass wave from under his half-closed eyes. His ears perked at the sound of a card door closing, but the weight of the heat bound him to the steps.

            Frank Aldridge, in his flashy blue suit coat, and demure Henry Bowman pulled themselves up the shimmering drive to the house. Obliged to move, Ruger trotted off to lie in the shade of the well house. Frank put on his best grin, which remained unaffected by the heat, and knocked.

 

            Amee lifted her ebony curls from the back of her neck and let the kitchen ceiling fan dry the sweat. “I’ve thought about your offer, Mr. Aldridge, and I’m considering taking it.”

            Frank grinned slyly, “I told you it was an offer you could resist.”

            Amee’s eyes narrowed to pricks of black fire again. “How do I turn ownership over?” she asked in a chilled, hallow voice.

            “It’s as easy as A, B, C,” giggled Frank. “A for Aldridge, B for Bowman, and C for Contract!”

            Amee turned on Henry Bowman, “What part do you play in it?” she sneered.

            Henry shifted his weight nervously and rubbed the back of his balding head before answering, “I write the contracts.”

            “Then write one, and I’ll see you at the end of the week.”

            “What time, Miss Veris,” Frank asked gleefully.

            “We’re in the country, Frank,” Amee spat his name as if it were a bad taste, “There is no time here.” He nodded and Amee watched them with glistening eyes until the Cadillac burned away in the bleeding sunset.

-Owari-