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[Eleanor]: 668.Amelia.Cha
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The temperature had dropped overnight and everything was covered with a layer of frost that sparkled in the morning sunlight. Amelia remembered the rainbow faeries of her dream and smiled. Frederick squeezed her hand reassuringly as they walked toward the part of town where the blacksmiths and farriers had their businesses, their breath condensing in clouds about their heads. Eventually they stopped in front of a smithy with a cottage in back, and Amelia said quietly, “We’re here.” She pushed open the gate and approached the house, grateful that Frederick was with her, his calm steadiness a counterpoint to her anxiety. When they got to the entrance she knocked and waited.
The door was answered by an older woman with long, grey hair in braids wrapped around her head, a dark green dress with high neck and long sleeves, and a knitted shawl over her shoulders against the cold. She had the same clear grey eyes as her daughter, but her once beautiful face was now careworn and deep creases ran beside her mouth, her forehead was furrowed and the skin under her eyes pouchy. When she recognized Amelia she brought her hands to her mouth and cried out.
“Hello, Mama,” said the younger woman. “May I come in?”
The older woman didn’t move for several moments. Suddenly she threw her arms around her daughter and started crying. “Oh, Amelia,” she sobbed, “I feared you were dead. I thought I was seeing a ghost just now. I have missed you so much!”
“Mama, this my intended, Frederick.” Mistress Blaine looked up at the handsome young man as he took her hand in his and kissed it. When he raised his face she stepped back with a quick intake of air.
“Mama, are you going to invite us in, or are we going to stand with the door open and let all of winter into your house?” teased Amelia.
“I’m sorry, how terribly rude of me,” stammered Amelia’s mother, “it’s just such a shock. Come in, please.”
She stood back and let the two young people enter, then closed the door behind them. They took off their heavy winter cloaks and hung them on pegs on the wall. Mistress Blaine bustled ahead, leading them into a parlour and then asked if they would like something hot to drink, some tea perhaps? She disappeared into the kitchen and Amelia and Frederick were left alone. They sat together on an overstuffed love seat, feeling a little formal and awkward. Frederick held Amelia’s hand and asked her to tell him what she saw.
“It’s an old-fashioned parlour,” she said, “so full of furniture and things there’s hardly any room for people. Mistress George said my mother sold everything, but there’s a painting I remember hanging over a side table that used to be in our hallway, a view of the lake and the waterfall in autumn with the forest leaves all reds and golds. She must have kept a few things. We’ll find out.”
Mistress Blaine returned, carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and a plate of biscuits which she set on a low table in front of the sofa, and then she pulled a chair near and sat down. She kept staring at Frederick, and strange emotions were crossing her face. Amelia felt uncomfortable.
“Mama,” she said, “I went to the cemetery yesterday and saw Papa’s stone.”
Her mother pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I still miss your father so much,” she said. “When he was feverish, before he died, he kept asking for you. I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t know how to reach you. Until you walked in that door just now, I wasn’t even sure that you were alive.”
“You didn’t get my letter?” asked Amelia.
“Letter?” repeated her mother. “No. I received no letter.”
“I sent it several days ago from the last village we were playing at. I hoped it would arrive before us,” said Amelia. “Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry. I really am.”
The older woman poured the tea and watched as Amelia guided Frederick’s hands to the cup on the table in front of him.
“Would you like a biscuit?” she asked. Amelia took two and placed one each on her and Frederick’s saucers. They sat in uncomfortable silence, sipping tea and occasionally nibbling at the pastries. Amelia’s mother sighed loudly and folded up her handkerchief, shoving it back into her sleeve.
“I never really understood why you left, Amelia,” she said. “You were so lovely, so beautiful. You could have had anyone in the village.”
“No, Mama,” answered her daughter. “After those poor boys died, I had to leave so that you and Papa could have a normal life.
“Life hasn’t been normal since Nana died, Amelia,” her mother said sadly. “Where did you go, my child?”
“I went to work as a scullery maid in a manor house. I wore trousers and a mask on half my face and no one knew what I looked like. I let them believe I was disfigured, and people liked me for who I was, not for how I looked. They didn’t care. But then, they didn’t know.” Amelia stopped and took Frederick’s hand and entwined her fingers with his. “Then I met Frederick and joined his musical troupe. It took a blind man to show me that I was only hiding from myself, and I don’t want to hide anymore.”
“But he can’t see you!” blurted her mother.
“I assure you, madame,” answered Frederick in his deep musical voice, “Amelia’s beauty is not measured by the colour of her hair or how smooth her skin. It is her heart and the music in her soul that set her apart. You raised a wonderful girl. You just never saw beyond her face yourself.”
“Mama,” said Amelia, “I met Frederick because he was playing my harp which he bought at the market here. Why was my harp in the market? What became of all my things?”
Mistress Blaine pulled out her hankie again and blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “After your father died, I was beside myself. I thought you were dead. I thought I was all alone in the world and I couldn’t bear to have reminders of my family around me. I’m sorry, dear.”
“You sold everything?” asked Amelia. “My toys? My books? All of Papa’s things? Everything?”
“Well, no,” said her mother, “not absolutely everything. I kept some things that I couldn’t bear to part with. I think I have something that is yours. Wait a bit, and I’ll get it for you.” She rose and left the room, returning several minutes later. “Here,” she said and handed something to Amelia. “This is yours.”
Amelia took what her mother held, a large, oval, silver locket on a delicate chain. “Nana gave me this,” she said quietly. She pressed the clasp that held it closed and the two halves sprang open. Inside, on either side, were two tiny paintings, done with single-hair brushes. They were both views of the lake with the rainbow waterfall, one in summer, one in winter. Amelia looked up at the painting over the side table. It was the same view, done by the same hand.
“Did Nana paint these?” she asked her mother. Mistress Blaine nodded, still dabbing at her eyes. “I never knew she painted,” said Amelia.
“She was a wonderful artist,” said Mistress Blaine, “but shortly after she came here to live with us, she gave it up. She painted the canvas over the table there and those two miniatures when you were just a tiny baby, probably the last ones she made. I suppose there wasn’t enough time for her to look after us and paint, too.”
“May I keep this?” asked Amelia, holding the locket.
“Of course, dear,” said her mother. “It’s yours.”
Amelia stood. “We have to go now, Mama,” she said.
“But why, Amelia?” cried her mother. “You’ve only just arrived and we have so much catching up to do!”
“I love you,” Amelia said, “but you have a life now that doesn’t include me, and I have a new life as well. But I promise that I will keep in touch from now on. I will.”
“Oh my child,” her mother said as she hugged her close. “Please don’t stay away so long. You are welcome any time, and Frederick too, of course. I love you, Amelia. I’m so glad you are well and happy.”
They embraced for a long time. Finally Amelia extricated herself from her mother’s arms and kissed her on the cheek. “We have to go. Give your husband my regards. I’m sorry I didn’t get to congratulate him. But we really do have to go now. Goodbye, Mama.”
“Goodbye, Amelia,” her mother whispered, dabbing at her eyes.
Frederick kissed the older woman’s hand again and said, “I will take good care of your daughter, madame. She is extremely precious.”
“Thank you, Frederick. Thank you.”
Amelia was very quiet on the way back to the inn. At length Frederick said, “What are you thinking, my dear?”
“I was remembering my dreams from last night,” she answered him, “and thinking that there really is no such thing as a happy ending. When we gain something, we also lose something else. One person’s joy is another’s sorrow. You can’t have it all. But you can make the best of what you do have, and you can always make music.”
“Ah,” he teased her, “you have become wise, my songbird.”
“Before we go,” said Amelia, “I want to visit the lake one last time. I don’t know when I’ll be back again.”
They followed the path through the meadow to the lakeshore and Amelia looked up at the rainbow-colour
“Don’t tell me,” said Frederick, “or it won’t come true.”
Amelia put her arms around him and kissed him gently on his lips. “But it already has, my love,” she said. “It already has.”