The fire that burned when they were together was consuming.
Her whole life Amelia was told what to do obediently following the rules her domineering aunt set forth. Right down to letting the woman choose the man she was to marry. However this was about to change because from the moment she laid eyes on Jordan Bradford the shy young maid was lost. But loving a man like him was beyond dangerous for more than the obvious reasons. However Amelia found herself throwing caution to the wind and willing to risk everything for just one kiss.
Intriguing and honest Jordan was drawn to Amelia instantly. Shy and witty Jordan knows that deep down there is a woman just waiting to be set free if only those around her would let her. Still he knew pursuing her was not an option. And even if it was she was already promised to another man. Yet every time she was near that knowledge was lost to him. Wasn’t forbidden fruit always sweeter? It was an added luxury that whenever he was in her presence his past seemed just that, the past. Just one look and a flame long though extinguished was awakened in him. So much so that Amelia was a woman Jordan decided needed to be rescued.
Arlene Lam is a twenty nine year old wife and mother. Growing up she wrote short stories and poems that she would give to friends. As an adult she decided writing was what she yearned to do. She resides in Northern California with her husband and son and is currently working on The Wedding. A story that revolves around Jasper and Margaret two characters she feels deserve their own story.
Jordan didn’t like walking around in his own home feeling out of place, yet that was what he’d been doing day after day since his incident with Amelia. They were at an impasse, and it was awkward as hell. She was no longer just a servant and he could never again be just her employer. Amelia was doing her best to make that fact known.
Whenever he was near her he was now treated to a completely new facet of her nature he’d grown to loathe. Where was the Amelia with the warm smile and golden eyes, because he was getting a little tired of this new creature’s icy stares and crafty ways to responding to any of his requests—in truth it was becoming utterly frustrating. He’d ask. “How are you Amelia?”
“We ought to mind our own business Mr. Bradford.” She’d respond moving by.
“You look lovely today Amelia.”
“Sorry I can’t say the same, coffee Mr. Bradford?”
He’d spent the day frowning after that remark, but still he persisted. Trying the honest approach the next time he saw her he’d simply said. “I’m sorry Amelia.”
“You’re an ass Mr. Bradford.”
That one had been a little surprising and after she had gotten that out of her system the strategy changed. It would go on like this for a week. “Good evening Amelia.”
“It’s noon.” She’d blandly state dusting the shelves of the library, the copy of Longfellow standing out like a sore thumb on the side of the table.
“Amelia it’s gorgeous out today.” He would say.
“It’s dreary.” Was her drab response but Jordan had expected it and it was almost becoming a game to see what Amelia would say to him for the day. So he would test the waters again and again.
“Garden’s starting to bloom.” He had mentioned.
“I don’t believe it is.” She’d say.
“What do you think of my new painting?” he asked.
“It’s vile.” Amelia had said.
It really was a decent painting the woman in it reminded him of her, but yet again he wasn’t surprised at her reaction. She would do something different every week prior to this week’s deafening silence. She’d seen fit to char every dress shirt, pair of trousers and overcoat he owned. Of course she apologized profusely not knowing how she could be so careless so many times. She’d put such prominence in the pronunciation of the word so it made him laugh right in her face yet he’d accepted the joke of an apology while informing her he would deduct from her pay weekly until they’d been replaced. Needless to say his shirts were white and crisp.
The silence though was different; it was the sheer indifference it evoked. It was offensive, more than that it was unnerving, and yesterday he’d decided she was going to talk to him. “Amelia I need to speak with you please.” He popped his head out of his office only long enough to be acknowledged but not dismissed.
Taking his seat, he waited and dutifully if not haughtily she sidled in the door frame neither in nor out. She looked at him with a blank expression and he waived her in to take the chair across him at his desk. “Amelia.” Jordan began and watched as she shifted in her chair and stared at the grandfather clock with interest. “This cannot go on.”
She watched him, wishing him harm the whole time. She was angry and she didn’t want to hear what rubbish he wanted to spew. “Mmhm.” She muttered.
“I’m very sorry, you know this and I’ve tried for almost a month to try to get you to see it so now I’m just going to flat out ask. Ms. Marriott I must know so that we can go on coexisting, when do you plan on letting this go and forgiving me?”
Never, she thought but she didn’t say that, instead Amelia regarded him carefully. And reclining in her chair she looked off as if in deep thought. “I reckon I’ll do both when pigs fly and if that ever happens Mr. Bradford I’ll be happy to eat mud pie.” Amelia rose then and stalked out.
Needless to say, yesterday had not been a success which was why Jordan now stood in the middle of the foyer arms folded over broad chest face set in determination. “Amelia!” he bellowed and he was sure that wherever she might be in the house she should have heard him.
Pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow he waived an incredulous Vivian off as she came rushing to the spacious hall.
“Have you gone mad Mr. Bradford?” She gasped in slow retreat.
“I very well might have.” He began to yell Amelia’s name once more but halted when she appeared, coming down the hall near the library.
Amelia let her jaw drop but quickly brought her hand to her lips to cover both her shock and the laughter that threatened to escape.
“I thought you’d prefer peach cobbler over mud.” Jordan grinned triumphant because hanging from the sturdy chandelier, he’d managed to suspend—two feet from the floor with secure rope—two piglets squealing and all.
“That’s not really safe for the pigs now is it?”
“They are flying Amelia.” He winked.
“It better be good cobbler.” She gave in heading toward the kitchen.
“You could be having mud.” He smirked.