built a hundred years ago. The owners hosting parties rife with slick-haired young men in tuxedos and sophisticated suffragettes wearing scarlet lipstick, giddy with the novel right to vote. She could hear the rumble of Model-T engines and the jaunty tinkling of a ragtime piano. Smell the gin and cigarette smoke. Taste the Parker House rolls, Jell-O molds, and Waldorf salad.
She yearned to fold her arms around the beautiful visage, pull it into her or herself into it.
This storybook cottage was well cared for and magical. What sort of people lived here? Were they whimsical and fun? Did they cherish gardens and serenity? Did they respect history and a sense of order? Did they value home and family?
All signs pointed to yes.
Hope filled her. Too much hope, really. So much could go wrong and that significance wasn’t lost on her.
This house was where Anna lived. The identical twin she’d mourned every day of her life. The sister, her mother had told her often enough when she got angry at Amelia, that should have lived instead of her.
But Anna had lived. They’d just not known it.
Amelia’s chest tightened, and her hands trembled. She rushed the rest of the way, anxious to get past this ambush meeting. She was in such a mad dash that she almost didn’t see the dog.
The Doberman looked calm enough, peeping at her from behind a dog run of chain-link fence, quiet and alert, and standing at attention. Not barking, just watchful, ears pricked.
Amelia froze, but her heart beat wildly, adrenaline carrying terror to every nerve cell in her body. She breathed only from the top part of her lungs, inadequate air chuffing in and out.
When she was seven, sent off by her parents to enjoy the park on her own, she’d gotten mauled by a dog and ended up with nineteen stitches on the back of her legs.
The medical staff at the emergency room made a fuss about calling Child Protective Services, but a fistful of cash later, her parents’ lawyer mounted a defense in what later became known as “free-range parenting.” The lawyer not only got them off the hook, but he’d turned the case to their advantage by prosecuting the dog owner and winning a tidy sum. After that, though, her parents paid a nanny to take her to the park.
They really were great parents; the best parents ever, she reminded herself. They simply held strong beliefs that children should be neither coddled nor overindulged with too much attention. They believed that soft snuggles and tender cuddles caused dependency and that unwarranted praise turned kids into wimps who couldn’t handle adversity.
Sure, she would have enjoyed more praise, but her stoic upbringing had forged resilience, independence, and the ability to regulate her emotions. It taught her how to be self-contained, self-reliant, and self-sufficient.
Amelia was glad for it.
Yes, some people thought her a cold fish, but they didn’t understand how deeply she really did feel things. So deeply, in fact, she never dared give her emotions free rein for fear of falling apart completely if she did.
The dog growled, a low, dark, threatening sound.
Eyes rounding, she saw the gate’s latch was unlocked. If he charged, the gate would fly right open and the Doberman would be at her throat.
Terror clubbed her and she was seven all over again.
Amelia slunk back.
The dog growled again and the hairs on Amelia’s arm lifted. The air, which earlier felt heavy and heated, now seemed frigid and frail.
Immobilized by fear, she was afraid to go forward. Or back up for that matter.
The dog was behind a fence; even if the gate was unlatched, he probably didn’t know it. Just tiptoe on by.
Logical, yes. But emotion trumped logic every time. The old scars on her calves throbbed with each skip of her heart.
Giving the Doberman the side-eye—she’d heard never make direct eye contact with a dangerous animal—she took a tentative step toward the house.
Instantly, the Doberman jerked his head.
Or rather tried.
His head did not move, but the rest of his body flinched, his tensed muscles visibly spasming down his neck and across his broad chest. Something was wrong with the animal.
She stopped again, this time out of concern instead of self-preservation. She might not be a fan of dogs, but she hated seeing anything or anyone in pain.
The Doberman whimpered softly, and his pupils widened.
Stretching her neck, she leaned farther over to see what’d happened.
The dog’s thick leather collar had somehow gotten looped around the top of the T-post, holding him immobile.