Epilogue #2
Sample of Chapter One
The hammer came down and reverberated through Amos’ bulky arms. He gritted his teeth, having long since inured himself to the rigors of his work.
Knotted muscles ached as he lifted the heavy hammer again.
How many times had he brought it crashing down upon metal now—a thousand?
A million? Either way, it was too many times to count.
Sweat glistened on his brow, his chest, everywhere.
It ran through his shirt and stained it with a shadow.
The environment of Genoa, Nevada, was hot and arid.
Sometimes they didn’t see rain for weeks.
He was so wet he might well have been through a deluge, although there was nothing refreshing about the moisture on his body.
His day had already been long, beginning before the crack of dawn, when the world was gentle, and the stars twinkled with hope.
He used to wonder if the day would bring a sprinkling of magic with it, but at thirty years old he was beyond such beliefs.
He was too big and too ugly to think that anything was going to change now.
Hope was something that belonged to the young.
He had attended to his ranch in the morning, and it was there that he would return at the end of the day.
For now, he was in his forge, sweltering as the sun beat down on the ground relentlessly.
He gripped the hammer in his calloused hands, the strength of his impressive body honed by years of hard work.
His breaths were deep, and his heart thumped in his chest. He grunted and scratched his beard, flicking away droplets of sweat.
The forge burned, and he didn’t think he would ever get used to the heat, but this was his lot in life.
The day was interrupted by visits from his neighbors, typically with a request in hand.
People always wanted something or another, and Amos was happy to oblige them.
It kept him busy and out of trouble, and by his reckoning, there was far too much trouble in the world.
He enjoyed a simple life, and that’s just what he had.
In between these visits, he lost himself in the forge and the fire, thinking back to a painful time, a time when he wished he could have done more with a hammer, a time when…
“Amoth!” Sophie cried out; her gentle lisp meant that she never quite got his name correct, but Amos didn’t mind.
He liked it better the way she said it. Her freckled face was lit up with delight, her eyes sparkled, and her legs scurried so fast they almost disappeared in a blur.
She was short for her age, which meant that sometimes she was treated that way.
Sophie never liked this, and she was never shy about telling people, either.
Amos knew that her mind had developed in the opposite direction.
Why, this ten-year-old girl was more mature than some adults he knew.
She had been through more than most, as well.
His heart clenched, wishing that he had been able to prevent the tragedy and that she had someone better to look after her.
He never felt good enough to live up to the job, but he was all she had, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her down, although sometimes it felt as if she was the one looking after him.
He leaned back and set the hammer down, stepping away from the forge. He grabbed a cloth and wiped it over his face, dabbed his throat, and then scrubbed at his armpits before wiping his hands. He noticed that Sophie was clutching something in her hands.
“What’s that you’ve got there?”
“A prethent for you!” she beamed and handed Amos the letter. Amos took it from her, and his heart dropped as soon as he laid eyes on it. His hand began shaking. This couldn’t be. This… this… what had she done?
“Is this a joke?” he blurted out. Sophie recoiled, looking a little hurt.
“No, of courth not. I wanted to make you happy. People always say that you’re lonely and sad. I don’t want you to be sad.”
“I’m not sad,” Amos grunted, although he was lying to both of them. He clenched his hand, which crumpled the letter. Sophie winced as if she and the letter were linked. “You shouldn’t have done this. How did you even afford it?”
Sophie rocked back and forth on her heels, clearly proud of her efforts. "I thaved up my allowance," she said. Amos shook his head and exhaled slowly.
“Clearly, I’ve been giving you too much of an allowance. Besides, you were supposed to spend that money on yourself, not on me. Not on… this,” he looked at the letter again, struck with disbelief.
“I didn’t want to make trouble. I only wanted to do thomething nith for you,” she put her hands behind her back and looked at the ground.
Amos couldn’t be angry with her. He supposed her intentions were pure.
However, this was going to change his life in ways he couldn’t imagine.
He leaned down and placed his hand on Sophie’s shoulder.
“I appreciate that you care about me. I guess we’ll just have to see how this is going to shake out.
Why don’t you go back to the ranch and play with the animals?
I think they’ll be waiting for you,” he said.
Sophie brightened at this and bounded away.
Amos stood up and stared at the letter, which was oddly written on a napkin.
It was from a woman named Josephine Armstrong, a widow who had lost her family and sought a new beginning—one that Sophie was eager to help create.
Perhaps when she arrived, Amos could explain the situation, and she might understand.
He doubted she would be happy about it, considering she was uprooting her life to come halfway across the country for him.
Where was she from again? Philadelphia… He shook his head and ran his hand across his face.
Later, Hank Turner stopped by. The two men were firm friends, and Hank immediately noticed that something was off with Amos. He handed Hank the letter with a grim smile. Hank took one look at it and then burst out laughing. Amos glared.
“It’s not such a bad idea. I didn’t realize you were in the market for a wife,” Hank said.
“I’m not,” Amos growled. “This was all Sophie. She used her allowance to pay for it.”
“I told you that you shouldn’t reward her for things that she’s expected to do. When are you going to learn?”
“It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time. She deserves to have a little bit of happiness,” he replied. Hank handed the napkin back to him.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I suppose I’m going to meet her and tell her what’s happened. Hopefully, she won’t be mad.”
Hank gave him a wry smile. “Perhaps she might be to your liking. You could do with a wife, Amos.”
“I don’t have time for a wife,” he said, and then picked up his hammer and got back to work.
~*~*~