Chapter Seven

 

The next morning, Amelia pulled herself out of her warm, comfy bed, showered then dressed. She grabbed a protein bar and a change of clothes, before she headed out the door to join her mom.

As the bells rang out from the steeple above, she entered through a set of large wooden doors at the rear of the church and made her way to her mom’s spot—right side, fifth row from the front. Mom had chosen this location way back when Amelia was a wiggly little girl. Had she thought a seat under the pastor’s nose would help her young, adopted daughter behave? Some Sundays the plan worked better than others.

When the service ended, Amelia accompanied her mom to shake the pastor’s hand before heading outside. The air was brisk, but the weather report promised a warm-up later in the day. A weatherman’s promise was worth a pound of fool’s gold—one of her mom’s favorite sayings. Doris had taught her many things, with the most important being to trust in the power of love.

On Amelia’s adoption day, Doris had given her a polished opal and told her that anytime she felt worried or anxious, she should rub her feelings into the stone. Over the years, Amelia had rubbed all sorts of emotions into the half-dollar sized opal, and the stone was a constant reminder of Doris’s commitment. As she walked through the parking lot, she removed the worry stone from the pocket of her dress and held it up in the sunlight, enjoying the sparkling pinks and blues twirling inside.

“We need to stop at the market for ham and rolls,” Doris said as she reached her blue car. The vehicle had seen better days. Rust marked the body like a cheetah’s spots and soon would be more prominent than the paint. Year after year, Mom refused to spend money on a new one as long as this car still had life in the engine. “You want to join me or go straight to the house? The kids will be over around twelve-thirty for lunch.”

“I’ll follow you to the market. I need to pick up a few things myself.” Today might be the only chance she’d see the inside of a grocery store for the foreseeable future. Her upcoming week’s schedule was packed tight with appointments and another wedding on Saturday.

After a stop at the store, she drove to Mom’s house. Her childhood home was humble, covered with chipped, white clapboard siding, yellow shutters, and topped with a worn black-shingle roof. The neighborhood, with homes built so closely together you could reach out the window and shake your neighbor’s hand, was where she’d spent hours riding bikes and chasing fireflies.

During those years, she hadn’t known they were poor. She had no awareness of wealth or class. The security of Doris’s unconditional love had been the only thing that had mattered. Before, while being passed around in foster care, she’d lived in nicer places. She would step through the front door with only a small bag of belongings in her hands, terrified of the unknown—the smells, the people, the food. Her heart had been well guarded, but the first time she’d felt the warmth of Doris’s embrace, she experienced comfort and a fragile hope she’d finally found home.

Her insecurity about money didn’t begin until high school, when she realized her clothing and shoes weren’t name brand, and she couldn’t afford trips to the salon like some of the other girls.

Mom lived by the belief that love, family, community, and pride were things that grew for free inside the heart. Amelia had struggled with that lesson. Her drive to build independent financial security often clashed with her mom’s gentle giving spirit. Nothing cultivated more anxiety than the thought of lacking the resources to provide for herself.

Amelia parked her car on the driveway, outside the one stall garage that tilted slightly to the left. She got out and raced over to help her mom as she struggled lifting the grocery sacks from the trunk.

“Thank you. I was hoping today would be a good day but seems like my body has other ideas.” Mom slowly made her way to the two concrete steps that led to the backdoor. “But you know I’m not one to let a few aches and pains stop me.”

“That’s why you’re my idol.” She held open the screen door for her mom. Despite a congenital heart defect and chronic arthritis, her mom cared for others as her life’s calling. In every practical sense, charity work was her full-time job.

Inside the kitchen, they unloaded the contents of the paper bags onto the counter. Amelia placed a few of her purchases into the refrigerator, then put away her mom’s groceries. She quickly changed clothing, from a dress to a more comfortable jeans and T-shirt.

Doris started lunch prep for the soon to be arriving neighborhood children.

At noon, kids began trickling into the house.

“Hey, Mama D,” a boy around ten years old said. He slipped off his dirty sneakers onto the floor mat next to the back door. “I brought my friend, Jamal. He just moved into Mr. Carter’s old place on Elm Street.”

Jamal, who stood a good head above his friend, gave a quick wave. He wore jeans with a hole in each knee and hems that rode about two inches above his ankles.

His shirt featured an eighties band Amelia was fairly certain he’d never heard of before. These kids, the ones with so little clothing, food, and sometimes love, were always welcome at Mama D’s house, just as she’d been as a girl. She lived each day thankful for Doris’s further gift of adoption. The day Doris officially became Mom was still the happiest of Amelia’s life.

Over the years, the kids would come and go. They’d grow up and move on. Or their families would leave the neighborhood. Some would make a point to return and see Mama D from time to time. Several who had the financial means gave gifts of gratitude for all the care she’d given them. Which she used to buy food, clothing, and school supplies for the kids currently under her protective wing.

“Welcome, Jamal. We’ll eat soon so both of you go wash your hands.” Doris counted out fifteen plastic cups and set them on the counter next to a pitcher of lemonade. “Amelia, honey, would you stick your head out the front door and see if we have anyone lingering outside? I’d like to start lunch.”

She peered out the front door and found two young girls seated on the porch steps. “Come inside and get ready to eat. You know Mama D expects everyone to be cleaned up and waiting when she’s ready to pray.”

They scurried inside with a flurry of giggles, colorful barrettes dangling from their braids.

A boy about five-years-old skipped down the sidewalk, then came running up to the door. “Mornin’, Melia.” He wrapped his skinny arms around her legs. “Momma was still sleeping so I came here all by myself.”

Her heart ached for sweet, Ryan, who for someone so young had the maturity of a boy three times his age. “I’m so glad you came. Now go in and wash your hands. Lunch is ready.”

“Good ’cause I hungry.” He released his hold on her legs and went inside.

She locked away the pain in her heart and wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. These kids didn’t need her tears. They needed her time and attention. She smiled and went back to the kitchen and the organized chaos of serving lunch to a dozen or so kids.

When the bowls and plates of food were stripped bare, Amelia started washing dishes while her mom went into the front room with the kids and played games. By about two, most of the kids had dispersed. She escorted Ryan home, a few houses down, and made sure his mom was awake.

With the hard work behind her, Amelia sat on the sofa, her feet propped on the coffee table. She didn’t know which was more exhausting—a few hours with a house full of kids or an entire day managing a wedding? She closed her eyes and dozed. When she opened her eyes again about a half-an-hour later, she stretched and yawned.

“Feel better?” Mom sat in her upholstered recliner with a magazine open in her lap.

Amelia scooted back on the seat cushion to sit straighter. If she let her head rest on the back of the sofa, she’d fall asleep again. “This week is catching up with me. My body has learned to sleep any chance it gets.”

“Tells me you’re working too hard. You find someone to replace Heather while she’s out with the baby?” Mom closed the magazine and took off her reading glasses. “You can’t keep doing both jobs.”

“I did find someone, actually.” Thinking of Oscar, she smiled. “We had a chance meeting on the street last week. He’s in town temporarily and was job hunting. I invited him to interview for my office manager position, and he accepted the job.”

“Good.” She nodded, apparently pleased. “You need another man in your office. Poor Jerel has been outnumbered for too long.”

“I have caught Jerel hanging out in Oscar’s office talking sports.” She’d noticed most of her office staff gravitated to him. Maybe she should address the loss of productivity at her next staff meeting? Or maybe not. Amelia herself had, on a number of occasions, made up an excuse to visit Oscar’s office.

“I’m glad you have help. You said this man was in town only temporarily. Where does he call home?” Doris took a sip of ice water, then set the glass back on the macramé coaster placed on the side table.

Mom’s home was filled with handmade items the neighborhood kids had given her over the years. Who needed store bought decorations when she had enough drawings, colorful ceramic pieces, and painted popsicle stick picture frames to fill a museum?

“He’s from Montecelia.”

“How interesting.” Mom’s gaze drifted out the window facing the front yard. “I dreamt of traveling there someday. It’s a beautiful country with a very interesting history. I still remember bits and pieces of the report I wrote in high school about Montecelia. Did you know their first king was a fisherman? He accumulated such a fortune he convinced the other wealthy families to back him. King Oscar was his name. He brought all the smaller provinces under one flag and government.”

What would Mom say if she learned Montecelia’s crown prince was Amelia’s new office manager? Hopefully someday soon, she could afford to take her mom on a trip overseas, maybe even to Montecelia. By that time, Oscar likely would be too wrapped up in his royal life to remember her.

“King Oscar sounds like an amazing man to start as a fisherman and finish as a king.”

“King Marlon, the current king, is the tenth generation of Mendozas to rule. I had a few photos of him that I’d clipped out of a magazine.” Mom’s smile held a dreamy tint. “He’s a looker. Tall and handsome, with the most breathtaking smile.”

How strongly did Oscar resemble his father during the king’s younger years? Maybe she could ask her mom to get out those magazine pictures, if she still had them. “I heard King Marlon passed away several months ago. His son is set to take the throne, but some question the need for a monarchy.”

Doris set her hand over her heart. “Oh, no. I’m not one for an institutional class system, but I must admit I find something appealing about a king and queen, princes and princesses.”

“It’s the reason I have ‘royal’ in the name of my wedding business.” Her phone buzzed inside her purse, and her stomach dropped. Sunday was her only day off. Her staff knew she hated being bothered with work issues that usually could wait until Monday. She let the call go to voicemail.

Her phone chirped with a text. Ugh. She picked up her purse. Whoever this was, they better have a good reason for disrupting her peace. When she read the message on her phone screen, she grinned.

…I’m bored

Poor Oscar. She should have given him a list of fun things to do in Milwaukee.

—Find a bar and stop by for a drink.

…I detest socializing in a pub. Where are you?

—At my mom’s house on the south side.

…Can I join you?

She panicked at the thought of the Prince of Montecelia hanging out in her mom’s living room. Although, while in America, he’d shed his title. The man she knew as Oscar didn’t seem so intimidating.

She had a strict policy of keeping separate her business and personal life. Inviting him to her mom’s house crossed that well-defined line. Though, he was only a temporary employee and a crown prince of a foreign country. If she let down her guard and opened up to a friendship, she wouldn’t risk too much. In three months, he’d return home.

Hadn’t she promised to help him grow in his understanding of social issues? What better place to get an education than the south side of Milwaukee at Doris Newland’s house?

“Who is it?” Mom stared at her with a furrowed brow.

“My new office manager. He doesn’t know anyone else in town, and he’s bored.”

“Well, invite him over.” Doris rose like she’d been called into duty. “What does he like to eat?”

She breathed out a sigh. Here we go. “You don’t have to feed him.”

“Amelia Emily Newland, I cannot host company without offering a meal. Now, ask him what he’d like for dinner.” She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans.

Amelia closed her eyes and took a moment to steady her nerves. He’d be in for a surprise when he saw her childhood house and neighborhood. No priceless paintings hanging on the walls or servants hovering to serve every need.

A clatter in the kitchen sounded, announcing Mom was preparing for their guest. Guess the decision was now out of her hands.

She hovered her thumbs over the keyboard and typed.

—Hire a ride and come on over. I’ll text you the address. My mom can’t wait to meet you!

~ * ~

As Oscar rode in the backseat of the car he’d hired to drive him to Amelia’s mum’s place, he stared out at the graffiti covered brick buildings and tightly packed houses. He wasn’t judging, or trying not to. He’d assumed she’d come from a more affluent area. She held herself with as much poise as a high-society woman, minus the conceit.

His body tensed when the car turned down a street lined with derelict homes. Amelia wouldn’t be here if the area was dangerous. Right?

He swallowed hard at the sight of a group of young men loitering on the corner outside a small market. They all glanced up as his car approached and then quickly went back to their conversation.

A few more turns brought him to a small, white house. At the end of the driveway stood a crooked garage. One strong wind might topple it. He paid the driver then got out.

A small child buzzed past riding on a metal scooter. He stopped and spun back to Oscar. “If you’re eating at Mama D’s place, you better wash your hands. She’ll scold you good if you try to sneak in line without using soap.”

“Thanks for the advice.” He watched the kid take off without another word. Who was Mama D and why did the child feel the need for a warning? Did he look like the type of man who’d eat with dirty hands?

When he approached the porch steps, the door opened, and Amelia appeared. She looked lovely, dressed casually in denim shorts and a pink V-neck top. Her hair was piled up in a mass on top of her head in what he’d heard his sister refer to as a ‘messy bun.’ He wanted to take a picture of her standing before him—a reminder of how his heart skipped to life every time he saw her.

Last night, he should have shown more restraint and not asked her to dance. One didn’t slow dance under starlight with one’s boss, right? Though, to be fair, he’d never had to deal with professional boundaries. If he liked a woman, he’ charmed and flirted to his heart’s content. The only boundaries he’d ever encountered were ones of his own making.

His feelings for Amelia were growing more romantic than professional, so he needed to be on guard in case he was tempted again. And judging by the way his body responded to the sight of her right now, the next temptation was likely right around the corner. Duty waited not so patiently back home. He didn’t have the luxury to indulge in a romantic affair, even a brief one.

“You got here fast.” She tucked her hands into the front pockets of her shorts.

“I’m needy and not afraid to admit it.” He swung forward the bouquet of flowers in his hand. “For the lady of the house.”

“And I was worried my mom wouldn’t like you.” Smiling, she held the door and shifted for him to pass.

“Mothers love me.” He glanced down and winked. “It’s a gift.”

“I’d say.” Amelia closed the door behind him. “My mom’s house isn’t fancy. Hope you don’t mind.”

Glancing around at his surroundings—the dated furniture and carpeting—he kept his expression neutral. The house wasn’t impressive, but as he gazed around at the hand crafted decorations and many photographs of Amelia, he sensed deep love.

“Fancy dwellings are merely earthy splendor but the beauty of a woman is testimony of the divine.” A middle-age woman with a slim build, black curly hair, and a bright smile entered the room. “You must be Amelia’s sister.” He held out his hand to accept hers and kiss the top. “Oscar Mendoza, at your service.”

Doris tsked. “I’m her mother, young man. Amelia, you didn’t warn me he was such a charmer.”

“I think it’s his super power.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “Oscar, this is my mom, Doris Newland.”

“My pleasure. If you’re Mama D, the boy on the scooter outside gave me strict instructions to wash my hands before eating.”

“Must be CJ.” She laughed. “I have an open door policy at my house. Kids need anything…food, clothing, or a simple hug, they come to me. I have few rules, but washing hands before eating is top of that list.”

“Good rule.” He handed her the bouquet of mixed spring flowers he picked up at the Public Market on the way over. “My mum was a stickler for hand washing when I was a boy.”

“Please, sit.” Doris pointed to a plaid print sofa. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Shaking his head, he lowered onto the sofa.

“Amelia said you are from Montecelia,” Doris said. “With the last name Mendoza, are you a relation to the royal family?”

If he trusted Amelia, and he did, he trusted her mum as well. “My late father, Marlon, was king.”

Silence gripped the small front room. For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking of a wall mounted clock.

Doris, still standing with the flowers in her grasp, sank onto an upholstered chair. “You don’t say.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “You have the look of King Marlon, from what I recall. I was a heartbroken young woman when I saw his wedding pictures in a magazine.”

He used to love looking at the photo album of his parents’ nuptial celebration. Mum had looked like an angel, in her embroidered silk dress with a train so long, it could have likely wrapped around her ten times. “My sister, Rebecca, had our mother’s dress altered to wear for her own wedding.” The memory of his father, dressed in the full military uniform of his rank, escorting Becca down the aisle, formed a lump of emotion in his throat. He missed him, as father and as his king.

“Mom, Oscar’s identity is a secret.” Amelia sat beside him on the sofa. “He thinks that spending a few months in America as a regular guy, working a regular job, will give him enough perspective to convince Montecelia he understands the public’s issues and concerns.”

He turned to face her. “Do you believe my plan is doomed to fail?”

She arched her brown eyebrows. “The matter might be bigger than only you. Your abilities likely have nothing to do with a country wanting to rid itself of the class system.” She crossed her legs and angled her body towards him.

The debate kindled a fire inside him. A welcome feeling compared to the apathy that had filled him most of his life. “A Mendoza has been at the head of the country for hundreds of years.” And if he could rehabilitate his image, he’d lead his family into the modern age of the monarchy.

“Change comes.” She shrugged. “Whether we agree with it or not.”

“While you two debate the future of royalty in the modern age, I’ll go put these lovely flowers in a vase.” Doris stood and disappeared into the kitchen. “I have a prince in my house.” Her voice carried from the other room.

“What if I’m wasting my time here?” He asked the question, not really wanting to hear her answer. How could he return to Montecelia only after one week? Even if in the end, his time in America did nothing to sway public opinion, he wouldn’t be judged as a quitter.

“I’m sorry.” Amelia rested her hand on his arm. “Don’t give up. I’m merely playing devil’s advocate. When you go home, the challenges coming from others will be even greater.”

“From the day I was born, I was told my worth is due to my family name. People befriended me and envied me because I was His Royal Highness Prince Oscar IV. Who am I without that?” That question had haunted his dreams since learning of the country’s leanings.

Who was he, and what would become of him if the vote passed? How would he explain to his children someday their father lost them the chance to be princes and princesses, or a king or queen?

She gently patted his hand. “Your purpose might be one of the things you discover during your time here.”

Possibly, but until the day Parliament voted to absolve the monarchy and lock away his crown, he’d hold duty to country and family above all else.

Despite his growing affection for Amelia.

And despite the realization that given enough time, he might genuinely fall for her.