It was Max's idea to take the family on a picnic near the National Forest. Amelia was a pretty, blonde, curly-headed four-year-old. Winnie protested. They should go to church. But Max told his wife that even the good Lord would forgive one Sabbath when the Browns were MIA from the local Methodist meeting.
"Come on, Win," Max said. "Even God took a day off."
So Winnie agreed. She packed a basket full of Max and Amelia's favorites, a blanket to spread on the grass, and plenty of sweetened tea.
The little girl was all smiles. Max told Amelia about a lovely brook near the forest's entrance.
"Maybe," he said, "we'll get our toes wet, little lady."
Amelia looked at her father with her gorgeous blue eyes and said, "But only if Mommy gets hers wet, too."
Winnie, caught up in the fun, burst out laughing and said, "Why not? But on one condition, Max Brown."
"What's that?"
"You must swear that you'll chip the ice from my toes the second I step out of the water."
Max laughed and shook his head.
"Ice on our toes?" Amelia asked.
"No, honey," said Max. "That's just Mommy's way of telling me she'll have the screaming squeals when she steps into the cold mountain stream."
The toddler sat quietly in the back seat of her father's 1940 Chevy sedan. She was trying hard to imagine a squealing Mommy.
YOU ARE READING
Amelia
General FictionA short story about a kidnapped child who vanishes into thin air.
