Amanda's Story

Morning in the Mist

Mist surrounded Amanda. She turned her head left and right, struggling to see through the thick vapor as she took tiny steps forward. Sunlight had not yet topped the distant hills, and the shadows seemed especially dark. She stumbled when she first stepped into the tall grass that grew along the fence. She put out her arms, balancing herself, and probed the air in front of her until she found the lowest rail of the fence.

"Amanda!" She heard the voice calling her again, but she couldn't find who it was, or where the sound came from, due to the fog. She climbed up the first fence rail. Still nothing. She climbed the second rail, a huge distance, it seemed, from the ground below her. She listened again, cocking her head and holding very still.

"Amanda, look." The voice was gentle, like her father's, but not his. She tried to place where she'd heard the voice. In church, perhaps. She saw a dark shape emerge on the far side of the pasture. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pinched, and she held her breath as the person came closer.

Just a few more feet. Then the mist would be thin enough that she could identify who called her name.

A thumping sound, much closer, caused her to turn and lose sight of the person. How could she not have seen it? A new foal lay on the turf, hide shivering, breath snorting. The foal's mother was plodding around the baby, circling and nudging it until it began to try to stand. First the rear legs, then the front. Now it took a step or two. The sun came up, and with it a light that could finally pierce the fog. The foal was toddling about, it's mother snuffling and licking its hide.

Amanda turned with a smile to share the delight she felt. Who would she tell? There, in the mist, he was still there. "Look!" she cried happily. "A new foal. It's just beginning to walk."

"Amanda, you can't cross the fence," the voice said, the sound fading as the speaker retreated.

"Why not? I just want to see it. Where are you going? Please, please wait."

She slipped through the fence to follow the man with the gentle voice. She tried to run after him. Her legs moved too slowly.

The vibration of galloping hooves made the earth thrum beneath her feet. A horse's neigh—she turned, suddenly aware of how angry the mother horse was to have someone near its baby. The horse reared, and Amanda tried to turn away and run. She stumbled, falling to her knees.

"No, don't leave me!" she called. "I can't run."

The horse pounded its hooves, bared its teeth, and rolled back its eyes in a frenzied glare.

"No..."

Amanda sat up, panting.

No horse attacked her. She hadn't fallen in the pasture. She moved her feet, just to make sure they obeyed her thoughts.

Who had been there in the mist? Who had been calling her? In this recurring dream it was usually Father, calling her to see the new foal. Once it had been Dabney. Now, she knew it was neither of them. She could not identify the voice.

She rose from her bed and washed her face in the ewer placed in the sitting room. She shivered as a drip trickled down her collar bone. Her feet were bare, and the floor felt frigid beneath her toes.

She tugged a curtain aside and looked over the garden wall, toward the pasture. There was no fog and it was empty; except for a few birds perched on the top rail, it looked lifeless outside. She shook her head at the silly notion that there had been meaning to the dream, if only she'd been able to discover it.

The squeak of door hinges alerted Amanda that one of her sisters was up. Rachel stretched as she walked in, arching her back and yawning.

"Good morning." Amanda glanced at Rachel, but didn't turn from the window.