This chapter and the next (Chapters Four and Five) follow the events of Amelia and The Bareback Rider. Please enjoy!


Cooper and the Temporal Nexus

Chapter Four


He knew it was a bad idea. He didn't want to go. But Amelia was the very definition of a spur of the moment decision, and, even before he thought it through fully, he'd agreed. He agreed to travel back in time and meet her parents. To meet his punishment, no doubt, for stealing her away.

Cooper may not have agreed if it happened later, at another time. But they were cuddling on the couch, the room only lit by the Christmas tree lights, and she starting crying, for goodness sakes. How could he say no to her? They were still very much in their honeymoon phase. Literally. Not quite a full lunar cycle from their wedding. They were still finding their rhythms, the rhythms of their lives, the rhythms of their physical love. Amelia had embraced that just as eagerly as she embraced every other new experience, and Cooper was surprised to find himself twice gently turning her down, softly reminding her that he wasn't nineteen like her. He contemplated increasing his work-outs from three days a week to five just to build up his stamina.

Mostly, though, he agreed because loved her. Because, despite the fact his mother currently wasn't speaking to him because she was so shocked and angry about his marriage ("You met this girl on an Internet blind date in a coffee shop, she moved in, and you got married two weeks later?! And you didn't see fit to tell me until after the fact?!"), he couldn't imagine never seeing her, never speaking to her again for the rest of his life. His mother would thaw, probably by Christmas proper. There were only miles and disappointment between them, not 140 years.

He agreed even though he knew it was a bad idea. Even though he didn't want to go. Even though he knew it would not be as Amelia imagined, her parents welcoming him with open arms. He agreed because he was so thrilled that she had a rudimentary plan, that she'd shared her ideas, because he could never resist her when she jutted her little chin out in that adorable way she did when she was being especially stubborn. Because he loved her, and if she wanted to go home, he would take her. Because he loved her enough, even if it meant she'd ask him to leave her behind.


Amelia's stamina, not only for sex but also for life, was astounding. He found a formal online program for both the GED test and SAT preparation for her, thinking she'd do one and then the other, but she dove into both at the same time. She read so many books he feared the Amazon fees would break him financially. She insisted, over his multiple protests, that if she were home all day she should also do the cooking and the cleaning and the laundry, that all those tasks were ridiculously simple in the 21st-century, and he still pondered new ways to make her realize that was not expected of her. Her nose wrinkled in an adorable fashion as she studied the lettuce and onions at the grocery store, prompting her to read a book on modern farming techniques. Before he knew it, Cooper was drinking free range milk and following her braids at the local farmer's market as she searched for the perfect organic heirloom tomatoes. She organized a weekly gathering of his friends for take-out food at their apartment every Friday evening, and the strength of her personality was such no one dared miss a week.

Even their first fight in January, when she suggested they store the time machine elsewhere and get a dining table for the landing by the window, was a stand-off beyond his imagining. Cooper was certain hell had never dreamt the amount of fury that Amelia possessed for those forty-eight hours! He didn't win, he surrendered. And then she said she had changed her mind! That infernal woman!

What thrilled him the most, though, was the amount of effort she put into this little trip of theirs. He worked on designing and building a cloaking device for the time machine, but he needed his friends to help. All alone, Amelia planned dates, times, researched train schedules, suitcases, clothing, and a thousand other details of which he would have never thought. After she was on his health insurance, she even picked a birth control method that would not require any external evidence when they traveled.

Cooper thought about what Rajeev had said that morning his friends agreed to help him help her stay, that it was like a real life episode of Doctor Who. Except it was like River Song had moved in, rearranged the TARDIS, and charted the course of every episode thereafter.


What he had not counted on was the sight of her in that dress: dark green velvet with black trim, a high-necked ivory blouse with lace edges, her hair twisted up, a little matching hat perched on her head, and a bustle. That bustle! It swayed with her walk, teasing him, reminding him that her impeccable posterior was hiding behind it. Almost every last inch of her was covered in multiple layers of fabric - she even wore gloves! - and never had Cooper wanted to peel them off so badly before.

The whole experience was exhilarating, smooth and planned. No broken parts, no crashes, no rough landings, no vomiting. Although still physically assaulting, he concentrated on Amelia squeezing his hand and that made it more bearable. The chocolate helped, too. Everything was more vivid, sharper than he'd imagined: the sounds and sights of 1880s Los Angles, how easily their counterfeit money was accepted, even the suffocating Victoriana of the rooming house. But most of all it was the smooth confidence of Amelia. She wasn't frightened or worried in the least. No, of course she wasn't. Not his little tornado, she was no hot house flower.

Adrenaline from yet another success coursing through his veins - catching the last load of mail headed east - and the sight of her, turning in that dress to look at him, made him need her in way he hadn't since they'd been on the prairie. What if time travel was an aphrodisiac? It would explain his inappropriate feelings that first day he crash landed on her farm. But what did that mean for the rest of their trip? How would he ever keep his hands off of her in the loft of that log cabin again?

For a second, he thought the Victorian prudery had stolen her sex drive, when she pushed him away, even as he was kissing her and unbuttoning that delightful blouse. "People didn't do that in the early evening in 1887."

How could she say that with her bosom practically displayed on a shelf for him? He brushed the back of his hand along its curves. "How do you know? Or maybe we're the ones that gave everyone the idea. Amelia and Cooper, time traveling sexual trend setters. Now, is there enough room for me under this delightful bustle?"

He kissed her again, and he now felt the little chuckle into his mouth. So he wasn't surprised when she slide her arm under his jacket and said, "Well, when you put it that way . . ."

So they did that in the early evening of 1887. Cooper discovered that yes, there was indeed enough room for him under that bustle. Then they ate, flushed and famished, from the plates that were waiting outside their door. Then they did that again in the late evening of 1887. And again the next morning.

It was a glorious week. They explored, Amelia shopped, he visited The Normal School to memorize any necessary details should he be asked, and no one questioned their alibi. They took a picnic lunch out to an empty stretch of beach one day to see it in its untouched, pristine state before it was covered by sunbathers, multimillion dollar homes, and plastic bags. Although he found the sand irritating, convinced it made his sandwich gritty, Amelia was delighted with the view and the peaceful crashing of the waves. The ocean was something she had fallen in love with in their present, and here, with no one around, it was a gift all for her.

"Do you want to go in?" she asked him. "Just to wade?"

"Never have I ever put my foot in the ocean!" he protested. "And you made that funny face when Penelope tried to convince you to go swimming there."

"What face?"

"That one with the scrunched eyes and the wrinkled nose and you shake your head." He smiled at the memory.

"Only because I had just read a chapter in my Earth Science textbook on marine pollution. Here, though, it's clean."

"No, go ahead," he waved toward her. Once her boots and stockings were removed, she reached down to grab her skirts and splashed her way into the water. Cooper remained convinced he made the better decision, especially as he got to lean back on his elbows and watch her standing there, reaching up to hold her large brimmed hat in place, her white dress billowing around her, like some sort of painting or angel.

If that had been the entirety of their trip, it would have been perfect.

But late at night, after they's done that again, Cooper held her as she fell asleep and worried about the next phase of their journey. The aphrodisiac quality seemed to have worn off after a day or so, so they'd made love just because they wanted to, because he enjoyed the tingle that still ran through their bodies when they touched, but mostly because he loved her beyond words. Only actions had to do.

He finally had everything he ever wanted - no, everything he never even knew he needed. A beautiful wife, a fearless and true companion in this strange life of his. Did she feel it, too? He thought she did. But was it enough? Did she only love the ocean because its waves and wind reminded her of the grasses blowing on the prairie? Was she only so carefree and happy here because she was truly going home?


He loved the train, even more than he thought he would. He loved the train sex, despite the fact he was too tall and he kept hitting his head on the top bunk and Amelia giggled at him. Who knew train sex was even a thing? However, always, in the back of his mind, he wondered if it was like the last meal they fed a condemned man: a distraction, a misdirection. Just think about about this simple physical pleasure and ignore the electric chair around the corner.

Sure enough, once they disembarked and stood on the platform at the depot in Independence, all his joy on the train was gone. He wanted to reach out and hold Amelia's hand, have her lie to him again and tell him how thrilled her parents would be to meet him, so that maybe he could believe it this time; but she was too busy shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, standing on her tiptoes, eagerly scanning the small throng of gathered people.

"There he is! Pa! Pa!" Amelia almost screamed, waving her arms excitedly.

Cooper watched the man approaching. There was no doubt he was Amelia's father. That same color hair, the same nose, the same eyes. His skin was darker, probably tanned by sun, and he was taller. Still, they looked so much alike. He wasn't smiling, but at least he wasn't staring at Cooper, which he had expected. For weeks, Cooper had imagined a cold, angry stare when they first met. But Amelia's father wasn't even looking at him.

"Oh, Pa, it's so good to see you again!" Amelia gushed, and Cooper thought she'd throw her arms around him, but she didn't.

Edward (is that what he should call him?) bent down to pick up one of the suitcases and nodded at Amelia. "Likewise."

"Pa, this is my husband, Professor Cooper Shelton." She sounded so proud, so excited.

Cooper put his hand out, hoping it didn't feel too sweaty and clammy. "Pleased to meet you, sir." (Sir, maybe, until he was told otherwise?) "Amelia has told me so much about you."

Only then did her father slide his eyes over to Cooper, but they barely flicked up before he looked back at Amelia. "Come. Your mother will be waiting on us."

Then he turned and walked toward the wagon without another glance at Cooper and his still outstretched hand.

Cooper didn't know why he left it out like that; it couldn't be shock, he had expected this. Swallowing, shaking his head, he pulled it back. He looked at Amelia, forcing himself to give her a smile, but its insincerity made him hate himself. But he refused to ruin this for her. He took her hand and helped her catch up to her father, swinging the now full suitcases up into the bed of the wagon, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I'll just ride back here."

It wasn't a cold stare of contempt, after all. Rather, it was Amelia's father couldn't be bothered to care, that Cooper wasn't worthy of his glance, his time, his disdain, and, most certainly, his daughter.


For five months (because it still spring in 21-century Pasadena, not the height of July it was here), Cooper had mused about that little cabin on the prairie, recalling every nook and cranny with a pleasant glow. But now what he previously thought was clean and simple looked rustic and plain. The food he had found hearty and filling now tasted bland and overcooked. The glow of the fire in the stove that had seemed cozy now seemed smothering in the heat. The little loft where he had first sleep so close and yet so far away from his Amelia was cramped and suffocating.

As soon as he took one suitcase up the ladder and reached down for the other that Amelia passed up, he had to remove his jacket, vest, and tie because of the heat. He went to sit by the tiny window, hoping for a breeze, but found none. Amelia's shuffled up behind him, and he ignored her, looking out the window, watching her father and brother across the little yard, unbridling the horses, putting the wagon away.

"Cooper, you should change into some lighter fabrics. I bought you some thinner pants and shirts in Los Angles. Work clothes." Amelia's voice called him back, and he turned.

For a second, the air lifted. There was his Amelia, just as he'd first found her. The traveling suit was gone, replaced by a simple floral dress. And she was braiding her hair. The braids! He smiled at her and asked, "Are you happy?"

"Oh, so very happy!" Amelia rushed at him then and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug. "Sorry, I should go help Ma put dinner on the table."

Then she was gone and with her went every once of air. Cooper got up and struggled to change clothes where he couldn't even stand up fully. How had he managed this before?

No stranger to uncomfortable family meals, especially given that most of the members of his family were morons, Cooper ate silently. But he gladly would have endured a thousand bad Thanksgivings over the meal he was forced to withstand that evening. Although Amelia's mother didn't welcome him with open arms, either, she at least was willing to try and make polite conversation with him over dinner. She was different than he expected. Shorter. Her hair was also dark brown, but she had curls that escaped her bun and twisted tightly around her hairline. That was surprising, as Amelia's hair was so straight.

But his explanations seemed misunderstood, his jokes ignored, and even his plans, his idea that Amelia had assured him would thaw her father, fell on deaf ears. He wasn't even allowed to complete verbalizing his analyses. He felt guilty taking some small consolation in the fact that even Amelia seemed to be having difficulty expressing things correctly, her own protests unheard. He put his finger gently on the back of her hand, to keep her from saying too much, to keep her from wasting her breath, to give her his support. At last, it was over and Amelia's father left, gruff and forceful, taking Amelia's sullen teenage brother with him. It was almost as though he was afraid Cooper's very presence would contaminate his son.

Volunteering to wash the dishes, just to have something to do with his hands, some activity to keep him busy, Cooper stared out the window again as he overhead Amelia and her mother chatting about clothes. Finally, he was forced to suggest to Amelia that they go to sleep, not because he was tired but because he just wanted to feel at peace in his own skin again, to not be on constant alert. And it seemed that Amelia's father and brother weren't coming back anytime soon.

Even though he knew they'd never make love with her parents mere feet below them, Cooper had imagined that he and Amelia would finally get to reclaim that night and correct it: this time she would lift her blanket and invite him in, and they would cuddle all night. Instead, it was so hot they didn't even touch, covering their bodies with the thinnest of sheets. Amelia rolled and rolled next to him, while he laid stiff and motionless on his back and stared at the rough wooden rafters above his head.

"It's too hot to sleep," Amelia finally whispered to him.

"If you say so." He knew it wasn't the heat, and he wondered how long it would take her to admit it.


Amelia seemed shocked that her father and brother would leave without him the next morning. Cooper was not surprised. He had heard her father getting up, the sleep he had managed to fall into being light and uneasy, but he made no effort to join him. Maybe that was a mistake. He was, after all, a strong youngish man, he could have been helpful with the physical labor if he was instructed on how to do it. But he felt it had been make clear he was not welcome in the fields, just as he was not welcome in this cabin.

There was nothing for him to do in the cabin, though, either. Yes, he could fetch buckets of water from the well when asked or even volunteer some suggestions for the cutting of fabric using advanced geometric principles, but all these domestic tasks were foreign to him. He admired the way Amelia and her mother stacked the wood in the stove to obtain the right temperature for their cooking, the easy way they accepted the difficulty of their tasks. Amelia's mother, of course, knew no other way. But Amelia gladly rolled up her sleeves in the heat and spent an hour performing a chore that would take five minutes at home.

Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. It was Amelia's nature to always be busy, to apply herself to doing something correctly. But how had she ever found the time to read here? That gave him an idea.

"Would you ladies like for me to read to you while you work?" he asked.

"That would be lovely. I've often wished for another voice when I'm here working alone," Amelia's mother said. "Not even a conversation, just a voice reading to me or telling me something. Or music. Do you know what a phonograph is, Cooper?"

"Yes, of course."

"Ed read they were for sale in Kansas City last winter. And I thought it sounded wonderful, something other than silence. Can you imagine such a thing? Music on a cylinder, I think it was called. It must be magic."

"But it's not. It's merely the stylus tracing the groove created by previously etched waveforms, causing vibrations. With enough amplification, that's music," Cooper explained.

Amelia's mother shook her head. "Sounds like magic to me."

Cooper's eyes flicked to Amelia's. Perhaps he was saying too much. He could get overly excited, he had been told, by scientific advancement. However, Amelia had always listened intently to him, even from the very first morning on the prairie, and she had not dismissed his knowledge of things far more advanced than a phonograph. As if she heard his thoughts, Amelia smiled softly at him. He nodded and returned to reading.


After three days of reading aloud and gathering water and wood and failing to sleep after another strained dinner conversation, Cooper had had enough. Although he had previously dreaded any sort of confrontation with Amelia's father, he would have now welcomed it. His tension was growing by the minute, so much so that his jaw was now constantly aching from how much he was clenching it, and he knew he either needed to resolve this situation or he would have to leave. However, the thought of leaving made his stomach ache just has much as his jaw. Amelia seemed mostly happy here. Yes, she had sent him some looks of commiseration or apology in the evenings, but she appeared pleasantly settled. Had he been wrong all along, thinking she did not belong here, that she was a woman out of time, that to stay here would be stunting to her mental growth? Perhaps it been mistake, taking her with him.

Since he wasn't sleeping well, he heard her father awake beneath them on the fourth morning, just has he had the previous three. He was an efficient man and he would be gone quickly. Stirring rapidly but silently, careful not to wake Amelia, Cooper dressed and descended the ladder, stepping out the front door just behind the other man.

Standing in the early morning shade of the cabin, Edward stopped and lowered the blue metal mug from which he was drinking. "Coffee?"

Startled at being addressed directly, Cooper nodded before he thought about the caffeine intake. As there seemed to be no breakfast, perhaps this stimulant would have to suffice. Edward poured some of the black liquid into another mug sitting on the rough bench and handed it to him.

"Ugh," Cooper put his hand over his mouth, forcing the first bitter gulp down. "It's cold."

The other man nodded, throwing his head back and draining his mug. Unsure if he normally drank it that fast, Cooper couldn't shake the feeling it was a statement about his own perceived weak constitution. "I drink it cold in the summer. I find it invigorating."

"And I thought cold coffee was invited by Starbucks," Cooper murmured.

"Mr. Starbucks," Edward grumbled. "That's a city name if I ever heard one." He shook his head. "Leave it. David will drink it."

Since it didn't seem the time to remind him that Starbucks was named after Captain Ahab's first mate in Moby Dick, Cooper just held the mug out to David, as he approached from the barn.

"What are you doing here?" David asked.

"Good morning to you, too," Cooper replied.

"The professor here is going to help us in the field today," Edward interjected for him. "It will be good to have another set of arms today. It's going to be hard work getting those stumps out. The hardest job all summer."

Cooper gulped. This plan had all seemed more logical lying awake on his mattress in the loft. And was that a statement of fact? Or a taunt, just like calling him professor? But he stood up straighter and said firmly, "Yes, sir."

Edward didn't reply. Instead, he picked up the kettle and the mugs, returning them to the cabin and emerging with a rucksack. "Food for later," he explained, walking toward the barn. "Unless you've become accustomed to being served breakfast first thing."

Despite the grumbling of his stomach, Cooper saw this as another challenge. He would not back down. He needed to prove that he was just as worthy of Amelia as any other man. And if took skipping breakfast for a day, so be it. It was a very small price to pay for her. "No, sir."

The heat, the sun, the work . . . It was beyond anything Cooper had ever imagined. His forehead hurt from squinting in the glare, as he silently wondered what type of eye diseases all the pioneers had from not properly shielding their eyes behind UV-protected sunglasses. Edward and David quickly removed their shirts, revealing heavy tanned and muscled bodies. Cooper had actually been proud of his physique from his new work-outs, but he was scrawny and pale compared these two, even young David. All of the pleasure he gained from Amelia's smoothing her hands over his chest and telling him how much she loved his skin evaporated in the heat. He longed for a hat as the sun beat down on his face and neck, and he could feel his skin burning. Now he wouldn't even have that for Amelia to love.

But he refused to allow them to see him drag, to see him crumple even as the effort and the heat become so great he excused himself to go vomit up his lunch. The stumps seemed a metaphor for the impossible task he was trying to accomplish here, as they clung stubbornly to the ground, fighting the men's effort to leverage them to make way for any progress.

At last, the offending stumps were removed. Edward stopped and took off his hart, wiping his forehead. "I'd hoped we'd make more progress today." He sighed and looked out. "Let's at least get this half tilled since we've got the horses here. We'll work on the other half later."

"What will you plant here?" Cooper asked, trying to make conversation as he drank water greedily from ladle, leaning over the bucket they brought. He would have given anything to upend and dump it over himself; he'd never felt so filthy in all his life.

"This late in the season, I think turnips are the only option. I can only hope that I'll be able to sell that many come autumn. It will be more than we can eat." Amelia's father replaced his hat. "Perhaps it's a fool's errand. I had wanted to get this done in June, when there were more options. Without the extra hands that I hoped I'd gain in a son-in-law . . ." He let the sentence fall away. Then he seemed to shake himself and said, "David, you're at the plow."

"But, Pa, all you do is tell me I've done it wrong!" the teenager sulked.

"You will never learn to keep the plow straight without practice," Edward said firmly.

"I'll do it," Cooper said. Both men turned to looked at him.

"It is not easy," Edward said with a frown. "It is not just walking behind the horses while they do all the work. They are mostly obedient, but they are still only God's dumb creatures. You have to hold tight on the reigns, steer them in the right direction."

"I can do it," Cooper said proudly.

Edward seemed to study him, and then David said, "You cannot be considering it!"

"Let him do it," Edward declared. "A man with a chip on his shoulder will not rest until he has proven its weight."

Refusing to even flinch at the insult, Cooper went to stand behind the horses and took the reins. He listened to Edward's all too brief instructions carefully, waited for him to step away and nod, and then he yelled, "Ha!"

'Please, please,' he silently instructed the horses, 'do this correctly. I saw the way you whinnied and stomped in pleasure when Amelia entered the barn with carrots. Do this for her.'

The rough leather of the reins surprised him by pulling out of his hands and he instantly felt new sharp pains as they sliced the skin beneath, already laced with scratches and callouses from the morning's labor. Cooper clenched his teeth to steady his hands and feet, to keep from crying out in pain and dropping the reins as he followed the horses. He gripped them harder, as he should have been all along. Carefully he watched and judged, constantly doing the trigonometry in his head based on a lone tree off to the side to determine which angle he was steering the horses, making adjustments as he calculated they were necessary. Never had so much effort been put into a straight line before.

Amelia's father and brother had walked ahead and stopped to indicate where the end of the furrow should be. Pulling back hard, feeling some blood trickle down his palm, Cooper called out for the horses to stop. He turned to look at Edward who only studied him once again. "Well, you may have been slower than molasses, but that is the straightest furrow I've ever seen."

"Beginner's luck," David mumbled.

Cooper dropped the reins and walked forward, his legs wobbly and his back aching. "Thank you." He reached up and ran his palm down the darker horse's neck, the one he knew was Amelia's favorite. "Thank you, Brownie."

"Your hand is bleeding," Edward said.

Cooper waited for the jab about soft city hands but it didn't come. "It doesn't matter," he lied. "You need several more rows, yes?"

But Edward shook his head. "No. It has been a hard day. Let's head back."

The whoop from David informed Cooper that this was earlier than usual, but he didn't join in his excitement. He helped to pack up their supplies and followed them back to the cabin, unsure if, despite all his blood and sweat, he'd accomplished anything more than a sore body and one very straight line.


Thank you to Lady Maca for re-igniting my Coopmelia lamp. And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!