Down in Dust

Amelia Davis is sucked back in time to the Civil war confederacy where Slavery is at large and she faces life changing decisions between love and loyalty and life and death. She is taken to Grave's hill Plantation where she works as a Nanny and tutor for the children and must find a way to get back home. (Feel free to comment and favorite)


4. Chapter Four

“Who are you?”

    Amelia stares at the little boy in front of her, his hands grasping a small toy soldier. It’s wooden body painted with red and blue. Behind him stands a small girl with blonde locks that squeezes a doll in her arms against her white and pink dress. They stare at her confused and wait for an answer.

    “I’m Amelia,” she sighs and a small smile graces her lips. “I get to take care of you two for a while. What are your names?” She asks.

    “I’m Ethan,” says the little boy. “And that’s my sister, Martha.”

    “Nice to meet you both.”

    They both grin at her and little Martha grabs her hand and drags Amelia towards a small doll house and shoves one of the dolls into her hands. The house is small and white with a brown roof and multiple rooms and little pieces of furniture.



    They played for a while, much to the delight of Martha and the envy of Ethan who played toy soldiers with Amelia much later. Both of the children saw how Amelia seemed almost odd in the way she holds herself, but like her none the less and are happy that they have a tutor they actually like and is not so tense and strict on protocol.

    When a servant comes up not much later to say that dinner was about to be served, she dressed the children from their play clothes into dinner attire and sent them ahead as she fixed herself in the mirror, adjusting the pins in her hair and rubbing off the dust from the skirt of her dress. How could this be happening? Has she finally accepted the fact that this full scenario was real? Does she even believe it?

    She walks down the stairs, her dress trailing partially behind her as she enters the main hall. When she begins to walk through the door of the dining room, she finds herself smashed to the ground with a bang. She lets out a small groan and looks up to see a boy about her age with light brown hair and chocolate brown eyes and a handsome face sprawled on top of her.

    “I’m so, so sorry,” he says, standing up and holding out his hand to her.

    “It’s fine, I’ve suffered worse,” she replies, grabbing his hand and standing up. “Just watch where you’re going next time,” she almost scowls, walking into the dining room and taking a seat at the table with the family. Meanwhile William waits at the doorway, watching the new girl. Who is she? What is she doing here? She doesn’t sound like she from there and holds herself with a type of self-assurance he hadn’t ever truly seen in a girl before. He walks in and takes a seat diagonal from Amelia and across from Rosalie seated next to her who looks down at her hands. Rosalie looks over at Amelia and offers her, her hand.

    “I’m Rosalie,” she says in a hushed whisper. “It is so great to have someone my age here for once.”

    “I’m Amelia,” Amelia replies in surprise. “Great to meet you as well.”

    “I have a feeling we will be great friends,” says Rosalie, smiling.

    Amelia grins at Rosalie as the food is placed in front of her on a white ceramic plate. For a small amount of time, all that could be heard was the clinking of silverware on plates and then Mister Banning starts conversation.

    “So, Miss Davis, Where are you from?” He asks, earning a glance from Miss Banning at Amelia with her eyebrows raised.

    “I am from Ohio.”


    “I am from Ohio, but moved here since my mother is from here and I believe in your cause,” she says surely. “I wanted to come home.”

    “Well that’s wonderful and I sure hope that you have no ties to the union anymore.”

    “I do not sir.”

    “What was your father’s occupation?” Asks William, taking a bite from a piece of bread and looking at her expectantly.

    “My father was a lawyer in my hometown and my mother would often visit him in town on Sundays,” she says, recounting the days her Mom would leave the home early afternoon and go into town. Why she was telling them this, she didn’t know. William nods his head and continues eating.

    “Was?” Asks little Ethan.

    “Yes, he passed away last year,” she says while looking down sadly and trying not to cry.

    “I’m sorry,” a voice says and she looks up to see William in shock. He stares at her then looks down as well. Very few knew that his father had passed the year before as well and his mother was far off in another state.

    “Thank you,” Amelia mutters awkwardly.

    The rest of dinner had passed slowly, an awkward silence engulfing the entire room as Amelia stared at her plate while feeling everyone’s gaze land on her every few moments. She was being watched because she was new and different and in their eyes a new story. William being the most intrigued of them all and often wondered what her life was like before.

    After dinner had ended Amelia almost sprinted up the staircase, gleeful that she had escaped the ultimately awkward meal. When she arrived upstairs, Mister Banning walked up and showed her up to her room which would be just down the hall from the children and near that of Rosalie’s and William’s and the parents along with the grandmother stayed on the opposite side of the house in the West Wing while Amelia was in the East Wing.

    The room was large enough, with a four poster bed with white sheets and curtains. A small fireplace was in the center of the wall with an armchair near it. Against the wall near the window was a vanity and dresser that was the same color as the wooden flooring.

    “Eh-hem,” coughs a voice at the door. Amelia quickly turns around and sees Rosalie standing at the door with multiple dressed and garments in her hands. “Here are some of my clothing that I do not where to often. My papa told me you needed them.”

    “Yes, thank you.”

    Rosalie walks into the room and places them on the bed and walks out, closing the door behind her with a click. Sighing, Amelia goes and plops into the armchair. Was all of this really real?

    Noticing the time, she gets up and walks down the hall to the children’s room where they sit in their pajamas waiting for Amelia. She lets a smile light her face and sits on the end of one of their beds and pats the area next to her. The oil lamp in the corner burns brightly and cast shadows against the wall.

    “Would you two like to hear a story?” She asks, remembering her mother reading to her when she was young. They nod their heads and she thinks of her all time favorite ones. Starting with Harry Potter, but of course it has not been written yet, so it should be all right.

    “Mind if I join in?” Asks a masculine voice from the doorway. Amelia looks up and sees William leaning against it, his arms crossed.

    “Sure, take a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair in the corner which he grabs and drags over.

    “Ok, this is a story about the boy who lived.”

    They stare at her confused as she forms the words on the tip of her tongue to begin the story.

    “Harry Potter was only one when the evil lord Voldemort came to his home one day to kill him. He was part of prophecy you see, that one day a boy born at the end of July would be the fall of the dark lord and so they hid the boy. When Voldemort came that quiet summer night, he killed Harry’s father then traveled up the narrow staircase into the nursery where Harry’s mother was covering the baby. ‘Please, take me! Don’t kill Harry, please!’ she had shouted while sobbing,” the kids and William stare at Amelia, waiting for her to continue. “‘ You fool!’ he had hissed  and then a said the magic words, having a green light emit from his wand, trying to kill the little boy but having the boy’s mother jump in front. When time came to kill the boy, the curse...rebounded.”

    “Rebounded?” Asks Ethan curiously.

    “It bounced back and hit him instead. Harry was the boy who lived.” The group stares at her in wonder while William tries to imagine the scene in his head.

    And so Amelia told the story of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone. She spoke of the school and magic, the trolls and theories, Professor Snape and Quirrel and all the magic from within that can be unleashed into words. She told of the quidditch and explained how it was played. She kept them there for an hour, maybe two, having them entranced with the story and the idea of magic.

    “And so that is part one of seven of the Harry Potter story. Time for bed, spit-spot.” She tucks the children under the covers and turns off the oil lamp and walks out of the room, William following not far behind.

    “That was incredible Miss Davis, really.”

    “That is not even half of it! My father used to tell me the story before I went to bed when I was younger and it stuck with me ever since.”

    “I see why,” he sighs. “Don’t blame me if I join your next story session. What is the next part called?”

    “The Chamber of Secrets,” she says.


    “Very,” she replies.

    “Well, good night Amelia and sleep well.”

    “You too, Mister Darrons, you too.”

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