Amie Bernstein; Chapter 1

 

Amie Bernstein; Chapter 1

© 2022 by Amber Wright

ENTERS AMIE BERNSTEIN

Date: Winter 1901

Place: London, England

Snow flattened under Amie Bernstein’s freshly blackened boots as she stood there next to Papa, moving her feet distractedly. “Why do little boats take forever docking? I thought they were light and fast.”

“They are. Their boat's waiting for a space to dock. Here they are,” Papa waved over to the carriage where Mamma and the girls, Edia and Danielle, were waiting out of the cold.

“Is he ugly?”

“Who?” Papa’s hand stopped and his black eyebrows rose.

“My cousin, Kitt.” Amie wrinkled her nose. “If he is ugly, I suppose we could always hire another tutor for him so I wouldn’t have to look at him during the day.”

“Amie!”

“But Papa, you don’t have to look at ugly people all day! Or, do you?” Amie watched his jaws twist oddly. “Oh, please do don’t cry, Papa. I’m sorry!”

“I am not crying, Amie.” He turned his twisting jaws into a half-stern face. “Now, be a good lass and don’t mind if he’s ugly, or poor…or even if he wasn’t Jewish.”

Amie nodded, and her blond curls bounced over her shoulders. Sometimes she had to be reminded that she must love everyone, even if they were a bit different. After all, she was different. At least, in other countries she would be thrown out just because she was a Jew by blood.

She blinked as a familiar face—one that looked like her mother’s but was younger—came into her view. The woman started down the gangplank just as Mamma and the girls stood beside her and Papa. Amie's brother, Abel, stepped into the family circle just as the woman reached them. Trailing behind the woman, a boy stared from a little white face inside a shock of black hair.

“Lois!” Mamma hugged her cousin from Paris, France.

The little white face blinked his eyes from behind his mother’s cloak. Amie stepped over to him with binocular-eyes. Besides his paleness and overgrown hair, under him all was a nice set of eyes and a nice-enough-looking face to look at during the day.

“Hello, I’m Amie.” She said her name proudly as if it were a badge. Then she gave him a nice, welcoming hug and a kiss on both of his cheeks. “Welcome to England, Kitt!”

“Do you squeeze breath—always—when you hug?” his words came out in little gasps and he blinked some more.

“Not usually. I only do that when I like people.”

“You like me? You not know me.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already decided.”

“Decided—what?” a nervous gulp.

“I’ve decided we’re going to be best friends.” Amie sent her binocular-eyes straight into his face, and smiled.

Kitt stared back and gulped again. “Then—we’ll get along?”

“Of course we’ll get along. Mamma told me I’m exactly one year older than you. Our birthday is June the 1^st. Or have you forgotten?” She frowned.

“Not forget.” Kitt slowly grinned. “I like you, Amie. We’ll be best friends, oui?”

“Oui! Come.” Amie grabbed onto his tattered gray scarf. “I’ll show you the carriage we’re riding home in.”

“Carriage?” Kitt’s eyes rounded.

Amie noticed his eyes were nicer than she had thought. At least he’s not ugly—how nice! I do like pretty things, including the people I have to be around for all day. Amie called over her shoulder, “Yes and when it snows more we get to ride in a sleigh! Do you like sleighs?”

“Oui, I like!” Kitt called back, making a shuffling sound behind her as she pulled him along in her hasty excitement. “But you not pull my neck—you’re choking.”

“No, actually my throat is feeling perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern.” Amie wondered why he would say such a thing as she was choking. She glanced back to frown at him. “Oh, I do apologize.”

Kitt was gasping with a blue-looking face.

Amie's eyes snapped open in horror. “You’re going dead, Kitt!” What would his funeral be like? She felt a sob wriggle inside her.

Kitt made a shrill noise inside his throat, then his bluish face returned to normal color. “I am much alive, merci.”

Amie suddenly felt very foolish but she covered it up by explaining calmly, “Your skin was all blue and horrible-looking.”

“Merci encore, my dear cousine.”

“Well, anyway. Here we are!” She rapped on the metal frame for the footman to come down and help her into the carriage as he always did.

Before the footman could scramble down from the back of the carriage fast enough, Kitt gave her a push up. “You not old lady. Climb up. I show you how to ride like French girl.”

“I am a French girl, merci!”

“One, two—” Kitt counted, pushing her elbows up.

“Three!” Amie landed inside the carriage with a giggle. “I did it. I climbed up all by myself.”

“Uh-huh.” Kitt cleared his throat. “I helped you. Or have you forgotten?”

Amie smiled. It’s so much nicer having somebody who can think like me—at least, I think so. Her silent, mysterious-feeling smile sent Kitt over to her with a question and a frown. She burst into giggles, making Kitt frown even more. After twelve long years, she had finally met her match. Kitt Lazar.



“This—your house?” Kitt’s large chocolate-brown eyes rounded into complete circles as the carriage stopped.

“Yes. It’s nice, isn’t it?” Amie rubbed her glove against the frosty glass window. “It’s all lit up. See? We have a big candlestick in every window facing the street. That way, it makes the house look even bigger.”

“It’s big.”

Amie watched him gulp and wondered why he would carry on so. It’s only our town house—wait till he sees our country estate. He’ll be dancing over the moon! She rapped on the door, impatient to show Kitt the entire house.

The footman opened the door promptly. “Miss?” he held out one white-gloved hand.

Amie threw out both of her hands with a jiggle. “I’m in a hurry, please. Just swing me out—like this.”

As soon as she took hold of both of the footman’s hands, she made a jump and landed on the brick drive with a bit of a slide.

“Amie, careful you don’t—”

“I’m perfectly fine, Mamma. See?” She held up both gloved hands, palms up. “Come on, Kitt, down you come!”

“But—”

“I’ll show you how to jump like an English boy. You just…”

“English boys wear dresses?” Kitt’s voice squeaked at dresses and his knuckles whitened on the sides of the carriage as he studied the slippery drive below him.

“Of course not, silly.” Amie felt her brows tightening so she took one decidedly calm breath. “I’ll be in the entrance because I’m freezing. Bon chance, monsieur!”

“Amie, wait. I’m co—” Kitt ended in a funny gurgle.

Suddenly the footman was exclaiming loudly and horrified gasps were melting from the carriage. She turned.

French/English translation:

Monsieur……………… Mister

Cousine………………… cousin (female)

oui……………………… yes

non……………………… no

merci…………………… thank you