Black Sheep

He arrived, chased in by a storm. Drenched and chill with wild eyes staring from beneath the brim of his hat. My uncle, though I had never met him. A traveller. The black sheep. The mention of his name bringing chilled silence, bitter tightness to my Grandfather’s jaw and bright tears to my mother’s eyes.

Yet here he was, the man I had known only from letters with their return addresses scattered across the globe. I had found each and wondered at the distances between he and I, listened, rapt, as my mother read descriptions of strange people and animals that I never expected to see. Scribbled endless questions, and received patient answers.

‘You’re Amelia?’ he asked, stepping aside as our manservant carried in a trunk with the help of the coachman. ‘Upstairs,’ barked my Uncle, his watchful gaze on the men as they struggled to ascend, ‘and careful with that.’

‘I’m Amelia,’ I agreed. ‘Mother and Grandfather are…not here.’

‘No? Where are they then?’ Even his speech was full of action, not a second wasted to politeness.

‘Church.’

Snorting, my uncle threw off his hat and hung his coat, still dripping, from the stand.

‘They were expecting me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is that why they’re praying?’

I swallowed, then shook my head. ‘They’re discussing the harvest fes-’

‘I’m teasing, child,’ he said, pushing past me and into the drawing room.

‘Would you like some tea?’

‘Brandy.’

I hesitated, catching the eye of the maid who had joined us. I could see her lips pressing hard against the telling of this tale, fuel for her gossips fire. The village would know by sundown.

‘Of course. You are chilled from your journey.’

My Uncle turned from his perusal of the room, his smile amused at the interaction, at my need to explain his appetites.

‘Do I frighten you, Amelia?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I lied.

‘I do. I should. I’ve come home to change your life.’

‘You have?’

He stalked to the globe, using one thick finger to locate England and turn it towards me. He waited, assuring himself he had my attention before he set the thing spinning, stopping it only when Australia was visible. The other side of the world.

‘Amelia, your letters reveal you to be a marvel, in this family. You have a mind of your own and you are willing to use it. If you stay here, you will rot. All your potential will come to naught. Have they begun to plot your marriage?’

Wide eyed, it was all I could manage to nod in earnest response.

‘Don’t do it. Don’t settle,’ this last word was execrable to him.

I stared. The prospect was terrifying, blood drummed in my ears.

‘Please?’

‘Yes,’ the word surprised even me, my Uncle stepped back with growing delight.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes!’

‘There will be a terrible row.’

‘Yes.’

‘You will be the black sheep.’

And suddenly we were both laughing, filled with the joy of an unknown future.

‘Yes. Yes I will.’