Coral

***

Babe, tomorrows so far away
Theres something I just have to say
I dont think I can hide what Im feelin inside
Another day, knowin I love you
And i, Im getting too close again
I dont want to see it end
If I tell you tonight will you turn out the light
And walk away knowin I love you?

Im gonna take you by surprise and make you realize,
Amanda
Im gonna tell you right away, I cant wait another day,
Amanda
Im gonna say it like a man and make you understand
Amanda
I love you

---------

--The Orient Express--


Amanda had told the other Rookwood's about her condition, when they came to visit for her birthday. There was a distinct air of awkwardness, as they tried to balance their air of congratulatory happiness, with somber respect for the still painful loss of her first child.


She asked only that they did not buy or make gifts yet...knowing from experience that it was too painful to look upon the empty blankets and cradles later on. She would much prefer to be short of items at a later date, than to be overwhelmed with unused thing in the event something went wrong.


Even though she had warned them, it was still a great temptation to herself. She wanted nothing more than to go out with Stella and Amele and look at bonnets and the incredibly tiny leather boots created by the cobbler in Hogsmeade. The Wizarding world was no different from the Muggle world, American or European, in having a great fancy for miniatures.


It was not unusual when shopping for children, to see miniature robes and hats, tiny play wands that were also used as teethers, short stubby broomsticks that would fly a child a few inches over the ground, replica potion sets, and quaffles no bigger than apples.


In the more modern, off-beat stores, products ranged from alarming, ( bottles that emitted colored smoke), to indicative, ( the diapers that changed colors when it was time to be changed.). Some were merely nerve wracking, such as the pacifiers that shrieked when they were sucked. Amele's son, Renee, had one, and Amele called it a 'soother', though Amanda couldn't see what could possibly be soothing about it.


As in all things, Amanda tended to be attracted the more calm and substantial necessities. Objects that could exist in both worlds without ever being obvious. Those essentials were still stowed away in the attic, so there was no need to go out searching for more. She contented herself with making up great lists of what she would buy and make after she was certain the baby would be safe.


She did however, find herself one day admiring a miniature tea table with chairs and a tea set with a magically replenishing tea pot that never got hot enough to scald. She had Stella with her that day, and her mother joked lightly that it was too bad the adult size tea pots did not come with such a feature.


Amanda agreed, and though she was certain she might regret it, she purchased the set, which was quite expensive, and stowed it away against the hope that one day she would have a daughter to play tea party on it's polished surface. Against her better judgement, she unlocked the nursery, and she and Stella placed the tea table inside hastily, before exiting. Amanda had not intended to ever open that room again. Even without the uncomfortable memories; it retained the air of oppressiveness that she associated with Dinah.


For that reason alone, she had decided, that when the time came, it would be the next bedroom across the hall that became the nursery. With that thought, she once again locked the door, and went down with Stella, feeling for the first time the slightest ripple of excitement about her condition.


----


She kept herself preoccupied, and gave little heed to the passing of time.
June came silently, and with it, her first anniversary.


She had not thought about her anniversary as anything more than the Ministry's deadline. She certainly had not expected anything by way of gifts or memories. Therefore, she was in complete shock when she discovered that Edward had arranged for a lunch aboard the infamous Orient Express.


He in turn, had been slightly unprepared for her absolute ecstasy in discovering that the train was 'real'


" Well, I knew it was real. " she defended herself, at his look. " I just hadn't really thought that it might still be real. These are things that we can only fantasize about in America, you know."


" There are, if I am not mistaken, trains in the States." he corrected.

" Not the Orient Express." she replied. " It is simply the royalty of trains."

" And how does a little girl in Louisiana learn about our royal trains?"

She pursed her lips, briefly.

" From books."

" What books?"

" English novels."

"Which English novel?"

" Murder on the Orient Express." she confessed.

" I thought so." he answered smugly. " Well, we can only hope our excursion won't be so eventful. No Mr. Ratchetts for us. At least you shall have a chance to see a bit more of the country than just what you can see through the windows of the house."

" I didn't know that Wizards read Muggle literature."

" Well, we can't be Wizards all the time, Amanda. Like today for instance. Today, we are merely tourists enjoying our first anniversary." he took her hand.

" And it is a beautiful day for it, as well." she agreed.

Two hours later, she wasn't so sure. The movement of the train and the smells of the food had caused her to feel very ill. She never let him suspect though, for it would ruin the entire day, and it had been a very thoughtful gesture on his behalf.

He had no doubt seen this landscape a hundred times or more in his lifetime, yet he patiently answered all of her questions. He also gave her detailed histories of every place they passed thorough.. Some of the history was basic Muggle knowledge, and some, in a lower voice, was the history of Witches and Wizards paralleling the more familiar events.


This kept her mind preoccupied, and by drinking very cold water and humming in a low deep tone, she found she could keep control of her nausea as long as she avoided staring directly at anything that had a pattern, such as the upholstery. He was right, in that the adventure was event-less, and though the reasonable part of her mind knew that it would be, a small imaginative part of her had hoped...well, that something truly amazing would happen. But she was so busy enjoying herself she only hardly noticed that it did not.


Everything was so incredibly beautiful-the carved wood, the expensive ornamentation. She personally had never seen such grandeur, and she wanted nothing more than to take pictures of it. She had no means with which to do this however, she could only commit to memory every detail and luxury. She tried to stare very hard at the carpeting so that she could remember it's patterns, and at the curtains so that she could remember their exact color.


It was extremely difficult to do this as well as eat, listen to Edward, watch the other diners, and enjoy the passing scenery.


Edward was in good spirits. He had succeeded in burying his reservations about the future, and what it might bring. The day was clear and blue, the countryside was lush and green, and his wife looked remarkably lovely in a navy blue suit dress, a creamy satin jabot at her slender throat. He wasn't sure what to call the style that Polly had formed her hair into, to him the word that sprang first to mind was 'puff'. It was soft puff however, and very flattering. His plans for courting her were going smoothly, and he was enjoying the experience as well.


He was constantly reaching across the narrow table to hold her hand, and every time she smiled at him, he found himself prattling away at whatever subject, hoping to impress her. Whenever she did seem impressed, he would get tongue tied and forget what his point was to be.


When he noticed she was staring at the carpet, he asked if he was boring her.
" No." she smiled sheepishly. " I...never mind. It's silly."


Intrigued, he leaned closer.


" I know spells to make you talk." he said.


" You would find nothing of interest." she replied. " I was merely admiring the carpet pattern. I thought I might sketch a segment in my journal so that I could remember it. "


He looked down at the floor, frowning thoughtfully at it for a second or two. Then he took her hand and pressed it down flat against the table. When he lifted it, there was a glossy postcard lying underneath. The picture on it's front was one of those cleverly angled photographs that managed to capture a small particle of everything, in such a manner as to make the room unrecognizable to anyone who had not seen it in person.


She gave a small squeal of delight, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. The other diners, who had already given them a look of blatant curiosity and thinly veiled disapproval, were now conscientiously ignoring them.
" Do something else." she whispered.


What will you give me in return?" he asked lightly. She dropped her eyes briefly.
" I'm sure I'll think of something..." she replied.


He took his napkin, which was still resting on his lap, and wadded it into a small ball. Glancing around to be certain they were still being ignored, he drew his wand. Since he was seated with his right hand against the window, there was little chance of anyone but Amanda seeing it. He always said, that if a Muggle did notice, and commented, there were more friendly ways of smoothing the situation than simply Obliviating the poor chap.


" Produce a top hat." he said. " Produce a top hat, and tell them you are a stage magician. Human's are an extremely gullible race that are relieved to have an explanation, even if they know you are lying."


For this purpose, she knew that he always carried, as did Giles, and Eloise, a simple deck of trick cards. It seemed to delight the older set of wizards immensely to use the occasional parlor trick.


Edward's magic however was no parlor trick. With a spell muttered in a low voice, and a small turn of the wrist, the napkin began to turn red, in the same way it might if someone had spilled blood or ink at the corner and let it slowly wick across the pristine white fabric. Amanda bit her lip, hoping there was no penalty for changing the color of a restaurants napkins.


When the napkin was fully colored, he released it, and instead of it simply opening into a wrinkled red mess, it unfolded swiftly, and it took her a moment to realize that it had changed to a read rose. The 'unfolding' had been a very fast blooming!
She lifted it from the table, and felt of the silky petals. It was real, right down to the dangerous thorns along the stem. A sweet hint of rose fragrance emanated from within it's nestled petals.


When she lay it back down, he prepared to return it to it's original form. However, she had, in a moment of mischievousness, drawn the toe of her shoe up the outside of his leg, and with a startled grimace, he dropped his wand on the table with a clatter. The rose, rather than now being a napkin, was simply a pool of red liquid that began to stain the tablecloth, and drip over the side.


Amanda placed her fingertips to her lips, more to hide her smile than to show remorse for her action. He did not have the chance to clear away the mess before a disapproving waiter had seen.

Shortly after that awkward moment,( in which the man, his lips pursed beneath a prim pencil thin moustache, tried to fathom how two glasses of water had managed to leave a wine stain on the tablecloth), Edward decided it was time for them to disembark, and rather than wait for the train to stop, they slipped into the vestibule, where he promptly Disapparated them, the sound of the tracks and the brakes disguising distinctive 'pop' neatly.


The only person who noticed their unaccountable disappearance was the disgruntled, and somewhat bewildered, waiter.


---------


By the time the tour was over, she was happily exhausted, but too excited to rest. Even after they arrived home, she was still excited and could not sit still. She put away her things, straightened some books, sat at the piano, walked to the windows, sat back at the piano, and rose again to fiddle with the antimacassars. At last she sat down with her journal and pen.


She incurred an unfavorable look from Edward when for the tenth time she asked the name of a specific area they had passed through so she could write it down. Also the names, the proper British terms for any trees, fileds, people, houses, animals, curves, posts, fences, etc. that she might have seen.

Though he was amused, he did notice her drawn pale expression, and gently took the journal. The clock had just struck eleven, and she had not been truly still a single minute the entire day.


" Write it tomorrow." he suggested. " You need to rest now."


" I am resting." she replied. She was seated at the edge of one of the library chairs, bouncing her knee excitedly.


" Well, then you need to rest more intensely." he said. " Do you want me to have to answer to Eloise or your mother?"

" I did enjoy myself." she said.

" I assumed as much. " he said, tartly, though he smiled. " Here, let me help you upstairs. Unless...you'd rather something to eat first?"

She saw he was only teasing, which was a great relief. She had never had a lunch that consisted of a hundred courses. Or at least it had seemed like a hundred courses. She lost count after three.

" No thank you." she laughed lightly. " I think will rest. But could you bring that book for me? I won't be able to sleep. And I really should have practiced that piece more...I could just spend five minutes on it--"

He brought her book, but turned her way from the piano.

" It will wait until tomorrow. Do you want to wake Polly?"

She shrugged mildly, knowing that Polly's rooms had a Silencing spell around them, and allowed herself to be led up the stairs. By the time she reached the top, she realized, with some surprise, that she might be just the faintest bit sleepy.


By the time she had dressed for bed, she was yawning...and halfway through brushing out her hair she fell asleep, falling gently against his shoulder, a smile still lingering on hr mouth. With a satisfied look, he took the brush gently from her hand, and after a brief kiss to her temple, extinguished the lights.
----------------------
Amanda-lyrics, Boston


Murder on The Orient Express-Agatha Christie

Antimacassars-small, decoartive cloths, ( often crochet) designed to protect the fabric of chairs from dirt and hair oil.