I rebuilt the chicken enclosure after she informed me that whoever designed the original gate had been “a very large idiot with no understanding of small hinges.”
I admitted the idiot had been me.
She looked delighted.
Some evenings we sat on the porch without speaking.
Other evenings Clara read aloud.
The house changed.
Her medical books appeared beside my cattle ledgers.
Her hairpins accumulated on the washstand.
A blue shawl lived permanently over one chair.
Once, I discovered one of her boots beside mine near the door.
I stood staring at it far too long.
The locked room inside me was opening.
That frightened me more than loneliness ever had.
One evening Clara found me repairing a harness in the barn.
The heat had turned unexpectedly heavy, so my shirt sleeves were rolled and the collar open.
She stood in the doorway.
I felt her gaze before I looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I smiled.
“That is becoming your favorite lie.”
She laughed.
I returned to the harness.
Clara approached.
“Elias.”
“Yes?”
“When are you going to kiss me?”
The leather strap slipped from my hand.
She waited.
“You should not ask questions like that in a barn.”
“Why?”
“Horses gossip.”
Juniper snorted behind her.
Clara smiled.
Then she grew serious.
“I am asking.”
I stood.
She had to tilt her face sharply upward.
Even after months, the difference between us looked impossible.
“You are certain?”
“Yes.”
“If you want me to stop—”
“I will tell you.”
“If anything frightens you—”
“I will tell you.”
“If—”
Clara grabbed the front of my shirt.
“Elias Thorne, if you give me one more instruction before kissing me, I may climb onto that hay bale and do it myself.”
I kissed her.
Carefully.
So carefully that Clara made a frustrated sound against my mouth.
Her hands moved from my shirt to my shoulders.
She pulled me closer.
I forgot the harness.
Forgot the horses.
Forgot Copper Hollow.
When I finally drew back, Clara's cheeks were bright.
Her lips were parted.
I was shaking harder than she was.
“Well?” I whispered.
She touched her mouth.
“I expected more.”
My heart dropped.
Then she smiled.
“More kissing, Elias.”
I laughed so suddenly Juniper jumped.
Clara laughed too.
I kissed her again.
After that, restraint became more complicated.
Clara enjoyed standing too close while I cooked.
She touched my arm when speaking.
Sometimes she rested her hand against my chest for no reason I could identify other than the effect it had on me.
I began kissing her good night.
At first on the forehead.
Then her cheek.
Then her mouth.
Some nights the kisses lasted long enough that I had to walk outside afterward and inspect livestock that required absolutely no inspecting.
Clara knew.
She found it hilarious.
But beneath the teasing remained a serious question neither of us could avoid forever.
Marriage.
I proposed beside the creek.
There was no audience.
No dramatic speech.
I had spent three nights attempting to compose something worthy of Clara and discarded every version.
In the end, I simply said, “I love you, and I don't want this house to become empty again. Will you marry me because you want to stay?”
Clara began crying before I finished.
“Yes.”
I panicked.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you're an idiot.”
“Is that good?”
“Yes.”
Then she kissed me.
We married three weeks later.
Half of Copper Hollow attended.
I suspected the other half would have come if Clara had allowed them to charge admission.
She wore a cream dress Beatrice Vale helped alter, though Clara made Beatrice promise not to discuss measurements with anyone.
Her chestnut hair was pinned loosely beneath a small veil.
When she entered the church, every person stood.
I forgot how to breathe.
Reverend Samuel Price looked at me.
“Mr. Thorne?”
“What?”
Laughter moved through the church.
Clara smiled.
The vows were simple.
When Reverend Price asked whether I took Clara to be my lawful wife, my voice shook.
“I do.”
Clara's did not.
“I do.”
Afterward there was supper at the Langley farm.
Children ran between tables.
Ezra Cole brought whiskey.
Beatrice Vale cried more than Clara's friends.
At sunset, Daniel Langley slapped my shoulder.
“Nervous?”
I looked at him.
Daniel raised both hands.
“None of my business.”
“Correct.”
I found Clara twenty minutes later.
She had changed from her wedding veil into her dark blue bonnet.
“Ready?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
The ride home was quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Charged.
Every turn of the wagon wheel seemed louder than usual.
When we reached the house, I carried Clara's bag inside.
She watched me.
“You are nervous.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I have crossed flooded rivers more calmly.”
Clara's expression softened.
“So have I.”
That surprised me.
“You're afraid?”
“A little.”
My stomach tightened.
“We don't have to do anything.”
“I know.”
“You can sleep in your room.”
“I know.”
“I can sleep in the barn.”
“Elias.”
I stopped.
Clara walked toward me.
She was wearing a pale-blue nightdress beneath a cream robe.
Her hair was completely loose.
I had never seen her look more beautiful.
She placed one hand against my chest.
“Listen carefully.”
I nodded.
“I chose to come to Copper Hollow.”
“Yes.”
“I chose to remain.”
“Yes.”
“I chose to marry you.”
“Yes.”
“And tonight, if I want you to stop, I will tell you.”
My voice was barely audible.
“Yes.”
She slid her hand upward until her fingers touched my beard.
“But you must also understand something.”
“What?”