The huge man who had ridden through battle looked frightened of one woman at a kitchen table.
“I love you too.”
He breathed out.
Then:
“That seems useful.”
She kicked his boot beneath the table.
He smiled.
“I don't want you to wait.”
Clara looked at him.
“I need to say it.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
“You don't know how long—”
“I know.”
He stopped.
She continued.
“Don't tell me not to wait because you're afraid waiting gives you responsibility for what I choose.”
Elias stared.
She had learned him too well.
“If I wait, I wait.”
“If I don't, I don't.”
“You do your part.”
“I'll do mine.”
He squeezed her hand.
“What is my part?”
“Come back if you can.”
His eyes filled.
“I can promise to try.”
“That's all.”
He stayed that night.
No jokes about the bench.
No pretense.
In the morning, Clara packed him bread, cured meat, and two slices of appleless pie.
Elias held the parcel.
“For morale?”
“For deception.”
He kissed her.
Long.
Then mounted.
Clara watched him ride away again.
This time she did not cry until he vanished.
War ended in April 1865.
News arrived before Elias did.
Bells.
Shouting.
Relief.
Then assassination.
Grief.
Confusion.
Men returned home missing arms.
Legs.
Friends.
Some did not return.
May.
June.
No Elias.
Clara received one letter.
Washington.
Alive.
Work delayed.
July.
Another.
Philadelphia.
Testimony.
Alive.
August.
Nothing.
September.
Nothing.
Clara hated September.
The orchard behind the cabin had begun producing again.
Small apples.
Not many.
Real ones.
She picked three.
Placed them on the table.
Stared.
Then made cracker pie instead.
Spite.
October came.
One morning Clara heard a horse.
She stopped.
Did not breathe.
Four hoofbeats.
Pause.
Four.
She walked to the door.
Opened.
Elias sat on a chestnut horse.
Not his old one.
His beard shorter.
Hair cut.
Coat cleaner.
Thin scar along his temple she had never seen.
Clara stood.
Neither moved.
Then Elias lifted a paper parcel.
“I brought apples.”
Clara laughed and cried at the same time.
“You idiot.”
He dismounted.
She ran the last six steps.
Elias caught her.
They nearly fell into the mud.
He kissed her.
She hit his shoulder.
He kissed her again.
“You didn't write.”
“I did.”