“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He remained kneeling.
She laughed.
“Thomas.”
“I want to make sure.”
“Yes.”
He stood so quickly he nearly knocked over the chair.
Then kissed her.
Samuel’s letter rested on the table beside them.
Not between them.
Beside them.
That mattered.
The bank accepted the original payment documents.
More importantly, Ezra’s ledger exposed six other fraudulent balances.
Amos Crowley fled before authorities could question him.
He was arrested three counties away.
Several families recovered land they had believed lost.
Mrs. Delaney declared Clara and Thomas heroes.
Clara corrected her.
“Samuel and Ezra found it.”
Thomas agreed.
They had merely finished what others began.
Spring arrived early.
Cottonwoods greened.
Willow Creek rose with snowmelt.
Thomas asked Clara whether she wanted to marry at church.
She said no.
Too many people.
At her house?
Too many memories.
At his ranch?
“Your curtain is still crooked.”
Thomas stared at the window.
“You cannot reject a wedding site because of a curtain.”
“I can.”
He fixed it that afternoon.
They chose the bridge.
The place between.
Not Clara’s old life.
Not Thomas’s new ranch.
The crossing.
Reverend Pike stood at the center beneath cottonwood branches.
Mrs. Delaney brought flowers.
Half the county appeared despite being told the ceremony was small.
Clara wore dark blue.
Samuel once told her blue made her eyes look brighter.
Thomas wore a black coat and looked physically uncomfortable in formal clothing.
“You're sweating.”
Clara whispered.
“I am being strangled by civilization.”
“That is a collar.”
“Same thing.”
She laughed.
Reverend Pike smiled.
“Shall I continue?”
“Yes,” Clara said.
“Please,” Thomas added.
When vows came, Thomas reached into his coat.
He produced a folded letter.
Clara’s eyebrow rose.
“You prepared.”
“I've had practice.”
He did not read it.
Instead he handed it to her.
“For later.”
Then spoke aloud.
“I spent a year believing the best part of my week was a piece of paper with your handwriting on it.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“Then you crossed a bridge carrying pie and ruined letters for me permanently.”
People laughed.
Thomas smiled.
“Because now I know your voice.”
“Your laugh.”
“How you look when annoyed.”
“How much cinnamon you put in everything.”
“How terrible you are at accepting help.”
Clara whispered:
“You are ruining your own vows.”
“I know.”
He took both hands.
“I promise never to make you smaller so I can feel larger.”
“I promise never to treat your strength as permission to abandon you with the burden.”
“And I promise that Samuel's name will always be welcome wherever we live.”
Clara could no longer stop the tears.
When her turn came, she took a moment.
“Thomas, I wrote to a stranger because I was lonely.”