“I was building somewhere I wanted to stay.”
Meadow's eyes filled.
Jedediah continued:
“I don't know what kind of husband I can be.”
“I can't dance.”
“Can't stand when you walk into a room.”
“Can't carry you over a threshold unless you sit in my lap and somebody pulls us both.”
Meadow laughed through tears.
Jedediah smiled.
“But I can build.”
“Work.”
“Think.”
“Love you if you'll let me.”
Meadow looked at the ring.
“You made that?”
“Three times.”
“What happened to first two?”
“Ugly.”
“This one's ugly.”
“Then no ring.”
He closed his fist.
Meadow grabbed his wrist.
“Open it.”
He did.
She took the ring.
Held it.
Then looked into his eyes.
“You haven't asked me anything.”
Jedediah blinked.
Meadow smiled.
“You mountain men terrible at proposals?”
“Usually more mobile.”
She laughed.
He took a breath.
“Meadow Green.”
His voice shook.
“Will you marry me?”
She slid the ring onto her finger.
A little loose.
“I suppose.”
Jedediah stared.
“Suppose?”
She kissed him again.
Longer.
When she pulled away, his face looked dazed.
“Yes.”
That night they sat by the fire.
Not sleeping.
Talking.
Kissing occasionally.
More than occasionally.
Meadow discovered Jedediah's desire had no pity in it.
He touched her like her body was not something to tolerate but something he had spent months trying not to reach for.
That changed her.
When he pulled her onto the wide chair he had built and she worried about weight, he laughed.
“I built it for you.”
“For sitting.”
“I overbuilt.”
Meadow slapped his shoulder.
He kissed her neck.
She caught his hair.
They stopped before desire carried them somewhere neither had prepared to go.
Jedediah whispered against her cheek, “You know I meant what I said.”
“Which dangerous sentence?”
“About where I sleep.”
Meadow smiled.
“Not tonight.”
He groaned.
She laughed.
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow you'll build a bed strong enough for both of us.”
Jedediah stared.
Then grinned.
“Yes, ma'am.”
He built it.
Of course he did.
Their wedding happened quietly in March.
No mayor.
No Oak Haven square.
Reverend Samuel Pike came to the farm.
Lewis Pike served as witness.
So did Marta Evans, Meadow's closest neighbor.
Jedediah wore a clean white shirt.
Meadow wore Samuel Green's old silver brooch pinned at her collar.
Jedediah noticed.
Said nothing.
After the vows, Meadow explained.
“I loved him.”
“I know.”
“I won't pretend I didn't.”
Jedediah took her hand.
“I don't want you to.”
She looked at him.
He continued:
“He loved you before me.”
“Good.”
“Means he had sense.”
Meadow cried.
Jedediah pretended not to notice until she accused him of crying too.
He denied it.
Poorly.
Their marriage changed less than people expected.
They had already been partners.
Now the partnership had a name.
Jedediah moved into Meadow's bedroom after constructing the strongest bed frame Oak Haven had probably ever seen.
Meadow teased him relentlessly.