She wore a deep green wool dress cut comfortably around her natural waist, a coat he had ordered in her proper size, and no corset beneath it.
Her aunt saw immediately.
The older woman came out of the mercantile as though summoned by scandal itself.
“What are you wearing?”
The bride stopped.
The mountain man stood beside her.
He said nothing.
Her aunt approached.
“Where is your foundation garment?”
The bride almost laughed.
“In a trunk.”
“You cannot walk through town like that.”
“I just did.”
People were watching.
Her aunt lowered her voice.
“Your figure.”
“What about it?”
The older woman blinked.
For years, the bride had never made her complete the cruelty aloud.
Now she waited.
Her aunt’s mouth tightened.
“You look indecent.”
The bride glanced down.
High collar.
Long sleeves.
Ankle-length skirt.
Then back.
“No.”
“I look comfortable.”
Her aunt’s face reddened.
“You have become insolent.”
The mountain man shifted.
The bride touched his arm.
He stopped.
Her choice.
Her father appeared from the mercantile.
He looked older than two months earlier.
The draft horses apparently had not improved his disposition.
“You.”
The bride’s stomach clenched.
The mountain man stood straighter.
Her father ignored him.
“You were supposed to write.”
“I had nothing to say.”
Her father stared.
Then:
“The horses are useless.”
The mountain man blinked.
“They’re draft horses.”
“One kicks.”
“Only when you stand behind him.”
“How would you know?”
“He kicked me.”
The bride bit the inside of her cheek.
Wrong moment to laugh.
Her father pointed.
“You owe me another animal.”
The mountain man’s face hardened.
The bride stepped forward.
“No.”
Her father looked at her.
“This is between men.”
“No.”
She surprised herself.
The word sounded strong.
“That agreement concerned me.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“You know nothing about agreements.”
“I know you signed one.”
His face changed.
Barely.
Enough.
The bride continued.
“You accepted twenty dollars and two horses to cancel every false debt you claimed I owed.”
People nearby stopped pretending not to listen.
Her aunt hissed:
“Lower your voice.”
The bride raised it.
“And you signed that you had no claim over my wages, property or labor.”
Her father’s face reddened.
“That mountain animal filled your head with nonsense.”
“No.”
“He gave me the paper.”
“Paper means nothing.”
A new voice answered.
“County clerk might disagree.”
Everyone turned.
The clerk stood outside his office holding a ledger.
The mountain man looked almost amused.
The clerk continued.
“Release was recorded.”
Her father stared.
“What?”
“Two weeks ago.”
The bride looked toward her husband.
“You recorded it?”
He nodded.
“When?”
“Supply rider took it.”