The giant mountain man looked terrified.
She leaned closer.
He did not move.
“Do I have to ask?”
he whispered.
“Yes.”
His voice was rough.
“May I kiss you?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
He moved carefully.
So carefully that she almost cried.
His hand lifted toward her face.
Stopped an inch away.
She closed the distance herself and placed his palm against her cheek.
Then he kissed her.
Softly.
Nothing claimed.
Nothing taken.
When they separated, his forehead rested against hers.
The bride whispered:
“That was disappointing.”
He pulled back in horror.
She laughed.
Then kissed him again.
Longer.
He understood the joke after several seconds.
When they finally resumed the journey, his face remained red for nearly three miles.
She enjoyed every minute.
Spring arrived late.
Snow withdrew from the meadow in patches.
Water rushed down from the mountains.
The bride planted vegetables near the cabin.
The mountain man built a larger chicken enclosure after she declared the original one “an insult to architecture.”
He pointed out that she had never built anything.
She reminded him of the murderous bench.
They argued.
The goat escaped.
Life continued.
Then one afternoon, Reverend Stokes arrived.
The bride did not welcome him warmly.
He knew.
The reverend stood on the porch turning his hat in his hands.
“I owe you an apology.”
She crossed her arms.
“Yes.”
The mountain man was repairing a harness near the barn.
He stayed there.
This belonged to her.
The reverend looked ashamed.
“Your husband asked me before the ceremony to explain the debt release.”
Her face went still.
“What?”
“He asked me to tell you that the money and horses were settlement with your father.”
The bride turned toward the barn.
The mountain man looked up.
Saw her face.
Stopped working.
The reverend continued.
“I did not.”
“Why?”
“I thought…”
He swallowed.
“I thought you might refuse the marriage.”
The bride stared.
“That was the point.”
“I believed it was a good match.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
“You decided.”
The reverend lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
She felt old anger returning.
Not against her husband this time.
Against the entire chain of men who had believed kind intentions excused removing her voice.
The reverend said:
“I was wrong.”
She looked toward the mountain man.
He approached but stopped below the porch.
The bride asked:
“You knew he didn’t tell me?”
“No.”
The reverend answered for him.
“He thought I had.”
The mountain man’s jaw tightened.
“You told me you explained everything.”
The reverend nodded miserably.