She had placed it there after the night with the blue ribbon.
Not because she needed proof anymore.
Because she liked remembering the distance between the woman who wrote it and the woman standing there now.
The first Clara believed love required warning a man about her face.
The second understood that real love had never been blind.
Elias saw her clearly.
That was precisely why it mattered.
Summer turned the meadow green.
Clara planted a garden.
Elias constructed a ridiculous fence around it after deer ate half the lettuce.
“You built a fortress.”
“They're thieves.”
“They’re deer.”
“Same thing.”
She laughed.
They traveled into Laramie twice a month.
People who remembered Clara arriving began recognizing them together.
The shopkeeper called her Mrs. Mercer.
The first time, Clara nearly turned around to find someone else.
Elias noticed.
“You hate it?”
“No.”
“You looked strange.”
“I’m adjusting.”
“To what?”
She took his hand.
“To belonging somewhere.”
He squeezed her fingers.
That afternoon, they passed the stagecoach stop.
Clara stopped.
Same road.
Same dusty platform.
Different season.
She could almost see herself descending.
Terrified.
Waiting for disappointment.
Elias followed her gaze.
“You were shaking.”
“You noticed?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“You looked ready to bite somebody.”
Clara laughed.
“I asked you to tell me I warned you.”
“I had no idea what you meant.”
“I thought you were disappointed.”
Elias turned toward her.
“I was thinking something very different.”
“What?”
He smiled.
“I thought, Lord, she’s prettier than I expected and I'm going to make an idiot of myself.”
Clara stared.
“You never told me that.”
“You didn't ask correctly.”
She slapped his arm.
Elias laughed.
Clara shook her head.
“Eight months.”
“What?”
“I tortured myself for eight months.”
“Technically six.”
“Elias.”
He raised both hands.
“Sorry.”
She smiled.
Then looked at the road where the stagecoach had disappeared.
“Would you do it again?”
“What?”
“Write to a stranger.”
He considered.
“No.”
Clara's heart dropped slightly.
Then he added:
“I already found mine.”
She stared.
“You rehearsed that.”
“For months.”
“Terrible.”
“Worked.”
It had.
Their first anniversary arrived during an early snow.
Clara cooked roast chicken.
Elias brought flowers he had somehow found in Laramie despite the weather.
Half frozen.
Beautiful.
After supper, he handed her a small box.
Inside was a ribbon.
Blue.
Clara laughed.