She said, “No.”
“Most don’t.”
“You read Shakespeare?”
“Badly.”
“Still counts.”
Lucien set a bucket of water near the stove.
Then pointed toward bed.
“That’s yours.”
Sadie’s pulse jumped.
“And yours?”
He looked toward hearth.
“There.”
“You’re sleeping on the floor.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as you want.”
Sadie stared.
Lucien went to the table.
He removed a small iron key from his pocket.
Placed it in his palm.
Walked toward her.
Sadie stiffened.
He stopped an arm’s length away.
Then held out the key.
“Door locks from inside.”
She looked down.
“Only key?”
“Yes.”
“Why give it to me?”
“Because I’m going outside to wash.”
“What if I lock you out?”
“Then I sleep in shed.”
Sadie looked at his face.
No joke.
She took the key.
His hand withdrew immediately.
The weight of it seemed enormous.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Sadie closed fingers around it.
Then asked the question that had followed her for three days.
“If you didn’t want a wife, why did you ask for me?”
Lucien’s face changed.
There it was again.
That guarded pain.
He walked toward the table.
For a moment she thought he would refuse.
Instead he moved a leather pouch aside.
Beneath it lay an old envelope.
Yellowed.
Sealed with cracked wax.
Beside it sat a folded document.
Lucien placed both in front of Sadie.
“Sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
He nodded.
Sadie looked at the envelope.
On the front, faded ink.
Her name.
Miss Sadie Miller
The handwriting struck her harder than a slap.
She knew it.
Her father’s.
Her knees nearly failed.
She grabbed the table.
“Where did you get that?”
Lucien answered softly.
“Your father gave it to mine.”
Sadie looked up.
“What?”
“Two months before he died.”
Her breathing changed.
“My father knew your family?”
“Yes.”
“He never mentioned you.”
“You were eleven.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
Sadie reached for the envelope.
Her fingers shook.
The wax had already been broken long ago.
She looked at Lucien accusingly.
“My father told mine to read it if something happened.”
“Your father read my letter?”
“It wasn’t only yours.”
Lucien unfolded the other paper.
A deed.
Sadie recognized enough legal language to understand land.
The names were harder.
Samuel Miller
Then:
Sadie Anne Miller
Her own.
“What is this?”
“Your land.”
She stared.
“I don’t own land.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“Cobb owns nearly everything around Oak Haven.”
“Not this.”
Lucien pointed.
“Six hundred and forty acres across Miller Pass.”
Sadie blinked.
“Miller Pass?”