Beatrice laughed.
Then he became serious.
“Were you afraid of me?”
“At first.”
Caleb’s face fell slightly despite decades.
“Why?”
“You were large.”
He looked offended.
“You had a revolver.”
“Reasonable.”
“And a scar.”
“That did nothing.”
“It was dramatic.”
Caleb smiled.
“But mostly…”
She looked at him.
“I had spent years learning that men who controlled where I lived usually wanted something.”
Caleb’s expression softened.
“When did you stop being afraid?”
Beatrice thought.
Not church.
Not the wagon.
Not when he lifted her from it.
Then she knew.
“The stew.”
“What?”
“Our first dinner.”
“When you told me about poison?”
“Yes.”
“That made you less afraid?”
“No.”
Beatrice smiled.
“You offered me an annulment.”
Caleb remembered.
“I thought you looked hurt.”
“I was.”
“Then why?”
“Because I realized my hurt belonged to me.”
He frowned.
She continued.
“You weren’t using it to control my answer.”
Caleb became quiet.
“You gave me a choice that could cost you.”
She touched his hand.
“That was when I began to trust you.”
He looked at their joined hands.
“I was terrified you’d leave.”
“I know.”
“You almost did?”
“No.”
Caleb smiled.
“Good.”
Beatrice leaned back.
“What about you?”
“When did you love me?”
He answered too quickly.
“The meadow.”
She blinked.
“What meadow?”
“After Nathaniel.”
“When you kissed me?”
“Before.”
“How far before?”
“When you told me I watched doors.”
“That was you telling me.”
“Right.”
Caleb frowned.
“Then earlier.”
Beatrice waited.
“The boots.”
She laughed.
“My painful wedding shoes made you love me?”
“No.”
“When?”
“You refused to throw them away because things cost money.”
Beatrice laughed harder.
“That is the least romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“I respected it.”
“Respect is not love.”
“No.”
Caleb smiled.
“Then maybe church.”
Her laughter stopped.
“You didn’t know me.”
“I know.”
“So?”
He looked toward the fire.
“When Cole insulted you, I expected you to cry.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
“Charming.”
“You didn’t.”
“Still not love.”
“You walked out with your back straight.”
Caleb continued.
“And I thought anyone who could walk like that while a whole room tried to make her smaller was stronger than everyone inside it.”
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
“You still didn’t know me.”
“No.”
He squeezed her hand.
“But maybe some part of me wanted to.”
That was enough.
Caleb died the following spring.
Not dramatically.
He went to bed tired.
Beatrice woke before dawn and found his hand still holding hers.
For several minutes she did nothing.
She knew.
The physician’s part of her mind knew.