“I heard.”
“You don’t have to stop me.”
“I know.”
That answer unsettled her.
She had prepared for persuasion.
Or rejection.
Not agreement.
Elias reached slowly inside his coat.
Emma tensed.
He noticed and stopped immediately.
“Letter.”
She stared.
“May I?”
Emma nodded.
He withdrew several folded sheets of paper.
The edges were soft from being opened too many times.
Emma recognized the first page before he handed it to her.
Her handwriting.
Her original letter to the marriage bureau.
Not a copy.
The actual letter.
She looked up.
“You received this?”
“Three months ago.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Emma unfolded it.
Every paragraph remained.
Her description of herself.
Thirty-four years old.
Previously married.
Divorced.
No children.
Good health despite her size.
Skilled at household accounts.
Cooking.
Sewing.
Basic livestock care.
No intention of pretending to be a petite woman when any future husband would discover the truth the moment she stepped from the coach.
She had written one sentence twice before deciding not to erase it.
I am a very large woman, Mr. Hart. If that makes me unsuitable to you, I would rather know it before either of us spends money or hope on the journey.
Emma looked at Elias.
“You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“The bureau woman told me you’d read only what was necessary.”
“I read all of it.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around the paper.
“Then what did you write back?”
Elias pulled out another letter.
“I wrote this.”
Emma took it.
The handwriting was blunt and uneven.
Miss Whitaker,
You gave me the courtesy of honesty, so I will give you the same.
I am thirty-nine. I own land but owe money on part of it. I work too much. I am not skilled at conversation, dancing, or anything likely to impress a woman raised around civilized people. My house needs repair. My cooking could kill a strong animal.
I am looking for a wife because I am tired of building a life that ends with one plate on the table.
You say you are large. I believe you.
That is information, not a warning.
If you come to Mercy Bend, come because you wish to see whether we can build something together. Do not come because you believe a woman should be grateful any man asked.
If we meet and either of us wishes to leave, we leave honestly.
Elias Hart
Emma read the final paragraph twice.
Her throat tightened.
“I never got this.”
“I know that now.”
“You know?”
“The bureau sent me a telegram yesterday asking why I hadn’t answered your last two letters.”
“I wrote no last two letters.”
Elias’s eyes hardened.
“Exactly.”
The red-bearded man moved on the porch.
Barely.
Elias saw it.
So did Emma.
She looked toward him.
“What did you do?”
The man laughed nervously.
“Nothing.”
Elias took one step.
The sheriff moved between them.
“Elias.”
Emma looked at Sheriff Pike.
“What is his name?”
The sheriff hesitated.
“Amos Pike.”
Emma’s gaze moved between them.
“Your brother.”
Sheriff Jonah Pike nodded once.
Wonderful.
The first man to humiliate her publicly was the sheriff’s brother.
Amos spread his hands.
“All I did was tell a few men Hart’s bride was coming.”
“How did you know?” Emma asked.
Amos’s grin faltered.
“What?”
“The stage line did not know my name until yesterday.”
She stepped toward him.
Her embarrassment was burning away now.
“How did you know what I looked like?”
He said nothing.
Emma remembered the laughter beginning before she even stepped completely from the coach.