“He married someone else.”
Garrick’s jaw tightened.
“Do you want me to find him?”
Nola stared.
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
“You cannot challenge every man who disappointed me.”
“Why not?”
“Time.”
Garrick smiled.
Nola continued:
“I worked laundry.”
“Kitchen.”
“Boardinghouse.”
“Apothecary.”
“Agency.”
“Anywhere women were paid without somebody expecting ownership in return.”
Garrick’s face became serious.
“And Hollow Creek?”
“Thirty dollars sounded excellent.”
He laughed.
“Still?”
“Debatable.”
She looked toward him.
“And I wanted somewhere nobody knew me.”
“Why?”
Nola considered.
“Because eventually you become tired of being the person everyone remembers losing things.”
Garrick understood that immediately.
No explanation needed.
They sat by the spring until sunset.
Two people who had both been reduced by others to what life had taken from them.
Neither wanted that anymore.
They married the following May.
No grand event.
Hollow Creek porch.
Neighbors.
Children.
Amos.
Dr. Merritt, who complained the entire ride had ruined his back.
Nola wore an ivory dress Clara helped sew.
Garrick wore a coat he had not used since Mae’s funeral.
He almost changed.
Nola told him:
“Clothes are not graves.”
He wore it.
Mae’s photograph remained on the mantel inside the house.
Nobody removed it.
Nobody covered it.
When an older neighbor suggested that perhaps a new bride would prefer not to see the first wife’s portrait, Nola answered:
“Then the new bride would be a fool.”
The neighbor never mentioned it again.
The ceremony was simple.
When the officiant asked Garrick whether he took Nola freely, Weston whispered loudly:
“She already lives here.”
Everyone laughed.
Nola glared.
Weston smiled.
Garrick said:
“I do.”
When it was Nola’s turn, she looked at the man who had once rejected her before she crossed his porch.
“I do.”
No miracle.
No destiny speech.
Choice.
That was better.
Marriage did not make Garrick easier.
Nola discovered this within four days.
He left boots inside.
She placed them on his pillow.
He stopped.
Mostly.
He believed coffee should be strong enough to remove paint.
She disagreed.
They maintained separate pots for decades.
He overstocked cattle whenever a season looked good.
She reduced his purchase orders.
He accused her of tyranny.
She agreed.
He repaired things before she asked.
Sometimes before she knew they were broken.
She kept books so precise Eli eventually used them to learn accounting.
They argued loudly.
Loved quietly.
The children adjusted faster than adults.
Nola never demanded motherhood.
Clara called her Nola.
Eli did too.
Weston alternated between Nola and “the mean lady” when denied biscuits.
Then one winter Clara fell from a pony.