Page 17 of Charlotte

“One of the better ones I’ve heard about sheep.”

His brow moved slightly. “You’ve heard many?”

“More than most sheep, I expect.”

There it was again. Almost a smile. Hidden quickly, but not quickly enough. Lottie felt an unreasonable triumph.

He glanced toward the church steps. “Mrs. Schulte said you were speaking with Mrs. Montgomery about books.”

“Yes. She thinks the meeting hall may do for the first sorting.”

“It will.”

“You sound certain.”

“It’s dry. Big enough. Has tables.”

“Those are excellent library qualities.”

“It was built for meetings.”

“A library is a meeting between a person and a book.”

He looked at her then. Truly looked. “You believe that?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated, as if the words meant something different in his mouth.

A pair of young loggers passed nearby. One opened his mouth as if to say something. Mr. Peterson’s gaze moved to him, and the man seemed to think better of it. The logger tugged his hat down and kept walking.

Lottie noticed.

“You do that very well,” she said.

“What?”

“Make men reconsider.”

He looked faintly alarmed by the praise. “Most men should.”

“That is true.” She folded her hands around her Bible. “Do you reconsider often?”

His face closed by degrees. “Often enough.”

Too far, perhaps.

Lottie looked down at the Bible in her hands and rubbed her thumb along the worn edge. She had promised herself last night she would not build too much, but she hadn’t promised she wouldn’t ask anything at all.

“Mr. Peterson?”

He waited.

“Do you still intend to marry me?”

The question landed between them with the force of something far heavier than words. A bird called from the trees. Down the hill, someone laughed. The river kept moving below the churchyard, and Mr. Peterson took a long pause before moving. His hand tightened around his hat.

“That’s not a question for churchyard gossip,” he said.