Page 24 of Charlotte

Lottie saw it because she was watching him. Delly saw it too.

Her sister’s face softened by such a small degree no one else might have noticed. Then she placed her hand in his.

Preacher Sutton began.

Lottie had read about many weddings in the books she devoured. She had imagined more than she would ever admit to Delly. Weddings in books were often full of candlelight, trembling voices, and declarations fit to make a woman close the page and press it to her heart.

This was different.

There were no grand declarations. No orchestra of feeling. No paragraph in which the bride’s whole soul lifted like a lark into morning.

There were only two people standing in a frontier church while the sun came low through the windows and the whole town lifted them up in prayer.

Preacher Sutton spoke the vows slowly.

To have and to hold.

In sickness and in health.

Till death us do part.

The words were familiar. Lottie knew them. Everyone knew them.

They did not sound familiar when Jebediah Simms repeated them.

They sounded heavy in the way bread was heavy when too much flour was added. Or the way a bucket of water seemed to gain weight when it was carried uphill because someone needed it. The words were not a declaration for love. They were the shape love promised to take when feeling was not enough to carry it.

Lottie looked toward the back of the church.

Mr. Peterson’s gaze was fixed on Jeb, but not on his face. He stared at Jeb’s hands.

The realization came quietly but strongly. Peterson was watching the way Jeb held Delly’s fingers. Carefully. Fully. With both hands.

Lottie looked down at Peterson’s right hand, hidden away as always. Understanding pressed lightly against her heart. It wasn’t absolute, but now she knew.

When it was Delly’s turn, her voice held. Barely.

Lottie’s eyes filled despite her best efforts. This was ridiculous because Delly would strongly object to anyone weeping over her practical arrangement, and Lottie had already cried twice since arriving in Wild Rose Ridge. She blinked hard and failed.

Beside her, Val slipped a handkerchief into her fingers without looking away from the ceremony.

“Thank you,” Lottie whispered.

Val smiled. “Weddings have a way of finding the soft places inside us.”

“They do not ask for permission.”

“No,” Val said. “The important things rarely do.”

At the front, Preacher Sutton said, “You may kiss your bride.” Jeb looked down at Delly. Lottie held her breath along with the rest of the church.

He bent and kissed her forehead.

Not her mouth. Her forehead.

It was warm, brief, and so full of restraint Lottie felt the whole church soften around it. This was not a man claiming what he had a right to take. This was a man promising he knew the difference between a vow and possession.

Lottie lowered her gaze quickly because looking at them felt almost too intimate. When she looked up again, Peterson was looking at her. The question was still there. Or perhaps she only wanted it to be.