Page 25 of Charlotte

Would she expect him to take vows with a complete hand and a whole heart when he believed he had neither? Lottie wished she knew how to tell him she was not afraid of broken things.

No. That was not right.

She was afraid. Of course, she was. Only a foolish woman would not be afraid of marrying a man who would not tell her his name, would not show his hand, and seemed determined to stand as far from hope as the room allowed.

Lottie had come west to be brave, and fear was not the same as refusal.

After the ceremony, the church erupted in congratulations. Looking dazed in a way Lottie had never seen, Delly stood beside Jeb.

Lottie waited her turn in the receiving line, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her sister.

For one startling second, Delly held herself stiff. Then her sister’s arms softened, and she hugged Lottie back.

Hard.

“I love you,” Lottie whispered.

“I know,” Delly said, but her voice had gone uneven. “Do not start crying again.”

“I am not starting. I am continuing.”

Delly gave a half-cough, half-laugh, and pulled Lottie tighter. Jebediah Simms stood beside them, quiet and watchful. Lottie looked up at him.

“You will be good to my sister. Understand?”

It came out less like a request than she had intended. Jeb’s brows lifted. Delly made a mortified sound.

“I mean it,” Lottie added, because retreat seemed pointless now. “She is difficult, bossy, and inclined to write down things no one should write down. She has loved me better than anyone in the world, and if you hurt her, I shall never forgive you.”

The corner of Jeb’s mouth moved.

“Miss Charlotte,” he said gravely, “I’ll do my best to avoid your wrath.”

“That would be wise. I have many books.”

“So, I hear.”

Delly closed her eyes. “This is unnecessary.”

“It is extremely necessary,” Lottie said.

Jeb looked at Delly then, and whatever humor had been in his face settled into something much steadier. “I know what she is worth.”

Delly looked away at once. Lottie did not. She believed him.

The knowledge eased something in her she had not realized was wound so tight.

A small reception followed in the churchyard because the hotel parlor had already done its duty the night before and because Clara’s cake deserved witnesses. Children ran along the wall. The brides gathered around Delly. The Busy Bees discussed whether this wedding counted as matchmaking success, providential intervention, or something which needed its own category on Mrs. Schulte’s list.

Lottie escaped to the edge of the churchyard with a slice of cake on a napkin and the botany book still tucked under one arm.

She found Mr. Peterson standing beneath a pine, looking toward the road leading to the camp.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

He turned. “Soon.”

“Do weddings trouble you?”