In front of everybody.
And when she said yes, Cinder Creek erupted in noise.
They married three days later.
Not because of gossip.
Not because of money.
Because neither saw sense in waiting for happiness after learning how quickly life could take it away.
The ceremony was held beneath the cottonwoods beside the creek.
Annie carried wildflowers.
Rose cried before Mabel did.
Clara interrupted the preacher to ask whether Gideon was her papa now.
The preacher coughed.
Half the town laughed.
Gideon crouched before Clara.
“If you want me to be.”
Clara threw her arms around his neck.
That was when Gideon cried.
Only once.
Only one tear.
But Mabel saw it.
So did Annie.
Later, when Gideon kissed his bride beneath a sky blazing orange and gold, no one noticed Abel Voss watching from a distant hill.
No one saw him turn his horse toward town.
And no one knew he had just realized he was running out of time.
Two weeks later, Annie found the box.
She had been searching the hayloft for a missing kitten when one floorboard shifted.
Beneath it lay an old iron strongbox.
“Gideon!”
The family gathered in the barn.
Gideon stared at the box.
“I’ve never seen it.”
Mabel knelt beside it.
Rust covered the hinges.
On the lid were two letters.
N.C.
Gideon stopped breathing.
Mabel noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is not nothing.”
Gideon knelt slowly.
His hands shook.
“N.C.,” he whispered.
“What does it mean?”
He did not answer.
He broke the rusted lock with a hammer.
Inside were old survey maps.
Land documents.
Letters wrapped in oilcloth.
And a photograph.
Gideon lifted it.
The image showed two boys standing beside a grim-looking man.
One boy was perhaps seventeen.
The other no older than nine.
Mabel looked from the photograph to Gideon.
“That’s you.”
He nodded.
“And the older boy?”
Gideon could barely speak.
“My brother.”
Mabel picked up the photograph.
Something bothered her.
She moved toward the barn door where sunlight was stronger.
The older boy had dark hair.
A crooked smile.
And on his left eyebrow, barely visible, a pale crescent-shaped scar.
Mabel’s hands began trembling.
“No.”
Gideon looked at her.
“What?”
She ran.
“Mabel!”
She crossed the yard, burst through the house, climbed the stairs, and tore open the wooden case containing Nathan’s few belongings.
She found his photograph.
The one taken on their wedding day.
She carried it downstairs.
Gideon entered behind her.
Mabel placed the photographs side by side.
Seventeen-year-old boy.
Thirty-year-old husband.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
Same crescent scar.
The room disappeared around her.
Gideon whispered, “No.”
Mabel looked at him.
“What was your brother’s name?”
Gideon’s face had gone white.
“Nathaniel Cross.”
The silence that followed was enormous.
Mabel sat down because her legs stopped working.
“My husband’s full name was Nathan Elias Harlo.”
Gideon picked up the old photograph.
“He ran away at seventeen. My father beat him nearly to death. Nathan fought back. He left that night.”
“Why change his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said he died.”
“We received word years later that Nathan Cross had been killed near Cheyenne.”
