Sadie looked at the mountain.
Then at the cabin.
Then at him.
“No.”
His jaw shifted.
Almost a smile.
Sadie narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t look too pleased.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re practically glowing.”
“I don’t glow.”
“You do now.”
He actually laughed.
Sadie had rarely heard Gideon laugh.
It changed his whole face.
Then he became serious.
“I told you I didn’t need romance.”
“I remember that too.”
“I was wrong.”
Sadie’s heart began pounding.
Gideon continued.
“I don’t expect anything.”
“You’re terrible at courting.”
“I’ve been informed.”
“By whom?”
“Ruth.”
Sadie laughed.
He looked at her with such quiet tenderness that the laughter faded.
“I loved Rebecca,” he said.
“I know.”
“I always will.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make this less real.”
Sadie reached for his hand.
“No.”
He looked down at their joined fingers.
Then up.
“Sadie?”
“Yes?”
“Would you marry me?”
She stared at him.
“We are married.”
“I know.”
“Did you strike your head harder in that storm than we thought?”
“I mean properly.”
He stood.
“I married you because Rebecca sent me after you. You married me because Nora was sick and Oakhaven was cruel.”
“That is not the most romantic summary.”
“I told you I’m bad at this.”
“Yes.”
Gideon took both her hands.
“So I’m asking again.”
Sadie’s eyes burned.
“Why?”
“Because when the roof leaks, you swear at it like it insulted your ancestors.”
She laughed through tears.
“Because you sing badly.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
He continued.
“Because you saved Nora. Because Caleb trusts you. Because the boys behave when you raise one eyebrow.”
“They fear me.”
“So do I.”
“Good.”
“And because this place stopped feeling like a grave after you arrived.”
Sadie stopped smiling.
Gideon lifted her hands.
“I’m asking because I love you.”
For most of her adult life, Sadie had believed certain doors were permanently closed.
Motherhood.
Belonging.
Love without pity.
She had been wrong.
“Yes.”
Gideon exhaled.
She smiled.
“But we are not giving Reverend Alden another coin.”
“Agreed.”
He kissed her.
Slowly.
Gently.
While five children spying from the cabin window failed spectacularly at remaining quiet.
Benjamin cheered.
Ruth shushed him.
Nora shouted, “Again!”
Sadie broke away laughing.
Gideon muttered, “We should sell them.”
Caleb appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Pritchard know anyone?”
For one stunned second nobody moved.
Then Gideon roared with laughter.
Sadie laughed so hard she had to hold his coat.
Even Caleb laughed.
Especially Caleb.
Summer came late to Elk Ridge.
Wildflowers pushed through the final patches of snow.
Sadie planted beans beside the cabin.
Ruth planted onions.
Benjamin planted three buttons because Eli told him shirts grew underground.
Nora planted a wooden spoon.
And Caleb buried something beneath the cottonwood behind the house.
Sadie saw him from the porch.
“What are you doing?”
He brushed dirt from his knees.
“Come see.”
A small wooden marker stood beneath the tree.
Sadie approached.
Carved into it were two names.
Rebecca Vale.
And beneath it:
Amos Whitcomb.
Sadie’s throat closed.
Caleb shrugged.
“They both tried to get me home.”
She touched the rough wood.
“Yes.”
Caleb stood beside her.
For a while neither spoke.
Then he pulled something from his pocket.
