Exactly.
Mercy smiled.
“Rebecca would have done the same.”
His expression changed.
Mercy immediately regretted saying it.
But Thomas reached for her hand.
“Probably.”
The answer surprised her.
Then he continued.
“But I wasn’t thinking about Rebecca when you fell.”
Mercy’s heart thudded.
“I was thinking that I could not lose you.”
She looked away.
“Thomas—”
“I loved my wife.”
“I know.”
“I’ll love her until I die.”
“You should.”
He tightened his fingers around hers.
“But loving someone who died doesn’t mean the living part of you has to die beside them.”
Mercy’s eyes filled.
Thomas swallowed.
“I thought I wanted a capable woman.”
She laughed softly.
“That unfortunate advertisement.”
“I thought I needed someone to cook and mend and keep the boys alive.”
“And?”
“I was an idiot.”
“That conclusion took longer than expected.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I need you.”
Mercy’s breath caught.
“Not because of the stove. Not because of the boys. Not because you’re Rebecca’s sister.”
He leaned closer.
“Because when you enter a room, I look for you. When something happens, you’re the person I want to tell. When you laugh, this house sounds alive.”
Tears slid down Mercy’s cheeks.
Thomas whispered, “I love you.”
Mercy had believed the most frightening words in the world were goodbye.
She discovered she was wrong.
Sometimes the most frightening words were the ones offering you something worth losing.
“I love you too,” she said.
Thomas closed his eyes.
Mercy squeezed his hand.
“But I’m not marrying you Saturday.”
His eyes opened.
She smiled.
“June.”
He kissed her hand.
“May.”
“June.”
“May fifteenth.”
“June first.”
“Done.”
Mercy narrowed her eyes.
“That was suspiciously easy.”
Thomas smiled.
“I’ve learned when I’m beaten.”
From the hallway Caleb called, “No, you haven’t.”
By spring, the Bell ranch looked transformed.
Not rich.
Not perfect.
Alive.
Curtains moved in open windows.
Boots accumulated beside the back door.
Bread cooled on the kitchen table.
Someone was always shouting.
Someone was always hungry.
And the grave beneath the cottonwood no longer looked abandoned.
Mercy went there often.
Rebecca Bell.
Beloved wife.
Beloved mother.
Mercy added wildflowers.
Sometimes she spoke.
Sometimes she merely sat.
On the morning of Mercy’s wedding, she went alone.
“I’m angry at you,” she told the stone.
Birds moved through spring branches overhead.
“I waited twenty-one years to find you and you weren’t here.”
Her voice cracked.
“That was very inconsiderate.”
She smiled through tears.
“I have your boys now.”
Wind stirred the grass.
“Though between us, you spoiled the twins.”
Mercy touched the stone.
“And Thomas…”
She hesitated.
“I hope this doesn’t feel like I’m taking something that belonged to you.”
Behind her came a voice.
“It doesn’t.”
Mercy spun.
Caleb stood several yards away.
He held an envelope.
“I didn’t mean to listen.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Then you’re remarkably bad at not listening.”
He approached.
“I was supposed to give you this after the wedding.”
“What is it?”
Caleb looked nervous.
“I think before is better.”
Mercy accepted the envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
Not Rebecca’s handwriting.
Caleb’s.
She looked up.
“What is this?”
“The truth.”
Something in his tone made her stomach tighten.
“What truth?”
Caleb sat beside the grave.
“You know how Pa’s advertisement appeared in the Missouri paper?”
Mercy frowned.
“He placed it.”
