Daniel Mercer had imagined his wedding night in a hundred different ways.
None of them included his wife crying alone.
He stopped in the bedroom doorway with his coat folded over one forearm and his shirt half untucked from the long day.
The cabin was warm.
A fire burned brightly inside the stone hearth, filling the room with orange light that moved across the log walls and heavy wooden furniture.
Outside, the September wind had turned unexpectedly cold.
The mountains beyond the window were already losing their last light.
Inside, Emily sat curled on the far edge of the bed.
A thick brown wool blanket surrounded her sturdy, full figure.
Her white nightgown showed only at the shoulders and neckline.
Tiny flowers from the wedding were still tangled in her chestnut hair.
Her head was bowed.
Her shoulders trembled.
Daniel stared.
For several seconds, he could not move.
“Emily?”
She went completely still.
That frightened him more than the crying.
He took one careful step inside.
“Emily.”
She wiped her face quickly.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel felt something sink inside his chest.
Sorry.
Of all the words she could have chosen, that was the one he feared most.
He placed the coat slowly over the back of a chair.
“For what?”
Emily did not answer.
He looked toward the bed.
Then toward her.
His voice became quieter.
“For marrying me?”
Her head snapped up.
“No.”
The force of the answer surprised him.
“No,” she repeated.
Tears shone on her round cheeks.
“Never that.”
Daniel stood motionless.
“Then tell me what happened.”
Emily looked down again.
Her hands tightened beneath the blanket.
Daniel waited.
He had spent most of his adult life learning patience from animals, weather, and land.
A frightened horse could not be hurried.
A drought could not be threatened.
A broken fence could be cursed at, but it still required nails.
Yet standing six feet from the woman he loved while she cried, patience felt almost impossible.
“Did someone say something today?”
Emily shook her head.
“Did I?”
Another shake.
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
Daniel looked toward the floor.
“Then I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
That hurt.
He turned toward the fireplace because looking directly at her suddenly felt like pressure.
For two years he had imagined bringing Emily into this room.
Not just this room.
This life.
He had imagined waking before dawn and finding her asleep beside him.
He had imagined coffee at the kitchen table.
Her books on the shelf.
Her shawl hanging beside his coat.
Children running between the barn and the house.
Christmas mornings.
Summer storms.
Ordinary arguments.
Gray hair.
All the things a lonely man allowed himself to picture only when nobody was around to see how badly he wanted them.
Now Emily looked as though the bed itself frightened her.
Daniel reached for the buttons of his shirt.
Emily lifted her head.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
Her face changed.
“Daniel.”
“I’ll sleep in the other room.”
“We don’t have another room.”
“I’ll take the chair.”
“That chair will break your back.”
“I’ve slept on rock.”
“That doesn’t make the chair sensible.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then seriousness returned.
“I won’t touch you.”
Emily stared.
“Tonight.”
He pulled the shirt closed.
“Tomorrow.”
His jaw tightened.
“Ever, if that’s what you want.”
Her mouth opened.
Daniel looked away before she could see everything that sentence cost him.
He had not married Emily because he wanted legal ownership of her.
He had not waited two years because he expected payment for patience.