Her future husband.
Miles opened the door.
The cabin interior surprised her.
Clean.
Not perfectly.
But cared for.
Fireplace.
Heavy table.
Shelves of books.
Rifles above the mantle.
A cooking stove.
Two chairs.
One bed visible behind a hanging quilt.
Stairs toward a loft.
A door near the rear wall.
Everything built for a tall man.
Everything arranged so a wheelchair could pass.
Wide spaces.
Low shelves.
No rugs to catch wheels.
Miles rolled inside.
Evelyn followed.
He pointed.
“Your trunk can go beside the bed.”
“The bed?”
“Yes.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Chair.”
She stared.
“You sleep sitting upright?”
“Sometimes.”
“You bought a wife and gave her your only bed?”
His expression barely changed.
“I did not buy you.”
Evelyn laughed once.
Sharp.
“My uncle seemed pleased with the distinction.”
Miles’s jaw tightened.
“I paid him to release his claim over your guardianship arrangements.”
“I am twenty-four.”
“I know.”
“He had no guardianship.”
“I know that too.”
“Then you paid him thirty dollars for nothing.”
Miles looked directly at her.
“Not nothing.”
She waited.
He said nothing else.
Evelyn’s frustration rose.
“What exactly do you expect from me?”
“Tonight?”
“In general.”
“Nothing you do not agree to.”
She almost believed him.
Almost.
A knock sounded.
The preacher had arrived.
Frightened-looking Reverend Doyle entered carrying snow on his shoulders.
He refused coffee.
Refused supper.
Refused to remove his coat.
Evelyn noticed his eyes kept moving toward the windows.
Miles noticed too.
“Problem, Reverend?”
“No.”
“Road trouble?”
“No.”
“You’re sweating.”
The preacher wiped his forehead.
“Fire is warm.”
The fire was six feet away.
Evelyn watched him.
Something was wrong.
The ceremony took less than seven minutes.
Miles remained seated.
Evelyn stood beside him.
He barely touched her fingers.
When Reverend Doyle asked whether Miles took Evelyn as his lawful wife, Miles answered firmly.
“I do.”
When Evelyn’s turn came, she hesitated only once.
Then:
“I do.”
Not because she understood.
Because the alternative waited back in Alder Creek wearing Vernon Carter’s face.
Reverend Doyle signed.
Miles signed.
Evelyn signed.
Three names.
One marriage.
Miles gave the preacher a silver dollar.
Too much.
The reverend took it anyway.
Then hurried outside.
Miles rolled to the window.
Watched until Doyle disappeared.
Evelyn noticed.
“You expected trouble?”
“No.”
“You keep saying no like it ends conversations.”
“Sometimes it does.”
“Not with me.”
For the first time, Miles’s mouth almost moved toward a smile.
Almost.
“Good to know.”
Evelyn cooked supper.
Not because he ordered her.
Because she needed something normal to do.
Beans.