Thomas looked miserable.
“I don’t want you wondering whether you have to marry me to stay secure.”
Mercy’s eyes filled.
He tapped the contract.
“So that stands either way.”
She whispered:
“Thomas.”
He reached into his pocket.
A simple ring.
Mercy started crying immediately.
Thomas panicked.
“I haven’t asked.”
“I know.”
“Should I stop?”
“No.”
He breathed.
Then lowered himself onto one knee.
Mercy covered her mouth.
From the hallway came a suspicious scraping sound.
Seven boys were absolutely listening.
Thomas heard too.
Ignored them.
“Mercy Calloway.”
“Yes?”
“I wrote an advertisement because I thought I needed somebody to cook, clean, and keep this place from collapsing.”
She smiled through tears.
“I was wrong.”
“You did need that.”
A boy in the hall snorted.
Thomas glared toward the door.
Then looked back.
“I needed help.”
“But I want you.”
Mercy’s expression changed.
There.
The distinction she needed.
Thomas continued:
“I want your laugh.”
“Your lists.”
“Your terrible habit of moving everything in the pantry.”
“You move them wrong.”
“I want that too.”
She laughed.
“I want the woman who tells me when I’m failing my sons.”
“The woman who reads contracts twice.”
“The woman who made this place feel like a house people choose to come home to.”
His voice became rough.
“I love you.”
The room went silent.
Even the boys stopped breathing outside.
Thomas held up the ring.
“Marry me.”
Mercy looked down at him.
Then toward the contract.
Then toward the hallway.
She could see the edge of a boot.
Seven boys waiting.
Again.
Just like the first supper.
Waiting to learn whether another woman would leave.
Mercy looked at Thomas.
“Yes.”
The hallway exploded.
Seven boys crashed into the kitchen.
Jonah reached Mercy first.
Then Isaac.
Then Owen.
Thomas barely managed to stand before Matthew slapped his back hard enough to nearly push him into the table.
Caleb remained near the doorway.
Smiling.
Only smiling.
Mercy met his eyes.
He nodded.
That was enough.
They married in June.
Small ceremony.
Ranch yard.
Neighbors.
Edwin returned.
The boys wore shirts Mercy had spent weeks repairing.
Thomas wore a dark suit that fit badly across his shoulders.
Mercy wore deep green.
Not white.
She had no objection to white.
She simply liked green better.
The dress was plain.
Solid color.
Soft neckline.
Comfortable waist.
No corset.
No attempt to reduce her into someone else’s shape.
When Thomas saw her, his expression became so openly stunned that Matthew whispered:
“Pa forgot how words work.”
Everyone laughed.
Thomas did not care.
After the ceremony, he kissed Mercy gently.
Seven boys complained loudly.
Mercy laughed against his mouth.
That night, after supper and noise and music, the house became quiet.
Mercy stood inside the bedroom.
Not her old room.
Thomas’s larger room.
Now theirs.
She suddenly became nervous.