Clara touched his arm.
They sat.
Caleb told stories.
Anna hated cold mornings.
Jacob once hid a frog in her shoe.
Anna screamed so loudly Caleb ran from the barn thinking she had broken her leg.
Clara laughed.
Caleb did too.
Then he grew quiet.
“I thought loving you would mean leaving them.”
Clara leaned against him.
“And?”
“It didn't.”
He looked at her.
“It made me remember them without wanting to die too.”
Her breath caught.
Caleb reached into his pocket.
Not a ring.
A small carved piece of cedar.
Round.
Smooth.
A chicken carved badly on one side.
Clara stared.
“What is that?”
“A proposal.”
She laughed so suddenly birds flew from a nearby branch.
Caleb looked offended.
“You carved me a chicken?”
“I panicked.”
“You want me to marry you and this is what you made?”
“Yes.”
She laughed harder.
“It took hours.”
“That makes it worse.”
Caleb stood.
Clara wiped tears.
He held out the ridiculous wooden chicken.
“Clara Bennett.”
“Yes?”
“Marry me.”
She looked at the carving.
Then him.
“No speech?”
“I had one.”
“What happened?”
“You laughed at my chicken.”
She smiled.
“Try.”
Caleb exhaled.
“I have a cabin.”
“I know.”
“Some land.”
“I know.”
“Bad habits.”
“Many.”
He glared.
Clara smiled.
He continued.
“I have two graves I will visit until I’m one of them.”
“I know.”
“I have no promise that winter won’t take everything again.”
“I know.”
“And I have never been more afraid of losing anyone than I am of losing you.”
Her eyes filled.
Caleb took her hand.
“I can’t promise easy.”
“I can promise I will come home.”
“If I can crawl, I’ll come home.”
“I’ll widen every doorway you need widened.”
“I’ll build every chair twice if the first breaks.”
“I’ll learn your recipes badly.”
“I’ll protect the chickens even though I hate the rooster.”
From somewhere far below, as if summoned, the rooster crowed.
Clara laughed through tears.
Caleb smiled.
“And if you let me, I will spend whatever years I have left making sure you never again think you have to earn the room your body occupies.”
That ended her laughter.
Clara stared.
Then reached for him.
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Caleb.”
His entire face changed.
For a moment he looked younger.
Then she added:
“But I’m not wearing the chicken.”
He laughed.
They married in June.
Outside the church because Clara refused to climb the narrow interior steps.
Not from shame.
Practicality.
She wore deep green.
Her neckline lower than half the settlement considered proper.
She did not care.
Caleb wore a clean shirt for exactly one hour.
Ben Mercer served cake.
The chickens remained alive.
Even the rooster.
At the reception, Mae approached Clara.
“I owe you something.”
Clara looked suspicious.
Mae handed her a folded cloth.
Inside was a new apron.
Beautiful stitching.
Strong fabric.
Extra wide ties.
Clara touched it.
Mae said:
“I made it to fit you.”
The words could have hurt once.
Now they did not.
Because Mae had not said it with embarrassment.
She had made something for Clara’s actual body.
Not the body she thought Clara should have.
Clara hugged her.
Mae nearly disappeared.