She looked away.
“You know.”
“I want you to say it.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I’m done guessing for you.”
That answer pleased her.
Margaret took a breath.
“I’m afraid you’ll look at me differently without the dress.”
Elias leaned against the bedpost.
“I will.”
Her face fell.
He continued.
“Because I have never seen you without it.”
She stared.
His mouth curved.
“I expect to discover things.”
“You are impossible.”
“I expect softness.”
“Scars.”
“Skin.”
“Places that hurt.”
“Places you like touched.”
His voice dropped.
“I expect more of you.”
“Not less.”
Margaret’s breathing changed.
Elias held out his hand.
“Come here if you want.”
She did.
What followed was private.
Not perfect.
They laughed when the bed frame complained.
Elias looked horrified.
Margaret laughed harder.
He promised to reinforce it.
She threatened to kill him if he told Ben why.
He kept the secret.
Mostly.
Ben saw timber the next morning and understood.
He wisely said nothing.
By spring, Margaret no longer introduced herself as a temporary partner.
Neither did Elias.
But marriage remained unresolved.
Not because they doubted love.
Because Margaret feared the surname.
Blackwood.
Her biological inheritance.
Her possible married name.
A name chosen for her by a dead man’s letter before she understood herself.
Elias knew.
He never proposed.
That was perhaps the most loving thing he could do.
Months passed.
Then one evening Margaret found him outside the smokehouse again.
Same table.
Different season.
He was checking cured meat.
She approached.
“You are avoiding something.”
Elias looked up.
“What?”
“Marriage.”
His face went still.
Margaret smiled.
“Interesting.”
“You told me not to pressure you.”
“I did.”
“So I didn’t.”
“You obeyed too well.”
He stared.
“What exactly is happening?”
Margaret moved closer.
“I am trying to propose to you.”
Elias blinked.
She laughed.
“This is going terribly.”
He put down the knife.
“Margaret.”
“Yes?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“I was attempting subtlety.”
“You once told me my smokehouse was a crime scene.”
“I have range.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“Are you sure?”
Margaret stepped directly in front.
She wore a deep green dress without apron.
Her hair loose.
She rested both hands against his chest.
“I do not want to become Margaret Blackwood because your father imagined it.”
“I do not want the name because my biological father carried it.”
“I do not want it because of land.”
Elias waited.
Margaret continued.
“I want it because when I am seventy and furious that you left boots by the door again, I want the right to sign the same name on the complaint.”
Elias laughed.
Then his eyes filled.
Margaret whispered:
“Marry me.”
“Yes.”
Too fast.
She blinked.
“I had more speech.”
“No.”
“Elias.”
“Yes.”
“You ruined it.”
“Yes.”
He kissed her.