Anyone facing a questionable land claim could borrow money for an attorney.
When Josiah discovered it, he contributed double.
Nellie confronted him.
“You’re ruining the structure.”
“How?”
“It’s supposed to be community-funded.”
“I’m community.”
“You’re half the economy.”
“Still community.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
He smiled.
Summer came.
Then autumn.
A full year after the mercantile incident, Nellie entered Higgins’ store wearing a coat she had made herself.
Deep red wool.
Simple cut.
Strong seams.
Harriet Gable was long gone.
Eunice Palmer remained.
She saw Nellie.
Looked at the coat.
Then approached.
“Nellie.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve meant to apologize.”
Nellie waited.
“For that day.”
“You laughed.”
Eunice’s face reddened.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid of Harriet.”
Nellie considered.
“Did she have a gun?”
Eunice looked startled.
“No.”
“Then you weren’t afraid.”
Nellie adjusted her gloves.
“You wanted to belong beside the person doing the hurting more than beside the person being hurt.”
Eunice lowered her eyes.
“That’s fair.”
Nellie did not forgive her dramatically.
She did not refuse either.
“Do better next time.”
“I will.”
Nellie believed she meant it.
That was enough.
Josiah proposed the following spring.
Not immediately.
He nearly ruined the moment first.
He arrived at Thornton Farm wearing a clean black coat.
Too clean.
Nellie noticed.
“What are you wearing?”
“Clothes.”
“You look suspicious.”
“I own shirts.”
“You usually wear them under dirt.”
He ignored that.
They walked toward the creek.
The railroad water tower stood beyond the ridge now.
Steam locomotives passed twice daily.
The sound no longer startled the cattle.
At the stone boundary marker, Josiah stopped.
Nellie noticed his hands.
He was nervous.
That fascinated her.
The man who negotiated million-dollar freight contracts without blinking suddenly looked uncertain.
“Nellie.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve come to ask you something.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It may be.”
She waited.
Josiah looked toward the creek.
“I told you once I knew what it was like to stand alone.”
“You did.”
“I spent twelve years convincing myself I preferred it.”
Nellie said nothing.
“After Sarah died, I thought wanting anything again would dishonor what I had.”
His voice was quiet.
“Then you argued with me over shirt prices.”
Nellie smiled.
“A powerful romantic memory.”
“I’m trying.”
“Continue.”
“You reminded me that strength is not the same as isolation.”
She looked at him.
He continued.
“And you reminded me that helping someone does not make them smaller.”
“That one took you time.”
“Yes.”
“Still does.”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer.
“I don’t want to own your farm.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want to manage you.”
“Better.”
“I don’t want you to stop being impossible.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“That was almost pleasant.”
Josiah laughed.
Then became serious.
“I want to build something with you.”
Nellie felt her chest tighten.