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The Wedding Promise

No one is more surprised than Sunny Licht when Noah Whitmore proposes. She’s a scarlet woman and an unwed mother—an outcast even in her small Quaker community. But she can’t resist Noah’s offer of a fresh start in a place where her scandalous past is unknown.

In Sunny, the former Union soldier sees a woman whose loneliness matches his own. When they arrive in Wisconsin, he’ll see that she and her baby daughter want for nothing...except the love that war burned out of him. Yet Sunny makes him hope once more—for the home they’re building, and the family he never hoped to find.

“Sunny, will thee be my wife and go west with me?”

Noah’s hand was large and rough but so gentle, and his touch warmed her. Then she did something she had barely learned to do—she prayed. Dear Father, should I marry Noah Whitmore?

She waited, wondering if the Inner Light the Quakers believed in would come to her now, when she needed it so. She glanced up into Noah’s eyes and his loneliness beckoned her, spoke to her own lonesome heart. “Yes,” she whispered, shocking herself. Her words pushed goose bumps up along her arms.

“May God bless your union with a love as rich and long as Eve’s and mine,” Solomon said. The elderly man’s words were emphasized by the tender look he turned to his spouse, who beamed at him in turn.

Oh, to be loved that way. Sunny turned to Noah and glimpsed stark anguish flickering in his dark, dark eyes. Maybe Noah, born and raised among these gentle people, would be capable of love like that.

But what could I possibly have to offer in the way of love?

About the Author

LYN COTE and her husband, her real-life hero, became in-laws recently when their son married his true love. Lyn already loves her daughter-in-law and enjoys this new adventure in family stretching. Lyn and her husband still live on the lake in the north woods, where they watch a bald eagle and its young soar and swoop overhead throughout the year. She wishes the best to all her readers. You may email Lyn at l.cote@juno.com or write her at P.O. Box 864, Woodruff, WI 54548. And drop by her blog, www.strongwomenbravestories.blogspot.com, to read stories of strong women in real life and in true-to-life fiction. “Every woman has a story. Share yours.”

Their Frontier Family

Lyn Cote

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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As far as the east from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.

—Psalm 103:12

Therefore if any man be in Christ,

he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.

—2 Corinthians 5:17

To my hard-working and insightful editor,

Tina James

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Teaser Chapter

Chapter One

Pennsylvania, April 1869

“Harlot.”

Sunny Adams heard the harsh whisper across the nearly empty general store, knowing she was meant to hear it. Her heart clenched so tightly that she thought she might pass out. Two women at the door looked at her, lifted their noses, then turned and left the store, rudely jangling the little bell above.

She bowed her head, praying that she wouldn’t reveal the waves of shame coursing through her. Though she wore the plain clothing of the Quakers, a simple unruffled gray dress and bonnet, she hadn’t fooled anyone. They all saw through her mask.

A man cleared his throat. The storekeeper wanted her out. Could she blame him? While she shopped here, no “decent” woman would enter. She set down the bolt of blue calico she’d been admiring, hiding the trembling of her hands.

Feeling as if she were slogging through a cold, rushing flood, she moved toward the storekeeper. “I think that will be...all.” She opened her purse, paid for the items Mrs. Gabriel had sent her into town to purchase. Outwardly, she kept her head lowered. Inwardly, she dragged up her composure like a shield around her. Trying to avoid further slights, she hurried across the muddy street to the wagon. Approaching hooves sounded behind her but she didn’t look over her shoulder.

Just as she reached the wagon, a man stepped out of the shadows. “Let me help you up,” he said.

She backed away. This wasn’t the first time he’d approached her, and she had no trouble in identifying what he really wanted from her. “I don’t need your help.” She made her voice hard and firm. “Please do not accost me like this. I will tell Adam Gabriel—”

“He’s a Quaker,” the man sneered. “Won’t do anything to me. Just tell me to seek God or something.”

And with that, he managed to touch her inappropriately.

She stifled a scream. Because who would come to her aid if she called for help? A prostitute—even a reformed one—had no protectors.

“I’m a Quaker,” a man said from behind Sunny, “but I’ll do more than tell thee to seek God.”

Sunny spun around to see Noah Whitmore getting off his horse. Though she’d seen him at the Quaker meeting house earlier this year, she’d never spoken to him.

The man who’d accosted her took a step back. “I thought when you came back from the war, you repented and got all ‘turn the other cheek’ again.”

Noah folded his arms. “Thee ever hear the story about Samson using the jawbone of a jackass to slaughter Philistines?” Noah’s expression announced that he was in the mood to follow Samson’s example here and now.

Sunny’s heart pounded. Should she speak or remain silent?

The rude man began backing away. “She isn’t the first doxy the Gabriel family’s taken in to help.” The last two words taunted her. “Where’s the father of her brat? She’s not foolin’ anybody. She can dress up like a Quaker but she isn’t one. And we all know it.”

Noah took a menacing step forward and the man turned and bolted between stores toward the alley. Noah removed his hat politely. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

His pant legs were spattered with mud. He looked as if he had just now gotten back from the journey that had taken him away for the past few months. She’d noticed his absence—after all, it was a small church.

But honesty prompted her to admit that Noah had always caught her attention, right from the beginning.

Noah wasn’t handsome in the way of a charming gambler in a fancy vest. He was good-looking in a real way, and something about the bleak look in his eyes, the grim set of his face, always tugged at her, made her want to go to him and touch his cheek.

A foolish thing I could never do.

“Is thee happy here?” Noah asked her. The unexpected question startled her. She struggled to find a polite reply.

He waved a hand as if wiping the question off a chalkboard.

She was relieved. Happy was a word she rarely thought of in connection with her life.

She forced down the emotions bubbling up, churning inside her. She knew that Mrs. Gabriel sent her to town as a little change in the everyday routine of the farm, a boon, not an ordeal. I should tell her how it always is for me in town.

But Sunny hadn’t been able to bring herself to speak of the insults, snubs and liberties she faced during each trip to town—not to the sweet unsullied Quaker woman, Constance Gabriel. The woman who’d taken her in just before Christmas last year and treated her like a daughter.

Sunny then realized that Noah was waiting to help her up into the wagon and that she hadn’t answered his question. She hastily offered him her hand. “Yes, the Gabriels have been very good to me.”

Two women halted on the boardwalk and stared at the two of them with searing intensity and disapproval. Sunny felt herself blush. “I’d better go. Mrs. Gabriel will be wondering where I am,” Sunny said.

Noah frowned but then courteously helped her up onto the wagon seat. “If thee doesn’t mind, since I’m going thy way, I’ll ride alongside thee.”

What could she say? He wasn’t a child. He must know what associating with her would cost him socially. She slapped the reins and the wagon started forward. Noah swung up into his saddle and caught up to her.

Behind them both women made loud huffing sounds of disapproval.

“Don’t let them bother thee,” Noah said, leaning so she could hear his low voice. “People around here don’t think much of Quakers. We’re misfits.”

Sunny wondered if he might be partially right. Though she was sure the women were judging her, maybe they were judging him, too. Certainly Quakers dressed, talked and believed differently than any people she’d ever met before. She recalled now what she’d heard before, that Noah had gone to war. For some reason this had grieved his family and his church.

“You went to war,” slipped out before she could stop herself.

His mouth became a hard line. “Yes, I went to war.”

She’d said the wrong thing. “But you’re home now.”

Noah didn’t respond.

She didn’t know what to say so she fell silent, as well.

Twice wagons passed hers as she rode beside a pensive Noah Whitmore on the main road. The people in the wagons gawked at seeing the two of them together. Several times along the way she thought Noah was going to say more to her, but he didn’t. He looked troubled, too. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him, but she didn’t feel comfortable speaking to him like a friend. Except for the Gabriels, she had no friends here.

Finally when she could stand the silence no longer, she said, “You’ve been away recently.” He could take that as a question or a comment and treat it any way he wanted.

“I’ve been searching for a place of my own. I plan to homestead in Wisconsin.”

His reply unsettled her further. Why, she couldn’t say. “I see.”

“Has thee ever thought about leaving here?”

“Where would I go?” she said without waiting to think about how she should reply. She hadn’t learned to hold her quick tongue—unfortunately.

He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

And what would I do? She had no way to support herself—except to go back to the saloon. Sudden revulsion gagged her.

Did those women in town think she’d chosen to be a prostitute? Did they think her mother had chosen to be one? A saloon was where a woman went when she had nowhere else to go. It wasn’t a choice; it was a life sentence.

As they reached the lane to the Whitmore family’s farm, Noah pulled at the brim of his hat. “Sunny, I’ll leave thee here. Thanks for thy company. After weeks alone it was nice to speak to thee.”

We didn’t say much—or rather, you didn’t. But Sunny smiled and nodded, her tongue tied by his kindness. He’d actually been polite to her in public. At the saloon, men were often polite but only inside. Outside they didn’t even look at her, the lowest of the low.

With a nod, Noah rode down the lane.

Sunny drove on in turmoil. A mile from home she stopped the wagon and bent her head, praying for self-control as she often did on her return trip from town. If she appeared upset, she would have to explain the cause of her distress to Constance Gabriel. And she didn’t want to do that. She owed the Gabriel family much. She’d met Mercy Gabriel, M.D., the eldest Gabriel daughter, in Idaho Territory. Dr. Mercy had delivered Sunny’s baby last year and then made the arrangements for Sunny to come here to her parents, Constance and Adam, and try for a new start.

But she couldn’t stay in this town for the rest of her life, no matter how kind the Gabriels had been.

“I have to get away from here. Start fresh.” Without warning the words she’d long held back were spoken aloud into the quiet daylight. But she had no plan. No place to go. No way to earn a living—except the way she had in the past.

She choked back a sob, not for herself but for her daughter. What if the type of public humiliation she’d suffered today happened a few years from now when her baby girl could understand what was being said about her mother?

Noah’s questions came back to her, and she felt a stab of envy that the man was free to simply pick up and start again somewhere new on his own. Sunny did not have that luxury. What am I going to do?

* * *

Noah slowly led his horse up the familiar lane, to the place he called home, but which really wasn’t home anymore. Sunny’s face lingered in his mind—so pretty and somehow still graced with a tinge of innocence.

Ahead, he saw his father and two of his brothers. His brothers stopped unloading the wagon and headed toward him. Not his father. He stared at Noah and then turned his back and stalked to the barn.

This galled Noah, but he pushed it down. Then he recalled how that man on Main Street had touched Sunny without any fear. It galled him to his core, too. She had no one to protect her. The man had been right; the Gabriels would not fight for her. The idea that had played through his mind over the past few months pushed forward again.

His eldest brother reached him first. “You came back.” He gripped Noah’s hand.

“I’m home.” For now. His other brothers shook his hand in welcome, none of them asking about his trip, afraid of what he’d say, no doubt.

“Don’t take it personally,” his eldest brother said, apologizing for their father’s lack of welcome with a nod toward the barn.

“It is meant personally,” Noah replied. “He will never forgive me for disagreeing with him and going to war.” Noah held up his hand. “Don’t make excuses for him. He’s not going to change.”

His brothers shifted uncomfortably on their feet, not willing to agree or disagree. They were caught in the middle.

But not for long. Meeting Sunny in town exactly when he’d come home and seeing her shamed in public had solidified his purpose. She needed his protection and he could provide it. But would she accept him?

* * *

Feeling like a counterfeit, Sunny perched on the backless bench in the quiet Quaker meeting for another Sunday morning of worship she didn’t understand. She sat near the back on the women’s side beside Constance Gabriel, who had taught Sunny to be still here and let the Inner Light lead her.

But how did that feel? Was she supposed to be feeling something besides bone-aching hopelessness?

Little Dawn stirred in her arms and Sunny patted her six-month-old daughter, soothing her to be quiet. I’ve brought this shame upon my daughter as surely as my mother brought it onto me. She pushed the tormenting thought back, rocking slightly on the hard bench not just to comfort Dawn, but herself, as well.

The door behind her opened, the sound magnified by the silence within. Even the devout turned their heads to glimpse who’d broken their peace.

He came. Awareness whispered through Sunny as Noah Whitmore stalked to the men’s side and sat down near, but still a bit apart from, his father and five older brothers. Today he was wearing his Sunday best like everyone else. His expression was stormy, determined.

Dawn woke in her arms and yawned. She was a sweet-tempered child, and as pretty as anything with reddish-blond hair and big blue eyes. As Sunny smiled down at her, an old, heartbreaking thought stung her. I don’t even know who your father is. Sunny closed her eyes and absorbed the full weight of her wretchedness, thankful no one could hear what was in her mind.

Noah Whitmore rose. This was not uncommon—the Quaker worship consisted of people rising to recite, discuss or quote scripture. However, in her time here, Noah had never risen. The stillness around Sunny became alert, sharp. Everyone looked at him. Unaccountably reluctant to meet his gaze, she lowered her eyes.

“You all know that I’ve been away,” Noah said, his voice growing firmer with each word. The congregation palpably absorbed this unexpected, unconventional announcement. In any other church, whispering might have broken out. Here, though, only shuttered glances and even keener concentration followed.

Sunny looked up and found that Noah Whitmore was looking straight at her. His intent gaze electrified her and she had to look away again.

“I’m making this announcement because I’ve staked a homestead claim in Wisconsin but must accumulate what’s necessary and return there while there is still time to put in a crop.” Still focusing on her, he paused and his jaw worked. “And I have chosen a woman who I hope will become a wife.”

A wife? Sunny sensed the conspicuous yet silent reaction Noah’s announcement was garnering. And since Noah was staring at her, everyone was now studying her, too. He couldn’t...no, he—

“Adam Gabriel,” Noah said, his voice suddenly gruffer, “I want to ask for thy foster daughter Sunny’s hand in marriage. And I want us to be married now, here, today.”

Ice shot through Sunny. She heard herself gasp. And she was not the only one. She couldn’t think straight. Noah wanted to marry her?

I couldn’t have heard that right.

Adam Gabriel and Noah’s father, Boaz, surged to their feet, both looking shocked, upset. A few other men rose and turned toward Noah.

White-haired Solomon Love, the most elderly and respected man at the gathering, stood. He raised his gnarled hands and gestured for the two fathers and the others to retake their seats. Adam sat first and then, grudgingly, Noah’s father.

Sunny could do nothing but stare at the floor, frozen in shock as Noah’s impossible words rang in her head.

* * *

Noah inhaled, trying to remember to breathe. Though this was the reaction he’d expected, his emotions raced like a runaway train.

Solomon moved to the aisle and faced Noah. “I understand why thee is in a hurry to get thy crop in, yet taking a wife is an important decision. It cannot be made lightly, hurriedly.” The man’s calm voice seemed to lower the tension in the room.

“This isn’t a hasty decision,” Noah said, finding he was having trouble getting his words out.

“When did thee court Sunny?” Solomon asked politely.

Sunny tilted her head, as if asking the same question.

Noah looked down. Everyone here knew that the woman he’d courted over a decade ago—and who had rejected him when he went off to war—sat in this very room, now the wife of another man. And how could he explain how Sunny had attracted him from the first time he’d seen her here at Christmas last year? She’d drawn him because he sensed another soul that had lived far beyond this safe haven.

The war had never penetrated the peace here. An image of soldiers, both blue and gray, lying in their own blood flashed in his mind. The gorge in his throat rose. He made himself focus on here. On now. On her.

“I haven’t approached Sunny,” Noah continued, keeping his voice steady. “In her circumstances...” His voice faded. Then he looked Sunny straight in the eye. She still looked stunned. He hoped she wasn’t going to resent this public declaration. After meeting her in town upon arriving home, he’d thought this over carefully. He’d decided the best way to spike scurrilous, misguided gossip was to propose publicly.

He cleared his throat and chose his words with care. “I didn’t want her to take my interest wrongly.” That much was true. He’d first seen the way she was treated in town long before he’d left for Wisconsin. “But I think she’ll make me a good wife. And I’ll try to make her a good husband.”

Noah turned his gaze to Solomon Love, wanting to give all his reasons. “I could have just gone to Adam Gabriel’s house later to ask, then taken her to the justice of the peace.” Noah paused and bent his head toward her as if acknowledging he would have needed her agreement. “But I didn’t want to do it like that. I didn’t want to do this the world’s way, or away from the meeting.”

“Like last time? When thee ran away and enlisted?” his father retorted, obviously unable to keep his ire undercover—even here.

Noah stood his ground with a lift of his chin. His father wasn’t going to ruin Noah’s plans. Or hurt Sunny’s feelings.

Solomon cleared his throat. “Marrying should be about thee and the woman thee wishes to marry. ‘Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife,’” Solomon said in a tone that effectively capped a lid on any further public cleaning of the Whitmore family closet.

Boaz glared at Noah still, but shut his mouth tightly.

Noah didn’t relax. He glanced at Sunny. She still looked frozen. He hoped he hadn’t done this all wrong. Concern tightened into a ball in his midsection.

Solomon’s wife, Eve, a little silver-haired sparrow of a woman, rose and leaned on her cane. “I think we should all pray about this now. And, Solomon, we are old and forget the passion of youth. There is no reason to prevent Sunny and Noah from marrying today and leaving for Wisconsin tomorrow with the blessing of this meeting. As long as this is what the two wish. And if they have sought God’s will and have become clear, we should not try to prevent this marriage. Which I believe,” Eve said, her quavering voice firming, “would be of benefit to both.”

“Good counsel, wife, as usual.” Solomon beamed at her. “Noah, will thee sit and let us pray for thee and Sunny that thee both have clearness about this?”

“I will.” Noah sat, suddenly very weary. He glanced at his father, who still managed to bristle though he neither moved nor spoke.

Every head bowed, so Noah lowered his and waited... He hadn’t kept track of how much time had passed until he heard Sunny’s baby stirring and whimpering. Then he realized that the service had gone on much longer than usual. Others were also becoming restless. Noah tried to sit as if he were at peace, but his nerves jittered. Homesteading he’d seen proved hard enough for a man with a wife. He needed Sunny even though he hadn’t thought of marriage after the war. He was offering her a fair deal. He needed a wife and she needed the protection a husband could provide. If Sunny refused him, he’d be forced to go alone.

Solomon stood again, his joints creaking. “We are past our time. Noah Whitmore and Sunny, if it meets with thy approval, my wife and I will meet with thee here at two this afternoon to seek clearness about this.”

Noah rose. “I’m willing and I thank thee.”

All eyes turned to Sunny. She flushed scarlet.

Constance touched Sunny’s arm. “Is thee willing to meet for clearness?”

Sunny nodded, her eyes downcast.

Constance stood. “Our foster daughter is willing.”

Noah nodded his thanks.

Then, as if released from a spell, the congregation broke up. They would head home to eat a cold dinner with no doubt a heated discussion of Noah Whitmore proposing to the latest soiled dove the Gabriels had taken in. Noah wished he could change that, but he’d discovered that human nature could rarely be denied.

Outside the meetinghouse Noah approached Sunny, his broad-brimmed Quaker hat in hand. “I know my proposal shocked thee. If thee is not interested in marrying me, just say so.”

She looked up at him and then glanced around pointedly, obviously letting him know that too many people hovered nearby. “I am unsure. I will come at two.”

He bowed his head and backed away. “At two.” Just then the woman he’d loved walked past him. She nodded and gave him an unreadable look. He felt nothing for her now. She didn’t understand him. She hadn’t understood why he’d gone to war. And he certainly was no longer the man she’d contemplated marrying ten years ago.

He turned his gaze to Sunny. She was so pretty and so quiet. He didn’t know what had caused her to become a prostitute, but she wanted to change, wanted a new start, just like he did. They were well suited in that regard.

Solomon’s Bible quote repeated in Noah’s mind. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. Declaring his proposal had sharpened his need for Sunny to go with him.

He could only hope that she would seize her chance to start anew. And in the process, possibly save him—from himself.

* * *

Sunny paused on the step. She’d never entered the meetinghouse by herself. April sunshine had been tempered by the cool breeze from the west. She pulled her shawl tighter.

Dawn had lain down for her long afternoon nap so Sunny had come with empty arms here—to make a decision that would change both their lives forever. Should she accept Noah’s proposal? The thought of marrying chilled her, robbing her of breath.

She couldn’t think why he would want to marry her. Why any man would want to marry her.

She opened the double door and stepped inside. There in the middle of the Quaker meetinghouse on two benches facing each other sat Eve and Solomon Love, and Noah Whitmore, the man who had said in front of everybody that he thought she would make a good wife.

Fresh shock tingled through her. His thrilling words slid from her mind into her heart and left her quaking. What do I know about being a wife?

Sunny tried to conceal her trembling, the trembling that had begun this morning. She walked as calmly as she could manage toward the bench where Noah sat. Without looking directly at him, she lowered herself onto the same bench as he.

Sitting so near him stirred her—and that alarmed her. She had never felt attraction to any man. Was Noah’s recent kindness to her the cause? She faced the Loves, who had been good enough to speak to her since she’d come here. Very few of the Quakers—or Friends, as they called themselves—had made the effort to get to know her. They’d been kind but distant. She couldn’t blame them for avoiding her. They were holy, she was stained.

Eve smiled at her and, reaching across the divide, patted her hand. “Sunny, thee does not know about the clearness meeting. It is how Friends try to clear their thinking and make sure that they are within God’s will.”

Unsure of what she should say, Sunny merely nodded. She concealed her left hand in the folds of her gray skirt. In the hours since this morning she’d chafed the flesh beneath one thumb from fretting, a childhood habit. She’d been forbidden to suck her thumb or chew her nails, so when upset, she’d taken to scratching, worrying at her hand. She resisted the need to do it now.

“Noah,” Solomon asked, “please tell us again what thy plans are and why they include Sunny.”

“I have staked a claim on a homestead in western Wisconsin. Very near the Mississippi River.” Noah’s words were clipped. “Planting time is near. I need to return as soon as possible.”

Sunny’s emotions erupted—fear, worry and hope roiled inside her at Noah’s words.

“That sounds as if thee is committed to leaving us for good.” Solomon’s voice was measured and without judgment.

Noah nodded.

“Why have thee chosen to ask Sunny to be thy bride and go with thee?” Eve asked.

Sunny nearly stopped breathing. Her throat muscles clenched with fear.

Noah propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward as if thinking.

Many questions tumbled through her thoughts, but she could not make her mouth move. Was Noah asking out of pity? Was she in a position to say no to him even if it was? The memory of the man who had inappropriately touched her several days ago slithered through her again, as if he were here leering at her. Dear God, no more.

In spite of her inner upheaval, Sunny made herself sit very still as silence pressed in on all of them. She drew in a normal breath. Yes, she could refuse this proposal, but she had Dawn to think of. Would life with Noah be better for Dawn than life alone with her mother? Would he be a loving stepfather for Dawn?

“Noah?” Eve prompted.

“How does a man choose a wife?” Noah asked in return. “I need a wife and want one. I only know that Sunny has attracted my attention from the first time she came to meetings. I’ve watched her with her little girl. She seems sweet and kind.”

It seemed to be a day for Sunny to be stunned. No one—no one—had ever praised her like this. A melting sensation went through her and she wished that the backless bench would give her more support. She tightened her posture.

“That is a very clear reply,” Solomon said.

“Sunny, is thee ready to take a husband?” Eve asked.

Sunny swallowed, thinking of how he’d praised her. “I am.” She paused, then honesty forced her to bring up the topic she did not want to discuss. “I have a past.”

Noah gave a swift, stark laugh. “I have a past, too.”

“It is good to be honest with one another,” Solomon said, tempering the emotions with a glance.

“I have a daughter,” Sunny said, each word costing her. She pleated her plain gray cotton skirt.

“I know, and I’m willing to take responsibility for her,” Noah said, glancing toward her.

Sunny measured his tone. He sounded sincere. Nonetheless she had overheard a few words about his own family. And she must speak for her child. “Your father has been known to show temper.”

“I’m nothing like my father,” Noah said as if stung.

Sunny absorbed this reaction. The bad blood between the two had been plain to see even in her short time here. Maybe not getting along with his own father would make him a more considerate parent, could that be?

“I’m sorry I spoke in that tone to thee,” Noah apologized. “I promise I will provide for your daughter, and I will protect her. I’ll try to be a good father.”

Noah had just promised Dawn more than Sunny’s own unknown father had ever done for her. She nodded, still hesitant. “I...I believe you.”

“I have watched thee all my life, Noah,” Eve said. “And thee has not had an easy time. Losing thy mother so young, that was hard. And thy broken engagement when thee went off to war. But thee cannot change the past by merely moving to a new place.”

Sunny wished Eve would explain more. Who had Noah loved and been rejected by?

Noah sat up straight again. “I know that. But I cannot feel easy here. My father doesn’t need me. My five brothers are more than enough to help him.” Though he tried to hide it, hurt oozed out with each word.

“Thy father loves thee,” Solomon said. “But that does not mean that a father and son will not disagree.”

Noah’s expression hardened.

Sunny sensed his abrupt withdrawal. Noah Whitmore had been kind to her in public, protected her, something hardly anybody had ever done for her. He’d asked her to marry him and said she was sweet and kind. He offered her marriage and protection for Dawn. But could he love her?

How could she ask that? Did she even deserve a man’s love?

She touched his sleeve. He turned toward her. When she looked into his eyes, she fell headlong into a bottomless well of pain, sadness and isolation. Shaken, she pulled back her hand and lowered her gaze, feeling his piercing emotions as her own. What had caused his deep suffering? She had met other veterans. Was this just the war or something more?

What had happened to Noah Whitmore?

“I want to start fresh—” Noah’s words sounded wrenched from him “—and take Sunny and her little girl with me.” Noah claimed her hand, the one she’d just withdrawn from him. “Sunny, will thee be my wife and go west with me?”

Noah’s hand was large and rough but so gentle, and his touch warmed her. Then she did something she had barely learned to do—she prayed.

Dear Father, should I marry Noah Whitmore?

She waited, wondering if the Inner Light the Quakers believed in would come to her now, when she needed it so. She glanced up into Noah’s eyes and his loneliness beckoned her, spoke to her own lonesome heart. “Yes,” she whispered, shocking herself. Her words pushed goose bumps up along her arms.

Noah shook her hand as if sealing a contract. She wondered how this new beginning, complete reversal had all happened in less than one unbelievable day.

“We will make the preparations for the wedding to take place during this evening’s meeting,” Solomon said, helping his wife to her feet. “May God bless your union with a love as rich and long as Eve’s and mine.”

The elderly man’s words were emphasized by the tender look he gave his spouse, who beamed at him in turn.

Oh, to be loved like that. Sunny turned to Noah and glimpsed stark anguish flickering in his dark, dark eyes.

Maybe Noah, born and raised among these gentle people, was capable of love like that. Am I?

But what could I possibly have to offer in the way of love?

I’ve never loved any man. The thought made her feel as bleak as a cold winter day. Would she fail Noah? Men had only ever wanted her for one thing. What if that was all she was able to give?

Chapter Two

The weekly Sunday evening meeting became Noah and Sunny’s wedding. Two single straight-backed chairs had been set facing each other in the center of the stark meetinghouse. Noah sat in one with his back to the men.

Outwardly he’d prepared to do this. He had bathed, shaved and changed back into his Sunday suit—after Aunt Martha had come over to press it “proper” for his wedding. While she’d fluttered around, asking him questions about his homestead, Noah’s brothers had been restrained and watchful. Only his eldest brother, Nathan, had asked about Wisconsin and had wished him congratulations on his wedding. His father grim, silent and disapproving. Nothing new there.

Now Noah—feeling as if he were in a dream—watched Constance Gabriel, who was carrying Dawn, lead Sunny to sit on the straight-backed chair set in front of the other women. His bride managed only one glance toward him before she lowered her eyes and folded her hands. Since he couldn’t see her face, he looked at her small, delicate hands. Tried not to think about holding them, tenderly lifting them to his lips. Sunny brought out such feelings in him. He wanted to protect her and hold her close.

While away this year he’d thought of her over and over. He’d barely spoken over a dozen sentences to this woman yet he knew he couldn’t leave her behind—here among the sanctimonious and unforgiving.

A strained, restless silence blanketed the simple, unadorned meetinghouse. Fatigued from tension, Noah quelled the urge to let out a long breath, loosen his collar and relax against the chair. Without turning his head, Noah knew his father sat in his usual place beside Noah’s five brothers. He felt his father’s disapproving stare burn into his back like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

Finally, when Noah thought he could stand the silence no longer, Solomon rose and came to stand beside him. Eve rose and came to stand near Sunny. Noah held his breath. There was still time for his father to cause a scene, to object to the wedding, to disown him again. Noah kept his eyes focused on Sunny.

“Sunny, Friends do not swear oaths,” Solomon said, “but we do affirm.” Then he quoted, ““For the right joining in marriage is the work of the Lord only, and not the priests’ or the magistrates’; for it is God’s ordinance and not man’s; and therefore Friends cannot consent that they should join them together: for we marry none; it is the Lord’s work, and we are but witnesses.’”

Noah’s heart clenched at the words the Lord’s work. Where had the Lord been when sizzling grapeshot had fallen around him like cursed manna? Cold perspiration wet Noah’s forehead. He shoved away battlefield memories and tried to stay in the here and now, with Sunny.

Solomon continued, “When thee two are ready, my wife and I will lead thee through the simple words that will affirm thy decision to marry.”

Sunny looked up then.

Noah read her appeal as clearly as if she had spoken—please let’s finish this. “I’m ready if Sunny is,” Noah said, his voice sounding rusty, his pulse skipping.

Sunny nodded, her pale pink lips pressed so tight they’d turned white.

Noah gently took her small, work-worn hand in his, drawing her up to face him. He found there was much he wanted to tell her but couldn’t speak of, not here or maybe ever. Some words had been trapped inside him for years now. Instead he found himself echoing Solomon’s quiet but authoritative voice.

“In the fear of the Lord and in the presence of this assembly of Friends, I take thee my friend Sunny to be my wife.” He found that she had lifted her eyes and was staring into his as if she didn’t quite believe what was happening. “Promising,” he continued, “with God’s help, to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband, until it shall please the Lord by death to separate us.” Noah fought to keep his voice from betraying his turbulent emotions.

Sunny leaned forward and whispered shyly into his ear. “Thank you.”

Unexpectedly, his spirit lightened.

As Sunny repeated the Quaker wedding promise to Noah, her whole body shook visibly. When she had finished, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss upon her lips. The act rocked him to the core. For her part, Sunny, his bride, appeared strained nearly to breaking. Was marrying him so awful? Did she think he’d be a demanding man? He would have to speak to her, let her know...

“Now, Sunny and Noah,” Solomon continued, “thee will sign thy wedding certificate and I ask all those attending to sign it also as witnesses.”

At Solomon’s nod, Noah took his bride’s arm and led her to a little table near the door. A pen, ink and a paper had been set there for them. At the top of the paper someone had written in large bold script, “The Wedding Certificate of Sunny Adams and Noah Whitmore, April 4, 1869 at the Harmony, Pennsylvania, Friends Meeting.”

Noah motioned for her to go first, but she shook her head. “Please,” she whispered.

He bent and wrote his name right under the heading. Then he handed her the pen. She took a deep breath and carefully penned her name to the right of his, her hand trembling.

Then Noah led her to the doorway. By couples and singles, Friends got up and went to the certificate and signed under the heading of “Witnesses.” Then they came to her and Noah and shook their hands, wishing them well. All spoke in muted voices as if trying to keep this wedding secret in some way.

Adam and Constance Gabriel signed and both of them kissed Sunny’s cheek. “Thee will spend thy wedding night at our house, Noah, if that meets with thy approval,” Constance murmured, still cradling Sunny’s baby.

“Thank thee,” Noah replied. He’d known better than to consider subjecting his bride to a night in his father’s house. He’d been planning on taking Sunny to a local inn but this would be better, easier on her, he considered, as a thought niggled at his conscience. Should he have confessed to Sunny his limitations before the wedding? That their marriage would not be the usual?

One of the last to come forward to sign the wedding certificate was his father. He stomped forward and signed briskly. Then he pinned both of them with one of his piercing, judging looks. “I hope thee know what thee are doing.”

Sunny swayed as if struck. Noah caught her arm, supporting her. All the anger he’d pressed down for years threatened to bubble over, but to what purpose? I will not make a scene. “Thank thee, Father, for thy blessing.”

His father scowled and walked past them. Then one by one his brothers signed, shook his hand and wished him the best. Finally his eldest brother, Nathan, signed and leaned forward. “God bless thee, Noah and Sunny. I’ll miss thee. We all will. Please send us thy post office address. Though separated, we will still be a family.”

Noah gripped his brother’s hand and nodded, not trusting his voice.

“We will write,” his bride said, offering her hand. “I will try to be a good wife to your brother.”

Noah turned away and faced the final few well-wishers, suddenly unable to look at Sunny. I promise I’ll take care of thee, Sunny, and thy little one. Thee will never want and thee will never be scorned. But I have no love of any kind to give. Four long years of war burned it out of me. I am an empty well.

* * *

It was done. Sunny had become a wife. And now in the deep twilight with Noah riding his horse nearby, she rode in the Gabriel’s wagon on the way home to their house. The wedding night loomed over her. How did a wife behave in the marriage bed? Nausea threatened her.

Oh, Heavenly Father, help me not shame myself.

She wished her mind wouldn’t dip back into the past, bringing up images from long sordid nights above the saloon. Why couldn’t the Lord just wipe her mind clean, like he’d taken away her sins?

That’s what she’d been told he’d done, but Sunny often felt like her sins were still very much with her, defining her every step of the way.

After arriving at the Gabriel home, she managed to walk upstairs to the bedroom she usually shared with the youngest Gabriel sister. She now noted that fresh white sheets had been put on the bed for tonight, her last night in this house. She stood in the room, unable to move.

Constance entered. “Thee will want to nurse Dawn before bed.”

Sunny accepted her child, sat in the rocking chair and settled the child to her.

Constance sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “We are very happy that thee has found a good husband.”

Sunny didn’t trust her voice. She smiled as much as she could and nodded.

“Each man and woman must learn how to be married on their own. It cannot be taught. I have known Noah from his birth. He was a sweet child and is an honest man. Adam and I had no hesitation in letting thee marry him.”

Sunny heard the good words but couldn’t hold on to them. She was quaking inside.

“The only advice I will give thee is what is given in God’s word. ‘Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.’ And ‘Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.’”

Sunny nodded, still unable to speak, unable to make sense of the words. Then the sweet woman carried Dawn away to spend the night in their room. Before Constance left she said, “When thee is ready, open the door for thy husband.”

As Sunny went through the motions of dressing for bed, she experienced the same penned-in feeling that had overwhelmed her at fourteen when her mother had died. A week later, penniless and with no friends in the world other than her mother’s, Sunny had taken her mother’s place upstairs in the saloon. At this memory Sunny’s stomach turned. That horrible first night poured through her mind and she fought the memories back with all her strength.

That was the past. Living away from the saloon, surrounded by the Gabriels’ kindness, had begun softening her, stripping away the hard shell that had protected her from the pain, rejection and coarse treatment she’d endured.

It won’t be like that. This is Noah, who called me sweet and kind and who has married me. Being with him will feel different. But how could he want her after she’d been with so many others?

From across the hall, Sunny heard Dawn whimper. She quieted, waiting to see if her child needed her.

Dawn made no further sound and Sunny took a deep breath. A new image appeared in her mind—her little girl in a spotless pinafore running toward a white schoolhouse, calling to her friends who were smiling and waving hello.

Marrying Noah Whitmore had given her daughter the chance to escape both the saloon and the stain of illegitimacy. And they would be moving to Wisconsin, far from anybody who knew of Sunny’s past. Dawn would be free. Hope glimmered within her. I’ve done right.

She slipped on her flannel nightgown and then opened the door. Before Noah could enter, she slid between the sheets, to the far side of the bed. Waiting.

A long while later Noah entered and without a word undressed in the shadows beyond the flickering candlelight.

Sunny’s heart thrummed in her temples. Harsh images from her past bombarded her mind but she tried to shut them out.

Noah blew out the candle in the wall sconce.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the rope bed to dip as Noah slid in beside her.

“Sunny, I don’t feel right about sharing a bed with you tonight. We’re nearly strangers.”

I used to lie down with strangers all the time. She clamped her lips tight, holding back the words, afraid that he would realize he’d made a terrible mistake in marrying her.

“I’ll bunk here on the floor. Just go to sleep. We’ve a long day tomorrow. Good night, Sunny.” He lifted off the top quilt and rolled up in it on the floor.

“Wh-why did you marry me?” she asked as confusion overwhelmed her.

He turned to face her, scant moonlight etching his outline. “It was time to take a wife.”

“You know what I was.”

“Yes, I know. You lay with men who paid you. Did you ever kill anyone?”

The question shocked her. “No. Of course not.”

“Well, I have. Which is worse—lying with a stranger for money, or shooting a man and leaving him to bleed to death?”

Stunned at his bleak tone, she fell silent for a long moment, not knowing what to say.

In the dark she moved to the edge of the bed and slipped to the floor. In the dim light she reached for his hand but stopped just short of taking it. “That was war. You were supposed to kill the enemy.”

He made a gruff sound, and rolled away from her. “Good night, Sunny.”

Her heart hurt for him. She longed to comfort him, but he’d turned his back to her.

Late into the night she stared at the ceiling, thinking about his question, about how he’d sounded when he’d spoken of war. Would they ever be truly close, or had too much happened to both of them? Was it her past that had made him sleep on the floor? Or was it...him? Oh, Lord, can I be the wife he so clearly needs?

* * *

“It’s not much farther!” Noah called out, walking beside the Conestoga wagon, leading his horse.

Sunny, who was taking her turn at driving the wagon behind the oxen, waved to show him she had heard his first words to her in hours. Dawn crawled by her feet under the bench. Boards blocked the opening to the side and rear. She hoped her idea of “not much farther” matched his.

Beyond the line of trees with spring-green leaves the wide Mississippi River meandered along beside them, sunlight glinting on the rushing water, high with spring rain and snowmelt. Frogs croaked incessantly. After several weeks of traveling all she wanted was to stop living out of a wagon and arrive home, wherever that was.

The unusually warm April sun, now past noon, beat down on Sunny’s bonnet. She’d unbuttoned her top two collar buttons to cool. The air along the river hung languid, humid, making perspiration trickle down her back. A large ungainly gray bird lifted from the water, squawking, raucous.

“I’m eager for you to see our homestead,” Noah said, riding closer to her.

“I am, too.” And scared silly.

Too late to draw back now.

Several weeks had passed since they’d wakened the morning after their wedding and set off by horseback to the Ohio River to travel west by riverboat. In Cairo, Illinois, Noah had purchased their wagon, oxen and supplies. Then they’d headed north, following the trail on the east side of the Mississippi. Noah pointed out that the trail was well-worn by many other travelers, and told her that French fur trappers had been the first, over two hundred years ago. She’d tried to appear interested in this since it seemed important to him. She’d known trappers herself. They weren’t very special.

“It will take work to make our claim into a home,” Noah said.

She gave him a heartening smile and ignored her misgivings. This was her husband, this was her fresh new start—she would have to make it work no matter her own failings. “I’ll do my best.”

He nodded. “I know that.”

Sunny blotted her forehead with the back of her hand. Then she saw a town appear around the bend, a street of rough buildings perched on the river’s edge.

“That’s Pepin,” Noah called out.

“Thank Heaven,” Sunny responded, her spirit lifting.

Dawn tried to stand and fell, crying out. Sunny kept one hand on the reins and with the other helped Dawn crawl up onto her lap.

“Is she all right?” Noah asked.

“Fine. Just trying to stand up.”

“She’s a quick one.”

Usually silent Noah was almost chatting with her. He must be happy, too.

Noah always slept in the wagon bed at the end near the opening, evidently protecting her but always away from her. But just last night he called out, “Help, help!” She’d nearly crawled to him. But he’d sat up and left the wagon and began pacing. She hadn’t known what to do. Sunny was beginning to believe he slept away because of his nightmares. Because of the war perhaps?

She wondered if his lack of sleep made him silent. Whenever she spoke, he replied readily and courteously. Yet he rarely initiated conversation, so today must be a good day.

Soon she pulled up to a drinking trough along the huddle of rough log buildings facing the river—a general store, a blacksmith, a tiny government land office and a wharf area where a few barges were tethered.

And a saloon at the far end of the one street.

Buttoning her collar buttons, Sunny averted her face from the saloon, deeply grateful she would not be entering its swinging doors. Ever.

A man bustled out of the general store. “Welcome to Pepin!” he shouted. “I’m Ned Ashford, the storekeeper.”

Noah approached the wagon and helped her put the brake on. Then he solicitously assisted her descent. Only then did he turn to the storekeeper. He shook the man’s hand. “Noah Whitmore. This is my wife, Sunny, and our daughter, Dawn.”

He was always careful to show her every courtesy, and every time Noah introduced her and her baby this way, gratitude swamped her. For this she forgave him his tendency to pass a whole day exchanging only a sentence or two with her.

Maybe it wasn’t the sleepless nights. Some men just didn’t talk much—she knew that.

But she could tell that he was keeping a distance between them. Their marriage had yet to be consummated.

She didn’t blame him for not wanting her. Sudden shame over her past suddenly lit Sunny’s face red-hot.

“You just stopping or staying?” the friendly storekeeper in the white apron asked.

“I have our homestead east of here claimed and staked.” Noah sounded proud.

Our homestead—Sunny savored the words, her face cooling.

“I thought you looked familiar. You were here a few months ago. But alone.”

“Right.” Dismissing the man’s curiosity, Noah turned to her. “Sunny, why don’t you go inside and see if there’s anything you need before we head to our homestead. It will be a while before we get to town again.”

The farther they traveled, the more Noah dropped his use of “thee” in favor of “you.” Noah appeared to be changing his identity. I am, too. And the sheer distance they’d come from more populated places heartened her. The farther north they went the fewer people there were. That meant the chances of her running into anyone who’d met her in a saloon were slimmer. A blessing, but now, Noah was saying they would be living far from this town?

Trying to quell her worries, she smiled and walked toward the store’s shady entrance. The storekeeper beamed at her and opened wide the door.

A memory flashed through her of the storekeeper in Pennsylvania who had wanted her out of his establishment. She missed a beat and then proceeded inside, assuring herself that no one here would ever call her a harlot or touch her in a way that made her cringe.

Only Noah knew the truth about her past, about Dawn’s illegitimacy. Wisconsin was far from Idaho Territory where Dawn had been born and she couldn’t imagine meeting anyone from her old life.

Yes, only Noah could ruin her here.

But he’d never do that. Surely he would never betray her, now that she was his wife...would he?

She took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I need anything, Mr. Ashford. But it is good to get out of the sun and see what your fine establishment has to offer.”

Mr. Ashford beamed at her. “Pepin County is growing every day, now that the war is over and men are looking for a place to settle their families. Of course in the 1600s the Pepin brothers first arrived—Frenchmen, you know. The river made it easy to get to.”

As Sunny scanned the large store, Mr. Ashford’s seemingly inexhaustible flow continued. “Now you go just a few miles east and you’ll be in the forest and not much in the way of settlers. Your man was smart to homestead here in Wisconsin.” The words your man warmed her to her toes. She’d always had men, not one who’d claimed her as his own.

“No soddy house for you. With all the trees hereabouts, he can build you a nice snug cabin and have firewood aplenty. ’Course that makes it harder to clear land for a crop. But...” The man shrugged.

Sunny suddenly sensed Noah and turned to see him just inside, leaning against the doorjamb, silently urging her to come away. This wasn’t the first time that he’d let her know he wanted to keep his distance from others.

Today she could understand his urgency. It was time to go see their land. “Your store is very neat and well-stocked,” she said as she reluctantly made her way toward Noah.

Mr. Ashford beamed at her again.

“Does thee...” Noah stopped and began again. “Do you see anything you need, Sunny? I want to get to our homestead with plenty of time left to set up camp for the night.”

Still hesitant to leave this cool, shady place, Sunny considered once more. “No, thank you, Noah. I don’t need anything.”

Noah peeled himself from the doorjamb. “Storekeeper, I’ll need a bag of peppermints.”

Sunny turned to him, her lips parted in surprise.

“My wife has a sweet tooth.” One corner of Noah’s mouth almost lifted.

He’d noticed her buying peppermint drops in Cairo, and savoring one a day till she’d run out.

The storekeeper chuckled as he bagged peppermint drops and then accepted three pennies from Noah.

“Shall we go, wife?”

She smiled, stirred by Noah’s thoughtfulness. “Yes. Good day, Mr. Ashford.”

“Good day and again, welcome to Pepin!”

Noah helped her back onto the wagon bench and lifted Dawn up to her. Then he handed her the bag of candy, which she slipped into her pocket as she felt a blush creep over her cheeks.

Noah led them down the main street and then to a bare rocky track, heading east away from the river, away from town.

Just before turning onto the track, Sunny glanced back and saw a woman dressed in red satin come out of the saloon and lean wearily against the hitching rail. Sunny averted her eyes, her heart beating faster. But she couldn’t afford to show any pity or sympathy with this woman.

I must remember which side of the line I belong on now.

She’d studied how decent women behaved and hoped her masquerade would hold up well. The happy image of Dawn in her white pinafore running toward school and friends bobbed up in her mind again.

She wouldn’t fail Dawn, no matter what.

* * *

Because of the roughness of the track, they progressed slowly, cautiously, through the thick forest of maple, oak and fir. This forest had probably never felt the blade of an ax. Noah marveled at the huge trees and with each landmark, his excitement gained momentum. All those nights when he’d lain alone, sometimes in a tent, sometimes under the open sky, listening to the sounds of war playing in his mind. How long had he dreamed of having a place of his own? How long had he dreamed of having a wife to bring to it?

Longer than he could say.

Why did he continue to leave his wife alone at night? His lovely wife, with her soft voice and shy smiles. The truth was, he could not bring himself to touch her. What right did he have? The faces of men he’d killed continued to plague his nights, waking them both. His lungs tightened painfully. How could he touch her when he felt that he belonged with the damned?

This marriage was out of practical necessity for both of them, nothing more, he reminded himself.

Finally the big pine, nearly three feet in diameter, loomed ahead of him, the rag he’d tied to a low branch fluttering in the breeze. In the distance he heard the creek rushing with melted snow runoff. He turned to Sunny, feeling the closest thing to joy that he could remember in years. “Our land starts here.”

Sunny reined in the oxen and looked around at the dense forest. “The storekeeper wasn’t joking when he said there’d be a lot of trees.”

He nodded with satisfaction. “Enough for all our needs. Let’s head closer to the creek, to our homesite. We’ll make camp there.”

Sunny glanced at the sun, now hovering just above the horizon, pink-orange clouds shimmering in the tiny slits between the dark wide tree trunks. “We’ll need to hurry to get ready before sundown.”

He tried not to take her lack of enthusiasm personally. But he couldn’t help noticing that she’d sounded much happier in town.

“I already cleared a place for our house. And I can get started felling more trees for our cabin first thing in the morning.”

She nodded. “I want to see it.”

He led the oxen with his hand at their heads, enduring their slow progress as they shuffled their way through the undergrowth of the forest. Then the clearing opened before them. “Here it is.”

Her watchful silence followed. He tried to see the clearing through her eyes but couldn’t. “We want to be near the creek, but not so near that we get the mosquitoes that hang close there. And the house will be on the rise, so no spring flooding.” He couldn’t stop himself as he explained how he had chosen the site.

Sunny tied up the reins.

He hurried to help her down. She always seemed so frail, and he’d been surprised when she’d asked to learn how to drive the oxen, even though they were docile creatures. When she set her feet on their land, she gazed around assessing it. Then she looked to him. “You chose well.”

He tried to stop his smile but couldn’t, so he turned away. “I’ll go draw us some fresh water and lead the oxen to the creek. They can drink their fill, and there’s grass there for them to graze on. There’s a spring here, too. We’ll have a spring house—soon.” The dam that held back his words had burst. He tried to stop before he revealed just how glad he was to finally be home.

“I’ll gather some wood for a fire.” She lifted Dawn, who was just beginning to fuss.

“You sit down and nurse her,” he said as he unyoked the oxen. He saw her sitting on the step up to the wagon bench, settling Dawn to nurse, and he had to turn his head from the cozy picture they made.

Other men came back from the war and went on with their lives. What kept him from being a real husband to her? Why did he resist any attempt by her to get closer? There was a chasm between them he was responsible for and could not bridge. Was he truly protecting her from himself, from the horrible things that lived on inside him?

Or was he simply incapable of anything even resembling...love?

Chapter Three

In the morning Sunny awoke to Dawn’s hungry whimpering. She stared up at the cloth covering of the Conestoga wagon, illuminated with sunlight, and stifled a sigh. She touched the rumpled blanket at her feet that Noah had slept upon—when he wasn’t tossing with another awful nightmare. She heard him already outside, stirring up the cook fire. Lassitude gripped her.

Dawn began to cry and that moved Sunny. Noah had crafted a kind of hammock just inside the front opening of the canvas top. Sunny lifted her child down, changed her soaked diaper and then put her to nurse. The breeze blew warm and gentle.

Tears slipped down Sunny’s cheeks. She clamped her eyes closed. Loneliness was stripping away her peace. Weeks had passed since she’d had a simple conversation with another woman. The faces of her mother’s friends, her only friends in the world except for the Gabriels, came to mind. She’d left them all behind. How would she handle this loneliness, keep it from destroying her peace?

“Good morning, wife.” Noah looked in from the rear opening.

Sunny blinked rapidly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears. “Good morning,” she replied, forcing a smile.

“I’ve got the coffee boiling.” His words revealed little but the mundane. Didn’t he ever long to sit with another man and talk of men things? Men came to saloons to do that, just to jaw and laugh. Not that she wanted Noah to go to the saloon in town.

But, Noah, why don’t you want to talk with other men?

She patted Dawn, who wore the seraphic smile she always had when nursing. When Sunny looked up, she glimpsed a look on Noah’s face that she hadn’t seen before.

He looked away quickly.

She sensed such a deep loneliness and hidden pain in him. But she also keenly felt the wall he kept between them. “I’ll be out soon.”

“No rush. We have a good day. Perfect for felling trees.”

Sunny tried to look happy at this news. He turned away and she heard him unloading tools from the storage area under the wagon.

This won’t last forever. We’ll go to town from time to time. I’ll meet local women, become part of this community. Again she pictured Dawn dressed in a fresh white pinafore, running toward a little white schoolhouse, calling to her friends. And they were calling back to her, happy to see her.

I can do this. This is Dawn’s future, not just mine.

* * *

After breakfast Noah picked up his ax and headed toward the edge of the clearing.

“Please be careful, Noah,” his wife said.

Her concern made him feel...something. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it wasn’t bad, whatever it was. “I’m always careful with an ax in my hand.”

She didn’t look convinced, but in time she would be. He looked at her for a moment, at the way her lush blond hair flowed down her back as she brushed it, getting ready to pin it up for the day.

His wife was beautiful.

Turning away to shut this out, he studied the trees at the edge of the clearing and chose which one would be the first for their future cabin. He selected an elm thrice as tall and wide as he. He gauged where he wanted it to fall and took his position. He swung and felt the blade bite the bark and wood, the impact echoing through his whole body. He set his pace and kept a steady rhythm.

Finally at the right moment he swung and the tree creaked, trembled and fell with a swish of leaves. It bounced once, twice and shivered to a halt. Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, Noah grinned.

Sweat trickling down his back, he began to chop away the branches so he could roll the first fresh log aside and start on the next tree, a maple. Then he heard something unexpected. He stopped, checking to see if he’d actually heard it.

In the distance came the sound of another ax. And another.

Irritation prickled through him.

“Do you hear that?” Sunny asked from behind him. “Sounds like someone else is felling trees. Maybe they’re building a cabin not too far away.”

Hoping she was dead wrong, he glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed her smile as she listened intently. She’d obviously just walked back from the creek, a dishpan of washed breakfast dishes in her arms.

“Might be loggers. Or someone cutting wood for winter so it has time to cure before then.” He turned back to the maple. “You need to keep back from me. When I take a swing, I don’t want to hit you.”

“I’ll stay back. I’m setting up my outdoor kitchen and such,” she said, moving away.

The sound of the other axes on the clean spring air echoed around his own swings, making it harder to concentrate and keep his own rhythm. He fumed. I chose this site because it was miles from town and any other homestead. Whoever you are, go away.

As if the logger had heard his thoughts, the distant chopping stopped.

He shook his arms and shoulders, loosening them. With renewed purpose, he swung his ax, eating into the corn-hued wood pulp, sending chips and bark flying.

In between swings he overheard Sunny singing to Dawn. He’d made the right decision. Sunny always kept cheerful, never complained and worked hard. They’d make do.

Noah was sizing up the third tree when something startled him.

“Hello, the wagon!” called a cheerful male voice.

Noah was puzzled for a second, then realized the greeting was a twist on the usual frontier salute of “Hello, the house,” which people often said to let the inhabitants of a house know someone was approaching, giving them time to prepare to welcome rare visitors.

Just what Noah didn’t need—clever company.

“Hello!” Sunny called in return. “Welcome!”

Her buoyant voice grated Noah’s nerves. He lowered his ax, trying to prepare himself to meet whoever had intruded. With one swift downward stroke he sunk the ax into a nearby stump.

Two men, both near his age, were advancing on him, smiles on their faces and their right hands outstretched. He didn’t smile, but he did shake their hands in turn.

He wanted to be left alone, but he didn’t want people talking behind his back, thinking him odd. He’d had enough of that in the army and in Pennsylvania. In the army his Quaker plain speech had marked him as odd and back home, he was a Quaker who’d gone to war. He hadn’t fitted in either place. And he’d given up trying.

“We heard your ax,” the taller of the two said. “I’m Charles Fitzhugh and this is Martin Steward. We’re your closest neighbors.”

“I’m Noah Whitmore.” Then he introduced the men to Sunny and Dawn, his wife and child. “Your claims must not be very far away.” He clenched his jaw. He’d checked every direction but one—northeast—since he’d been told that no claim lay in those rolling hills.

“Mine’s a little over a mile away on the other side of a hill—” Charles pointed northeast “—and Martin’s another half mile farther from mine.” The man grinned affably. “I’ve a wife and two daughters, and Martin’s building his cabin to bring his bride to.”

Martin’s cheeks reddened at this announcement. He had a round face and brown hair in a bowl cut. “She lives south near Galena, Illinois.”

“What’s her name?” Sunny asked, waving the men toward the fire. She soon was pouring them cups of coffee.

Noah ground his teeth. Maybe it was time he made things clear to Sunny about not being overly friendly. He hadn’t thought it necessary, based on her difficult past. He’d assumed she’d want to keep to herself as much as he did. Clearly he had much to learn about his wife.

Charles complimented Sunny on the coffee and then turned to Noah. “I’m helping Martin get his cabin up. Why don’t we join forces and work together? Three men can get a cabin up in days. Since you’ve a wife and child, we’ll come and help you first and then we can help Martin out. Get him married off sooner than later.”

Martin face turned a darker red.

Noah nearly choked, his reluctance shooting up into his throat. “I—”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Sunny crowed. “So neighborly.” And she wrung each man’s hands in turn. “Isn’t that wonderful, Noah?” She turned, beaming toward him.

Noah wanted to object, to tell them he didn’t want their help. But the words wouldn’t come. Quakers—not even his father—wouldn’t rudely rebuff any offer of help.

He nodded and folded his arms over his chest.

“I already told my wife that we were coming down to stay the day and get a load of work done.” Charles grinned, apparently oblivious to Noah’s reluctance. He and Martin handed Sunny their empty cups.

“I’ll have lunch enough for all of us,” Sunny promised. She quickly glanced at Noah. “I’ll warn you though, I’m not much of a cook.”

Noah turned away and the men followed him, discussing which tree to cut down next. Martin said he was good at squaring off and produced his adze, stripping bark from the already-downed trees.

Soon Noah and Charles were chopping the maple as a team. With each stroke of the his ax, Noah swallowed down his annoyance. Why couldn’t people leave him alone?

Sunny must be made to understand exactly how he wanted the two of them to live. He needed to make that clear. Once and for all.

* * *

By the cook fire Sunny and Noah sat on logs across from each other. Supper eaten, she eyed him in the lowering sunlight, her nerves tightening by the moment. The instant their neighbors had appeared, she’d noted her husband withdrawing. No one else had noticed. But it had been obvious to her. Now he was clenching and unclenching his hands around his last cup of coffee, frowning into the fire. Why didn’t he like such kind neighbors coming to help?

Rattled, she didn’t know what to do in the face of his displeasure—whether to speak or keep silent. She couldn’t imagine Noah lifting a hand to her but in the past men had. One—in a drunk rage—had broken her hand.

Fighting the old fear, she nursed Dawn and then put her down for the night in the little hammock in the wagon. Then she stood in the lengthening shadows by the wagon, unable to stop chafing her poor thumb. As she watched her angry husband, she felt her nerves give way to aggravation. Nothing had happened that should make any man upset.

Finally she recalled one of Constance Gabriel’s few words of advice: “Do not let the sun go down upon your wrath.” These words from the Bible must be right. But could she do it? Could she confront this man who’d only been her husband for a period of weeks?

A memory slipped into her thoughts. Constance and Adam Gabriel had been alone in the kitchen, talking in undertones. She’d overheard Constance say, “Adam, this must be decided.”

So wives did confront husbands. Sunny took a deep breath.

“Noah,” she said, “what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want people hanging around,” he muttered darkly.

“Why not?” she insisted, leaning forward to hear him.

He sat silent, his chest heaving and his face a mask of troubled emotions.

“What is wrong, Noah? The men just came to help us.”

“I don’t want their help. I want to be left alone. I don’t want us getting thick with people hereabout. I picked this homesite far from town to steer clear of people. I’ve had enough of people to last me a lifetime. In the future, we will keep to ourselves.”

His words were hammers. “Keep to ourselves?” she gasped. The happy image of Dawn in her white pinafore shifted to a shy, downcast Dawn hanging back from the other children who looked at her, their expressions jeering as tears fell down her cheeks.

“No.” Sunny said, firing up in defense. “No.” She came around to face him. “Why did you marry me if you wanted to be alone?”

Noah rose. They were toe-to-toe. His eyes had opened wide.

“Why don’t you want to be neighborly?” she demanded, shaking.

He took a step backward. “I...I...”

“What if I get sick? Who will you call for help? If I get with child, will you deliver it alone? We have no family here. How can we manage without our neighbors?”

They stared at each other. Sunny shook with outrage at his unreasonable demand.

Noah breathed rapidly, too, as if he’d just finished a race. Finally he shook his head as if coming awake. “I don’t want people here all the time,” he said. “I just want peace and quiet.”

“People have their own work to do.” She clamped her hands together, feeling blood where she’d chafed her thumb. “Once the cabins are built, Charles and Martin will be busy with their own work.”

He let out a rush of air and raked his hands through his hair. “All right. Just remember I don’t want people here all the time.”

She wanted to argue, but sensed much more was going on here than was being said. “I will keep your wish in mind,” she said, scanning his face for clues as to what was happening inside him.

He stood, staring at her for a moment as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m going to clean up at the creek.” He grabbed a towel from the clothesline she’d strung earlier in the day and stomped off.

Sunny slumped against the wagon, calming herself, consciously shedding the fear and anger. He didn’t want people around him. Maybe he didn’t want her around him? Maybe he’d only brought her here to cook and clean. That would explain why he showed no interest in getting closer to her.

The thought made her angry all over again.

Climbing into the wagon, she checked on Dawn who slept peacefully in her little hammock. She’d be safe here. Sunny climbed down, grabbed another towel from the line and headed toward the creek, too. The unusual high temperature and humidity combined with the argument had left her ruffled and heated. Earlier she’d noticed a bend in the creek that was shielded by bushes where she could discreetly cool off.

Noah already splashed in the wide part of the creek, deep with spring runoff. In the long shadows she skirted around, barely glancing toward him. Within the shelter of the bushes, she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed over the pebbles into the cool water. She shivered, but in a good way. Soon ankle-deep, she was bending and splashing water up onto her face and neck, washing away the grime and stickiness.

The cool water soothed her, the sound of its rippling over the rocks calmed her nerves like a balm. She sighed as the last of her indignation drifted away on the current. She waded out onto the mossy bank and dried off.

At the sound of her name she turned and found Noah walking toward her. Night had come; moonlight glimmered around them. She braced herself, waiting for him to reach her. Had he come to start the argument anew?

He paused a foot from her. “I’m sorry, Sunny.” The soft words spoke volumes of anguish.

She gazed at him, uncertain. Their disagreement had been over nothing—or everything—and she sensed that Noah was struggling just like she was. She recalled his words on their wedding night, when he’d asked which was worse, lying with strangers or killing them.

Amid the incessant frogs croaking around them, he whispered, “Sunny, I just need space, peace.”

His voice opened the lock to her heart and freed her. “Noah,” she murmured.

“But I want you to be happy here, too,” he added.

His tenderness touched her, but she didn’t know how to respond. They were still strangers.

In the silent darkness he helped her gather her shawl around her shoulders and then they walked to the wagon. Sunny tried to figure out what had happened this evening, what bedeviled her husband, and how she could bring him peace. She had no answers.

At the wagon she hoped he would follow her inside so she could comfort him. But, as usual, he let her go in and then he wished her good-night from the foot of the cramped wagon bed.

Sunny lay very still, wondering if Noah would have another nightmare tonight, and if he’d ever reveal what the dreams were about. She had a feeling his nightmares and his reluctance to be around people were connected.

And she was determined to find out how. She just needed to be patient. But patience had never been one of her talents. Someday they would have to talk matters out. Maybe when Noah’s nightmares ceased?

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