“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 Noah claimed her hand, the one she’d just withdrawn from him.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