Chapter 13

"Do you, Mira Dean, take this man, Gordon Covington, to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do you part, according to God's holy ordinance?"

Reverend Haskell's deep voice seemed to vibrate in Mira's ears as she stood beside Gordon while the preacher read out of a small book he held on top of his open Bible. He had already spoken almost the same list of vows to Gordon about taking her to be his wedded wife. Gordon had looked at Mira and answered without hesitation.

She intended to do the same, but the words played back through her mind. She could do the better or worse, the richer or poorer, in sickness and health, but what about the love and cherish? Should she solemnly promise in front of God something she didn't feel, that she might never truly feel?

Reverend Haskell kept his gaze steady on her. She sensed Gordon afraid to breathe beside her and knew, without looking, that Miss Stella, as their witness, was praying for the expected answer.

She shut her eyes for a moment and changed the vows in her mind to learn to love and to cherish.

When she opened her eyes, the preacher watched her with such patient understanding that she was embarrassed not to have answered at once. She pulled in a breath and pushed out the necessary words. "I do."

Nothing more was expected, but before Reverend Haskell went on with the ceremony, she added, "With the Lord's help."

Gordon took her hand in his then. "And I say the same."

"Not a bad addition to the vows," Reverend Haskell said. "Then I, by the power vested in me, pronounce you, Gordon and Mira Covington, man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

This time Gordon was the one who hesitated, obviously unsure if Mira would welcome a kiss. When he seemed ready to turn away, Mira lifted her face toward his, inviting the kiss. She had vowed to be his wife for the rest of their lives. That promise should be sealed with a kiss.

He smiled and brushed his lips softly against hers. Beside them, Miss Stella clapped her hands. Reverend Haskell closed his marrying book and clasped Gordon's shoulder with congratulations.

The deed was done.

"Oh, I do wish you two would stay long enough for me to bake a cake and invite some of our church people in to celebrate with you," Miss Stella said.

"That would be wonderful, Aunt Stella," Gordon said. "But I'm already days late getting back to Sourwood, and tomorrow is Sunday. After being gone last Sunday, I would rather not leave the church dark two weeks in a row."

"I should say not," Reverend Haskell said. "People have a few Sundays without church, they can get slack about remembering the way back to worship."

"Now, Bill, our people are very faithful."

"Because we are, Mama. Because we are. And the people in Sourwood expect the same from our Gordon here." He bent his head and peered up at Gordon through his eyebrows with a smile all too easy to interpret. "Besides, the children here will be ready to get to their new home."

Heat bloomed in Mira's cheeks again. Her face had been flushed so much since she came into the Haskells' house, they might think a red face normal for her. And now she would be going to a new place where more people would be looking at Gordon and her, assuming more than there was to assume between them.

When the wagon arrived to take them to Sourwood, Gordon and Reverend Haskell went out to load their trunks.

"That will keep them busy awhile." Miss Stella took Mira's arm and pulled her back toward the room where she had slept. "Gives me time to get your wedding gift."

"Please, no. You have been so kind already."

"Pshaw. A bride needs a wedding present. 'Course you'll likely get a passel more at Sourwood. Folks do love to give to their pastor. One of your duties as a pastor's wife will be to always show gratitude no matter the gift. I've had some doozies in my time, let me tell you." Miss Stella shook her head with a little laugh. "But I always embraced the joy they felt in giving. You do the same."

"I will try."

"'Course you will. Be sure to top it off with a smile." She opened a cedar chest.

"Really, Miss Stella, you mustn't give me anything. Your kindness is more than I can ever repay."

"You don't have to repay kindness." She didn't look around as she rummaged through the chest. "Such needs to be given on to the next folks you meet. And could be the first one to spend your kind thoughts and deeds on will be that new husband of yours."

"Yes." She could do that. Surely.

"Ah, here it is." The woman lifted out a quilt to spread on the bed. "I finished this up last winter."

"It's beautiful." Mira traced the intersecting rings of blue and dark pink circles with her finger.

"And it's yours." Miss Stella refolded the quilt.

"Oh no." Mira shook her head. "That's too much."

"You have to take it. I made it with you in mind. Not that I knew what you were going to look like at the time, but I was sure our Gordon would find him a wife one of these days. I was saving it for him. Well, not for him." She pushed the quilt into Mira's arms. "For you."

Mira held it close, feeling not only the warmth of the fabric but of the woman's love for Gordon that spilled over to her. The quilt smelled like cedar from the chest where it had been stored until Gordon came with a bride. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Oh, you'll find a way one of these days when you bring a little one to visit his Aunt Stella."

Mira's heart jumped at the thought. If only someday that could be true. "Do you have children, Miss Stella?"

The woman's face lost its smile. "I did. Two little ones. A dear little boy and a sweet baby girl. My precious girl only lived a few days. Bill said heaven must have decided they couldn't get by without our little angel. We had Jacob a little longer." A smile that hid none of her sadness slid across her face. "He was a sturdy little fellow. Looked the image of his pa. He was four years and three months when he took sick with a fever and heaven called him back too."

"I'm so sorry." Mira blinked back the tears that popped into her eyes. She couldn't start weeping when Miss Stella wasn't crying.

"I know. It's sad." The woman patted Mira's arm. "A body can have some heartbreak in life, but the Lord doesn't intend us to dwell on the sorrow but on the joy of loving those he sends our way. And when we lose those loved ones, he walks us through that hard valley and lets us know we still have things to do before he calls us home. Best to remember that."

"Yes."

The woman's smile got brighter. "But enough sorrowing. Nothing but joy should be falling around you today. And you might need that quilt for your trek to Sourwood. It's cold as a wedge out there. Not a bad thing. Better to have frozen wagon ruts than muddy ones, but it can make for breezy travel." She pointed at the quilt. "You can wrap that around you to keep your toes from freezing off."

When she went outside, the wagon's driver didn't look more than fourteen, but he kept a good hold on his horses. The trunks were tied in place, and they made Mira a seat on a wooden crate beside them.

Miss Stella hugged her and then hugged her twice more before she handed her a cloth bag. "Here's a poke with some vittles in case you'uns get peckish on the way."

After she was settled on the makeshift seat, Gordon climbed up by the driver. Arm in arm, Reverend Haskell and Miss Stella watched them off. Mira waved until she couldn't see them anymore. She leaned back against the trunk.

No going back now. She had said vows that promised forever as long as they had the gift of life. She silently prayed for many years for Gordon. She certainly could not imagine being a widow in this wild country.

She grabbed the edges of the box and endured numerous bounces before they left town. When they headed away from any sign of a road around a hill and down into an icy creek bed, she found out why the trunks were tied down so securely. She could have used a rope tying her down. A bad jostle knocked her completely off her crate down in the wagon bed.

The boy looked over his shoulder and laughed as he eased back on the reins to stop the horses.

Gordon climbed over into the wagon to help her up. "Are you all right, Mira?"

"I'm still in one piece. I think." She jerked the quilt up off the wagon bed.

"You best let the missus sit up here with us, Preacher," the boy said. "We ain't to the rough parts yet. Up here you can hold on to her to keep her from bouncin' out."

Gordon glanced at the boy and back at Mira. "John's right. I thought you might not like being squeezed between us on the seat."

John spoke up again. "We ain't so wide. She'll fit with us, but best come along afore the horses get restless."

Gordon tucked the quilt under the rope across one of the trunks. She would just have to take a chance on those frozen toes Miss Stella talked about. Gordon lifted her over into the seat. The boy took a peek when her skirt caught on the back of the seat and hiked up almost to her knees. With a broad smile, he stared out toward the horses.

Her face hot with embarrassment, she yanked at her petticoats and dress tail. Gordon climbed out of the wagon onto some rocks in the creek and waited until she got things back in order before he clambered back onto the seat. They were shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, but that did keep her warmer.

The boy started the horses down the creek.

"Aren't we getting out of the creek?" Mira asked.

The boy gave her a sideways look as if she'd asked why the sky was blue or the sun yellow. "This here crick is how we got to go."

Gordon smiled. "In the hills, creeks are often the best roads."

"Oh."

"The onliest roads," the boy said. "Take a gander around. You see any other way we wouldn't be runnin' into trees?"

Trees did crowd in toward the creek from all sides. "Oh," she said again.

"'Sides, the snow don't build up in cricks. Water washes it down. You just have to hope it don't wash you with it. That's when the tides come."

She remembered Gordon telling her tides were floods. Pokes were sacks. Creeks or cricks were roads. She might have to write all this down. She seemed to have the same as a foreign language to learn.

"We're comin' along to one of them rougher spots," the boy said. "Best hang on, Missus."

She grabbed the edge of the seat. Gordon wrapped his arm around her and held her close. She felt safe against him and was a little sorry when he took his arm away along a smoother stretch.

To keep from thinking about that, she looked at the boy. "You seem so young to know the country so well."

"I been along here a time or two." The boy kept his gaze on the horses. "My grandpap lives up a holler not far from Preacher Gordon's place." He leaned forward a little to look over at Gordon. "Pap come hear you preach yet?"

"Not yet. But I'm hoping he might soon. Last time I went over to his place he didn't bring his shotgun out with him when he ran me off." Gordon laughed.

"Shotgun?" Again Mira had visions of being a widow in this godforsaken place. "He wouldn't shoot you, would he?"

"He hasn't yet." Gordon didn't sound concerned. "And I've given him several chances. I think he's softening a little."

"If'n I was you, I wouldn't count on Pap goin' soft." The boy laughed and flicked the reins to get the horses out of the creek and onto a trace of a road up through the pines. "He's a mean cuss. Ain't a one of us grandchillun hasn't had him take a stick to us whether we done anything wrong or not. That about not sparin' the rod is the only Bible he will admit to knowing."

"Sounds like someone to stay away from," Mira said.

"Ornery or not, he's family," the boy said. "And I reckon you don't have to worry your head about the preacher, Missus, long as he goes off like as how he's told. I'm thinkin' Pap would sic the dogs on him afore he went to shooting. Lead ain't cheap, and my pap is. Ma says she figures that ev'ry penny he ever come across is hid in his walls somewhere. Says it would serve him right if the rats took a shine to them and carried them off to their rat holes."

"Rats," Mira echoed.

"You ain't got no worry about rats in Sourwood," the boy said. "Plenty of snakes to take care of them in that holler."

Gordon patted her gloved hand. "Don't pay him any mind, Mira. He's trying to pull a rusty on you."

"Rusty?" Mira's head was spinning.

"That's what they call jokes up here. Now behave, John, and quit trying to upset Mrs. Covington."

Mrs. Covington. That sounded every bit as scary as rats and snakes and mountain men with guns. Mira pulled in a little breath to calm down. She was here. She was Gordon's wife. That made her no longer Miss Dean, but Mrs. Covington. She would get used to the name and learn about the place.

After all, she'd been a teacher for years now. She knew about boys and their jokes. Or rusties. In fact, thinking about how the boy was needling her made her feel better. Boys were boys wherever they lived. She'd find a way to teach them and not let them get away with too much.

She sat up straighter and looked around at the snow soft under the pines. It seemed time to change the subject. "It's beautiful up here."

"Ain't nothing but snow and trees," the boy said.

"Beautiful snow and trees," Mira said.

"You'uns brought-in people sure do have funny thinking," John said.

"Fresh eyes. That's all." Gordon squeezed her hand a little. "Just wait until the rhododendron bloom."

"That does sound wonderful." By then she would know the children in her school. By then she might be calling a sack a poke, a joke a rusty, and feeling at home in Sourwood.

She liked looking forward to where they were going instead of seeing where they'd been, the way she had while in the back of the wagon. That was how she should think about her life now. No looking back. Only forward.