“Eat a brick, James,” I snap.
“Oh, good. She’s already learned how to communicate with you.” Sid swings the empty feed bucket as he marches up the slope that leads down to the chicken coop.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the woman who captured your heart.”
Captured his heart?What did Sid say to them last night? Did he tell them about the kiss? Oh,pleasedon’t tell me he mentioned the kiss.
Then Silas whispers, “You sure you want to do this?” and it becomes clear James is full of shit.
“If Kayla’s on board, then I am.”
“I’mnot the one who’s going to back out.” So that’s how it’s going to go, is it? We’ll just goad each other to the altar.
Silas sighs heavily but doesn’t argue. Together, the four of us head to the road. Wendell is out splitting wood and notices us leaving, but aside from the curious tilt of his head, he makes no attempt to stop us. All too soon, another wagon rolls up and we climb aboard. As we trundle off, the last moments of my freedom wilt away.
One more hour.
The bus kicks up dust, horses trotting past idyllic farms. James yawns and stretches in the seat across from me. Sid and Silas avoid looking at anyone.
The irony of what I’m doing isn’t lost on me. What would my parents think if they saw me riding into town with a man I’ve known for barely a month, ready to become his legal wife? We fled Astolia precisely because they didn’t want me forced into marriage.
Thirty minutes.
The bus stops a block away from City Hall. When I hop down, Sid catches me by the waist. I know he does it to be helpful, but my stomach seizes.
Twenty-five minutes.
We enter City Hall, and I can’t help but notice that Sid automatically leads us in a path that avoids proximity with Tom’s section of aisle twelve. The aisle that functions as the legal department is split in two between criminal courts and civic matters.
I’m getting married in a remodelled grocery store. This is not the illustration that picture books use at the end of their stories when Cinderella ties the knot with the prince. Is this what Curtis and I would have done, if we’d found a place that officiated marriages? Maybe it’s fine that we never got to have a real wedding.
Twenty minutes.
We stand in line. A clock ticks in the corner. James yawns again.
Really, this is fine. I haven’t wanted another partner since Curtis died, so I’m not giving anything up.
Ten minutes
We reach the counter. Sid makes our request for a marriage license and the first available judge to officiate. They check to make sure we’ve got our witnesses in order, go over my sanctuary papers and blot out one demerit.
See? I’m reaping the benefits already. This is so reasonable.
Two minutes.
Apparently, the courts can decide our matter quickly. No reason to dilly-dally. The aisle has been partitioned into numerous smaller rooms, for privacy, and we’re called into one of them. Sid’s hand slides into mine. I don’t know if I need it to stay steady, but I hold on anyway. I should look like I’m in love with him, after all. Thinking this, Ismile and hope any tears strike the officiant as those of a happy, blushing bride.
No, nothing I do will convince them of that. A happy bride would have worn something other than the shirt she slept in and muddy boots to her wedding.
One minute.
Once we’re inside, a woman in a neat pantsuit smiles at us. We pass her the paperwork; I imagine her going over it and getting enraged when she sees the demerit I still have. But it doesn’t faze her. Soon, she’s grinning at the pair of us.
“Well, these days are the best part of my job.” She steps behind a podium, where she can spread out her papers and ready a pen. “Are there any special words you prepared?”
“Ummm…” Obviously not.
“I, Sid Charles, take Kayla Hollins to protect and to care for. Both her and her family.” He says it like he’s rehearsed it and I feel awful that I don’t have anything to return.
