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When the reverend asked for their vows, Jesse let go of the cane long enough to take both her hands. His right hand shook. Eden’s fingers warmed it.

He made his promises slowly, giving each word the attention it deserved. Eden did the same. She was not marrying an injury, and he was not marrying the woman who had helped him out of bed. They were marrying the people they had come to know.

When Reverend Billings pronounced them husband and wife, Jesse leaned in carefully. Eden met him halfway.

The kiss was brief, and the cheering afterward made it plain the congregation had hoped for something longer.

“Behave,” Reverend Billings told the back pew, where Tater was whistling.

“We have been,” Rose Arden called.

“Mostly,” Jesse murmured.

Eden laughed against his shoulder.

At the wedding supper, Izzy sat down at the piano without anyone asking her to prove she was brave.

She had begun giving lessons to two children from town and had spent the morning arguing with Rose over whether she needed new music books. Rose had won by buying them.

Jesse stood beside Eden near the doorway when the first notes floated across the room. For a breath, he heard the high keys at Miss Marcy’s again, sharp and wrong. He took a slow breath and kept listening.

Izzy played a hymn. Steady this time. Beautiful, even.

Eden slipped her hand into his. “Would you like to sit?”

“In a minute.”

He waited until Izzy finished, then made his way toward her, using the cane when he needed it. The crowded room quieted as he came to the piano.

“I heard you’re teaching now,” he said.

She nodded, suddenly shy. “Just beginners.”

“Then they’re in good hands.”

She blinked hard. “You think so?”

“I do.”

“I never thanked you,” she whispered. “For what you did that night.”

“You kept playing when I told you to. That’s why you got out.”

“I was afraid.”

“So was I.”

That made her lift her head. She studied him for a moment, then smiled. “You hid it better.”

“Not by much.”

He left her with the music and returned to Eden. She offered him a chair, and he took it without argument. It was his wedding day, after all. A man could afford to be agreeable once.

Across the hall, Aunt Cleo was instructing Doc Mueller on the proper way to pour coffee. The doctor listened with an attention usually reserved for a complicated surgery.

“Is he courting her?” Eden whispered.

“If he ain’t, he’s doing a convincing imitation.”