Page 126

For a moment he said nothing. Then he reached inside his coat and produced a folded letter of his own.

“Had an idea you might like paper better than another trinket.”

Eden opened it beneath the lantern. The writing had grown steadier over the past year, though she would have known his hand even if it hadn’t.

Dear Eden,

I thanked the Lord when you came to Flat River, and I thank Him now you stayed, and that you did it of your own choosing. I can’t promise every year will be easy, but I can promise you’ll never have to earn your place beside me by taking care of everybody else. You are my wife, my friend, and the woman I hope to grow old with. Thank you for giving me the chance to love you.

Yours, Jesse

Eden pressed the letter to her heart.

“You’ve made me cry on our anniversary,” she said.

“Reckon I’ll have to make amends.”

“With what?”

He kissed her, slow and gentle, while snow gathered beyond the porch. When he drew back, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Think the Lord knew what He was doing with that bag of letters?” he asked.

“I think He was merciful to two people who didn’t know how much they needed a new beginning.”

Jesse smiled. “And now?”

“Now we get to live it.”

Inside, the fire crackled, and the Christmas greenery stirred in a draft from the hall. Somewhere on the shelf rested a bag of letters whose stories had yet to be told. Eden was glad to leave them for another day.

She took her husband’s hand and went back into the house with him, thankful to God for the chance they had been given, and for the years still ahead.