reply unsettled her further. Why, she couldn’t say. “I see.”
“Has thee ever thought about leaving here?”
“Where would I go?” she said without waiting to think about how she should reply. She hadn’t learned to hold her quick tongue—unfortunately.
He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
And what would I do? She had no way to support herself—except to go back to the saloon. Sudden revulsion gagged her.
Did those women in town think she’d chosen to be a prostitute? Did they think her mother had chosen to be one? A saloon was where a woman went when she had nowhere else to go. It wasn’t a choice; it was a life sentence.
As they reached the lane to the Whitmore family’s farm, Noah pulled at the brim of his hat. “Sunny, I’ll leave thee here. Thanks for thy company. After weeks alone it was nice to speak to thee.”
We didn’t say much—or rather, you didn’t. But Sunny smiled and nodded, her tongue tied by his kindness. He’d actually been polite to her in public. At the saloon, men were often polite but only inside. Outside they didn’t even look at her, the lowest of the low.
With a nod, Noah rode down the lane.
Sunny drove on in turmoil. A mile from home she stopped the wagon and bent her head, praying for self-control as she often did on her return trip from town. If she appeared upset, she would have to explain the cause of her distress to Constance Gabriel. And she didn’t want to do that. She owed the Gabriel family much. She’d met Mercy Gabriel, M.D., the eldest Gabriel daughter, in Idaho Territory. Dr. Mercy had delivered Sunny’s baby last year and then made the arrangements for Sunny to come here to her parents, Constance and Adam, and try for a new start.
But she couldn’t stay in this town for the rest of her life, no matter how kind the Gabriels had been.
“I have to get away from here. Start fresh.” Without warning the words she’d long held back were spoken aloud into the quiet daylight. But she had no plan. No place to go. No way to earn a living—except the way she had in the past.
She choked back a sob, not for herself but for her daughter. What if the type of public humiliation she’d suffered today happened a few years from now when her baby girl could understand what was being said about her mother?
Noah’s questions came back to her, and she felt a stab of envy that the man was free to simply pick up and start again somewhere new on his own. Sunny did not have that luxury. What am I going to do?
* * *
Noah slowly led his horse up the familiar lane, to the place he called home, but which really wasn’t home anymore. Sunny’s face lingered in his mind—so pretty and somehow still graced with a tinge of innocence.
Ahead, he saw his father and two of his brothers. His brothers stopped unloading the wagon and headed toward him. Not his father. He stared at Noah and then turned his back and stalked to the barn.
This galled Noah, but he pushed it down. Then he recalled how that man on Main Street had touched Sunny without any fear. It galled him to his core, too. She had no one to protect her. The man had been right; the Gabriels would not fight for her. The idea that had played through his mind over the past few months pushed forward again.
His eldest brother reached him first. “You came back.” He gripped Noah’s hand.
“I’m home.” For now. His other brothers shook his hand in welcome, none of them asking about his trip, afraid of what he’d say, no doubt.
“Don’t take it personally,” his eldest brother said, apologizing for their father’s lack of welcome with a nod toward the barn.
“It is meant personally,” Noah replied. “He will never forgive me for disagreeing with him and going to war.” Noah held up his hand. “Don’t make excuses for him. He’s not going to change.”
His brothers shifted uncomfortably on their feet, not willing to agree or disagree. They were caught in the middle.
But not for long. Meeting Sunny in town exactly when he’d come home and seeing her shamed in public had solidified his purpose. She needed his protection and he could provide it. But would she accept him?
* * *
Feeling like a counterfeit, Sunny perched on the backless bench in the quiet Quaker meeting for another Sunday morning of worship she didn’t understand. She sat near the back on the women’s side beside Constance Gabriel, who had taught Sunny to be still here and let the Inner Light lead her.
But how did that feel? Was she supposed to be feeling something besides bone-aching hopelessness?
Little Dawn stirred in her arms and Sunny patted her six-month-old daughter, soothing her to be quiet. I’ve brought this shame upon my daughter as surely as my mother brought it onto me. She pushed the tormenting thought back, rocking slightly on the hard bench not just to comfort Dawn, but herself, as well.
The door behind her opened, the sound magnified by the silence within. Even the devout turned their heads to glimpse who’d broken their peace.
He came. Awareness whispered through Sunny as Noah Whitmore stalked to the men’s side and sat down near, but still a bit apart from, his father and five older brothers. Today he was wearing his Sunday best like everyone else. His expression was stormy, determined.
Dawn woke in her arms and yawned. She was a sweet-tempered child, and as pretty as anything with reddish-blond hair and big blue eyes. As Sunny smiled down at her, an old, heartbreaking thought stung her. I don’t even know who your father is. Sunny closed her eyes and absorbed the full weight of her wretchedness, thankful no one could hear what was in her mind.
Noah Whitmore rose. This was not uncommon—the Quaker worship consisted of people rising to recite, discuss or quote scripture. However, in her time here, Noah had never risen. The stillness around Sunny became alert, sharp. Everyone looked at him. Unaccountably reluctant to meet his gaze, she lowered her eyes.
“You all know that I’ve been away,” Noah said, his voice growing firmer with each word. The congregation palpably absorbed this unexpected, unconventional announcement. In any other church, whispering might have broken out. Here, though, only shuttered glances and even keener concentration followed.
Sunny looked up and found that Noah Whitmore was looking straight at her. His intent gaze electrified her and she had to look away again.
“I’m making this announcement because I’ve staked a homestead claim in Wisconsin but must accumulate what’s necessary and return there while there is still time to put in a crop.” Still focusing on her, he paused and his jaw worked. “And I have chosen a woman who I hope will become a wife.”
A wife? Sunny sensed the conspicuous yet silent reaction Noah’s announcement was garnering. And since Noah was staring at her, everyone was now studying her, too. He couldn’t...no, he—
“Adam Gabriel,” Noah said, his voice suddenly gruffer, “I want to ask for thy foster daughter Sunny’s hand in marriage. And I want us to be married now, here, today.”
Ice shot through Sunny. She heard herself gasp. And she was not the only one. She couldn’t
