little girl with me.” Noah claimed her hand, the one she’d just withdrawn from him. “Sunny, will thee be my wife and go west with me?”
Noah’s hand was large and rough but so gentle, and his touch warmed her. Then she did something she had barely learned to do—she prayed.
Dear Father, should I marry Noah Whitmore?
She waited, wondering if the Inner Light the Quakers believed in would come to her now, when she needed it so. She glanced up into Noah’s eyes and his loneliness beckoned her, spoke to her own lonesome heart. “Yes,” she whispered, shocking herself. Her words pushed goose bumps up along her arms.
Noah shook her hand as if sealing a contract. She wondered how this new beginning, complete reversal had all happened in less than one unbelievable day.
“We will make the preparations for the wedding to take place during this evening’s meeting,” Solomon said, helping his wife to her feet. “May God bless your union with a love as rich and long as Eve’s and mine.”
The elderly man’s words were emphasized by the tender look he gave his spouse, who beamed at him in turn.
Oh, to be loved like that. Sunny turned to Noah and glimpsed stark anguish flickering in his dark, dark eyes.
Maybe Noah, born and raised among these gentle people, was capable of love like that. Am I?
But what could I possibly have to offer in the way of love?
I’ve never loved any man. The thought made her feel as bleak as a cold winter day. Would she fail Noah? Men had only ever wanted her for one thing. What if that was all she was able to give?
Chapter Two
The weekly Sunday evening meeting became Noah and Sunny’s wedding. Two single straight-backed chairs had been set facing each other in the center of the stark meetinghouse. Noah sat in one with his back to the men.
Outwardly he’d prepared to do this. He had bathed, shaved and changed back into his Sunday suit—after Aunt Martha had come over to press it “proper” for his wedding. While she’d fluttered around, asking him questions about his homestead, Noah’s brothers had been restrained and watchful. Only his eldest brother, Nathan, had asked about Wisconsin and had wished him congratulations on his wedding. His father grim, silent and disapproving. Nothing new there.
Now Noah—feeling as if he were in a dream—watched Constance Gabriel, who was carrying Dawn, lead Sunny to sit on the straight-backed chair set in front of the other women. His bride managed only one glance toward him before she lowered her eyes and folded her hands. Since he couldn’t see her face, he looked at her small, delicate hands. Tried not to think about holding them, tenderly lifting them to his lips. Sunny brought out such feelings in him. He wanted to protect her and hold her close.
While away this year he’d thought of her over and over. He’d barely spoken over a dozen sentences to this woman yet he knew he couldn’t leave her behind—here among the sanctimonious and unforgiving.
A strained, restless silence blanketed the simple, unadorned meetinghouse. Fatigued from tension, Noah quelled the urge to let out a long breath, loosen his collar and relax against the chair. Without turning his head, Noah knew his father sat in his usual place beside Noah’s five brothers. He felt his father’s disapproving stare burn into his back like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
Finally, when Noah thought he could stand the silence no longer, Solomon rose and came to stand beside him. Eve rose and came to stand near Sunny. Noah held his breath. There was still time for his father to cause a scene, to object to the wedding, to disown him again. Noah kept his eyes focused on Sunny.
“Sunny, Friends do not swear oaths,” Solomon said, “but we do affirm.” Then he quoted, ““For the right joining in marriage is the work of the Lord only, and not the priests’ or the magistrates’; for it is God’s ordinance and not man’s; and therefore Friends cannot consent that they should join them together: for we marry none; it is the Lord’s work, and we are but witnesses.’”
Noah’s heart clenched at the words the Lord’s work. Where had the Lord been when sizzling grapeshot had fallen around him like cursed manna? Cold perspiration wet Noah’s forehead. He shoved away battlefield memories and tried to stay in the here and now, with Sunny.
Solomon continued, “When thee two are ready, my wife and I will lead thee through the simple words that will affirm thy decision to marry.”
Sunny looked up then.
Noah read her appeal as clearly as if she had spoken—please let’s finish this. “I’m ready if Sunny is,” Noah said, his voice sounding rusty, his pulse skipping.
Sunny nodded, her pale pink lips pressed so tight they’d turned white.
Noah gently took her small, work-worn hand in his, drawing her up to face him. He found there was much he wanted to tell her but couldn’t speak of, not here or maybe ever. Some words had been trapped inside him for years now. Instead he found himself echoing Solomon’s quiet but authoritative voice.
“In the fear of the Lord and in the presence of this assembly of Friends, I take thee my friend Sunny to be my wife.” He found that she had lifted her eyes and was staring into his as if she didn’t quite believe what was happening. “Promising,” he continued, “with God’s help, to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband, until it shall please the Lord by death to separate us.” Noah fought to keep his voice from betraying his turbulent emotions.
Sunny leaned forward and whispered shyly into his ear. “Thank you.”
Unexpectedly, his spirit lightened.
As Sunny repeated the Quaker wedding promise to Noah, her whole body shook visibly. When she had finished, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss upon her lips. The act rocked him to the core. For her part, Sunny, his bride, appeared strained nearly to breaking. Was marrying him so awful? Did she think he’d be a demanding man? He would have to speak to her, let her know...
“Now, Sunny and Noah,” Solomon continued, “thee will sign thy wedding certificate and I ask all those attending to sign it also as witnesses.”
At Solomon’s nod, Noah took his bride’s arm and led her to a little table near the door. A pen, ink and a paper had been set there for them. At the top of the paper someone had written in large bold script, “The Wedding Certificate of Sunny Adams and Noah Whitmore, April 4, 1869 at the Harmony, Pennsylvania, Friends Meeting.”
Noah motioned for her to go first, but she shook her head. “Please,” she whispered.
He bent and wrote his name right under the heading. Then he handed her the pen. She took a deep breath and carefully penned her name to the right of his, her hand trembling.
Then Noah led her to the doorway. By couples and singles, Friends got up and went to the certificate and signed under the heading of “Witnesses.” Then they came to her and Noah and shook their hands, wishing them well. All spoke in muted voices as if trying to keep this wedding secret in some way.
Adam and Constance Gabriel signed and both of them kissed Sunny’s cheek. “Thee will spend thy wedding night at our house, Noah, if that meets with thy approval,” Constance murmured, still cradling Sunny’s baby.
“Thank
