Chapter Nineteen
Each turn blended with the steady rhythm of hooves and the gentle rise and fall of Mary Jane’s voice behind them.
The little girl was singing a melody Nora couldn’t quite recall; it was something aimless and sweet, likely made up as she went.
Her high, light notes carried on the dry summer air like a lullaby.
Nora sat beside Weston on the wagon bench, her hands folded tightly in her lap while he held the reins.
She examined his shoulders, steady and broad beside her, as he kept his eyes on the road ahead.
She could feel the warmth of him where their arms nearly touched, and feel the subtle shift of his body with each movement of the horses.
And still, all she could think about was the kiss.
She hadn’t expected it, at least not at that moment. One minute she had been focused on making sure she cut his hair right, and then he’d gone quiet. She’d looked up, looking for any parts of his beard left undone, and instead found his hand lifting to her cheek.
Now, with the sun warm on her face and the dry wind tugging strands of hair from her braid, her heart still hadn’t quite decided.
She knew better than to put too much stock in a kiss.
Men kissed women for all sorts of reasons, and more often than not, it meant less than nothing.
But Weston Crane didn’t strike her as a man who did things lightly.
In fact, he hardly did anything he didn’t have to.
And there’d been a softness in him, just for a breath, that she saw only now and then, when he would forget about the weight of his days.
She glanced sideways at him. That look of hers was quick and cautious, and she was soon disappointed.
His expression gave nothing away. His eyes were ahead, his jaw was firm, hands still loose on the reins.
However, she noticed the way his thumb brushed absently over the leather, again and again, in a rhythm that didn’t feel like an accident.
Maybe he’s thinking about it, too?
She turned her eyes forward again, feeling flushed despite herself. You’re not a little girl, Nora. Please act like a woman and don’t let a kiss distract you from the day ahead.
The town was drawing closer now. She could just make out the rooftops and the spire of the little chapel; it felt a world away from the quiet space they’d shared in the kitchen that morning. But the kiss did leave something between us. I can feel it…
Just as Nora felt her thoughts beginning to tangle too tightly, Mary Jane’s voice broke through the quiet. “Weston, do horses get lonely? Do you think Sunny misses our old mare? What’s the biggest animal you’ve ever seen? Have you ever ridden a buffalo?”
Nora smiled despite herself. When too excited about something, Mary Jane had a way of unleashing a storm of questions without taking a breath, and Weston, to his credit, never seemed to mind.
“I reckon horses do get lonely,” he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Sunny’s probably just fine, though. She’s got company now.” He gave the reins a gentle tug. “Biggest animal? Probably an ox, but I never tried riding one.”
Mary Jane giggled, clearly delighted. “Would you, if someone dared you?”
Weston chuckled low in his throat. “Only if there was a good prize at the end. I’m not in the habit of climbing things that can toss me like a sack of potatoes.”
He then looked at Nora, just a flick of his eyes, playful and bright, and she felt the warmth of it. Her breath hitched before she could stop it, and she turned her gaze down to her hands, smoothing her skirt as if it mattered.
She hadn’t blushed like this in years. Not even when Nash and other men used to flatter her with honeyed words. But Weston…He just let himself be, and that somehow made it worse. Or better? I don’t know anymore…
Mary Jane kept on talking, something about rattlesnakes and whether they dreamed when they slept, but Nora could hardly follow the thread.
Weston was still answering, still patient, still calm.
And with every word, every small smile he sent her sister’s way, something softened in Nora.
It scared her, that softening. But it also feels right.
Why wouldn’t it be right, as well? As if she wasn’t alone anymore in the quiet space the kiss had left behind.
***
By the time they reached the edge of the fairgrounds, the wagon ride felt like a memory, faded and far away.
Children ran past with sticky fingers and wild laughter, while the scent of roasting corn and wood smoke hung heavy in the air.
Music played somewhere, probably fiddles and a banjo, and the distant thud of a hammer striking the strongman’s bell echoed like a heartbeat beneath it all.
However, Nora felt the change before anyone said a word.
The space between them and the rest of the guests seemed to tighten, to intensify, like the way the sky went still before a storm.
Heads turned. Eyes followed. A woman by the pie table stopped mid-sentence, with her mouth still open.
Two men near the cider barrel watched as the wagon rolled past.
Nora heard a whisper. Then another one. Names were spoken like curses, like gossip too tempting to resist.
“That’s the Crane fellow…”
“She took him in, can you believe it?”
“After all that trouble with Nash Colter?”
Nora felt the weight of it pressing against her chest, all the stares, the small-town venom masked as curiosity.
Her back stiffened. Her hands curled into fists on her lap.
But, to her surprise, Weston didn’t flinch.
He climbed down first, reaching for Mary Jane with his usual, quiet ease, then offering Nora his hand.
She took it without hesitation. Her fingers were safe in his, even as the murmurs grew louder around them.
She could feel Weston glancing at her, uncertain. She straightened her shoulders. “Let them talk,” she said. Her voice was just loud enough for him to hear. “They’ll talk, no matter what we do. So let’s enjoy our time here.”
Her gaze swept across the crowd. Those were the faces she’d known for years. She met each stare without blinking, and though her heart beat fast beneath her dress, her chin didn’t waver.
“I’m not ashamed of who I brought with me,” she added, quieter this time. “And neither should you be.”
He gave a single nod, almost to himself, then turned to Mary Jane to make sure she was fine, as if nothing in the world could touch them. Nora smoothed her skirts, lifted her chin, and walked forward into the fair. The whispers followed, but so did the sunlight, and Weston’s shadow at her side.
They found Sadie near the center of the fair, under the striped awning she used every year.
Her table was neat as always, rows of jam jars glinting in the sun like jewels.
Nora could recognize them all, peach, blackberry, strawberry rhubarb, all labeled in June’s careful handwriting.
June herself stood nearby, cheerfully handing out toothpick samples and pressing jars into the hands of hesitant passersby.
Sadie looked up as they approached, and her eyebrows lifted so high they nearly vanished beneath the brim of her hat.
“Well,” she said, loud enough for half the stall to hear, “would you look at that.”
Weston shifted beside Nora as his shoulders drew in just slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to be scolded or congratulated.
Sadie stepped out from behind the table, wiping her hands on her apron.
She gave Mary Jane a quick hug, then fixed her eyes on Weston.
“I hardly recognize you,” she said teasingly, but Nora could hear admiration in her voice, too.
“All cleaned up and walking upright. Did someone threaten you into getting a haircut?”
Weston rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying not to smile. “Something like that.”
Sadie turned to Nora, as eyes started dancing. “You did a fine job. Almost makes me believe in miracles.”
“Don’t give him too much credit,” Nora said with a smile. “He still needed a bribe.”
That earned a real laugh from Sadie. It was warm and quick, and even June grinned from her spot behind the jars. It was the first moment Nora felt the tightness in her chest loosen since stepping down from the wagon.
They lingered at the stall for a while, catching up.
Sadie had a way of talking that made the rest of the fair feel like background noise, and for a brief spell, it almost was.
“Well, you’ll be glad to hear Mrs. Hargrove’s lemon custard didn’t place,” she said, fanning herself with a folded paper.
“Apparently, it was too tart. Good for us, though…She’s unbearable enough with just a ribbon in her hair, let alone one pinned to her pie. ”
Nora gave a soft laugh. “I told her last year, she uses too much zest. She never listens.”
June offered a small smile and held out a wooden spoon toward Mary Jane. “Want a taste of the strawberry, honey? It’s my favorite.”
Mary Jane nodded enthusiastically and leaned in for a sticky spoonful. “Mmm. It tastes like summer,” she declared, already licking the edges.
Sadie beamed. “That’s the idea. You keep sweet-talking the customers like that, and we’ll sell out before sundown.”
Weston stayed mostly quiet, standing just behind Nora, but she felt his presence. She could tell he was listening, even if he only nodded now and then, with his hands in pockets, and his lips quirking faintly at Sadie’s jabs.
Sadie didn’t let him off the hook long. “You know,” she said, turning to him again with a sharp smile, “if I’d known you cleaned up this nice, I might’ve tried to marry you off myself.”
Weston blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and embarrassment. “Can’t say I would’ve been worth the trouble back then.”
Sadie snorted. “You’re barely worth it now, I’m guessing, but Nora’s made a man out of you.”
Nora rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Don’t mind her,” she muttered to Weston under her breath.
“I don’t,” Weston said, quiet enough that only she heard. “But I don’t mind you either.”
Nora’s heart skipped a beat to his words.
The fair buzzed around them, and eventually, Nora felt the weight of the crowd’s curiosity settle back on her shoulders like an ill-fitting shawl.
She caught a glance from a woman near the ribbon stand, and the cold flicker of it undid some of the warmth Sadie’s teasing had stirred.
Luckily, the music got louder and they all turned toward the bandstand where a handful of musicians played beneath strings of faded bunting.
Nora could recognize the sound of fiddle, banjo, and washboard, all blended into a tune she half-remembered from her childhood.
It was bright and fast, meant for dancing.
Children chased each other in dizzy circles, as their skirts twirled, and their boots started kicking up dust. Laughter rose like bubbles into the warm, late-afternoon air.
For a moment, Nora almost forgot about the looks and whispers again.
She stood with Weston at her side. Mary Jane was swinging to the rhythm of the music in front of them, licking the last of the jam from her fingers.
It almost felt like everything was normal, like they were just another family enjoying the fair.
Weston’s presence, quiet and steady, was a balm she hadn’t known she needed.
Then everything changed.
Through that stillness, amid the music and the color and the hum of voices, came screaming. It sliced through the music like thunder through the sky.
“Look out!”
Nora’s head snapped around, even though she didn’t recognize the voice. At first, she couldn’t make sense of it. There were just flashes of movement, voices shouting over each other, people darting in every direction.
“Hurry, son, this way!” a woman yelled, grabbing her child by the arm. A man tripped over a bench trying to get out of the way. Tables overturned, crates of apples scattered underfoot. A girl dropped her lemonade and burst into tears as her father yanked her away.
“Mary Jane!” Nora gasped, grabbing her sister’s hand in a vise grip.
Then, Nora saw what had sent the crowd into panic: a runaway buggy careening through the fairgrounds, its horse blind with terror. The harness flapped wildly as it barreled straight toward the bandstand and the tightly packed cluster of families around it.
The music had stopped. And Weston had moved. She didn’t see him leave, but the sudden absence of him at her side made her turn around. “Weston!” she shouted after him. Unfortunately, her voice was lost in the chaos.
Nora clutched Mary Jane close, holding her tightly as the dust rose and the world turned to noise and confusion.
No…Not again. she thought, willing away the memory of her parents’ loss.
Somewhere ahead, she could see the buggy still tearing through the fairgrounds; Nora glimpsed small hands clutching the sides, and a flash of pale hair.
All else was noise—the thundering of people running in terror, the sharp cries of panic, and the dull, rising roar of fear.