Chapter 25
The women in town seem to think I should feel shame. In truth, I feel pity. For them. They do not know what it means to love with hope, as I did. Even if my hope was shattered, my love remains. I will never let go of it.
—Katherine Wilder’s journal, July 7, 1869
M illie was exhausted, and unamused by the fact that she was going to have to take Austin’s place on the tour that morning.
But she was there, in her prairie dress, because she would be damned if she would let anybody down just because she was feeling dead inside. Actually, dead inside would be an improvement.
She hadn’t told Heather. She would have to eventually. But the pain just felt too raw to even speak of it. All the same, she was going to have to figure out how to say something, because she had to give this tour.
She realized that there had never been any resolution of Danielle and Michael’s demand that they stop sharing the updated history. She didn’t care. She would punch him herself. Maybe if she ended up in a jail cell, Austin would understand that they weren’t so different.
Maybe he would stop....
Running.
She sighed heavily, feeling tender. When she heard the sound of footsteps, she was afraid it might be the first group. She turned around and stopped dead. Because there was Austin. Backlit by the early morning sun, a black cowboy hat pulled low over his face. He was still wearing the all-black garb from yesterday.
And he looked . . . like every bad-boy fantasy a woman could ever have. But it was more than that. She loved him. So much that she ached with it, even though she was angry at him. Even though she felt hurt.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought this was the best place to do it. And I know that you probably have a tour group soon. But . . . this was where Austin died. Right here,” he said, pointing to the ground. “And if he bled out here, it’s a good enough spot for me to do it too.”
And then he did something completely unexpected. He got down on one knee.
“Millie, I love you,” he said, his hands clasped firmly around hers. “I don’t know when exactly I fell in love, but I did. I didn’t recognize it, because I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want to understand it. I’m afraid of it. Because I’m terrified of losing people. Because I don’t trust myself. Because I don’t trust . . . anything.
“All my life, I’ve discounted the love I had. I have my siblings. And they’ve been there for me. I had your mother. And you. You were all there showing me that people could be good. That I could be good. But I wanted to protect myself so badly that I pushed it all away. I minimized it. I spent so much fucking time trying to figure out why other people did things, but I didn’t spend nearly enough time trying to figure out why I acted as I did. Because I didn’t want to know. Because too often, I acted out of fear. I’m much more comfortable writing words into a manuscript. I’m much more comfortable writing about people who aren’t me. Thinking about people who aren’t me. Because it hurts. I hurt you, and I hate that. I hurt me, and I hate that too.”
“Oh, Austin,” she said. She put her hand on his cheek. “I love you. Everything you are. Everything you’ve done for me, everything you are to me. You are the most wonderful man I have ever known. And I would consider myself lucky to be with you. To make our own legacy together.”
“I found Katherine’s journal.”
“What?”
“I haven’t slept. I read it. She . . . she never regretted loving him. She thought it was worth it. All the pain. I never believed love could be like that. They had this perfect, singular love. They understood each other. The things she wrote about him—they’re the most beautiful companion piece to what he wrote about her. They were soulmates. And you’re mine. I want us to have the ending they couldn’t have. They were happy. For a time. But I’m willing to change myself, to make an ending that’ll last.”
“You’re on one knee,” she said.
“Yeah. I am. I know you were just engaged a couple of months ago.”
“Who cares? Honestly. Who cares about him? It didn’t count. It wasn’t real. This is real.”
“Marry me.”
“Yes,” she said.
He lifted her up, his hands spanning her waist, and brought her in for a kiss.
He heard little gasps, and he and Millie separated and looked behind them. There was the first tour group.
“Oh,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said.
There was a smattering of applause. Two teachers looked at each other. “Was that not part of the show?”
“No,” he said. “That right there was a genuine proposal.”
“People are going to be weird about it,” Millie said.
“You know, the only person whose opinion I care about at this point is yours. And everybody else can go—” He cast an eye over the kids. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“Well, I do. Because I want them to know that I’m going to marry the best man in town.”