Chapter Five #2
Albert looked at Dorothy before he answered.
Henry’s memory stood close, but for once it did not stand between them.
Albert saw Dorothy’s tired courage, the hands that had held three children through hunger, and the guarded hope she had not quite managed to hide.
“I do,” he said, carefully enough that the words would not sound like possession.
Then Mr. Johnson turned to Dorothy. “Dorothy Peabody, do you take Albert Travis to be your husband? Will you honor him, welcome his care, speak truth to him, and build with him a home where these children may be safe?”
Dorothy felt Henry’s absence as sharply as she felt Albert’s presence.
She had expected the vows to feel like betrayal.
Instead, grief rose tender and aching, but it did not push her away from the man beside her.
Albert’s hand was warm when it brushed hers, steady but not possessive.
It felt less like being claimed and more like being helped across uncertain ice.
“I do,” she said, and though her voice trembled, it did not break.
Mr. Johnson smiled. “The rings, please.”
Tommy stepped forward proudly, opened his fist, and dropped Albert’s ring straight onto the floor. It rolled beneath David’s chair while Tommy gasped as though he had lost a gold nugget in the Tanana. Clara hurried to help and stepped squarely on Albert’s boot in the process.
“Sorry,” Clara whispered.
Albert bent carefully, retrieved the ring, and winked at Tommy. “A ring should be tested before it is trusted.”
Tommy’s worry eased at once. “It rolls good.”
“Very good,” Albert agreed, which made Belle press her handkerchief to her mouth and Ella turn her face away until she mastered a smile.
Grace chose that moment to fuss louder, twisting in Ella’s arms and reaching toward Dorothy.
Mr. Johnson paused with the patient expression of a man who had seen weddings survive worse obstacles than children.
Dorothy reached for the baby, then stopped, uncertain whether she was allowed to interrupt her own vows.
“Take her,” Albert said softly. “She needs you.”
The simple permission nearly undid Dorothy.
Albert was not asking her to become a bride who forgot she was a mother.
He was making room for both. She took Grace from Ella, settled the baby against her shoulder, and faced the preacher again with one arm full of the life she and Henry had made and one hand waiting for the future Albert offered.
Albert slid the ring onto Dorothy’s finger with a hand that was steadier than he felt.
“With this ring,” he said, repeating after Mr. Johnson, “I give you my promise.” He wanted to say more.
He wanted to promise wood, bread, patience, truth, a better roof, and every morning he could manage to give her.
The small ring could not hold all that, but perhaps the days ahead could.
Dorothy placed Albert’s ring on his finger. “With this ring, I give you my promise,” she said. The promise tasted different than the one she had given Henry years ago. Not less. Not false. Different. It carried grief, hunger, children, fear, and a cautious hope she was only beginning to trust.
When the words were finished, Mr. Johnson closed his Bible. “Then by the authority given to me, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
For a moment, no one moved. Dorothy did not know whether to smile or cry, so she did a little of both. Albert looked at her as if she were something fragile and strong at once, which was a difficult way to be seen and somehow exactly right.
Clara walked to Albert afterward and placed her small hand in his. “Do I call you Papa Albert now?”
Albert looked at Dorothy first. She nodded, tears bright in her eyes. “If you want to,” he told Clara. “And only if it feels right to you.”
Clara’s fingers tightened around his. “Papa Albert,” she said, testing the words like a new pair of shoes. Tommy immediately wrapped both arms around Albert’s leg, and Grace hiccupped against Dorothy’s shoulder as if giving her own opinion. The imperfect ceremony felt suddenly, unmistakably right.
The wedding supper filled Ella’s table and two smaller tables besides.
David carved meat. Belle passed potatoes.
Everett made sure Albert’s plate stayed full, perhaps because he knew Albert would forget to eat if left to himself.
There was bread, beans, pickled vegetables, butter, jam, and a cake Ella claimed was plain though Tommy stared at it as if it were a palace.
Dorothy ate, but habit won over celebration. When she thought no one watched, she wrapped two biscuits in a napkin and set aside a small piece of meat for the next day. Albert saw without making her feel caught.
“There will be food tomorrow,” he said quietly, leaning close enough that only she could hear. “And the day after that.”
Dorothy looked at the napkin in her hand. She wanted to believe him. Part of her did. Another part had counted too many empty shelves to trust plenty after one generous meal. “I know,” she said, though they both understood knowing and believing were not the same thing.
That night, Albert carried his belongings into Dorothy’s cabin in two trips. One trunk, one bedroll, a few shirts, and his shaving things. Tommy insisted Albert’s boots must be put near the stove because boots accustomed to warmth should not be made to suffer.
Albert hung a curtain from a cord near the bed so Dorothy could nurse Grace with some privacy. He did it without comment, measuring the space with his eyes and tying the knots firm. The small kindness nearly undid her more than any vow had. He had thought of her before she asked.
“Is that all right?” he asked.
Dorothy touched the edge of the curtain. “Yes. Thank you.”
He spread his bedroll beside the stove after the children were settled. Tommy watched sleepily from the pallet. “You live on the floor now?”
“For now,” Albert said. “It is a very respectable floor.”
Tommy seemed satisfied with that and fell asleep before Dorothy could explain that floors had no reputations.
Sometime deep in the night, Tommy woke crying from a dream and stumbled straight onto Albert’s bedroll. Albert lifted one edge of the blanket without fully opening his eyes, and Tommy crawled beneath it as if he had always belonged there.
Not long after, Clara followed, whispering that Tommy had stolen most of the warmth. Albert shifted, made room, and ended up pinned beneath one small boy, one solemn girl, and a blanket that had lost all sense of fairness.
Dorothy watched from behind the curtain with Grace asleep beside her.
Albert’s arm was crooked protectively around Tommy, and Clara’s hand rested on his sleeve.
The cabin was still too small. The future was still uncertain.
There were truths about Henry’s accident she still needed to ask, and truths in Albert’s heart he had not yet found courage to speak.
But in the orange glow from the stove, Albert already looked as though he belonged there.