Chapter 17
The dress fit like it had been made for Kate, though it hadn’t of course. This particular gown had been commissioned by Madame Gautier in Columbia.
She stood before the mirror in the upstairs bedroom, smoothing her hands down the jade silk that Clara had packed so carefully to be her own wedding dress. Now Kate would wear it instead.
She’d spent several hours altering the seams yesterday afternoon—taking in the waist, adjusting the shoulders, hemming the skirt until it brushed the floor at exactly the right length.
The color brought out the green in Kate’s hazel eyes, made her skin look less pale than it had these past few days.
“You’re beautiful.” Emotion clouded Clara’s voice behind her.
Kate met her sister’s gaze in the mirror. Clara wore another of her best dresses—a soft rose muslin that made her honey-blonde hair glow in the morning light streaming through the window. Tears already pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Kate swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Don’t cry yet.” She turned from the mirror and reached for Clara’s hands. “Save it for the ceremony at least.”
“I can’t help it.” Clara squeezed her fingers. “You’re getting married. My sister is getting married.”
The words settled strange in Kate’s chest—heavy and light all at once. Married to Thomas Balfour. A man she’d known less than a week. A man who’d kept her alive through a blizzard and seemed to see past all the defenses she kept raised. Who seemed to truly enjoy her company. Even to respect her.
And tonight would be her wedding night.
The thought sent warmth creeping up her neck. By evening’s end, she would become his wife in truth—give herself to a man she barely knew.
She trusted him. That much had settled into certainty somewhere between the cave and the study. Thomas Balfour would not be cruel or careless with her. Probably.
But trust didn’t erase the vulnerability of what lay ahead.
She drew a slow breath and steadied herself.
This was the path most women walked—binding themselves to husbands they’d known only through the careful choreography of courtship.
Maybe she’d not been given that opportunity, but she’d seen Thomas stripped of pretense, exhausted and fighting for their survival.
Perhaps that was worth more than months of parlor visits and chaperoned strolls.
It would still be hard. But she would face it the way she faced everything else—head high and spine straight.
A soft knock interrupted the moment, and Rose’s voice drifted through the door. “May we come in?”
“Of course.” Kate released Clara’s hands and turned as the door opened.
Rose stepped inside, her dark hair pinned up in an elegant chignon, and Mandie entered just behind her, carrying a small bundle wrapped in brown paper. “We brought you something.”
Both women stopped just inside the doorway and stared at her. The heat from their gazes crept up her neck, but she straightened her shoulders and met their eyes.
“Oh, Kate.” Rose’s hand flew to her mouth. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Mandie nodded, her eyes bright. “Thomas won’t be able to look away.”
Her pulse kicked harder. Thomas.
“Here.” Mandie crossed the room and placed the wrapped bundle on the bed. She opened the paper to reveal a small bouquet of dried wildflowers—mountain asters and Indian paintbrush, if she wasn’t mistaken. Someone had tied them with a pale green ribbon that matched Kate’s dress perfectly.
“Mrs. Wang saved them.” Mandie lifted the bouquet. “She has a whole collection from last summer.”
Kate’s throat tightened as she accepted the flowers. The gesture was so simple, so thoughtful. These women barely knew her, yet they were treating her wedding like it mattered. Like she mattered.
“Thank you.” Her voice rasped, so she worked to clear it. “They’re perfect.”
Rose moved to Kate’s side, reaching up to adjust a few loose strands of hair that had escaped her simple chignon. “You’re nervous.”
It wasn’t a question.
She would usually deny it—being nervous was a weakness.
But something about Rose’s gentle tone, the understanding in her eyes, made the truth slip out.
“Terrified.”
Rose’s hands stilled for a moment, and her gaze met Kate’s. “May I pray for you?”
Her insides clenched. There were a dozen reasons to refuse—old reflexes, old wounds, the sour memory of her stepmother’s polished prayers spoken for an audience.
But Rose’s eyes weren’t sharp or expectant. They held a kindness Margaret McKinney’s never had.
Kate managed a nod. “If you wish.”
Rose didn’t make a show of it. She didn’t even take Kate’s hands. She just bowed her head slightly, like she was speaking to someone close enough to hear a whisper.
“Father, thank You for bringing Kate and Clara safely here. Thank You for the way You’ve carried Kate through all these challenges.
Please give her peace this morning. Give her courage for what comes next, and let her know she isn’t alone.
Bless Thomas and Kate’s marriage, Lord. In Jesus’ name, amen. ”
The word amen followed by Clara in a hiccupy voice.
Kate didn’t say it. She couldn’t. But something in her chest eased anyway.
Then Rose lifted her head and smiled, as though such a prayer was typical in any conversation. “Being terrified on your wedding day is perfectly normal. I was shaking so badly on my wedding day, James had to hold both my hands through the vows to keep me steady.”
Clara chuckled. “Really?”
“Really.” Rose stepped back to examine her work, then nodded in satisfaction. “Marriage is a leap of faith, even when you’ve known someone for years. When it happens quickly like this...” She met Kate’s gaze in the mirror. “It’s natural to be afraid.”
“But Thomas is a good man.” Mandie settled onto the edge of the bed. “He drives his brothers half-mad sometimes with his restlessness, but his heart is true. He’ll honor his vows to you.”
Kate’s fingers tightened around the bouquet. “I know.”
And she did know it, somewhere deep in her bones. Thomas Balfour might be reckless and charming and a smooth talker, but he was honorable. He wouldn’t lie to her or make promises he didn’t plan to keep.
That wasn’t what terrified her.
What terrified her was the way her chest tightened when she thought about standing beside him. The way her pulse jumped when their eyes met across a room. The way something in her had shifted in that cave, cracked open despite every wall she’d built to keep herself safe.
She’d spent her whole life learning not to want things. Not to trust promises that could be broken. And now she was about to bind herself to a man who made her want despite every lesson she’d learned.
A knock sounded at the door—firmer this time. Mrs. Wang’s voice carried through the wood. “Time to come down. Everyone is waiting.”
Kate’s stomach dropped. This was it. The moment when everything changed.
Rose reached for her hand and squeezed. “Remember—you’re not alone.”
The words settled deep in Kate’s chest, both foreign and achingly welcome. She drew a steadying breath, lifted her chin, and nodded. “Let’s go.”
Clara stepped to her side, looping their arms together as Rose opened the door.
Mrs. Wang’s beaming smile met them in the hallway. “You are beautiful bride, child.” Her eyes glistened as she scanned all the way down Kate’s dress. “Come. Your young man waits.”
She followed the woman down the hallway, then down the staircase.
The great room stretched out below, transformed from the comfortable space it had been just that morning.
Someone had hung garlands of evergreen boughs along the rough-hewn mantel above the massive stone fireplace where a fire crackled and popped, filling the room with warmth.
The rugs had been pushed aside to clear a space before the hearth, and simple wooden benches had been arranged to face it.
And there, standing in the midst of his brothers, was Thomas.
Her heart nearly stopped.
He’d tamed his copper-brown hair—or tried to, at least. It still held that slight wave that made it fall across his forehead, catching the firelight in shades of bronze and gold. He wore a dark suit perfectly tailored to his tall frame, with a crisp white shirt and a simple cravat.
His eyes tracked her from the moment she appeared at the top of the stairs, and the expression that crossed his face made her breath catch. Not just appreciation—though that was there too. Something deeper. Something that looked almost like wonder.
As she reached the bottom landing, he met her there.
“You look...” He trailed off, his gaze sweeping from the jade silk to her face and back again. “I don’t have the words.”
Heat climbed her neck. “Thank you.” She managed to keep her tone steady despite the way her pulse hammered. “You clean up rather well yourself.”
A smile tugged at his mouth—that easy, charming grin she’d grown to love. But underneath it lay something more genuine. More vulnerable.
He offered his arm, and she took it. The solid strength beneath the fine wool of his jacket steadied her trembling.
She let him guide her toward the fireplace, where the sheriff stood waiting. The man was younger than she’d expected—perhaps thirty, with sandy hair and a kind face that spoke of someone who took his responsibilities seriously without becoming rigid about them.
As she and Thomas took their place before the man, the others settled onto the benches.
She glanced over to search out Clara. Her sister sat beside Mrs. Wang, and when their eyes met, Clara smiled—a real smile, full of hope and joy that lit her face.
James sat on Clara’s other side, with Rose tucked against him. Robert claimed the bench behind them, his quiet presence somehow reassuring in its steadiness. Enoch stood near the back with Mandie, the baby sleeping peacefully in his arms.
Thomas’s family. Soon to be her family too.