9. Elsie
nine
Elsie
The town square blooms with streamers and fresh flowers, fiddle music mingling with laughter and the scent of barbecue. I clutch Silas's arm tighter as we enter, feeling curious glances like physical touches against my skin.
"You're doing wonderfully," Daddy Silas murmurs, his large hand covering mine. "Remember, we have nothing to be ashamed of."
I nod, drawing strength from his steady presence. He looks handsome in a crisp blue button-down that brings out the amber flecks in his eyes while I wear the soft yellow sundress he ordered specially for me.
Mrs. Jenkins spots us first, greeting us warmly from her preserves stand and introducing me as "Silas's Elsie" to anyone within earshot.
Her approval seems to soften others' initial skepticism, and I feel the subtle shift as people approach us, their curiosity giving way to cautious acceptance as they see how perfect we are together.
"They're warming to you," Silas observes as we sample homemade root beer.
"I think they're just surprised," I say softly. "Maybe the thought I was a gold digger. Someone who didn’t really love you.”
His fingers tighten slightly where they rest against my waist. "And do you? Love me?"
The vulnerability in his question makes my heart ache with tenderness. "You know I do, Daddy," I whisper, too softly for anyone else to hear.
Our peaceful moment shatters with the sound of high heels on wooden planks. A woman approaches—tall, elegant, with auburn hair in sophisticated waves. Her sundress clings to generous curves, and she moves with deliberate confidence, eyes fixed on Silas.
"There's our mountain man," she calls, her voice carrying a cultured accent. "I wondered if you'd show your face today."
Silas's posture shifts, straightening as he positions himself slightly in front of me. "Veronica," he acknowledges with a polite nod. "I heard you were visiting."
Her gaze flicks dismissively over me. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Silas?"
"Veronica Taylor, this is Elsie," Silas says evenly. "My wife."
The anticipation of a truth not yet formalized startles me. We haven't discussed marriage, though our commitment runs deeper than any legal document could capture. Why would Daddy lie like that?
Veronica's eyebrows arch. "Wife? My, that was... expedient." Her smile never reaches her eyes as she extends a manicured hand. "You're even younger than they said."
"Silas and I go way back," she continues, placing a familiar hand on his arm.
"We grew up together—summers anyway. He taught me to fish when I was twelve, and he was, what, seventeen?
" She laughs, the sound deliberately musical.
"He was so patient, even then. Some qualities never change, do they, Si? "
The nickname grates against my ears. Silas has never mentioned their childhood connection.
"That was a long time ago," Silas replies, gently stepping away from her touch.
"Not so very long," Veronica counters, her eyes assessing me with calculated precision. "So, Elsie, tell me—what exactly does a girl barely out of high school find to talk about with a man who's seen four decades? Beyond the bedroom, of course." Her words hit me like knives.
Gasps from nearby confirm her words have carried. Heat floods my cheeks, but alongside embarrassment comes a surprising flare of anger.
“Don’t you dare speak to my girl like that,” Daddy Silas growls, stepping forward.
Before I can respond, Mrs. Jenkins appears at my elbow. "Elsie, dear, we need another judge for the flower arrangements. Silas tells me you've got quite the garden started."
"I should—" I begin, glancing uncertainly at Silas.
"Go ahead," he encourages quietly. "I'll find you afterward. You don’t need to see me angry."
Looking over my shoulder, I see Veronica move closer to Silas, her expression triumphant.
Inside the community hall, surrounded by flower arrangements I barely see, doubts multiply.
What does Silas see in me that a sophisticated woman like Veronica can't provide? Am I simply easier—more pliable, less demanding? The age gap that has never concerned me suddenly seems significant. I don’t want other people’s opinions to bother me, but I can’t help it. I feel so confused.
A few minutes later, I hear his voice. "Elsie." Silas joins me by a table that’s bowing under the weight of roses.
"Where's Veronica?" I ask, hating the insecurity in my voice.
"By the bandstand," he answers. "Though I declined her invitation to dance."
We stand in awkward silence as I finish judging the flower arrangements, writing the scores down on the clipboard like Mrs. Jane Jenkins showed me.
"I should have warned you better about her," Silas says. "She and I... there's history there, but not the kind she implied."
"You don't owe me explanations," I say automatically.
Silas's eyes darken. "Look at me, Elsie."
My gaze lifts to meet his. What I see there steals my breath away: concern, determination, and something fierce that might frighten me from anyone else.
"I do owe you explanations," he says firmly. "Veronica pursued me last year after her divorce. I turned her down. She took it personally."
"Because you were waiting for your mail-order bride?" I can't keep the bitter edge from my voice.
"Because I was waiting for someone who needed what I had to give," he corrects gently.
"Not my land or status, but my guidance.
My protection. My way of loving." He takes a step closer, his voice dropping.
"Do you think I care what these people whisper about our age difference?
The only opinion that matters to me is yours. "
"But they're all—"
"Looking," he finishes. "Of course they are.
They see a beautiful young woman with a man nearly twice her age and draw the simplest conclusion.
What they don't see is how perfectly we fit together and how you flourish with the structure I provide.
Your trust in me is the greatest gift I've ever received. "
Daddy’s words penetrate the cloud of doubt that has surrounded me. I realize how quickly I've let an outsider's perspective shake what I know to be true in my heart.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I let her get into my head."
Silas guides me toward a quieter area, then cups my face in his hands. "Do you know when I knew you were mine? Truly mine?"
I shake my head slightly.
"The night you first called me 'Daddy,'" he says softly. "You showed me who you really are. What you really need." His thumb brushes my cheek. "Do you think I could ever want anyone else after that kind of honesty?"
Tears prick at my eyes. "But she's so sophisticated—"
"She's performing," Silas corrects. "I don't want performance, Elsie. I want you—vulnerable, honest, real. My little girl who's strong enough to let me take care of her."
The possessive tenderness in his voice dispels the last of my doubts. I close the space between us, nuzzling my face into his chest.
"I want to go home," I whisper. "To our mountain."
"Then let's go home, little one."
In the truck heading up the mountain, Silas reaches across to take my hand. "I'm proud of you today. You faced your fears. Held your ground."
The praise settles warmly in my chest. "I had you with me, Daddy. You help me be strong.”
“And you help me be a better man,” Daddy says as he squeezes my hand. “I love you, little girl.”