Free Vows by Lavyrle Spencer

they were ten and thirteen years old but had waited to declare it until she was sixteen and had brought him the news that her family was moving to Wyoming.
      "If you're going, I'm going," Charles had declared unequivocally.
      "But, Charles—"
      "Because I'm going to marry you when you're old enough."
      "M—marry me?"
      "Of course. Didn't you know that?"
      Maybe she always had, for she'd stared at him, then laughed, and they'd hugged for the first time and she'd told him how very, very happy she was that he was coming. And she had remained happy, until earlier this year when she'd turned eighteen and he'd proposed seriously for the first time. He'd asked her twice since, and she was becoming guilt-ridden from refusing him so often. Yet Charles had become a habit that was hard to break.
      When he came at noon to pick her up for their picnic she found herself more than anxious to get away with him. He gave a sharp, shrill whistle of announcement as he jogged across the front yard, and slammed inside without knocking. "Hey, Emily, you ready? Oh, hello, everybody!"
      Edwin and Frankie were both in the kitchen. Frankie ducked a mock punch, then collared Charles from behind. Charles bent forward with the boy on his back, and spun around twice before dumping his burden off.
      "Where you two going?" Frankie wanted to know, hanging on to Charles's arms.
      "That'd be telling."
      "Can I go?"
      "Nope, not this time." Charles made a fist and pressed it dead center on Frankie's forehead, fending him off affectionately. "We're taking the shay for two."
      "Aww, gee … come on, Charles."
      "Nope. This time it's just Emily and me."
      Edwin inquired, "Is everything all right at the stable?"
      "Yup. I left the back door open. Nobody's around." Charles rambled in and out of their livery stable as he did in and out of their house, and, naturally, any time he had need of a rig there was no thought of charging him. "How's Mrs. Walcott doing today?"
      "A little tired, I'm afraid, and somewhat forlorn. She misses going to church with us."
      "Tell her Emily and I will bring her some wildflowers if we find any. Are you ready, Emily?"
      Emily removed an apron and hung it behind the pantry door. "Are you sure there's nothing I can bring?"
      "It's supposed to be your day off. Just turn your cuffs down and follow me. I've got everything in the rig."
      It was a perfect day for an outing—clear, warm, and windless. The Big Horns appeared as multiple tiers of blue rising to greet the sky along a clear, undulating horizon line. They headed southwest into the foothills, toward Red Grade Springs, following Little Goose Creek until they left the valley to begin climbing. Ahead, the jagged top of Black Tooth Mountain appeared and disappeared as they paralleled draws and rounded the bases of rolling green hills. They startled a herd of white-rumped antelopes and watched them spring away across a green rise. They disturbed a jackrabbit who bounded off on oversized feet to disappear into a clump of sage. They reached the vast forests where the pinery crews had cleared great open tracts and cut skidding roads. The smell was spicy, the road quiet with its bed of needles. At Hurlbum Creek they forded, rounded a curve, and broke into the open above an uplands meadow where the creek looped around nearly upon itself. In the center of the loop, Charles brought the team to a halt.
      The sylvan spot, so perfect, so peaceful, brought Emily immediately to her feet. She stood in the buggy, shaded her eyes, and gazed about in rapture.
      "Oh, Charles, however did you find it?"
      "I was up here last week buying lumber."
      "Oh, it's beautiful."
      "It's called Curlew Hill."
      "Curlew Hill," she repeated, then fell silent to appreciate the scene before her.
      The creek rushed out of the mountains, purling over rocks that shone like silver coins, smoothed by years of liquid motion. The water made a tight horseshoe bend enclosing