Free A Light in the Wilderness by Jane Kirkpatrick

turned it upside down and put the flowers into it. Her fingers rubbed the hawthorn engraving. “’Spect this’ll work.” She walked to the pump and filled it with water.
    Davey said, “Are we ready now?”
    “Yes, Mistah Carson. Davey.”
    “You remember the words?”
    “I ’member.”
    He cleared his throat, took a deep breath as they heard the jingle of a bell from the road. The tinker’s bell jangled, the man in his cart with buttons and bows and pots and pans making his monthly stop to sell to ladies of the house. He waved his hat at them, jostling the two curls that framed his face and stopped just at his jaws. The single horse carriage rolled forward. Rothwell barked, then wagged his tail in greeting, recognizing the man.
    “May I water my horse at your spring?”
    “You may, Aaron,” Davey said.
    Letitia took the bridle and led the horse to the trough as Aaron jumped down.
    “And what’s the occasion?” Letitia heard him ask. The old tinker had endured his own brand of abuse but was no slave and hadnever been, though his people had. Still, Letitia wished he’d move on. If there were no witnesses, the law wouldn’t ever touch them. She walked back toward the men. “Pretty posies whatever the call for them. Nice little vessel you have too. Looks like it’s engraved.”
    “It is,” Davey said. “We’ve no need of trinkets today, but you’re welcome to water the horse, then be on your way.”
    “Aaron Moshe doesn’t intend to barter when there’s an occasion presenting itself.” He nodded toward Letitia. “A bride?”
    Letitia swallowed, her throat dry as a corn husk. What would Davey say? He should let the comment sink into the August heat.
    “Truth is, she intends to be one. A wife for myself.”
    No, no. But then the thought: a witness other than the dog would bring weight to the words. And he wouldn’t likely tell others, why would he? “Well now.” He looked around. “Moshe sees no preacher. But then, that’s not going to happen, now is it.”
    Letitia’s heart thumped like a butter churn. Would Moshe let the sheriff know of their breaking the law? She looked to Davey. Could he keep her safe? He’d risked their safety with his blurting out their plans. Make the best of troublin’ times. Rothwell bumped his head up against Letitia and she petted the dog, glad for the comfort. “Maybe you see yourself officiatin’ us today, suh?” Jews read Davey’s book too, didn’t they?
    The man moved his head back as though accepting a remarkable thought.
    And so on a hot day in August, David Carson once of Ireland took Letitia once of Kentucky to be his wife. Davey told the tinker the words about honoring each other, staying together in the hard times, caring for each other, and cleaving unto each other under God’s watch, not letting any others nose their way in. Davey spoke them, holding the Bible, then Moshe repeated the words for Letitia, her hands quivering on the worn leather. She was glad he was there. For while she had memorized the promises, the moment flustered her. Then Moshe added words of blessing, about not allowing men to split them.
    “We need a proper ending,” Moshe added. He trotted to his carriage store. “Moshe has it, hold on. It’s right here.”
    Letitia looked at Davey, who winked at her. She lowered her head, but Davey lifted her chin, his gaze making her chest tighten.
    “Ah, here it is then. Let’s add another tradition, shall we?” He placed a glass goblet on the ground. “Now then. No canopy, but you, Davey, stomp on it. Breaking the Jewish wedding glass is yours to do.”
    Davey laughed.
    “Why he do that?”
    “Oh, any number of reasons. That your children will be as many as the shards and your happiness also. Or that you will remember the temples destroyed in Jerusalem. And the one Moshe prefers, that the glass is fragile as is love, and marriage must be carefully cared for and never broken but in death. Go ahead.” He motioned with his