Free A Light in the Wilderness by Jane Kirkpatrick Page A

hands.
    Davey shrugged and stomped the crystal that did shatter to a hundred shards.
    “Mazel tov!” the tinker shouted, raising his hands, startling the horse who lifted its head and shook the bit and reins, and that got Rothwell to howling. “You may kiss the bride. And may the broken glass be a reminder that while you cleave together as one, the world is still broken and will always need mending.”

7 Precious Promises

    It was the first kiss of her husband. His mouth was soft, his lips thin but moist; his whiskers bristled against her lips and cheek when he nuzzled her. A warmth formed inside that flowed to her toes and back up, settling at her heart.
    Davey stepped away.
    “Moshe best be traveling.”
    “Lookee, let me pay you for the crystal and your blessings.”
    “Consider them a gift.” Moshe grinned. “But I would join you for a wedding meal, if you’d planned one.”
    Over food they spoke of festive things—weddings the tinker had attended in Pittsburgh before coming west, though he said this was the first time “Aaron Moshe has officiated at one.” Letitia served beef sliced from the smoked roast hanging in the larder. Fresh greens and beans from her garden, berry jam she’d put up. Buttermilk. Then she brought out a black raspberry pie with fresh cream she’d sugared with slivers of maple from the cone.
    “You have made a good match, Mr. Carson. Mrs. Carson is a rare and opulent cook.”
    “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment. On my wife’s behalf.” Davey raised a fork full of pie toward Letitia. “To the opulent cook.”
    Letitia didn’t know what the word meant either, but it seemed to fill Davey’s face with gladness, a sight that helped reduce the nervousness for what she knew would follow once the tinker left.

    Moshe drove his carriage rattling down the lane. “I suppose I should have told him he could bed down for the night in the barn if he wished, but I was hoping to have my wedding night with my wife, alone.”
    Letitia lowered her eyes. She had never felt this fluttering of her stomach with the fathers of her children, but then she’d never been given the choice to have them either. She was sent to those men to enhance the owner’s arsenal of labor. It had struck her as unusual; she was not a big woman and she found the taller, larger slave women produced bigger babies with less trouble, children who grew to be strong men and tall women. She didn’t know how big Nathan might have been if he had lived. His father was tall. But Jeremiah, at five, when he’d been sold, sprouted up tall as a possum haw holly. But perhaps her masters did recognize that she could reason well, worked hard, fit in, and didn’t carry anger around like a hot coal always burning. The gift of a marriage to someone she had chosen and who was kind enough to bring her flowers and break the wedding glass was more than she could have hoped for. There was a Bible verse about blessings being shaken down and pressed together. Today, she’d experienced it.
    Davey walked up beside her on the porch. A warm dusk settled like a shawl around her shoulders, and she remembered a custom of her people with a quilt wrapped around a wedding couple as they jumped the broom together. She’d seen it done, a happy leap.Her mother had told her it was an African tradition. She stepped inside, grabbed the broom, and the two jumped it, laughing.
    “You know we won’t be able to tell folks that we’re married.” Davey caught his breath.
    “I knows.”
    “But I will treat you as though we are.”
    She’d been thinking about something all day. “We could have a contract, separate from the marriage.”
    Davey raised his eyebrows.
    “I agrees to stay with you, to help you along the trail next year and build our land claim. Clear brush, cook, do your laundry.” She didn’t say bear your children. “I’s your wife so no need to pay me. In return, you agrees to take care of me and if