“I Haven’t Seen A Woman In 10 Years” — The Mountain Man Said, Then Kissed The Bride And Married Her

Chapter 11

They came down from the mountain like a slow tide, Silas and Clara walking beside the sheriff’s party, the horses and prisoners ahead. Clara had never seen Cedar Falls like this — the whole town turned out, lining the main street, watching in silence as Harold Fitzgerald was marched through the middle of it in chains.

The general store owner lowered his head as they passed. The blacksmith pulled off his hat. And one by one, the people who had crossed the street when Silas Boon came near bowed their heads — not in shame at him, but in shame for themselves.

The trial, such as it was, took three days. The sheriff had indeed been digging, and the ledger he produced was as damning as any confession: forged deeds, stolen inheritances, loans engineered to fail so the collateral could be seized, a dozen families ruined and a girl nearly sold to pay for her father’s misfortunes. Father McKenzie testified about the auction, his voice shaking as he described the look on Clara’s face. Sarah Morrison’s mother testified. The widow testified. And when the evidence was done, there wasn’t a man in that courtroom who didn’t know what Harold Fitzgerald really was.

The judge — a quiet man with sad eyes, who had been bullied by Fitzgerald for years — sentenced him for fraud and theft, and the sentence brought the whole room to its feet.

Afterward, the sheriff found Silas on the courthouse steps.

“Mr. Boon.” He held out his hand, and Silas took it after a long moment. “There’s no way to make up for what this town did to you. Ten years we let you carry the blame for defending your own home. Ten years we treated you like the criminal and let the real one run our banks.” He shook his head. “I’m old. I’ve got a lot of sins to answer for. But I want you to know — you’re welcome here now. You and your wife, both. This town owes you a debt we can’t fully pay, but we mean to try.”

Silas looked past him, at the town square, at the church where he’d married a stranger and changed both their lives. “I don’t want revenge,” he said finally. “I just want to be left alone.”

“You’ll have that. And anything else you need, you come to me.”

The town’s welcome came in small, awkward gestures over the following days: a basket of preserves left on the wagon, a new axe head from the blacksmith, an unsigned note wishing the Boons well. Mrs. Henderson, of the loaned yellowed dress, came to the boarding house with a bolt of fine blue cloth and the words “I’m sorry” barely audible in her voice.

Clara forgave her. Clara, it seemed, had found a bottomless well of forgiveness inside herself, and she doled it out freely, even to people who hadn’t earned it.

“Some people need to be taught how to be brave,” she told Silas that night, as they sat on the porch of their cabin, watching the stars come out over Elkhorn Ridge. “You taught me. Now it’s my turn to teach them.”

“It’s not your job to fix them.”

“No. But it’s nice to be part of a town again, Silas. To walk down a street and have people nod at you instead of cross to the other side.” She slipped her hand into his. “I never thought I’d want that. I thought I’d be happy just hiding up here with you forever. But I think — I think I want to belong somewhere. And I think you do too.”

He was quiet for a long time, turning it over. Then he said, “They’ll probably still be a little afraid of me.”

“Let them be. They’ll get over it.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “They already love me, and I’m married to you. That’s halfway there.”

He laughed, and the sound was warm and unfamiliar and wonderful.

“Then we’ll give them a chance,” he said. “We’ll come down more often. Maybe I’ll sell my pelts at the general store instead of trading them at the back door.” He squeezed her hand. “Will you be all right with that?”

“I’ll be all right with anything,” she said, “as long as you’re with me.”