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Oddly, she yearned to turn her face to Geoffrey’s chest and feel his arms coming around her as Ronald’s arms had around Tildy. How had Tildy known Ronald would not push her away? In all the years of her parents’ marriage, she had never seen Mother and Father behave in such an intimate manner. She felt certain Father would have reprimanded Mother had she made such an overture of affection in the light of day with others looking on. How would Geoffrey respond if she leaned against his arm?
    Geoffrey turned his face toward her and gave her a sympathetic smile. “I would imagine you are quite tired from your travels, are you not, Emmaline? We are less than a mile from Stetler. Reverend Stanford is expecting us, so we will be able to proceed with the ceremony immediately. And then I will take you home to the ranch.”
    A shudder raced through Emmaline. What would Geoffrey expect of her then?

FIVE
    T HE SUN HOVERED, huge and radiant orange, above the horizon as Geoffrey brought the wagon to a stop in front of the Congregationalist Church of Stetler. Varying shades of blue, lavender, and pink decorated the sky. Kansas sunsets were worth taking the time to watch, but Geoffrey had more pressing business this evening. His thoughts turned to what would take place within the church walls in mere minutes, and his heart rolled over in his chest.
    Geoffrey set the brake, wrapped the reins around the handle, and turned to Emmaline, who sat still and silent on the seat. She leaned forward slightly with her hands clasped in her lap, the wilted cluster of rose verbena drooping over her fists. She must be anxious to see this finished so she can rest.
    “Emmaline, stay here for a moment.” He hopped down from the wagon seat, making the springs ting . The gentle sound must have brought her out of her stupor, because she sat upright and blinked rapidly. He pointed to a white clapboard house near the steepled church. “I’m going to alert Reverend Stanford and his wife that we are here. Then we will go into the church and proceed with the ceremony.”
    Emmaline’s face appeared pale in the dusky light. Was it fear or exhaustion that gave her the haunted look? He waited until she gave a quick nod of agreement and then hurried to the reverend’s house and knocked on the door. Only a few minutes later, Geoffrey and Emmaline stood side by side in front of the unpretentious wooden altar with the Reverend Stanford smiling down at them.
    The soft glow from lanterns located along each wall brought out the red highlights in Emmaline’s hair—the same highlights he had observed in her childish braids the day she had stood on the pier with her family and waved farewell to him five years ago. The remembrance brought a tightness to Geoffrey’s throat. His moment of claiming Emmaline as his wife had finally arrived. Even if they weren’t allowed the luxury of a church full of family and friends, God had answered his prayers.
    He repeated his vows with due solemnity as he gazed into her apprehensive, velvety brown eyes. “I, Geoffrey, take you, Emmaline Rose Bradford, to be my lawfully wedded wife . . .” Look at me fully, my Emmaline, and see that my heart is pure, and my love for you is real . Do not be afraid of me, for I have only your best interests at heart.
    The stutter that had lessened throughout the day reappeared as Emmaline uttered the words the minister instructed her to repeat. “I, E-Emmaline, t-take you, G-Geoffrey Dean Garrett, to be my . . . my . . .” She stopped, her wide-eyed gaze darting to Reverend Stanford.
    The minister tipped his head. “My lawfully wedded husband . . .”
    Emmaline opened and closed her mouth like a fish gulping air.
    “To be my lawfully wedded husband,” Reverend Stanford repeated a little louder, his thick brows low.
    Geoffrey held tight to Emmaline’s gloved hand. She trembled from head to toe.
    Concerned, he asked, “Emmaline?”
    She jerked her hand from his grasp and took a step backward.