I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. "Clara Michelle Lancaster."
His mouth grinned, making his eyes smile. "Well, Clara Michelle, what do you want to do in this situation?"
My face fell as the tears took over my countenance.
"Hey now," he spoke gently, "There's no need to cry. This is a good day."
I stood and glared up and him. "A good day? A good day, you say? No one here wants me. My parents died, and my aunt gave me away. And now, these people," I gestured to all in attendance, "think there's something wrong with me, so I cannot go home with any of them."
The schoolteacher on the front row shook her head.
The frontiersman looked around the room and then back at me, brows raised. "You have a pretty face, and they don't know what to do with it." He chuckled. "You look like a grown woman."
"What?" I bit back.
His eyes bore into mine. "You're beautiful. The only reason the teacher doesn't want you in her home is because her boys will fight over you. That would cause a family feud that could last for years to come. It's better that you move in with someone else."
The reverend looked ashamed but nodded his head.
I wiped my tears again and looked him in the face. "If what you say is true, Mr. Van Buren, then I am being rejected because of my looks?"
His eyes stayed on me. "Yeah. That seems to be what's going on. Folks in these parts tend to pass judgment on appearances." He held up his left hand, missing his pinky finger and half of the one beside it. Gasps echoed through the room. Then, pushing his hair away from his left ear, he showed that most of the top of it was gone, and a large scar ran from behind his ear to higher up on his scalp
My heart sank, but my mind went curious. "How did it happen?"
"I was attacked by a bear, years ago."
Murmuring filled the room. From what was spoken, it was apparent that no one had bothered to ask this man standing before me how he had been scarred. They had only chased stories about what might have been.
My voice rose as I addressed the congregation. "This is pathetic. If I sat up here with a huge scar across my face, you all would gasp in horror, as you are doing with Mr. Van Buren now. Instead, you reject me because you think I have beauty?" I was not going to surrender to their gasps any longer. My foot took a step as I intended to leave the schoolhouse to venture out on my own.
The frontiersman took a gentle hold on my arm. "Hold up there, Miss." His smile caused the side of his eyes to wrinkle a bit.
I pulled my arm away from him. "Don't touch me. You don't get to decide what happens to me."
"I don't want to make that decision for you."
"What decision? My fate is being chosen by everyone in this room."
"Not me. I don't know what you want. It's up to you. What do you want?"
I breathed in deeply. "I want to go home." I looked down, around the room, and then back up at him. "Problem is, I have no home to go to."
"Not if I have anything to do with it."
My brows furrowed, and I cocked my head.
"Be my wife, Miss Lancaster."
My eyes went wide. "I don't know you."
"These people here can speak for me. I've not always been their favorite neighbor because of my scars and being a recluse most of the time. But they do know I am a man of my word."
My eyes traveled around the room. Smiles filled the faces of each and every person seated.
One man stood, "I bought a horse from him once. Best plow horse I ever had," then sat down.The Reverend cleared his throat and gave a nod. "Mr. Van Buren is a man in good standing in our community, Miss Lancaster. Most here have simply misunderstood where his scars came from." He looked out over the people. "Perhaps we can all learn from this."
I looked at Mr. Van Buren. "You're truly asking me to marry you, here, now?"
"Yes, I am."
"You know my age. How old are you?" I asked.
He swallowed, then straightened, holding his head high. "Three and twenty, Miss Lancaster."
The elderly woman, who still stood near the reverend, took a step closer to me. "My George, God rest his soul– my George and I were married in a similar fashion o'er fifty year ago. I didn't know him. He didn't know me. But we needed each other. And so, it began." Her smile widened, and her face lit up. "After a time, I fell in with him. And I loved him until the day he died last fall. We have children and grandchildren who call us blessed."
My eyes roamed the face of this frontiersman who stood tall and fine before me. My heart calmed in my chest because his eyes were so warm. They soothed me.
"Do you know the Lord?" I asked him.
"Yes. The Lord and I are great friends. He knows my heart, and I read His word to know His."
"He's a Christian? Who woulda thought?" a whisper rang from the pews.
I bit my lip. "So, you can read and write?"
"He writes poetry, that one does." A woman called from the back.
"Do you?" I asked.
He smiled with a nod.
I looked him over, assessing his size, looking nervous.
He took in a slow breath and looked into my eyes. "I will never hurt you, Miss. I'm not that kind of man."
As I looked down, pondering what to do, I noticed him moving. He went to one knee and looked up at me.
"Will ya marry me?"
"Why me?" I shrugged.
"Because I'm sure there's more to you than that pretty face." He tapped a finger to one side of his head and laughed. "You've got a thinker. And I would like to spend the rest of my days getting to know what's up there. We could spend time reading together and then talk about the characters in the stories. You could show me what you know, and I could do the same."
Many of the womenfolk raised their brows and shot glances at their husbandsWarmth filled me. This man was a mystery to me but not to the community. They said he was a good man, albeit an oddity to them, and I had nowhere to go.
"Okay, Nicholas Van Buren. I will marry you."
He stood, towering above me. Then, swooping me up in his arms and twirling me around, he said, "God as my witness, Clara Michelle, you'll never regret it."
The room erupted with cheers.
After an hour of preparations, and the loan of a dress from one of the townswomen, we were married in that same church. He took me to my forever home, a grand cabin filled with furniture he himself had made. We shared everything we knew with one another. "Trading knowledge pots," he called it. I was never happier in all my days. ..
the end...