Homespun Bride

squeezed her eyes shut. Torn, so torn. Saying no to him was like ripping out her soul.
    “We’re simply not suited, Thad. Not anymore. You said it yourself. You’ve changed. I’ve changed. It’s too l-late.”
    “No. No, it’s not. I won’t believe it.”
    “Please, I—I can’t marry you.”
    “But this is our second chance.”
    Her eyes were luminous and her face filled with such sweet longing that for one blissful moment he thought she was going to say yes. To tell him that she loved him truly and forever, as he loved her.
    He knew he’d thought wrong when she seemed to withdraw from him. The longing slid from her face, her lovely expressive face that would always be so dear to him.
    “No.” Her rejection came quietly. Tenderly. She bent forward and her hair fell in a curtain to hide her face and her emotions.
    They were not secret to him.
    The psalm book lay on its back on the floor between them. He lifted it carefully, dusted it off so it was as good as new and laid it on the small table beside her chair. Although she’d said no to him, the great abiding love he had for her did not fade.
    It would never fade.
    “Guess I’d best get going, then.” While he didn’t say it as a question, he meant it as one. He watched her carefully. She nodded once, that was all, as if trying to shield her heart from his.
    He climbed to his feet, holding his soul still against the pain he knew was coming. Like a lethal blow, there was no pain at first, just the shock filtering through him like cracked ice in his veins. He took a step backward, waiting, hoping, praying she would reach out to him. That she would stop him before he made it to the door.
    She didn’t. He opened the door and forced his feet across the threshold. It took all his self-restraint to keep from looking back at her one last time. To keep from reaching out to her when he knew she was hurting, too.
    How had this all gone so wrong? He closed the door with a click and let the wind batter him. Snow lashed at him like a boxer’s glove, and still he could not move off the porch. He’d left his heart behind in that room, and he couldn’t leave without her.
    What was he gonna do? Stand here forever? He had to get moving before the shock wore off. Before the pain set in and the sorrow with it. It was bound to be bad—he’d experienced this before. He’d ridden away from her once, and he knew the emptiness of living his life without her love. How was he going to manage it a second time?
    He started down the stairs, and her words stuck with him. We’re simply not suited, Thad. Not anymore. Not suited? And what did that mean, anyhow? His boots crunched in the slush and snow on the walkway. Big, fat flakes fell from a gray sky as he crossed the yard to the stable. You said it yourself. You’ve changed. I’ve changed.
    I haven’t changed that much. He stopped stock-still between the house and the stable, realizing that wasn’t true. Not true at all. How about that? The hardness from years of unhappiness and a tough life on the trail had fallen away somewhere, sloughed off him like a too-large, worn-out coat.
    He was no longer bitter and unbelieving. He was no longer thinking God had stopped noticing the troubles of an average man. He no longer believed life was about hard work and that relationships ought to be, too. He’d found himself again—the man he used to be—because of Noelle. Because of her love and God’s grace.
    Why had she said no? Why had she turned him down? He’d thought she’d loved him. He’d thought she wanted him to love her.
    “Hey, Thad!” Eli called above the rush of the storm. “I saw you comin’. I’ve got Sunny for you.”
    “Thanks, Sims.” Thad seized the reins from the younger man, nodding. “You’d best get inside before this gets much worse.”
    “Will do. Looks like we’re in for a hard blow.” Eli waved his hand and took off.
    Sunny wheeled around, eager to get home and out of the weather. Thad grabbed the saddle horn, ready to mount up, and realized the house was in his view again. There she was, standing in the window, veiled by the bleak snow. His heart turned over. His soul filled with longing.
    It’s too late, she’d said. Too late.
    Swift pain like a dagger’s tip to his heart stole his breath and weakened his knees. He took a stumbling step, leaning on the horse’s shoulder for support, and somehow he scrambled into the saddle.
    The wind gusted, driving cold that hit like bullets. The