Chapter 2
It dragged on so long that my dad grew tired of yelling, and even the local garrison men loitering in the yard lost interest in their idle chatter.
Finally, Yonathan spoke, his voice still low and heavy.
"How do you know my leg can be healed?" he asked.
I finally let out the breath I'd been holding.
He wasn't asking "why," but "how."
That meant he was actually considering it.
So I replied, "Back when I worked at the town clinic, the orthopedic doc told me that for old injuries like yours, ones that didn't heal right as a kid, you just need to re-break it and set it straight.
"I'll save up for the medical costs. You only need to focus on recovering."
Yonathan's eyes grew misty for a second.
But he swallowed it down so fast, it was like nothing ever happened.
"I have no money to buy you any engagement gift," Yonathan said.
"Neither do I. We're even," I replied.
Yonathan's place was way out on the east edge of town, a shabby mud house with barely a room and a half, and three slats missing from the fence out front.
When I pushed open the door, a wave of dampness mixed with the smell of old ash and soot rushed out to greet me.
The bed was cold. A crack ran along the base of the iron pot on the hearth, stuffed tight with tattered rags.
"Yonathan, is that you?" came an aged voice from inside.
Dorothy Horatio, Yonathan's grandma, was sitting on the bed. Her eyesight was poor. Her left eye was covered with a white film, and her right was so cloudy she could hardly see at all. She relied on touch to get around.
She groped and stretched her hand toward the doorway.
Yonathan hurried over to steady her, his voice much gentler than before.
"Grandma, it's me. I brought someone back," he said.
Dorothy tilted her head, listening carefully, then reached out in my direction.
"Come here, let me feel you," Dorothy said.
I walked over and offered her my hand.
Her hands were dry and rough, her fingers bent and twisted with age, but her touch was surprisingly gentle and thorough.
She felt from the back of my hand to my fingers, then up my wrist and along my arm.
"Big hands, calluses... you've done real work with these," she said.
Then Dorothy's hand moved up to my face.
"Got some meat on your bones. Good," Dorothy said.
She nodded, as if she'd just come to an important decision.
"Girl, stay with us. Our family might be poor, but my grandson's a good kid. He won't lay a hand on you," Dorothy said.
She said Yonathan wouldn't lay a hand on me.
That was high praise coming from someone pushing eighty.
After all, in this time and this place, a husband who would never lay a hand on his wife was already the best a woman could hope for.
My eyes grew warm and stung.
After two lifetimes, this was the first time someone ever touched my face and said "good."
Back in my last life, my father said I was too plump for decency, and the old man I married complained that I ate too much and wasted food.
My daughter was so skinny and pale from always being hungry, and she didn't even dare to call me "Mom", not because she didn't want to, but because that old man wouldn't let her.
I glanced at Yonathan, who was standing there looking totally lost, the tips of his ears red.
"Alright. I'll stay," I said.
That night, I cleaned up the stove and patched the crack in the pot with some clay. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.
I checked the storage jars in the kitchen. There was half a jar of cornmeal, a handful of dried chili peppers, and two bulbs of garlic.
I made some corn cakes, cut half a head of cabbage and stewed it, then carried the food over to the table.
Dorothy made her way over, following the smell, and sat down. She took a bite of the corn cake and chewed for a long moment.
"It's been ages since I've had a decent home-cooked meal," she said.
After dinner, I washed the dishes and walked back in to find Yonathan spreading out an old quilt on the floor.
His ears turned red again as he muttered quietly, "You take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."
"Alright," I replied.
This man had an extremely fragile pride.
If I tried to say anything nice right now, he'd feel like I was pitying him or doing him a favor he didn't want.
I'd better take it slow.
After turning off the lamp, the room fell into darkness.
The wind outside was howling, sneaking in through the cracks in the walls, making me hunch my shoulders and shiver.
In the middle of the night, I woke up groggy and half-asleep.
Yonathan was standing at the edge of the bed, carefully tucking the corner of his blanket over mine.
He thought I was asleep and moved gently, as if he was handling something fragile.
I didn't open my eyes or move.
A thought slowly surfaced in my mind.
This time, I finally made the right choice.
Early the next morning, we went into town to get two things done.
First, we made it official and registered our marriage.
Second, we went to the town clinic so Merlin Wynn, the orthopedic doctor, could check out Yonathan's leg.
When I got the marriage certificate, I opened it up and took a look.
The names Chloe Vance and Yonathan Horatio were printed side by side.
I never even had any formal marriage papers in my past life. That old man I'd married always said, "People like us don't need that stuff." My dad would say the same, "What's the use?"
I lived in that man's house for twenty years, never officially married, never had any legal status as a wife.
I slipped the marriage certificate inside my shirt. It was just a thin piece of paper, but pressed against my heart, it felt almost burning.