"Now you can apologize to Mrs. Bishop and her son, or you can back up your words like a man. Your choice." Miller's face flushed red. His hand twitched toward his own gun, but his cousin, the deputy, grabbed his arm.
"Don't be a fool, Frank. Callahan's got witnesses. You draw on him and he'll kill you legally." For a long moment, the town square was frozen in tension, the whole crowd holding its breath. Then a new voice cut through the silence.
"That's enough." Reverend Samuel Clayton, the Methodist minister who'd presided over Samuel Bishop's funeral, pushed through the crowd. He was an older man, white-haired and dignified, with eyes that had seen every kind of human folly and learned compassion from it. "Frank Miller, I've known you since you were a boy pulling girls' pigtails and stealing apples from Mrs. Henderson's orchard."
"You were a bully then, and you're a bully now." The reverend's voice was stern. "Mrs. Bishop is a member of my congregation. I've watched her struggle to feed her children, watched her work herself half to death to keep a roof over their heads, watched her maintain her dignity and faith through trials that would break most people."
"If she's found someone willing to share that burden with her, I say God bless them both." "But Reverend—" Miller started. "I'm not finished." Clayton's tone could have frozen water.
"As for you, Deputy Morrison, if you're really concerned about the welfare of children, perhaps you should investigate the families where fathers drink away their wages and beat their wives. I can give you a list if you'd like. But Mrs. Bishop's children are clean, well-behaved, and clearly loved. Any fool can see that."
The deputy shifted uncomfortably under the reverend's glare. "I was just responding to concerns raised by citizens." "By one citizen with a personal grudge and a reputation for dishonesty," Clayton corrected. "Now, I believe Mr. Callahan and Mrs. Bishop are here for a wedding."
"Shall we proceed, or would you like to continue this display and prove to everyone that Frank Miller runs this town instead of decent people with decent values?" The challenge hung in the air. Slowly, reluctantly, Miller and his cousin stepped aside. The crowd parted, creating a path to the church, and Reverend Clayton offered his arm to Kelly.
"Come, my dear. Let's get you properly married before any more fools make themselves known." Kelly took his arm gratefully, her eyes shining with tears. "Thank you, Reverend." "Thank me by being happy," Clayton said gently.
"You've earned it." They processed into the small church, and despite the hostile crowd outside, inside they found friends. Jack Devereux was there, of course, standing as Bo's witness. But there were others, too.
Martha Henderson, the apple-orchard owner the Reverend had mentioned, who'd always been kind to Kelly. Tom Pritchard from the grain elevator, who'd promised to buy her wheat. The schoolteacher, Miss Emily Warren, who had taught Sarah for the past two years. Not many, but enough.
Enough to show that Kelly wasn't completely alone. That some people saw through the lies to the truth beneath. The ceremony was simple and quick, conducted in the warm sunlight streaming through the church's plain glass windows. Bo had no ring to offer, so he gave Kelly his mother's wedding band.