“I Feel Sorry for the Man Who Marries Her,” He Said — By Autumn, He Was the One Saying the Vows
Chapter 1
The words were meant to make everyone laugh.
Instead, they became the words Daniel Whitmore would spend the rest of his life remembering.
He stood beside the stone fireplace of the county tavern, one hand around a glass of cider, while several men listened to him discuss the unmarried women of Bellweather County.
When someone mentioned Clara Bennett, Daniel laughed.
“I feel sorry for the man who marries her.”
The room erupted.
Someone slapped the table.
Another man asked why.
Daniel shrugged.
“She is too proud. Too stubborn. Always working. Never smiles. And she has the manners of a farmer’s mule.”
More laughter.
Daniel lifted his glass.
“To the poor fellow foolish enough to marry Clara Bennett.”
But across the room, a young woman had heard every word.
Clara stood beside the tavern door holding a basket of eggs.
Her faded blue gown was dusted with flour.
Her dark hair had escaped its ribbon.
She had come to collect payment for the eggs she had delivered that morning.
Now she stood completely still.
Daniel saw her.
The smile disappeared from his face.
Clara looked at him.
Not angrily.
Not tearfully.
Just quietly.
She set the basket on the counter.
The tavern keeper paid her.
She counted the coins.
Then she walked toward the door.
Daniel stepped aside.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
Clara stopped.
“You needn’t worry, Mr. Whitmore.”
Daniel swallowed.
“About what?”
She looked at him.
“No man will ever have to marry me.”
Then she walked out.
The tavern fell silent.
Daniel stared at the door.
For some reason, the laughter no longer sounded funny.
He did not know it yet, but before autumn ended, that same woman would stand beside him beneath the bell tower.
And Daniel Whitmore would be the one saying the vows.
