She Asked the Gunsmith to Wed Her Before Her Uncle Sold Her Land — “I’ll Want to Court You After,” the Gunsmith Said
Chapter 12
The first anniversary of their wedding arrived in winter.
Margaret woke before sunrise.
Snow covered the fields.
Samuel was already in the workshop.
She found him working beside the furnace.
“You forgot.”
He looked up.
“Forgot what?”
“Our anniversary.”
He smiled.
“I didn’t.”
He reached beneath the workbench.
There was a small wooden box.
Margaret opened it.
Inside was a silver bracelet.
Engraved on the inside were six words:
She asked. He said yes. Love followed.
Margaret stared at it.
“You made this?”
“I had the silversmith make it.”
She smiled.
“I like it.”
“Good.”
She put it on.
Then looked at him.
“I have something for you.”
She handed him a wrapped parcel.
Inside was a new leather apron.
Samuel laughed.
“Mine is worn out.”
“I know.”
He put it on.
Margaret stepped closer.
“Samuel?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember what you said that night?”
“I said many things.”
“You said you would want to court me after we married.”
“I remember.”
“You kept your promise.”
He touched her cheek.
“I intend to keep it for the rest of my life.”
She kissed him.
The furnace crackled behind them.
Outside, snow fell over the fields.
The same land her uncle had nearly stolen now belonged safely to her.
But Margaret knew something.
The greatest thing Samuel had given her was not protection.
It was choice.
He had never demanded her affection because they were married.
He had never treated the marriage as ownership.
He had waited.
He had courted her.
And slowly, she had chosen him.
