Mary McBride - The Marriage Knot

She had purchased black silk thread and four yards of black lace at the emporium. She hadn’t quite decided yet whether or not to continue wearing her mourning clothes, but if she did, she needed to mend her petticoat. A bolt of green-and-white gabardine caught her eye the minute she walked into the store, and she nearly passed over the black notions for the bright checked fabric.

It didn’t seem right, however, putting her mourning aside so soon even though she knew that Ezra wouldn’t disapprove. So Hannah paid for the black thread and lace, tucked them in her reticule, and walked outside in time to see Mrs. Akins strike Delaney a vicious blow across the cheek. The sound of the slap seemed to echo all along Main Street.

Hannah’s hand flew up to her own cheek as if the blow had landed there. She wanted to cry out or race to the sheriff’s aid, but instead she bit her lip and stepped back into the shadows from where she watched Delaney turn his back on the irate woman.

My God, Hannah thought. What man would dare to do what the Akins woman had just done, considering Delaney’s reputation? Why, the fool would be lying face down in the street in the blink of an eye, bleeding into the dust. And why the devil would Mrs. Akins strike the man who’d obviously just saved her husband’s sorry life?

She watched the tall man stiffen with suppressed anger and then stalk back to his office. She felt the concussion from the slamming door.

Hannah stood there, her breath shallow and her heart fluttering. Delaney was her enemy, wasn’t he? He was a threat to her very existence. It didn’t make any sense at all—what she was feeling right now—what she was fighting to keep from feeling. Sympathy welled up in her throat, nearly choking her, and it was all Hannah could do not to pick up her skirts, fly across the street, burst through that slammed door, and lay a cool, soft band to his hot, stinging cheek.

“You must be suffering a sunstroke, Hannah Dancer,” she muttered just under her breath, “to even consider setting foot inside the jailhouse. Good Lord! Just go on home. Home. Where you belong.”

At supper that evening, the conversation among her boarders kept coming back to the events of the day. Everyone, it seemed, had heard a different version of the Akins affair.

Abel Fairfax and Henry Allen hadn’t witnessed the confrontation, but both were certain they had heard that the sheriff had caught Mrs. Akins by the wrist before she delivered the alleged blow. Miss Green had been told by the librarian that the Akins woman had not only slapped Delaney across the face and stomped his foot, but had launched a knee into... well... the region wasn’t named, but merely alluded to with a brisk cluck of her tongue and a knowing loft of her eyes.

Hannah, who had witnessed the confrontation, kept silent, doing her best to concentrate on the roast chicken and buttered peas on her plate. But at every reference to that awful slap, she could feel a slight constriction in her throat that had nothing to do with Nancy’s overcooked fowl or undercooked vegetables.

It shouldn’t have bothered her the way it had—that shocking blow. Heaven knew she’d been tempted to slap Delaney herself that day he came to discuss the disposition of the house. And if he ever had nerve enough to return, she’d probably have to keep her hands tucked tightly in her pockets in restraint.

Today’s incident shouldn’t have affected her at all, but Hannah reminded herself she’d have felt the same sympathy for a stricken dog or cat. The tide of emotion that had swept through her meant nothing, really. It wasn’t personal. Not in the least. Why, if Delaney had been a lowly beast—and who was to say the man wasn’t?—she would have felt a similar, perhaps even a stronger, onrush of compassion.

All of a sudden Hannah realized her dining companions had fallen silent. She looked up from her plate to find them all staring at her rather expectantly.

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