Gwendolyn"S Choice
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 8
They left for Dry Gulch on the following Monday morning.
Monday wasn’t a traditional day for weddings, but Ethan and Gwen weren’t traditional people. Monday meant the town would be quieter—fewer gawkers, less spectacle. Just the business of making a life together official.
Gwen wore a simple calico dress that Ethan had bought from the general store the week before. Blue and white checks, practical but clean. She’d washed her hair the night before, braided it back from her face. She looked ... different. Still herself, but softer somehow.
Not tame. Never tame.
But choosing to be here, choosing this moment, choosing him.
As the wagon rolled toward town, Gwen was quiet. Ethan glanced at her occasionally, but didn’t press. He knew what it cost her to go back to the place where she’d been chained and sold.
“You all right?” he asked finally.
Gwen looked at him, her amber eyes clear and steady. “Yeah. I am.”
“We can turn around if—”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “I want this. I want ... I want them to see.”
Ethan understood. This wasn’t just about getting married. This was about walking back into that town as someone who mattered. Someone who’d been chosen. Someone who’d chosen back.
“Then let’s give them something to see,” he said.
Gwen smiled—small, fierce, and entirely hers.
They arrived at the church just before noon.
It was a small building, whitewashed wood with a simple cross above the door. The preacher, Reverend Walsh, was waiting on the steps. He was an older man with kind eyes and a quiet manner.
“Mr. Matthews,” he greeted. Then, carefully, “Miss...?”
“Harper,” Gwen said. She lifted her chin. “Gwendolyn Harper.”
“Miss Harper.” The reverend nodded respectfully. “Shall we?”
Inside, the church was cool and dim. Sunlight filtered through the plain glass windows, casting soft patterns on the wooden pews.
Mr. Miller from the general store was there, along with his wife—a plump woman with sharp eyes and a mouth that looked like it spent most of its time pursed in disapproval. But today, she was quiet. Respectful, even.
They would serve as witnesses.
Gwen saw Mrs. Miller’s eyes sweep over her—the calico dress, the braided hair, the scars on her wrists that no sleeve could fully hide.
Gwen met her gaze directly. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.
After a moment, Mrs. Miller nodded slightly. Not quite approval, but ... acknowledgment.
Reverend Walsh opened his Bible. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes,” Ethan said.
The ceremony was simple. No flowers, no music, no crowd. Just the essential words that bound two lives together.
“Do you, Ethan Matthews, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” His voice was steady, certain.
“And do you, Gwendolyn Harper, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Gwen’s throat tightened. She looked at Ethan—this man who’d paid a hundred dollars not to own her but to free her. Who’d given her space when she needed it. Who’d seen her at her worst and still wanted her at his table.
“I do,” she said. Clear. Strong. Meaning every syllable.
Reverend Walsh smiled. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” He closed the Bible. “You may kiss your bride.”
Ethan stepped closer. He cupped Gwen’s face gently, giving her time to pull away if she wanted.
She didn’t.
She leaned in and kissed him—brief but real, sealing the promise they’d just made.
When they pulled apart, Gwen was smiling.
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