Page 8 of Mail Order Bride

“Time has a way of catching up to all of us.”

Goosebumps ran up my arms. I shivered under his gaze, knowing he’s not wrong. At least not about that. Life has carried on inside that house, but it’s stale and unmoved. It is a dim and musty place, the old farmhouse, with low ceilings and gray, wooden walls. Each moment feels like the shadow of its predecessor. It’s astonishing how fast things can roll downhill when you just let them go.

“So what? That meant you needed to spend your last dollars, your lastdays, onthis?” I took the book from him and stabbed my freshly painted fingernail at the fine print. “You don’t think I could have found a man on my own?”

“It’s not that.”

“Well, then,whatDaddy? What could have possibly compelled you to take out an ad to find me a husband—as though I’m not plenty capable of finding one myself?”

“But you haven’t, honey. Have you?”

I felt the rage building, and it didn’t help my stammer any. “I—”

“I just want the best for you, princess. You know that.”

“Don’t call me princess,” I snapped. My anger erupted like a volcano. “We both know I’m not a little girl anymore.” I turned toward him and looked at him,reallylooked at him. What I saw nearly took my breath away. I wanted it to soothe the anger, but it didn’t. “Maybe you should have considered that I know what’s best for me.”

“This will give you options, Gin—”

A wave of emotion crashed over me, but I squared my shoulders and let loose with a bitter determination I hadn't felt in weeks. “Ihaveoptions!”

He started to cry then. I couldn’t stand it. Not a steadfast, hardworking man like my father, who never cried, not even when Mama died. He was strong for me then, and he’s trying to be strong for me now, but I can see that he’s scared andthatbothers me more than the ad.

“I’m not going to be around forever.”

“I know,” I said, but it was a bald-faced lie. I imagined he would outlive us all. He’s only fifty-two. But looking at him then, he looked two times that. He doesn’t want to live like this; he doesn’t want to be bedridden. He wants to die. And honestly, I’d rather he did. He says the sooner the better, for me to have a chance at a life. But if I had to choose between him and whatever he means bylife,I’d pick him every time.

“That’s what love is, isn’t it?” he whispered, as though he was reading my mind. “It’s not always the thing we want; it’s the thing we need.”

“I can find my own husband. I don’tneedyou to advertise me like I’m some—”

“You’re a prize, honey. And you’re going to make someone very happy. You know I’ve always told you that.”

I softened. Not because I wanted to, or because he was telling me what I wanted to hear, but because he looked so sick all of a sudden. His skin had taken on a greenish pallor. I hadn’t known so many shades of green existed. “Yes.”

“Well, I want to have a hand in picking that person. Before it’s too late.”

I don’t know if he realizes it, but I do. It’s already too late.

“When you pass, they’re going to take the farm.”

“No one’s going to take the farm.”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and held it. It was a conversation only one of us saw coming and neither wanted to have. I exhaled, slowly at first, and then all at once. “I know about the lien, Daddy. I know you’re behind. Being sick and all.”

Those words were like a knife in his back. My father has always been a proud man, which makes the ad all the more shocking. I could tell he was surprised I knew about the foreclosure, though he shouldn’t have been. His expression soured, and he shook his head sternly. “That’s not your concern.”

“But it is.”

I tiptoed into the conversation, aware of everything he didn’t want to hear—and everything he didn’t want to say. “Is that why you thought the ad was a good idea? To save the farm?”

“No,” he told me, and I believed him, which was disappointing. It was the only thing that made sense. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Hidden beneath his tone was something else—a desperation. “But you also don’t want to see everything you worked for fall into Uncle Sam’s hands.”

“What does it matter? I’ll be dead.”

The air felt heavy, like there was a new storm building in the distance. It felt bigger than the one that had just passed, like the worst was yet to come. I wondered if it was going to snow before nightfall.

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