Timothy was sitting in the first row of pews in the sanctuary, writing notes for a his next sermon. He always found that sitting where his people would be while he spoke inspired him to produce the right words and messages. Of course, it didn't matter when he couldn't see, so he quickly learned to visualize the church in his mind's eye instead. His sermons never faltered in their quality.

Lucy sat in the front row every Sunday now, and Timothy always felt a wave of love come over him when he looked at her sitting there, actually attentive. He admitted, when he first heard her lack of understanding, he felt inclined to believe her to be a heathen. A Godless nomad. Even now, she didn't seem to waiver in her doubts. But she came. She came for him every week. Church was the only time she'd put up her hair in the fashion of the ladies of the West, when she clearly liked it better flowing freely behind her. And he always felt that mattered just as much as a baptism or conversion.

For a minute or two, Timothy let his daydreams take over. Standing in front of the pulpit instead of behind it...perhaps Reverend Thomas in his place instead. Dressed in his best, with a new bow tie instead of a collar fit snugly around his neck, and his usually-bearded face clean shaven for the event. Lucy walking up between the rows in a white lace gown, veil covering her hair, roses in her hand. How beautiful she would be! The people of the town would stare at her in awe as Timothy reached out to take her hand and give her his vows in return, as well as his soul. Sealing their pledges of eternal love and fidelity with a gentle kiss as the townsfolk clapped in congratulations.

And then that night, in total privacy, finally allowing themselves to indulge in God's gift to married couples...finally being able to satisfy the carnal feelings dwelling in his belly that he'd been forced to suppress in the name of honor his entire life...Lucy surrendering herself to him with that beautiful, fleshy body he'd almost had once already...towering over her body, her aching moans indicating she was ready for him...his hips between her legs...

But when the church door opened, and a suddenly whisk of cold wind blew Timothy back to reality, Lucy looked less like a bride and more like a rugged she-wolf, ready to either strike at him or fall off a cliff. Her clear distress was enough to prevent a full erection from blossoming, for which Timothy was both very grateful and a little startled.

"Lucy? What's the matter?" He asked softly as Lucy ran up the aisle at him with speed and deliberation. He couldn't even brace himself for when she practically leaped into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"Preston...Louise..." she cried heavily. Timothy's chest tightened. He too Lucy's chin in his hand and brought her eyes to meet his.

"What did they do to you?" he asked with stern authority. "I don't care if I'm a Reverend, I will make them know they can't touch you...especially him..."

"No, don't," Lucy said quickly. "Preston tried seducing me, but I hit him."

For a second, an amused smile shot across his face, and he felt a brief glow of warmth before Lucy began crying again.

"I will never let him near you again," he assured her protectively. Lucy shook her head and stepped a half-pace back. She took his hands in hers.

"We need to talk about something...I don't know what to say...but I want to hear what you will."

At first, Timothy thought Lucy was changing her mind and leaving him for the shady banker, but that wasn't the case. Lucy told him all about her wanderlust, and how this opportunity being Louise's travelling companion was probably her one opportunity to finally get to California for a long time, if ever. After all, she had been thrown off of a train and essentially stranded here. She described how she was beginning to miss the allure of the city, and how in spite of all of the good people of Colorado Springs, the western town was so wide, so empty, and so conservative that it was beginning to feel like a cage.

"But...I don't want to leave the best thing I've ever had happen to me," Lucy added. "How can I? Colorado Springs gave me the one thing that has made me feel important...more than just a maid or a street urchin...you, Timothy. You make me feel, well, adored."

"And so you are," Timothy said softly, sitting down with her on the pew behind them.

"But I'm not going to be a good wife," Lucy added. Timothy shook his head.

"Don't say that," he countered. "You're kind, sweet, fun, intelligent, a hard-worker-"

"-I'm also impatient, impetuous, and unrefined," she added.

Timothy sighed a moment. "And after all, who said you would be my wife?" He added without thought.

Lucy sat back, the look on her face changed. "What? You're saying you don't want to-?"

"Oh no! No!" Timothy quickly apologized. "It's just not been a very long time for us. We aren't getting married tomorrow, or even engaged. Let's be a little reasonable. There's time."

"But there isn't!" Lucy said quickly. "I have until Friday night to decide the rest of my life! Between you and my dream since childhood! Timothy, if I leave, I won't be coming back! Now do you understand?"

Now her cards were on the table, and she was left completely up to what Timothy said next. He knew he had to take time before he answered.

What was he, a simple man, to stand in the way of a woman's dreams, especially the dreams of such a remarkable woman who'd turned his world around in a month? But Timothy's own dreams had to be taken into account as well...his dreams of domesticity and bliss...a gaggle of children at his feet...and later, an even larger gaggle of grandchildren. He wanted to die with a loving woman at his bedside, holding him gently in her arms as he slipped away to Heaven. And then, later still, he wanted to walk through the Kingdom of God with her, sharing in Paradise with his soul mate.

Lucy, he knew in his heart, was that woman.

But keeping her trapped like a wild hawk in a cage was selfish and cruel to her, and Timothy would rather drop dead this moment than to deny her anything she wanted.

"Go, then," he said, his voice trembling.

"W...what?" Lucy asked, as if she'd missed his decision.

"Go, let your life be a dream," he said. "No one deserves it more than you."

Lucy hadn't expected this answer. She expected at least a fight from him. But he seemed so...willing and resigned...to just let her leave.

"You...you don't care?" she asked ambiguously.

"Your happiness is all I want," Timothy answered. Lucy felt her lower lip tremble with heartbreak.

"But...what about us? Our future? Do we...do we have one?" she asked. Timothy shook his head.

"I suppose we don't, after all."

That was it. The decision. The conclusion.

"So...you aren't even going to fight for me," Lucy replied, standing up defiantly. "All of this was just play?"

"I'm making it easy for you," Timothy said, his demeanor growing colder and colder by the second. Lucy stood a moment without breath.

"You...you really are just letting me go, then?"

"I said yes. Go. Live your life. See the world." Timothy was officially emotionless as he got to his feet. "Would you like me to escort you back to the hotel?"

"No!"

Lucy stomped her foot. "You know something? I thought you were The One. My Destiny. You had me believing in a higher power watching over us and bringing us together. You made me think I belonged with you and that you loved me. But now you're suddenly discarding me like a pile of leftover turkey bones. You can't possibly have meant everything you've said and done for me if you can let me go like this...you cold, cold son of a...son of a..."

Lucy couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. Instead, she whirled around and fled the church without another moment to spare.

She didn't see Timothy collapse to his knees and begin weeping like a child, desperate and hurt.

Lucy, back out on the street, spent a moment washing her face and drying her eyes, cooling them with a washing rag to help the redness fade. She couldn't let Louise, who was so refined and womanly, see her crying like a baby.

Not that it mattered. She couldn't find Louise anywhere for the rest of the day. Instead, she arranged to have a simple note sent to her room at the hotel:

Louise,

I'm going with you.

Signed, Lucile

Then, she felt she needed to go outside again, where no one could see her. She chose to visit the brook one last time. The brook where it all began with Timothy.

The day was nearly over by then. Sunset painted the sky in a vivid red-orange that gave way to yellow to the West, and purple to the East. Lucy lied down in the grass, but only for a moment before shoot up again. The grass was cold and wet. When she'd been there before, it was soft and full.

Even the flora were growing cold towards her.

Instead, she sat on rock, watching the water in the brook float by. She didn't think at all. Her mind remained floating in limbo. She didn't even think about Timothy in the depth of her depression.

Why should I be so depressed? She asked herself. I've only known him a little over a month. And I just guaranteed myself a trip to California and out of this empty little village. Louise was right. I belong to the city.

So...why do I feel like drowning in this very brook at the same time?

After the sky grew black, Lucy finally gathered up the energy to go back to her room. Perhaps then she could cry herself to sleep.

As she walked down the dirt road, she noticed people staring at her with concern and curiosity. She felt a bubble of isolation encircle her and place her in an alternate place from those around her. The mayor's pregnant wife (showing already, but she was petite so it wasn't surprising) looked at her with pity, which made her sick to her stomach. Have they heard already? This town is even smaller than I thought.

A brown package waited by her door when she returned. Lucy took the box into her room and shut the door. The card on top of the box was blank, but upon opening the box,on top of a few folds of paper, was a small handwritten note on plain parchment:

I am thrilled at this news. Please arrive promptly at seven-thirty Saturday morning, wearing this and with your hair neat and worn up. A new dress for a new journey.

-Louise

A bundle of beautiful blue linen fell out of the box after Lucy lifted the paper. The dress was like nothing she'd ever owned before (and certainly a far deal better than the two dresses she did wear). Lace collars and sleeves, the powder-blue color...the trim...the cut...all of it was nothing like she'd seen other than on a mannequin in the window of a dressmaker's shop back in New York. How did Louise afford it? How did she even guess Lucy's size?

As it turned out, Louise had been a bit off on size after all. While Lucy felt flattered Louise saw her as a trifle thinner than she was, the dress bodice was too tight across her chest, and her breasts were close to ripping the seams. Even though her shawl clashed with the material, she had no other choice than to wear it over the top. Fortunately, the skirts started higher on the waistline, so there was ample room for her hips. However, the skirts were too short, and Lucy's ankles would have been exposed were her black boots not as high as they were.

Lucy studied herself in the room's mirror. The dress was beautiful in spite of its size issues. She looked modest. She looked clean. She looked very...Western.

And Lucy hated it.

She feel asleep in a heap of blue fabric on the floor after collapsing where she stood, too upset to stand.