Page 135 of Eleanor’s Earrings

“The road ahead?”

“Thomas and two riders scouted it.”

“Eleanor—”

“You once told me a leader who could not breathe could not lead. A leader who cannot remember falling from his horse is equally useless.”

“Useless?”

“At present.”

He stared at her.

She folded her arms. “Would you like me to tie you into the wagon? You said you had done it to men before.”

Nathaniel lay back. “You enjoy this.”

“A little.”

He watched through the open canvas while she gave instructions, the sling holding his right arm tight enough to remind him not to move it. People came to her with reports. She listened, decided, and sent them away with clear work.

She did not imitate him. Eleanor consulted more people than he did. She explained every decision. Yet no one mistook consultation for weakness.

Even Mr. Daugherty followed her orders.

Nathaniel had believed leadership required one person to carry the final weight alone.

Eleanor had turned the weight into something shared without letting it become uncertain.

When darkness fell, she sat beside him and changed the cloth around his shoulder.

“Seeing you fall frightened me,” she said.

“I am sorry.”

“I do not want an apology. I want you to understand.”

“I do.”

“Every future I have refused to imagine suddenly felt as though it could disappear.”

Nathaniel took her hand with his uninjured one. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Marry me.”

The words rose before judgment could stop them, shaped by fear, love, and the sight of Eleanor standing beside him after leading the train.

Eleanor's eyes widened.

Nathaniel closed his. “That was not how I meant to ask.”

“How did you mean to ask?”

“Without a head injury.”

She laughed softly.