June 1920
Councilwoman Covington, are you ready to become Mrs. William Adams, Junior?” Pa asked as they stood at the doors to the chapel.
Councilwoman Covington. Emily wanted to dance a little jig at the sound of the title, but she was in her wedding gown and a few of the men were still sore about the women of Jackson taking the elections in a landslide.
Their town needed some fixing, and the women, now dubbed the “petticoat government,” were glad to lend a hand to make good changes happen.
She’d given Will a walloping in the votes herself, but he assured her he was fine, although his male ego was a tad bruised.
But Mrs. Will Adams? She smiled at the thought. She wouldn’t be councilwoman forever, but she’d gladly bear her husband’s name the rest of her life.
“I’m ready, Pa. So, so ready.” She squeezed his arm, and he clutched her hand; his eyes seemed very bright in the sunshine today. She’d only seen him cry once, when her little brother was born. Today made the second time.
“You know, I’m not quite ready to let you go.”
“We’re not leaving Jackson, Pa. Not ever.”
“Aw, I know that.”
They scaled the three steps to the double doors. Miss Etta was plunking out the strains of “The Wedding March.”
“Oh, and that legal matter I had your Will help me see to? I’m giving you a few acres of the spread … for your future home.”
“Pa … I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not planning to kick the bucket anytime soon, but I want you to choose a spot now, for you and your Will to build a home.”
You and your Will.
The music grew louder as the doors were flung open, and she caught sight of her Will standing by the preacher.
My Will, always.
Will stood there, smiling, his eyes gleaming. He tugged at his tie then his cuffs. No doubt, he loved her. She wanted to pick up the hem of her skirt and rush down the aisle to him, but it wouldn’t be entirely proper.
Instead, Emily held her head high, let her smile flow unrestrained across her face, and began the walk down the aisle, into her future.