A Pansy for Eleanor, part 7

Thistle Creek Courthouse

February 1877

Snow fell on the streets of Thistle Creek, muffling the sounds of the town as Eleanor stepped onto the wooden steps of the courthouse. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of pine and chimney smoke, and the hush of winter made the moment feel even more intimate.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her. This was it.

Henry stood beside her, his posture steady, his gloved fingers brushing hers in silent reassurance. He had asked her again that morning if she was certain, if she was truly ready to leave behind the name Ashcombe, to forge a new life without titles, estates, or expectations.

Her answer was simple but definite.

“Yes.”

The courthouse was a modest wooden building, nothing like the grand halls of England where she had once imagined her wedding might take place. But as Henry opened the door and led her inside, she found she preferred it.

It was quiet and personal.

The justice of the peace, an older man with gray in his beard and kind eyes, greeted them with a knowing nod. Beside him, two familiar figures waited.

Fran stood tall, her auburn braid neatly tied back, dressed in a plain but elegant blue skirt and coat. Beside her, Izzy leaned against the wooden railing, her blonde hair tucked beneath a wide-brimmed hat, her blue eyes bright and alert.

Eleanor had been pleasantly surprised when the two had agreed to stand as witnesses. They were not the sentimental type. But in the short time she and Henry had been in Thistle Creek, they had come to trust Fran and Izzy in a way that felt… solid.

Henry’s uncle had proven to be useless. More than happy to oblige his nephew and his new bride with running his store, he had left town a few days after their arrival on the train headed back to Omaha.

“This place is…” he’d shaken his head and walked off, the smell of whiskey always surrounding him. He’d handed Henry the will and deed to the store and his house, clapped him on the shoulder, wished them luck, and left.

Eleanor and Henry were shocked, to say the least, but luckily, Henry had a mind for business, and soon the store, which had been a financial mess, was starting to straighten out. Eleanor loved helping, feeling a purpose that wasn’t idly sitting around crocheting landscapes in a stuffy parlor.

Their wedding had been postponed, but now it was finally here. A flutter of excitement filled her. She appreciated that no one in the town seemed to mind they weren’t married. She’d have been shunned and shipped off somewhere if they were still in England.

“Izzy says you look beautiful,” Fran told Eleanor.

“Thank you, Izzy,” she replied. It had become normal to talk to the women this way; Fran interpreting Izzy’s sign language and then replying to Izzy by speaking.

Fran chuckled. “Henry sure is smitten.”

Eleanor smiled, her heart lighter for their presence. Henry stared at her as if he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. She had finally unpacked her gown meant for her wedding. Cream and lavender with lace collar and cuffs, she knew she looked pretty. Madame Sue had even helped her press and steam the wrinkles out.

Eleanor had learned that Madame Sue ran the town with Fran, Izzy, and Sheriff Sam Callahan. Madame Sue’s coarseness was just a front, and she had been hospitable to her and Henry and helped them acclimate to the new town and Western way of life.

Henry took her hands in his, the warmth of his skin grounding her. The justice of the peace cleared his throat, his voice steady as he began the simple ceremony.

There were no grand vows, no waiting crowd, no orchestra playing a waltz, no Lord Rutledge or her father, dragging her away from Henry and the life they were building. Just the two of them and their newfound friends.

When the time came, Henry’s voice was steady. “I take you, Eleanor Ashcombe, to be my wife. To stand beside you, to build something new together, and to love you until the end of my days.”

Her throat tightened, emotion rising as she whispered, “And I take you, Henry Montrose, to be my husband. To share in whatever may come, to choose you always, and to love you for all my days.”

No one rushed them. No one interrupted. It was simple. Perfect.

The justice of the peace smiled. “By the laws of Colorado Territory, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Henry’s fingers curled beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. He hesitated, just for a breath, before he kissed her, his lips warm against hers, sealing the promise they had made.

Fran noddrd in approval. Izzy smiled and signed to Fran.

“She says congratulations,” Fran said.

Eleanor laughed, pressing a hand to her new husband's chest. “Thank you.”

He had once promised to move heaven and earth for her. Today, they needed only this - each other, a quiet courthouse, and two unlikely friends to witness the start of forever.

As the five of them exited the courthouse to a bright February morning, a cheer went up. Eleanor saw Madame Sue and all her girls on the boardwalk outside her establishment. Sheriff Callahan and his bride, Clara, stood to the side, along with his deputy and several cowboys whom Eleanor knew would be visiting Madame Sue’s later that day.

“Congratulations!” Madame Sue called, holding up a bottle of wine. “Come, let’s celebrate!”

Eleanor looked at Henry, who was beaming down at her.

“You know we can’t say no to her,” he whispered.

Fran and Izzy chuckled.

“Wise man,” Fran said under her breath.

He held his arm out to Eleanor, and the five of them walked over to the brothel for a celebration that lasted well into the night.

Several hours later, Eleanor knew she was beginning to fully embrace Thistle Creek as she took her first shot of whiskey, after much convincing. It burned, but she found it wasn’t unpleasant. Her fingers found the pansy locket around her neck, and she knew that her choice in St. James Park only a few months ago, that felt like ages, had been the right one.

Come back next week for Eleanor and Henry's conclusion.