The word cut like a knife.
“You agreed to this?”
“I did.”
“How could you?”
For the first time, his voice softened.
“I asked that you be willing.”
“She will be,” Beatice cut in.
Catherine shook her head. “I’m not.”
The yard fell silent.
Then Moses said something that surprised her.
“If she truly does not want this marriage, we should reconsider.”
But Beatice shut it down at once.
“No. The agreement is made.”
Then she turned to Catherine with cold finality.
“The wedding will happen next week.”
And Catherine understood the awful truth: the entire village might laugh about this marriage, but no one would stop it.
The week before the wedding passed like a long, bad dream.
At the market, people whispered openly.
“Did you hear? Catherine is marrying that fat man.”
“They say he paid a huge bride price.”
“Poor girl.”
“Poor man,” someone joked.
At home, Beatice moved around proudly, boasting to neighbors that her niece was marrying a generous man. She spoke as if Catherine were not even in the room.
Three days before the wedding, Moses returned with supplies—sacks of rice, cartons of oil, crates of soda, colorful fabric, gifts that made the neighbors stare.
Beatice nearly glowed with pride.
Catherine watched from the doorway as Moses gave instructions to the men unloading the truck. Even then, something about him did not match the image the village had built around him. The men helping him respected him. They did not joke with him. They listened.
After a while, he noticed her watching and walked over.
“Are you well?” he asked quietly.
She almost laughed at the question.
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