15
Lane
When I agreed to a marriage to a mail order bride, it came with some sacrifices. We didn’t know the woman, knew nothing of her character, her age, her temperament. Would she like—or more important, could she handle—living in Slate Springs, which was shut off by the harsh effects of winter for half the year? She would be the woman we bedded the rest of our lives. Would we feel attraction for her and her for us in return? I was a virile man and couldn’t imagine curbing my carnal appetites. But what I had felt the biggest sacrifice was knowing she was truly mine. Mine and Spur’s. The proxy marriage license that ensured she was married to Spur was well and good, but it was a piece of paper. No ceremony to feel married.
While I wasn’t the most godly of men, I wanted to know, to feel,
