Ezekiel stood at the altar in his best shirt, which wasn’t very best at all. His hat sat in his hands like something he didn’t deserve to wear. The preacher’s voice floated through the room, but Ezekiel only caught pieces, like someone reading from the bottom of a well.
Beside him stood Adelaide Quinn.
Or the woman he’d been told was Adelaide.
She was the heaviest woman Ezekiel had ever stood next to. Not in the exaggerated way men joked about at saloons, but in the real, physical way of a body that took up space without apology. Her dress was plain brown, strained at the seams, and her dark hair had been pulled back so tightly it seemed to tug her expression into a severity that didn’t match the softness of her cheeks.
People whispered anyway.
