It was her first Sunday in the congregation. The preacher’s niece—Lemuel’s niece—had arrived only days before, and already the church walls felt different with her in them. Word had spread quick, of course: she’d come to stay with Lemuel and Mara, to “become a true woman of God.” But from the look on her face that morning, arms crossed and jaw set like a blade, it was clear she wasn’t there by choice.

She sat three pews from the front, perfectly still, perfectly silent, and yet the whole room tilted toward her. Not singing. Not praying. Not even pretending to care. Just staring ahead with that scowl on her face—defiant, proud, and unapologetically beautiful in a way that made folks uncomfortable. Garret noticed.

So did everyone else.

The men glanced at her when they thought no one was watching. The women whispered behind their hymnals. But Garret didn’t bother hiding his gaze. He watched her—steady, measured, unreadable. His stare wasn’t lustful. It was evaluative. Curious. Like he was trying to decide what kind of creature she really was under all that pride.

He told himself it was spiritual concern. That she needed guidance, shaping, maybe even correction. She was family now. She’d be around Mara. Around him. It was natural to keep an eye on her. Especially today. Especially now—because today was the Sunday before he planned to ask Lemuel to court Mara.

He’d been preparing for weeks. Mara was quiet, obedient, raised in the Word. A preacher’s daughter with soft hands and eyes that lowered when spoken to. She’d make a proper wife. A godly one. And Garret had earned that future—through patience, sacrifice, and faith. Lemuel would see that.

He had to.

So why did the new girl make his heart beat like a warning bell?

Why did that scowl make him feel like something had gone wrong in his chest? She stood after the final amen, moving slow like the weight of the building pressed heavier on her than anyone else. The others stepped aside as she passed, some out of respect, most out of discomfort. Garret lingered at the rear of the chapel, pretending to collect hymnals, but really—he was waiting.

“She don’t look like she wants to be saved,”

someone muttered near him.

He didn’t reply. Just kept his eyes locked on her.

She looked like iron before the heat. Something sharp that hadn’t yet been bent into something useful. But she’d learn. They all did.

Especially with the right hand to shape them.

Garret moved before he thought too hard about it. Just enough to intercept her near the doors. He didn’t raise his voice—didn’t need to. His presence did the work.

“Y’ain’t sung a word this morning.”

The corner of his mouth lifted—not a smile, not really. Something smaller. Something sharper.

“Don’t much care for the sound of God’s people?”

She didn’t answer, not right away. He let the silence stretch.

His tone stayed calm, but his eyes were anything but. They didn’t move from her face. He wasn’t asking. He was marking—making sure she knew he saw her. That they all did.

And beneath it all, beneath the hymnal still pressed against his chest like a shield, something in Garret was already shifting. The plan to speak to Lemuel about Mara still lived in his mind, but it felt… looser now. Not because he doubted Mara.

But because the girl in front of him looked like a challenge.

And Garret had always believed challenges were meant to be tamed.