Josephine waited several minutes before moving.
She expected Harlan to return.
Expected the handle to turn.
Expected the kindness to reveal itself as another kind of trap.
Nothing happened.
Only the storm remained.
She crossed the room and tested the interior bedroom door.
Harlan had told the truth.
There was a sturdy iron latch on the inside.
She locked it.
Then Josephine leaned against the door and finally let herself breathe as much as the corset allowed.
Which was hardly at all.
The bedroom was simple but unexpectedly comfortable.
A rope bed stood beneath a small window.
Clean quilts had been folded at the foot.
There was a washstand, basin, pitcher, comb, mirror, and a narrow wooden wardrobe.
No woman’s belongings.
No hidden evidence of some dead previous wife.
No restraints.
No bottle of whiskey.
No sign that Harlan intended to enter without permission.
Josephine sat on the edge of the bed.
Pain stabbed through her ribs again.
She tried reaching behind herself to loosen the corset.
Her fingers could barely reach the knots Aunt Lydia had tied.
Of course Lydia had knotted them.
Josephine remembered her aunt pulling.
“Stand still.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing enough to complain.”
“Please loosen it.”
“Stop being dramatic.”
Lydia pulled harder.
Josephine had gasped.
Her father looked through the kitchen doorway and said nothing.
Now, miles away from them, Josephine stared at her reflection.
The woman in the mirror looked exhausted.
Her cheeks were flushed from pain.
Loose strands of brown hair clung to her temples.
The burgundy dress that Lydia had called flattering looked like an expensive cage.
Josephine thought of Harlan.
Cut the laces if you have to.
For years, Josephine had been taught that destroying clothing was wasteful.
That altering a garment without permission was disobedient.
That making herself comfortable was selfish if comfort made her appear larger.
Her fingers trembled as she picked up the shears.
The first cut sounded louder than the wind.
Snip.
One lace separated.
Josephine froze.
Then she cut another.
And another.
The pressure eased.
Her ribs expanded.
Air rushed into her lungs.
Josephine gasped so deeply she became dizzy.
She laughed.
A strange, breathless sound.
Then she cried.
Not because she was sad.
Because breathing felt like freedom.
She removed the wedding dress, petticoats, stockings, and the cruel corset.
Purple marks circled her torso.
Several places beneath her ribs had already begun bruising.
Josephine stared at them in the mirror.
Harlan had noticed within one minute.
Her family had watched it happen.
The realization hurt more than the corset.
She pulled on the blue flannel garment.
It was enormous.
The hem almost reached her ankles.
The sleeves covered half her hands.
And it was the most comfortable thing Josephine had worn in years.
Someone knocked once.
She grabbed the shears.
“Harlan?”
“No.”
Josephine’s blood went cold.
A second knock followed.
Then a familiar voice.
“Mrs. Creek?”
Reverend Stokes.
Josephine stood perfectly still.
“I forgot my satchel,” he called. “Left it beside your trunk.”
She looked around.
A brown leather bag rested near the wall.
She did not answer.
The outer cabin door opened.
Josephine’s heart lurched.
Harlan had not locked it.
“Mrs. Creek?”
Stokes stepped inside.
She heard him move around the main room.
Then the bedroom handle turned.
The latch held.
“Josephine?”
She disliked hearing him use her first name.
“What do you want?”
“My bag.”
“It is outside this door.”
A pause.
“And Harlan?”
“Barn.”
Another pause.
Josephine could almost hear the reverend thinking.
“You should understand something,” Stokes said.
“What?”
“The agreement your father signed is legitimate.”
Josephine stared at the door.
“I didn’t ask.”
“I merely want to prevent confusion. Harlan paid consideration. Your father accepted it. You entered the marriage willingly before a minister.”
“Willingly?”
“You signed.”
“After my father nearly broke my wrist.”
Silence.
“You saw him.”
“Josephine, families sometimes apply pressure when young women are emotional.”
Her stomach turned.
“Get your bag and leave.”
“You should not anger your husband.”
The words were soft.
Almost kind.
That made them worse.
“A woman in your situation cannot afford—”
The outer door slammed.
Silence.
Then Harlan’s voice.
“Finish that sentence.”
Josephine closed her eyes.
Stokes cleared his throat.
“I was simply giving your wife guidance.”
“She didn’t ask.”
“I returned for my satchel.”
“Take it.”
“Harlan, there is no reason for hostility.”
“Take it.”
Josephine heard leather scrape against wood.
Then Stokes spoke more quietly.
“You may want to remember what we discussed.”
The room seemed to change.
Harlan answered after a pause.
“I remember everything.”
“That is good.”
Footsteps.
The door opened.
Wind rushed inside.
The door slammed again.
Josephine remained behind the locked bedroom door.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Harlan knocked once.
“What?”
“Soup’s hot.”
Josephine waited.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
She glanced at the blue garment covering her.
“You can come inside the cabin.”
A long silence followed.
“I am inside.”
Josephine almost smiled despite herself.
“I mean... you don’t need to stay away because of me.”
“All right.”
She approached the door but did not unlock it.
“What did Reverend Stokes mean?”
“About what?”
“What you discussed.”
No answer.
“Harlan.”
“Eat first.”
Her temper flared.
“I am not a child.”
“No.”
“Then stop deciding what I’m allowed to know.”
Another pause.
“You’re right.”
Josephine blinked.
Nobody in her family had ever answered criticism that way.
Harlan continued.
“Eat. Then I’ll tell you.”
Josephine looked down at the loose shirt.
“I’m not dressed.”
“There are clothes in the wardrobe.”
She opened it.
Inside were simple wool skirts, stockings, two blouses, a knitted shawl, undergarments, and a thick green dress.
Josephine touched the dress.
It was her size.
Her exact size.
She opened the door abruptly.
Harlan stood across the room beside the stove, his back respectfully turned.
“Where did these come from?”
“Town.”
“You bought them?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know my measurements?”
“I didn’t.”
“They fit.”
“Woman at the mercantile guessed.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Bell.”
Josephine knew Nora Bell.
The widow who operated the valley mercantile had always treated Josephine kindly.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I needed clothes for you.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“You didn’t tell her to make me look smaller?”
Harlan turned his head just enough for Josephine to see his profile.
“Why?”
The word was so genuinely confused that Josephine could not answer.
She closed the door again.
When she emerged, she wore the green wool dress.
No corset.
No crushing undergarments.
No painful attempt to transform her body into someone else’s idea of respectability.
Harlan noticed.
Then deliberately looked away.
Josephine sat at the table.
A bowl of rabbit stew waited.
She stared.
There was meat.
Potatoes.
Carrots.
Fresh bread.
Butter.
An entire second helping in the pot.
At home, her father often watched how much she ate.
“You have enough stored already,” he had once joked while taking the bread basket from her.
Josephine picked up the spoon.
Harlan sat across from her.
He did not comment when she finished the bowl.
Instead, he reached for the pot.
“More?”
Josephine hesitated.
“Yes.”
He filled her bowl.
That tiny gesture nearly destroyed her composure.
She concentrated on eating.
Finally she set the spoon down.
“You said you would explain.”
Harlan folded his hands.
“Your father owed money to three men.”
“What men?”
“Men he gambled with.”
Josephine stared.
“My father doesn’t gamble.”
Harlan’s expression told her otherwise.
“How much?”
“More than his land was worth.”
Her mouth went dry.
“That still doesn’t explain me.”
“He tried offering the farm.”
“You said it wasn’t worth enough.”
“It wasn’t.”
“What happened?”
“One of the men suggested something else.”
Josephine suddenly did not want to hear.
Harlan’s voice lowered.
“Your father has another daughter.”
“Elsie.”
Her sixteen-year-old sister.
Josephine pushed back from the table.
“No.”
“He offered her.”
The room tilted.
“No.”
“He said she was young enough to bring a better price.”
Josephine stood so quickly the chair fell.
“Harlan—”
“I was there.”
“Why were you there?”
“I went to collect a debt from one of the men.”
“What debt?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me!”
Harlan’s jaw tightened.
“I heard your father bargaining.”
Josephine covered her mouth.
Elsie.
Sweet, quiet Elsie, who still slept with the quilt their mother had made before she died.
“What did you do?”
“I bought the debt.”
Josephine stared.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Pelts. Horses. Land rights.”
“Harlan...”
“He couldn’t pay me.”
“So you asked for me?”
“No.”
Josephine’s confusion returned.
“He offered you.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
Of course.
Of course Silas had.
She almost laughed.
“He offered the daughter he valued least.”
Harlan’s gaze sharpened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“He didn’t need to.”
“You volunteered?”
Josephine looked up.
“What?”
Harlan rested his arms on the table.
“Your father said you volunteered because you wanted a husband.”
“That is a lie.”
“I know that now.”
“Why did you agree?”
“Because if I refused, he was going to sell Elsie’s contract to the men from the gambling house.”
Josephine sank back into the chair.
Harlan continued.
“I told him I would cancel enough debt to keep them away if he transferred the agreement to me instead.”
“Twenty dollars and two horses?”
“Payment I made publicly.”
“Why?”
“So Stokes and your father could call it a marriage contract instead of admitting what your father had done.”
Josephine stared toward the fire.
Every piece rearranged itself.
Harlan had not come seeking a bride.
He had stepped between her father and something worse.
But then another thought came.
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I expected your father had.”
Josephine laughed bitterly.
“You do not know Silas Vale very well.”
“No.”
“Why me?”
Harlan frowned.
“What?”
“Why save me?”
“I wasn’t choosing between you and your sister.”
“But you were.”
“No.”
His voice became firmer.
“I was stopping him from trading either one of you to those men.”
Josephine swallowed.
“And now?”
Harlan reached into his shirt pocket.
He unfolded a second paper.
“Now you decide.”
He placed it before her.
Josephine read slowly.
It was a release.
A statement declaring that Josephine owed Harlan Creek nothing.
The marriage agreement could be dissolved at her request.
She looked at him.
“You had this prepared?”
“Before you arrived.”
Her eyes filled.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know if you wanted to stay.”
Josephine could barely speak.
“And if I leave?”
“I take you wherever you choose.”
“My father’s house?”
“If that is what you want.”
She looked toward the storm.
“No.”
Harlan nodded once.
“Then not there.”
Josephine stared at the release.
A path out.
No threats.
No debt.
No price.
For the first time in her life, a man with every legal and physical advantage over her was placing power back in her hands.
Then Harlan said something that changed the night again.
“Your sister may be in danger.”
Josephine looked up sharply.
“What do you mean?”
“The gambling men don’t know I bought the whole debt.”
“You just said you did.”
“I bought what your father admitted to.”
Cold settled in Josephine’s stomach.
“And what didn’t he admit?”
Harlan’s eyes moved toward the window.
“I think there’s another note.”
Outside, somewhere beyond the roaring storm, a horse screamed.
Harlan stood immediately.
Josephine’s fear returned.
But this time it was not fear of the mountain man.
It was fear of what might be coming up the trail.