PART 2 — THE FACE BENEATH THE BURLAP

“Please… promise you won’t send me back when you see.”

Josephine’s words hung between us.

I had heard men beg for their lives in the mountains. I had heard wounded animals cry out when the snow trapped them beneath fallen trees. But I had never heard a voice carry so much fear over something as simple as being seen.

My fingers stopped at the knot beneath her chin.

“Josephine,” I said quietly, “I won’t send you anywhere.”

She shook her head.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

“I’ve heard what people say. I’ve seen how they look at me. Jeremiah Higgins couldn’t even stand in the same room with me.”

I glanced at the sack.

“Is that why you’re afraid?”

She nodded.

“I don’t want to see that look again.”

I moved around the chair until I stood in front of her. I kept my hands where she could see them.

“Look at me.”

She lifted her covered head.

“I’ve got a face that frightens people, too. A cougar nearly killed me. Left me looking like something out of a nightmare.”

She said nothing.

“But I learned something a long time ago. A scar doesn’t tell me what kind of person someone is. And a face doesn’t decide whether someone deserves kindness.”

Her hands slowly lowered.

I waited.

Finally, she whispered, “You can take it off.”

I reached for the knot again.

The cord was stiff from the cold. It had been tied too тιԍнтly, and the burlap had rubbed against her skin during the long journey.

I worked carefully until the knot loosened.

The sack slipped from her head.

And for the first time, I saw Josephine.

She was younger than I had expected. Perhaps twenty-two. Her dark hair had been tangled beneath the rough cloth, and a few strands clung to her damp cheeks.

Her face was pale from the cold.

But there was nothing monstrous about it.

There was a small scar near her left eyebrow. Another faint mark crossed her cheek. The skin around her jaw was slightly uneven, as though an old injury had healed without proper care.

That was all.

I stared at her for a moment.

Not because I was frightened.

Because I was furious.

Furious that a woman with such a gentle face had been forced to believe she was something terrible.

Josephine watched me carefully.

Her lips trembled.

“Well?”

I looked into her eyes.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to send me away?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

She waited.

Then her face crumpled.

She covered her mouth with both hands, and a sob escaped her.

I stepped back, giving her room.

She cried for several minutes.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just the quiet, exhausted crying of someone who had spent too long believing she was unwanted.

When she finally looked up, she seemed embarrᴀssed.

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head.

“You don’t owe me an apology.”

I placed a clean cloth beside her bowl.

“Eat something. You’re freezing.”

She looked at the stew.

Then at me.

“Why did you pay fifty dollars?”

I sat across from her.

“Because Cooper was selling something that wasn’t his.”

She lowered her eyes.

“But the contract—”

“Paper doesn’t make a person property.”

She stared at me for a long time.

Then she asked the question I had expected since the moment I brought her through my door.

“Do you want me to work for you?”

I leaned back.

“No.”

“Then why am I here?”

I looked toward the fire.

“Because you needed somewhere safe.”

She seemed unable to understand that answer.

I knew the feeling.

For years, I had lived as though kindness always came with a price. It took me a long time to learn that some people offered help because they remembered what it felt like to need it.

Josephine finished her stew.

I showed her the small bedroom at the back of the cabin.

There was a bed, a washbasin, a wooden chest, and a window overlooking the pines.

“You can lock the door,” I told her.

She looked surprised.

I pointed to the latch.

“From the inside.”

She nodded.

I left a clean nightdress on the chair and stepped outside.

The temperature had dropped sharply.

Snow was beginning to cover the cabin roof.

I stood beneath the eaves, looking toward the dark mountains, and wondered how a town could send a frightened young woman into the wilderness with a stranger and still consider itself civilized.

Then I heard a sound from inside.

A knock.

I turned.

Josephine stood in the doorway.

She had changed into the nightdress, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

“Mr. Creed?”

I waited.

“Could you stay near the fire tonight?”

I glanced at the bedroom.

“Are you afraid?”

She nodded.

“Not of you.”

She hesitated.

“I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up back in that wagon.”

I looked at the empty chair beside the hearth.

“Of course.”

I sat down.

She returned to the bedroom.

And that night, for the first time in seven years, I stayed awake because someone needed to know she wasn’t alone.

Morning brought a clear sky and a world covered in white.

Josephine woke before sunrise.

I heard her moving quietly through the cabin, then found her standing beside the stove, staring at a kettle.

“Good morning,” I said.

She turned.

“Good morning.”

Her voice sounded different.

Still cautious, but less frightened.

I showed her how to make coffee. She watched carefully, then asked whether she could prepare breakfast.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She paused.

“But I would like to.”

I nodded.

She made biscuits and eggs.

They were better than anything I had eaten in months.

After breakfast, she helped me carry firewood inside. She worked slowly, still weak from the journey, but she insisted on doing something useful.

I noticed that she favored her right hand.

When I asked why, she immediately pulled it close to her body.

“Nothing.”

I didn’t press her.

But later, when she reached for a cup, I saw the bruising around her wrist.

I looked at her.

“Who did that?”

She went still.

Then she whispered, “Thaddeus Cooper.”

My jaw тιԍнтened.

“What happened?”

Josephine stared at the table.

“He tied the sack himself. He said it was better if nobody saw my face before the sale.”

I felt the old anger rising.

“Did he hurt you?”

She nodded.

“Not because I resisted. Because I asked him to let me go.”

I turned away.

The mountains had taught me that some men were dangerous because they were desperate.

Others were dangerous because they enjoyed having power.

Cooper belonged to the second kind.

Josephine continued.

“He told me that if nobody bought me, he’d take me to a place where women like me were kept.”

I looked back at her.

“What place?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”

Then she reached into the pocket of her dress and removed a folded piece of paper.

“I found this in his coat when he was helping me onto the wagon.”

She placed it on the table.

I unfolded it.

The paper contained several names.

Beside each name was a number.

Some were crossed out.

One name had been underlined twice.

JEREMIAH HIGGINS — $100.

I looked at Josephine.

“Do you know what this means?”

She shook her head.

“I think it was a list of men who had agreed to buy women.”

I stared at the paper.

Then I noticed another name.

CYRUS CREED — $500.

For several seconds, I couldn’t move.

Josephine looked at me.

“What is it?”

I folded the paper.

“Nothing.”

But I knew it wasn’t nothing.

Someone had been watching me.

Someone had been planning to bring Josephine to my cabin.

And someone had placed a price on my head.

I looked toward the window.

The snow-covered trail was empty.

But the mountains no longer felt quiet.

They felt watched.