PART 2 — THE REASON HE CHOSE HER

Josephine stared at Harlan, waiting for him to explain.

The fire crackled between them, sending golden light across the rough wooden walls. Outside, the blizzard continued to bury the mountain trail, making the cabin feel like the only place left in the world.

“You heard what my father said?” she finally asked.

Harlan nodded.

“I was in St. Louis three weeks ago. I had gone there to purchase supplies. Your father was drinking at the mercantile with two other men.”

Josephine lowered her eyes.

She could imagine exactly what had happened. Her father had never needed much encouragement to discuss her shortcomings in public.

“What did he say?”

“That he was tired of feeding a daughter nobody wanted. He said he would give her away to the first man willing to take her off his hands.”

Josephine felt her cheeks burn.

“And you believed him?”

“No.” Harlan’s answer came immediately. “I believed he was a cruel man.”

She looked up.

He continued.

“I asked around. A woman who worked at the boardinghouse told me how your aunt treated you. She said you spent most of your days working, cooking, cleaning, and caring for a household that never thanked you.”

Josephine’s fingers тιԍнтened around the empty broth bowl.

“That was my life.”

“I know.”

“But why did you get involved?”

Harlan leaned back in his chair.

“Because I had a sister once.”

His voice changed when he said it.

“Her name was Margaret. She was a kind woman. Always helping people who didn’t deserve her kindness. Our father used to tell her she was too timid to survive outside his house. Then he arranged her marriage to a man who promised to give her a comfortable life.”

Josephine listened silently.

“The man was cruel. Margaret stayed because she believed leaving would bring shame on the family. By the time I found out what was happening, it was too late to make things right.”

Harlan looked into the fire.

“She died believing she had nowhere else to go.”

Josephine felt a lump rise in her throat.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he looked at her.

“When I heard your father speaking about you, I remembered my sister. I couldn’t change what happened to Margaret. But I could refuse to let another woman be handed over like an animal.”

Josephine lowered her head.

“Then you didn’t marry me because you wanted a wife?”

“No.”

The answer hurt more than she expected.

Harlan seemed to notice.

“I don’t mean that as an insult. I didn’t know you. I had no right to expect you to become anything for me.”

He stood, crossed the room, and retrieved a folded blanket from a wooden chest.

“You can sleep in the bedroom. I’ll take the chair.”

Josephine looked at him.

“But we’re married.”

“According to that preacher, yes.”

“And what does that mean to you?”

Harlan placed the blanket beside her.

“It means nobody gets to send you back to the people who mistreated you. Nothing more than that unless you decide otherwise.”

She had never heard a man speak about marriage that way.

Not once in her twenty-eight years.

The following morning, Josephine awoke to the smell of coffee and wood smoke.

For a few seconds, she didn’t remember where she was. Then she saw the unfamiliar ceiling and heard the wind brushing against the shutters.

She sat up quickly.

Her wedding dress was folded neatly across a chair. Beside it lay a clean wool dress, a pair of stockings, and a small note.

The dress belonged to Margaret. It may be too large, but it should keep you warm. Breakfast is on the stove. No hurry.

Josephine touched the fabric.

It was simple, dark blue wool, with tiny embroidered flowers around the collar.

She dressed slowly, then entered the kitchen.

Harlan stood outside chopping wood.

A plate of fried potatoes and eggs waited on the table.

She ate quietly, wondering whether this strange peace would disappear once he realized what kind of woman he had brought into his home.

After breakfast, she decided to make herself useful.

She washed the dishes, swept the floor, and began organizing the shelves. When Harlan returned, he stopped in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

She looked at him.

“Because I want to.”

He studied her for a moment before nodding.

“Fair enough.”

That afternoon, Harlan showed her the property.

The cabin stood on a broad patch of mountain land surrounded by pine trees. A small barn housed two horses, a handful of chickens, and a stubborn old mule named Jasper.

Beyond the barn was a vegetable garden, now buried beneath snow.

“You’ll have plenty to do come spring,” Harlan said.

Josephine looked at the frozen ground.

“Do you grow enough food for the winter?”

“Usually.”

“Usually?”

He pointed toward a small shed.

“Something got into the root cellar last month. Ruined most of the potatoes.”

Josephine frowned.

“Then we should check the remaining supplies.”

Harlan gave her a curious look.

“You know how to manage a root cellar?”

“I spent half my life keeping a household running while my aunt complained about everything I did.”

A faint smile crossed his face.

“Then I reckon that cellar is in better hands than mine.”

For the first time since arriving, Josephine laughed.

It was a small sound, unfamiliar after years of swallowing her feelings.

Harlan heard it.

He didn’t comment.

But his expression softened.

Three days pᴀssed.

The storm finally weakened, and sunlight returned to the mountains.

Josephine began to feel less like a prisoner in an unfamiliar place and more like someone who had been given the chance to begin again.

She learned where Harlan kept the flour, how he repaired the stove, and which horse would bite if approached from the wrong side.

She also discovered that the enormous mountain man had an unexpected weakness.

He couldn’t bake bread.

His first attempt produced something so hard that Josephine joked it could be used to repair the barn roof.

Harlan examined the loaf.

“Thought I followed the instructions.”

“You used twice as much salt.”

“The paper said two spoons.”

“Two teaspoons, Harlan.”

He stared at the loaf.

Then, to her surprise, he laughed.

It was a deep, rusty sound, as though he hadn’t used it in years.

Josephine found herself smiling long after he had returned to his chores.

But the peace didn’t last.

On the fourth morning, a rider appeared on the trail.

Harlan saw him first.

He stepped onto the porch, his expression immediately changing.

Josephine came to stand beside him.

“Who is that?”

“Your father.”

Her stomach тιԍнтened.

The rider approached the cabin and dismounted.

Josephine’s father looked furious.

He didn’t even greet her.

Instead, he pointed at Harlan.

“You’ve had your fun. Now give me the rest of what you owe.”

Harlan remained perfectly still.

“I paid what we agreed.”

“You paid twenty dollars and two horses for a woman who turned out to be more trouble than she’s worth.”

Josephine felt the familiar shame rising inside her.

But before she could lower her eyes, Harlan stepped forward.

“Careful.”

Her father scoffed.

“What are you going to do? Threaten me?”

“No. I’m going to tell you something.”

Harlan’s voice was calm, but there was iron beneath it.

“You will not speak about Josephine that way again.”

Her father laughed.

Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded document.

“I have the original agreement. It says the marriage can be dissolved if the husband refuses to accept the full terms.”

Harlan took the paper.

His eyes moved across the page.

Josephine noticed his expression darken.

“What is it?” she asked.

Harlan folded the document and looked at her father.

“You forged her signature.”

Her father went pale.

And Josephine suddenly understood that the twenty dollars and two horses had never been the entire arrangement.

There was something else her father had planned.

Something he had never told her.