PART 2 — SHE LEFT WITH THE MOUNTAIN MAN, BUT HER SISTER’S LAST WORDS FOLLOWED HER INTO THE WILDERNESS

Sigrid Edwardson did not sleep that night.

She sat beside the kitchen window, watching the moonlight fall across the woodpile she had spent the afternoon splitting. Her hands ached, her shoulders were stiff, and the smell of alder smoke still clung to her dress.

But her thoughts kept returning to one sentence.

If you want to see the mountains, be at Boyd’s livery.

Nobody had ever invited Sigrid anywhere simply because they wanted her company.

There had always been conditions.

Her father needed the barn repaired.

Her mother needed another batch of bread.

Clary needed someone to mend her dress.

And when visitors arrived, Sigrid was expected to remain in the kitchen until everyone had gone.

She had become so accustomed to being useful that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be wanted.

At breakfast, Clary noticed the strange expression on her older sister’s face.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve barely spoken.”

“I’m thinking.”

Clary laughed.

“That’s dangerous.”

Sigrid continued cutting bread.

Then Clary leaned closer.

“Did you speak to Torvald Cain last night?”

The knife stopped.

“How do you know?”

“Everyone saw him leave the dance. Someone said he was outside with you.”

Sigrid said nothing.

Clary’s smile faded.

“What did he want?”

“He offered me a choice.”

“A choice?”

“To go with him to the mountains.”

For several seconds, Clary simply stared.

Then she burst into laughter.

“You?”

Sigrid placed the knife down.

“Yes. Me.”

Clary looked toward their mother, who was sitting near the stove.

“Mother, did you hear that? Sigrid thinks that mountain man wants her to go live with him!”

Their mother looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t be foolish, Sigrid. A man like Torvald has no reason to bring another mouth to feed into his cabin.”

“He has a ranch,” Sigrid replied.

“A lonely cabin in the wilderness is not a place for a woman,” her mother said.

Clary smiled into her coffee.

“Besides, perhaps he only wants someone to cook and clean.”

Sigrid looked at her younger sister.

“Perhaps.”

She didn’t argue.

She simply finished breakfast, washed her plate, and went upstairs.

By noon, she had made her decision.

The next morning, Sigrid packed one small trunk.

Two dresses.

A wool shawl.

Her mother’s old recipe book.

A tin of sewing needles.

And the little wooden horse her father had carved for her when she was six.

She almost left it behind.

Then she remembered that it was one of the few things in her life that had belonged to her without being given a condition.

At dawn, she walked toward Boyd’s livery.

Torvald was already there.

His dark horse stood saddled beside a second animal carrying provisions.

He looked at her trunk.

“You came.”

“I said I would think about it.”

“And?”

“I thought.”

A faint smile touched his face.

“Good enough.”

He took her trunk and secured it behind the saddle.

Then he reached into his coat and produced a folded piece of paper.

“Before we leave, there’s something you should know.”

Sigrid opened it.

It was a simple agreement written in careful handwriting.

Torvald had listed the cabin, the surrounding land, the livestock, and the supplies he was willing to share.

At the bottom were three sentences.

You may leave whenever you choose.

Your earnings remain yours.

No work is expected in exchange for shelter.

Sigrid read the last line twice.

“Why did you write this?”

“Because promises are easy to forget when winter comes.”

She looked up.

“And what do you expect from me?”

Torvald adjusted the saddle strap.

“Conversation, if you feel like talking. Company, if you want to give it. Nothing you don’t choose.”

Sigrid folded the paper carefully and placed it inside her coat.

Then she climbed onto the horse.

For the first time in twenty-nine years, she was leaving Garnet Falls without anyone telling her when to return.

They traveled for two days.

The road climbed through pine forests, crossed narrow streams, and followed a winding trail along the mountainside.

Torvald spoke very little.

But he never rushed her.

Whenever the trail became difficult, he slowed his horse.

Whenever they stopped, he made sure she had enough water and food.

On the second afternoon, they reached a clearing overlooking an enormous valley.

Sigrid stopped breathing for a moment.

Mountains stretched toward the horizon, their peaks covered in white.

A river cut through the valley below, shining like a silver ribbon.

She had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Is this yours?” she whispered.

“Some of it.”

“All that land?”

“Enough to keep me busy.”

Sigrid looked at him.

“Why would you live somewhere so far from everyone?”

Torvald was quiet.

Then he answered.

“Because the last person I trusted taught me what happens when you give someone too much power over your life.”

She didn’t ask for details.

She understood the feeling.

The cabin stood beside a creek, surrounded by tall spruce trees.

It was larger than Sigrid expected, with a stone chimney, a covered porch, a woodshed, and a small barn.

Inside, everything was clean but worn.

There were two bedrooms.

One belonged to Torvald.

The other was empty.

Sigrid placed her trunk beside the bed.

Then she noticed something on the wall.

A framed pH๏τograph.

A young woman stood beside Torvald, holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket.

Sigrid turned toward him.

“Your family?”

Torvald followed her gaze.

“My wife, Ingrid. And our daughter, Anna.”

“What happened?”

He removed his hat.

“They died six years ago. A winter illness.”

Sigrid lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

“After that, I stopped inviting anyone into this house.”

He looked toward the pH๏τograph.

“Until you.”

Sigrid felt the weight of his words.

She had thought she was the only person who understood loneliness.

Apparently, she had been wrong.

That evening, she prepared supper.

Not because Torvald had asked.

Not because she owed him.

But because she wanted to.

He ate quietly, then looked at the plate.

“That’s the best venison stew I’ve had in years.”

Sigrid almost laughed.

“You’re probably hungry.”

“Maybe.”

For the first time, she saw something different in his expression.

Not pity.

Not politeness.

Respect.

But their peaceful evening was interrupted just after sunset.

Three hard knocks sounded against the cabin door.

Torvald stood immediately.

He looked through the window.

His expression darkened.

“Stay here.”

“Who is it?”

“Men from the valley.”

He reached for his coat.

Then someone outside shouted:

“Cain! Open this door! We know you’ve brought a woman up here!”

Torvald looked at Sigrid.

And for the first time since they had met, he seemed genuinely worried.

Because the men outside weren’t ordinary visitors.

They were the same men who had tried to take his land six years earlier.

And they had returned with a new plan.

One that involved Sigrid.