PART 4 — THE SECRET BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS

Josie did not sleep much that first night.

The bed was warm, the sheets clean, and the furs heavy enough to keep the mountain cold from reaching her. Yet every time she closed her eyes, she remembered her father’s voice inside the trading post.

My girl’s strong. Quiet. Doesn’t eat much.

She had been sold as casually as a sack of flour.

Across the cabin, Judson lay on the wooden floor with one arm beneath his head. His breathing was steady. He had not once looked toward the bed after giving it to her.

Josie watched the fire fade.

She had known men who pretended to be kind until they believed a woman owed them something. She had known men who offered help only to remind her later how much she cost.

Judson had done neither.

That frightened her almost as much as the stories about him.

At dawn, she rose quietly and folded the blankets. The cabin was larger than it had seemed in the darkness. A stone fireplace occupied one wall. Shelves held jars of dried berries, flour, and beans. A rifle rested above the door, and a stack of neatly split wood stood beside the hearth.

There were no pH๏τographs.

No decorations.

No sign that anyone had ever shared the place with him.

Judson sat at the table, sharpening a small knife.

“You’re awake,” he said.

Josie flinched.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t.”

She stood near the bed, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Should I make breakfast?”

Judson looked up.

“Are you hungry?”

The question was so simple that Josie nearly answered with the truth.

Instead, she said, “I can work.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

Her eyes dropped.

“Yes. I’m hungry.”

Judson set the knife aside.

“Then eat.”

He placed a plate of eggs and fried potatoes on the table. Josie stared at the food as though it might disappear if she touched it too quickly.

“Is there something you need me to do first?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then why—”

“Because you’re hungry.”

She sat.

For several minutes, neither spoke. Josie ate slowly, still expecting a condition to follow. When the plate was empty, Judson pushed a second serving toward her.

“Take it.”

She hesitated.

“I don’t want to use up your supplies.”

“I have enough.”

“But my father—”

“Your father isn’t here.”

The words landed harder than Judson intended. Josie looked down at her plate.

Judson’s expression changed.

“I didn’t mean to sound cruel.”

“It’s all right.”

“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t.”

For the first time, Josie noticed something beneath his roughness. Judson was not a man who lacked words. He was a man who had learned to use very few because too many had once cost him something.

After breakfast, he showed her the cabin.

There was a small pantry, a washroom, and a narrow room filled with tools. A door near the back led to a cellar. He told her which shelves held food, where the clean water was stored, and how to keep the fire alive.

Then he pointed toward the front door.

“You can leave whenever you choose.”

Josie stared at him.

“Leave?”

“If you want to return to the trading post, I’ll take you. If you want to go somewhere else, I’ll help you get there.”

“But my father accepted—”

“I know what he accepted.”

“He might say I belong to you.”

Judson’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“Then he’ll be wrong.”

Josie could not answer.

A man had just told her that the decision about her life belonged to her. She had heard those words before in church, in stories, and from her mother when she was little.

She had never heard them from someone who meant them.

That afternoon, Judson went outside to clear snow from the path. Josie began sweeping the cabin, partly because she wanted to help and partly because standing still made her thoughts too loud.

Behind a wooden chest near the hearth, she discovered a loose floorboard.

A small corner of paper protruded beneath it.

She knelt and carefully lifted the board.

Inside lay a bundle wrapped in faded cloth.

Josie hesitated before unwrapping it.

There were letters.

The first was addressed in a handwriting she recognized immediately.

Her mother’s.

Josie’s breath caught.

She had not seen that handwriting in years. Her mother used to write grocery lists and little notes for the children, always with the same looping letters.

The paper was yellowed. The ink had faded.

At the top, her mother had written:

Judson—If anything happens to me, please make sure Josie knows the truth.

Josie read the sentence again.

Then again.

Her mother had known Judson?

The door opened behind her.

Josie spun around, the letter trembling in her hands.

Judson stood in the doorway with snow on his shoulders.

His eyes fell on the open floorboard.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he removed his gloves.

“I wondered when you’d find those.”

Josie rose slowly.

“You knew my mother.”

Judson looked toward the fire.

“Yes.”

“How?”

He did not answer immediately.

Josie’s voice grew sharper.

“Did you know her before she married my father? Did you know what happened to her? Why would she write your name?”

Judson looked at her.

“Your mother was my sister.”

The cabin seemed to tilt.

Josie stared at him, unable to understand the words.

“My mother never had a brother.”

“She did.”

“She told me—”

“She told you what Amos wanted you to believe.”

Josie stepped backward.

“No.”

Judson did not move toward her.

“I’m not asking you to believe me today.”

He reached into the cloth bundle and removed a small silver locket. It was old and tarnished, with a tiny dent near the clasp.

Josie recognized it.

Her mother had worn it every Sunday.

Judson placed it on the table.

“Your mother left this with me before she married Amos. She told me to keep it safe.”

Josie touched the locket with trembling fingers.

“Why didn’t you come for us?”

Judson’s face hardened—not with anger at her, but with something older.

“I tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went to the valley after your mother died. Amos told me you’d been taken east to live with relatives. I searched for you. By the time I learned the truth, he had moved again.”

Josie looked at the letters.

“And now?”

“Now I found you.”

She wanted to ask a hundred questions. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be angry that he had been absent for so many years.

Instead, she whispered, “Why did you let him trade me?”

Judson’s eyes met hers.

“I didn’t.”

Josie froze.

“He offered you to me,” Judson continued. “I accepted the supplies. I did not accept his right to decide your future.”

“But you took me away.”

“Because you were starving, and because I knew Amos would try to sell you to someone who might not care whether you survived.”

The words were quiet.

Josie looked down at the locket.

Outside, the wind began to rise again.

And beneath the cabin floor, there were still more letters.

Letters her mother had written.

Letters that might explain why Amos had kept Josie close all those years—and why he had finally been willing to give her away.