Then we worked out where the bed could stand while leaving enough clear space for both of us to move through the room.
It took three days.
When I finished, Josephine examined the construction with the same seriousness I'd seen men give newly purchased horses.
She pressed one hand against the timber.
Studied the support braces.
Then looked toward me.
"You're certain it will hold?"
I nodded.
"Built it stronger than the bridge at Red Willow Crossing."
The words escaped before I could stop them.
My stomach tightened.
Red Willow.
The place where Eliza disappeared twenty years earlier.
Josephine's expression changed so quickly I almost thought I imagined it.
"What did you say?"
I looked away.
"Nothing important."
She watched me.
For a moment, I thought she'd ask another question.
Instead, she placed one hand on the bed frame.
"Well, I trust your work."
I smiled faintly.
And the conversation ended.
But that night, I lay awake wondering why mentioning Red Willow had made her go so still.
The cabin settled into a routine neither of us had planned.
I rose early to feed Copper and Josephine's recovering mare, whom she called Belle. Then I checked the stove, carried water, and prepared whatever breakfast our supplies allowed.
Josephine insisted on sharing the work she could do safely.
She wasn't interested in becoming a guest who spent months thanking a man for every cup of coffee.
She had a quick mind, a gift for organization, and an unexpected talent for repairing fabric. Once she recovered from the cold, she mended torn shirts, reinforced blankets, repaired saddle stitching, and reorganized supplies so thoroughly that I discovered things I thought I'd lost years earlier.
One afternoon, she found a tin of dried peaches hidden beneath the lower shelf.
She held it up triumphantly.
"What's this?"
I glanced over.
"Peaches."
"Why are they under a sack of horseshoe nails?"
I shrugged.
"Safe place."
She narrowed her eyes.
"From whom?"
I looked toward the door.
"The mouse."
Josephine stared at me for three seconds.
Then began laughing so hard I thought she might overturn the sewing basket.
Her laughter became the sound I most looked forward to hearing.
I'd never admit that aloud.
Not then.
Her mobility varied depending on fatigue, pain, and the condition of the cabin floor.