Harlan never forgot it.
He believes he owes me.
He does not.
But he is the one man I know who understands that shelter is not ownership.
Josephine’s vision blurred.
She wiped her eyes.
Harlan’s hands were clenched beneath the table.
Josephine read the final lines.
My greatest regret is that I allowed the world to teach you that your body was a burden.
It never was.
You were never too much.
Anyone who asks you to become smaller so that they may be comfortable does not deserve the room you surrendered.
Live large, my darling girl.
Take up room.
Breathe.
Love only where you remain free.
Mother.
Josephine could no longer see the paper.
She lowered her head.
The sob came suddenly.
Harlan stood.
Then stopped.
His hands remained at his sides.
Josephine cried for several minutes.
Eventually she looked up.
He was still standing there.
Waiting.
“Come here.”
Harlan crossed the room.
Josephine stood.
She wrapped both arms around him.
For a moment, he did nothing.
Then his arms closed around her carefully.
Josephine pressed her face against his chest.
He smelled of pine smoke, leather, snow, and something uniquely him.
She cried harder.
Harlan rested one large hand against the back of her head.
No words.
No promises.
Only presence.
Eventually Josephine stepped back.
Harlan immediately released her.
She wiped her face.
“So this is why you paid my father.”
“Partly.”
“What was the money for?”
“His gambling debt.”
Josephine stared.
“You paid his gambling debt?”
“A small portion.”
“And the horses?”
“He demanded them.”
Anger replaced grief.
“He knew?”
“I think he knew Pike wanted the dress.”
“He sold me anyway.”
Harlan’s silence was answer enough.
Josephine turned toward the window.
Snow fell softly now.
“My own father.”
“I’m sorry.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps being sorry about what men decide for me.”
Harlan accepted the blow.
Josephine turned back.
“Why didn’t you tell me before the wedding?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Her brow furrowed.
“I never saw you.”
“I sent two letters.”
Josephine remembered Aunt Lydia burning correspondence in the kitchen stove.
She had assumed they were bills.
Harlan continued.
“Then I rode to St. Louis.”
“You were there?”
“Your father wouldn’t let me speak to you alone.”
Josephine’s anger sharpened.
“So you made him an offer.”
“Yes.”
“You still participated.”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her.
No defense.
No excuse.
Harlan looked directly at her.
“I had one day before Pike planned to move you.”
“Move me where?”
“To Helena.”
“Why?”
“I think he intended to marry you to his nephew.”
Josephine went cold.
Harlan continued.
“That would have given them a cleaner claim to whatever you inherited.”
Josephine sat.
“So you married me first.”