Her father never asked before deciding what was good for her.
Her aunt never asked before pulling laces until Josephine saw black spots.
The preacher had not asked whether she wanted to travel into the mountains.
Even when Josephine had stood beside Harlan before God, no one had asked the question she had secretly been waiting her entire life to hear.
Do you want this?
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Harlan turned.
Josephine instinctively crossed both arms over her chest.
His gaze stayed on her face.
Not lower.
He approached slowly.
“Turn around.”
Josephine obeyed.
She heard leather shift as he reached toward his belt.
Then metal scraped softly.
Her body went rigid.
A knife.
“Harlan.”
“It’s for the laces.”
Cold steel slid between the cords against her back.
Josephine held her breath.
“Don’t move.”
The blade pulled.
One lace snapped.
Then another.
Then another.
The corset loosened so suddenly that Josephine stumbled forward.
She caught herself against the chair.
Her lungs expanded.
A full breath rushed into her chest.
She gasped.
Again.
Another full breath.
The stiff whalebone shell slid from her body and fell to the floor.
Josephine stood perfectly still.
She had almost forgotten what breathing without pain felt like.
Harlan bent.
He picked up the corset.
Josephine turned, expecting him to hand it back.
Instead, he walked to the stove.
He opened the iron door.
Then he threw the corset inside.
Josephine’s mouth fell open.
“What are you doing?”
“Improving it.”
The fabric caught fire.
Josephine stared as orange flame curled around the cloth.
“That cost money.”
“Then someone wasted money.”
The first piece of whalebone cracked.
Harlan shut the stove.
“You need lungs more than you need that cage.”
Josephine did not know what to say.
Harlan lifted the buffalo robe and held it toward her without stepping closer.
She took it.
The fur was warm.
Josephine wrapped it tightly around herself.
Harlan turned away again while she pulled on the dry wool shift he had placed near the fire before leaving for the chapel that morning.
It was enormous.
Clearly made for a man.
It fell almost to her ankles.
When she was covered, Josephine cleared her throat.
Harlan looked back.
His eyes traveled over the garment.
“That’ll do until your things dry.”
“You had this waiting?”
“I have shirts.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He paused.
“I knew the storm was coming.”
Josephine watched him.
“You knew I would be soaked.”
“Yes.”
“And you prepared dry clothing.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t prepare anything for a wife.”
Something unreadable moved behind his pale eyes.
“I prepared more than you think.”
Before she could ask what that meant, Harlan crossed toward the stove.
A black iron pot hung above the fire.
He ladled broth into a tin cup.
“Drink.”
Josephine accepted it carefully.
Steam warmed her face.
“What is it?”
“Elk broth.”
She tasted it.
Salt.
Onion.
Something herbal.
And heat.
Glorious heat.
She drank again.
Harlan carried her wet clothes to a rack near the fire.
He handled them without embarrassment.
Without interest.
Simply cloth that needed drying.