For a moment she held it.
Whalebone.
Steel clasps.
Cream fabric.
Aunt Beatrice had called it necessary.
Her father had called it respectable.
Elena looked at Caleb.
His back remained turned.
“Are you going to stand there all evening?”
“As long as necessary.”
“You’re not curious?”
He was silent long enough to answer honestly.
“Yes.”
Elena’s heart jumped.
Then Caleb continued.
“Curiosity is not permission.”
Something inside her shifted.
Just slightly.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But space where trust might someday fit.
She changed.
The chemise fell softly over her body without cutting beneath her arms.
The blue wool dress wrapped around her with side ties that could be adjusted without anyone pulling laces behind her.
It was plain.
No flowers.
No tiny waist.
No apology.
Elena looked down and almost did not recognize herself.
She looked comfortable.
Caleb asked:
“Finished?”
“Yes.”
He turned.
His gaze went first to her face.
Not her chest.
Not her waist.
Her face.
“Better?”
Elena drew a breath.
Deep.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She held the corset in one hand.
“What do I do with this?”
Caleb glanced.
“Anything you want.”
“You don’t care?”
“It’s yours.”
Elena looked toward the fire.
For half a second, she considered throwing it into the flames.
Instead she set it beside the deed.
“Not yet.”
Caleb nodded.
That surprised her too.
No dramatic gesture demanded.
No symbolic destruction.
Choice could wait.
Elena sat.
Caleb moved toward the stove.
She watched him ladle stew into a bowl.
Her mind struggled to keep up.
“What do you mean my father was going to marry me to somebody else?”
Caleb placed the bowl before her.
“Eat.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Do not begin giving orders now.”
He stopped.
Fair.
She pointed at the chair opposite.
“Sit.”
He sat.
Elena pushed the bowl aside.
“Talk.”
Caleb looked toward the deed.
“Your mother owned White Pine Basin before she married your father.”
“That makes no sense.”
“She inherited it from her uncle.”
“I never heard of an uncle.”
“Jonas Mercer.”
Elena’s expression changed.
She knew the name.
Not family.
A name carved into an old silver cup her mother had kept behind flour jars.
Caleb saw recognition.
“Your mother’s mother remarried after Jonas died. Family split. Your father encouraged your mother not to speak about the property.”
“Why?”
“Because after marriage he started managing it.”
Elena felt cold despite the fire.
“He told me the basin belonged to him.”
“He wanted everyone to believe that.”
“What did my mother do?”
“She changed the deed.”
“When?”
“Two months before she died.”
Elena went still.
Her mother had died when Elena was fourteen.
Fever.
At least that was what everyone said.
She remembered a thin hand pressing the green ribbon into Elena’s palm one night.
“Keep that color close.”
Elena had thought it was delirium.