At the stove where the corset was becoming ash.
She did not understand this man.
Her father had sold her to him.
Yet Harlan had not behaved like someone who believed he owned anything.
Eventually Josephine tightened the robe.
“I thought you bought me.”
Harlan’s hands stopped.
She stared into the broth.
“I thought that was all I was to you.”
His expression changed.
“Josephine.”
“The twenty dollars.”
He put the rifle aside.
“And the horses.”
“Yes.”
“Your father told you that was payment for you?”
“What else would it be?”
Harlan looked toward the window.
Outside, snow battered the glass.
Josephine watched his face.
“You did pay him.”
“Yes.”
Her stomach tightened.
“And you signed marriage papers.”
“Yes.”
“So explain how that isn’t purchasing a wife.”
Harlan stood.
Josephine stiffened slightly.
He noticed.
His movements slowed.
Harlan crossed to a wooden cabinet and removed a small iron box.
He brought it to the table.
Unlocked it.
Inside were papers.
Several letters.
A faded photograph.
And a sealed document bearing an official stamp.
Harlan did not give them to her immediately.
Instead he looked directly at her.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You may hate me afterward.”
“That would hardly be unusual for today.”
His mouth twitched.
Then the humor disappeared.
“Your father wasn’t selling only you.”
Josephine frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Harlan placed the sealed paper in her hands.
“Open it.”
She broke the brittle seal.
The document was several years old.
Josephine read the first lines.
Then stopped.
Her mother’s name appeared near the top.
Eleanor Vale.
Josephine looked up.
“My mother?”
“Keep reading.”
She did.
The document described several thousand acres of mountain land.
Timber rights.
Water rights.
A cabin.
Mineral claims that had never been fully surveyed.
Ownership had been transferred by Eleanor Vale to—
Josephine.
Her hands began shaking.
“What is this?”
“A deed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My mother owned land?”
“A lot of it.”
Josephine stared at the page.
“My father told me she had nothing when they married.”
“He lied.”
The word landed brutally.
Josephine stood.
The buffalo robe slipped from one shoulder.
Harlan looked away until she pulled it back into place.
“How do you have this?”
“Your mother gave a copy to my mother.”
Josephine stared.
“They knew each other?”
“Very well.”
Nothing made sense.
“My mother never mentioned you.”
“I was fourteen when she left the mountains.”
Josephine’s breathing accelerated again, but this time no corset caused it.
“What mountains?”
“These.”
Harlan gestured toward the window.
“This valley used to belong mostly to three families. Creeks, Vales, and Merritts.”
“My father came from Missouri.”
“Your father came here looking for silver.”
Josephine sank slowly back into the chair.
Harlan continued.
“He met your mother here.”
“She told me they met in St. Louis.”
“Another lie.”
Josephine looked at the deed again.