Men notice women who eat too much.
Now she finished one bowl and reached for another.
The mountain man only moved the pot closer.
No comment.
No approval.
No surprise.
The absence of judgment still occasionally felt like kindness.
She was beginning to understand it should have been normal.
After supper, she opened the cedar trunk.
The old corset remained at the bottom.
She had not touched it since winter.
She lifted it.
The garment looked almost harmless.
Cream fabric.
Metal clasps.
Whalebone channels.
Long laces.
An object small enough to hold in two hands.
Yet her body remembered differently.
The cuts beneath her ribs.
Dizziness.
Shallow breathing.
Her aunt’s fingers pulling.
You should be grateful any man wants you.
The mountain man stood near the hearth.
He did not ask what she was doing.
She carried the corset toward him.
“Outside.”
“It’s raining.”
“Then under the porch.”
He followed.
She placed the corset inside an old iron wash basin.
The mountain man brought dry bark.
She stopped him.
“No.”
He looked confused.
“I want to light it.”
He handed her the match.
She crouched.
For several seconds she simply stared.
He waited.
“You know,” she said, “burning a piece of clothing doesn’t erase anything.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t punish my aunt.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t change what happened.”
“No.”
She glanced up.
“You agree too quickly.”
“I learned.”
She smiled.
Then struck the match.
Flame touched dry cloth.
At first nothing.
Then one edge caught.
Orange moved across ivory.
Laces curled.
The young woman watched.
Rain fell beyond the porch.
The mountain man stood beside her.
Not touching.
When the flames reached the whalebone, there was a faint crack.
The young woman exhaled.
The mountain man asked:
“Feel better?”
She thought.
“A little.”
“Good.”
Then she looked toward him.
“But if you tell anyone I performed a symbolic burning ritual, I’ll deny it.”
“Understood.”
“And the story about the bear?”
“Still four hundred pounds.”
“Liar.”
“Widely respected storyteller.”
She laughed.
He smiled.
Weeks later, preparations for the second ceremony began.
They were almost comically simple compared with the first.
Mrs. Vale agreed to help.
The county clerk offered to witness.
The sheriff’s wife brought wildflowers.
The young woman chose a cream cotton dress with blue embroidery along the sleeves and hem.
The seamstress held the measuring tape around her waist.
Then asked:
“How fitted?”
The young woman answered:
“Enough to show that I have one.”
The seamstress blinked.
Then laughed.
“No corset?”
“No.”
“Boning?”
“No.”
“Padding?”
“No.”