“Then I wait.”
She almost cried.
Not because he had done anything.
Because nobody had ever let uncertainty count as an answer.
She stood there for another minute.
The corset pressed harder with every breath.
Finally:
“I’m sure enough.”
The mountain man turned slowly.
His eyes stayed on her face.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
She nodded.
Then realized he might interpret silence.
“Yes.”
He picked up the small knife.
She faced the wall.
Her hands gripped the neckline of the dress.
The mountain man approached.
Slowly.
She could hear his boots against the floorboards.
One step.
Another.
He stopped behind her.
She felt heat from his body but no contact.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
His breath left in something almost like anger.
Not at her.
“At your aunt?”
She asked.
“Yes.”
That surprised her.
The knife touched only the lacing.
She flinched.
He froze.
“Stop?”
“No.”
“You moved.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to continue?”
The bride took a breath as deep as the corset allowed.
“Yes.”
One strand snapped.
Then another.
Pressure eased slightly.
The mountain man cut two more.
The bride inhaled.
Air flooded deeper into her lungs.
She almost sobbed.
He kept going until the lacing loosened enough for the bodice to relax.
Then he stepped backward immediately.
“Done.”
The bride pressed both hands against her ribs.
Breathed.
Again.
Again.
Her eyes filled.
She had not realized how much pain she had accepted until it stopped.
Behind her, the mountain man said nothing.
She turned.
He was already walking toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Barn.”
She stared.
“You said tonight.”
“Yes.”
He pulled his coat tighter.
“But the storm—”
“I’ve slept through worse.”
He reached for the door.
The bride looked toward the narrow bed.
Then at the bench beside the fire.
“You can sleep there.”
He stopped.
“The bench?”
“Yes.”
“That thing is four feet long.”
“You are the one who built it.”
“Poor planning.”
She almost smiled.
Then:
“Stay inside.”
He looked at her carefully.
She added:
“It is not an invitation to anything else.”
“I know.”
“Say it.”
His face softened.
“I won’t touch you.”
She nodded.
The mountain man picked up two blankets from the trunk.
Then carried them to the hearth.
He moved the bench closer.
Without another word, he turned his back while she took the ivory nightgown and disappeared behind the hanging blanket that divided the sleeping space from the rest of the cabin.
For the first time since morning, she removed the corset.