Her ribs were red.
Two deep grooves crossed the skin beneath her breasts.
A bruise had already formed at one side.
She stared.
Then looked at the instrument lying on the bed.
Whalebone.
Laces.
Structure.
Aunt Beatrice had called it refinement.
The bride suddenly hated it.
She left it on the floor.
When she stepped back into the cabin wearing the loose ivory gown, the mountain man was feeding another log into the fire.
He did not stare.
His eyes moved toward her face.
Then away.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She sat.
The nightgown settled around her naturally.
No compression.
No attempt to change her shape.
For perhaps the first time since she was thirteen, she was sitting in front of an adult man without something underneath her clothing designed to make her body smaller.
The mountain man poured water into a kettle.
“Tea?”
“Yes.”
He added dried mint.
She watched.
“You keep mint?”
“For my stomach.”
She stared at his enormous frame.
“You have a delicate stomach?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He glanced back.
“Because sometimes it hurts.”
A laugh escaped her.
His mouth lifted.
He handed her a cup.
They sat opposite each other.
Fire between them.
Marriage between them.
A document on the table saying the house beneath both of them belonged to her.
After a while, she asked:
“Why the land?”
He looked toward the flames.
“I needed you to have something nobody could threaten to take.”
“My father?”
“Anyone.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
Her eyes stung.
She looked into the tea.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“Breakfast.”
She looked up.
He shrugged.
“After that, you decide.”
“Decide what?”
“How long you stay.”
“You expect me to decide tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Spring, if you need.”
She stared.
“You would let me live here all winter and leave when the passes open?”
“It’s your house.”
“And you?”
“I have a trapping shelter north of here.”
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
“You would leave me alone?”
“If you asked.”
“Stop saying that.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“If I asked.”
“You keep saying it as though you truly mean it.”
“I do.”
“That is not normal.”
His eyes held hers.
“Maybe what you’ve known isn’t normal.”
She looked away.
That sentence stayed with her long after the fire burned low.
The next morning, she woke to coffee.
For one terrible second she did not know where she was.
Then she saw the log walls.
The stone hearth.
Snow bright beyond the window.