Tomorrow could decide itself.
By the second week, Josephine began working.
Harlan protested less.
She baked bread.
Badly at first.
He ate it anyway.
She discovered his flour measurements were absurd.
He discovered she could sew better than anyone he had met.
She repaired the lining of his fur coat.
Harlan examined the stitches.
“You did this?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Josephine smiled.
“High praise.”
“It is.”
She learned to prepare hides.
He learned she hated scraping them.
They compromised.
Josephine handled accounts instead.
Harlan hated numbers.
She loved them.
Within three days she discovered two traders had underpaid him during autumn sales.
Harlan stared at the ledger.
“How?”
“They know you won't argue.”
“I argue.”
“You glare.”
“Works.”
“Not financially.”
He frowned.
Josephine smiled.
“Next spring, I go with you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because you're terrible at money.”
“I own this cabin.”
“And somehow despite your best efforts.”
Harlan laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Josephine stared.
His beard could not hide how handsome he became when he smiled.
That thought was dangerous.
She looked away.
Harlan noticed.
He said nothing.
Attraction crept into their marriage quietly.
A hand brushing while passing a plate.
His palm at her back when she nearly slipped outside.
Josephine watching him remove his coat after working in snow.
Harlan watching her braid her hair near the fire.
Neither named it.
Then one night the temperature dropped sharply.
Josephine woke shivering.
The fire downstairs had gone low.
She wrapped the fur robe around herself and stepped into the hallway.
Harlan's bedroom door stood open.
His bed was empty.
She found him downstairs beside the hearth.
Shirtless.
Adding logs.
Josephine stopped.
Harlan turned.
They stared at each other.
Josephine had seen male bodies before.
Brothers.
Doctors.
Farmhands in summer.
Nothing prepared her for Harlan.
His shoulders were enormous without fur covering them.
Old scars crossed his chest.
Dark hair covered part of it.
His arms looked carved from work rather than vanity.
Josephine's gaze traveled downward before she could stop herself.
Harlan noticed.
Her face burned.
“Cold?”
“Yes.”
His voice sounded different.
Rougher.
He pulled on a shirt.
Josephine regretted that immediately.
He handed her a blanket.
She accepted.
Their fingers touched.
Neither moved.
Harlan looked down at her.
Josephine could feel warmth from his body despite the cold room.
“Your room too cold?”
“Yes.”
“I'll add another stove pipe tomorrow.”
“You don't have to rebuild your house because I shiver.”
“I can.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Harlan's mouth moved slightly.
She looked at him.
“What?”
“You say that often.”
“What?”
“That I don't have to.”
“People usually do things because they must.”
“Not here.”
The words settled between them.
Josephine stepped closer without realizing.
Harlan's expression changed.
Not fear.
Attention.
“Josephine.”
“Yes?”
“You're standing close.”
She looked down.
Only inches separated them.
“I noticed.”
“Do you want to move?”
“No.”
His breathing changed.
Josephine looked at his mouth.
Then back at his eyes.
“Do you?”
“No.”
Silence.
Her heart hammered.
Harlan lifted one hand.
Stopped.
“May I?”
Josephine's throat tightened.
“Where?”
His hand hovered near her waist.
“There.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Harlan's palm settled against her.
Firm.
Careful.
Josephine nearly closed her eyes.
For years, people had touched her waist only to tighten something around it.
Tailors.
Aunt Margaret.
Dressmakers.
Women measuring.
Women correcting.
Harlan simply held.
No squeezing.
No judgment.
His hand followed the shape already there.
Josephine whispered, “You don't mind.”
Harlan frowned.
“What?”
“My body.”
He looked genuinely confused.
“What about it?”
Her eyes filled unexpectedly.
“Nothing.”
“Josephine.”
She tried to laugh.
“I'm being foolish.”
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then tell me.”
She swallowed.
“They said you would be desperate.”
His expression hardened.
“Who?”
“The women in the valley.”
His jaw tightened.
Josephine continued before courage disappeared.
“That a man living alone as long as you would take whatever woman could be bought cheaply enough.”
Silence.
Harlan's hand remained at her waist.
Josephine looked down.
“They said my father finally found the only kind of man who would not care what I looked like.”
Harlan became very still.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Do you think I don't care what you look like?”
Her face warmed.
“I don't know.”
“I care.”
That sounded wrong.
Harlan saw.
He corrected himself.
“I notice.”
Josephine waited.
His eyes moved over her slowly.
Not shamefully.
Not politely.
Her pulse accelerated.
“You are soft where I am hard,” he said.
Her breath caught.
“You fill a dress better than any thin woman I've ever seen.”
Josephine stared.
Harlan's cheeks actually reddened beneath his beard.
He continued anyway.
“You have beautiful eyes.”
Her throat tightened.
“And a mouth I have been trying not to look at for two weeks.”
Josephine's lips parted.
Harlan stared at them.
Then immediately looked away.
“That enough?”
She almost laughed from emotion.
“No.”
His eyes snapped back.
“No?”
Josephine smiled.
“Tell me one more.”
Harlan groaned softly.
“Cruel woman.”
“Please.”
He thought.
Then:
“I like how much room you take up.”
The sentence struck deeper than every compliment before it.
Josephine's expression collapsed.
Tears spilled.
Harlan panicked.
“What?”
She covered her mouth.
“Nothing.”
“You're crying.”
“I know.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Josephine wiped her cheeks.
“Because nobody has ever said that like it was good.”
Harlan's face changed.
Something almost angry moved through it.
Not at her.
At everyone else.
He pulled his hand away.
Josephine caught it.
“No.”
He froze.
“Don't.”
She placed his hand back at her waist.
Harlan looked down.
Josephine stepped closer.
“Leave it.”
His fingers tightened slightly.
“Yes.”
That night they did not kiss.
It felt more intimate than kissing would have.
Winter deepened.
Josephine's relationship with her own body began changing in small ways.
She stopped hiding behind furniture when Harlan entered.
Stopped pulling shawls over herself at every opportunity.
Stopped refusing seconds when hungry.
One morning Harlan found the corset beside the stove.
Josephine was holding it.
“You burning it?”
“Thinking.”
He nodded.
She looked at the ivory stays.
“This cost my aunt nearly three dollars.”
“Expensive torture.”
Josephine laughed.
Harlan handed her a match.
She lit it.
The corset burned badly.
Too much bone and heavy fabric.
Harlan eventually chopped it apart with a knife.
Josephine laughed until she cried.
They threw the pieces into the fire together.
That afternoon she wore the blue nightdress while making bread simply because she could.
Harlan came inside unexpectedly.
Stopped.
Josephine looked down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
He removed his coat.
“Keep making bread.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“Why?”
“So I have something else to look at.”
Josephine laughed.
They kissed three nights later.
It happened over something ridiculous.
A jar.
Josephine wanted preserves from the highest shelf.
Harlan had placed them there.
She pulled a chair over.
He entered.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting peaches.”
“Ask.”
“I have arms.”
“Short ones.”
Josephine glared.