Lonely Lumberjack Paid $2 for Woman With Sack on Her Head at Auction—Marries Her When She Says Name.
Chapter 2
The forest closed in around them as they walked, the trail narrowing to a thread of packed earth and broken pine needles. Light dimmed beneath the canopy, sun straining through the boughs as though even it wasn’t certain it should follow. Josephine said nothing. The sackcloth still covered her head, drawn tight at her neck, edges lifting slightly in the evening wind. Once, the wind caught it enough to tug sideways, and she reached up instantly, both hands adjusting it, keeping her face hidden.
Caleb walked several paces ahead, leading the old mule that carried what few supplies they’d been permitted to take from the outpost. He didn’t turn, didn’t try to speak. He simply kept to the trail, glancing occasionally toward the treeline as if listening for something beyond the wind. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was a silence built from two very different kinds of survival.
They reached the cabin before dusk — dark pine, tight and strong, set against a rise of earth that broke the worst of the wind coming down from the north. A stone chimney. A stack of split wood beside the door. A rusted horseshoe nailed above the frame. Caleb pushed the door open, then stepped aside.
“You pick where you stand,” he said quietly. “No one’s going to place you anymore.”
Josephine stepped in slowly, movements cautious but not weak. She did not remove the sack. She crossed the smooth wooden floor with barely a sound, and rather than sit at the table, crouched against the far wall, back to the room, hands resting on her knees. Caleb came in behind her, set a bundle of firewood near the hearth, and began working at the stove without a single question, without a single command. Only the occasional shift of iron, the low sound of water beginning to boil.
The scent came slowly — warm, spiced, real. A curl of cinnamon. The salt of smoked meat. He worked with the rhythm of a man who had done this a thousand times before, alone.
When the food was ready, he set a wooden bowl near her. She flinched slightly but didn’t turn. He sat at the table with his own bowl, neither rushing her nor watching too closely. After several minutes, her voice came, muffled but audible.
“What is this?”