Do not open the iron box beneath Judson’s bed.
Josie respected both.
Mostly.
The box bothered her.
Of course it did.
Anything forbidden becomes louder.
One night she asked:
“What’s inside?”
Judson looked up from sharpening a knife.
“Things.”
“That is not information.”
“Correct.”
“Money?”
“Some.”
“Gold?”
“Some.”
“Bodies?”
“No.”
“You answered that quickly.”
“I counted recently.”
Josie laughed.
Then Judson became serious.
“Papers.”
“What kind?”
“Old.”
She waited.
He did not continue.
“Your past?”
His eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
There.
For the first time, fear entered the mountain man’s face.
Not much.
Enough.
Josie stopped teasing.
“Bad?”
“Yes.”
“Do I need to worry?”
“No.”
“Does someone else?”
Judson looked back at the blade.
“Maybe.”
She left it.
But the question remained.
Winter made them intimate in quiet ways.
Not physically at first.
Routine.
He learned Josie hated silence while kneading bread.
So he read aloud.
Poorly.
She corrected pronunciation.
He threatened to stop.
She told him he would improve with discipline.
He called her tyrannical.
She agreed.
Josie learned Judson slept lightly.
Any sound woke him.
One night she dropped a spoon.
He sat upright reaching for a rifle before his eyes fully opened.
Another night she woke screaming.
Dream.
Her father pushing her into snow.
Town women laughing.
A door locked from outside.
Judson was beside the bed within seconds.
Not touching.
“Josie.”
She opened her eyes.
He stood there.
Shirtless.
Hair loose.
Concern plain.
She pulled the blanket to her chest.
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“Bad dream.”
“Yes.”
He waited.
She expected questions.
None came.
Finally:
“Do you want water?”
“No.”
“Fire?”
“No.”
“Me to leave?”
The question caught her.
She looked at him.
“No.”
Judson sat on the floor beside the bed.
Back against the frame.
Josie stared.
“You don’t have to sit there.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because you said don't leave.”
She looked away before he saw her cry.
In the morning he never mentioned it.
That almost mattered more.
December arrived.
Judson went hunting after the first clear morning in eleven days.
He returned near dusk dragging an elk quarter.
Blood covered one sleeve.
Josie saw it and panicked.
“You’re hurt.”
“Not mine.”
She stared.
“Oh.”
Judson laughed.
“You look disappointed.”
“I can fix disappointed.”
“What?”
She hit his arm.
He smiled.
They spent the evening cutting meat.
Josie had done it before.
Her hands were skilled.