Martha smiled.
"Thank you."
Caleb looked toward the stove.
He didn't mention that he'd spent part of the previous evening finishing the stockings from wool he'd traded for earlier in the season, following instructions his mother once taught him.
He had worked slowly.
Made several mistakes.
And started over twice because the first pair was too small.
Martha noticed the uneven stitches near the heels.
She ran one finger along them.
Then she looked toward Caleb.
A smile spread across her face.
"You made them."
He looked embarrassed.
"Don't tell anyone."
Martha laughed.
Caleb smiled.
And the sound of their laughter filled the cabin, warm and ordinary, as though the mountains had finally allowed something gentle to grow there.
But the peace didn't last.
Three days later, a rider appeared near the lower gate.
He was a thin man in a dark coat, mounted on a tired horse, with a leather satchel secured behind his saddle. Caleb saw him approaching from the barn and went out to meet him.
The stranger stopped beside the fence.
"Caleb Montgomery?"
Caleb nodded.
"That's me."
The man looked toward the cabin.
Then he removed an envelope from his satchel.
"Message came through Bitter Creek."
Caleb took it.
The paper bore a Missouri postmark.
He frowned.
"Who sent it?"
The rider shrugged.
"Didn't ask."
Then he looked toward the house again.
"Was told to make sure you received it personally."
Caleb opened the envelope.
Inside was a short letter written in a familiar hand.
He read the first line.
Then his expression hardened.
Martha came onto the porch.
"Who is it?"
Caleb looked toward her.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then he folded the letter.
The rider had already turned his horse.
Caleb called after him.
"Who paid you?"
The man glanced backward.
"Freight office in town."
"Which one?"
The rider hesitated.
Then he answered.
"Tate Western Freight."
Caleb felt his stomach tighten.
The rider continued down the trail.
Martha approached slowly.
"What does the letter say?"
Caleb looked at her.
Then he handed it over.
She unfolded the paper.
Her hands began trembling as she read.
The letter contained only four sentences.
Brother, I hear you've finally taken a wife. Missouri has a way of sending its troubles west, but I trust you've learned to recognize bad debts before they ruin a man. I'll be coming through Bitter Creek before the spring thaw. We have matters to settle concerning your valley.
It was signed:
Harlan Tate.
Martha looked up.
Her face had gone white.
Caleb watched her.
For a moment, he felt the old anger rising.
Then he remembered the way she flinched when frightened.
He took a slow breath.
"Martha, look at me."
She struggled to lift her eyes.
He kept his voice steady.
"He's not standing in this room."
She nodded, but her hands continued shaking.
Caleb looked toward the letter.