And the mountains were preparing to test its lessons again.
By seven o'clock, six fresh jars of chow-chow stood on the kitchen shelf.
Clara had filled them carefully, wiped the rims, and followed her mother's preserving notes.
The mixture contained chopped cabbage, green peppers, tiny onions, vinegar, sugar, and spices she had saved throughout the year.
The relish gleamed yellow-green in the lamplight.
Beside them stood older jars containing fruit preserves, pickled beans, and other foods put away earlier in the season.
The six jars represented the final scraps of the autumn garden.
The last harvest.
Caleb lifted one after it had cooled enough to handle.
He held it toward the lantern.
The tiny pieces of cabbage and pepper shone through the glass.
"Looks as though you put October in a jar."
Clara smiled.
"That's the idea."
He returned it to the shelf.
"Does it always taste sharp?"
"At first."
"And later?"
"The flavors settle."
He looked toward her.
"Maybe people do too."
Clara turned.
For a moment, they looked at one another.
Caleb seemed startled by his own words.
He cleared his throat.
"Well. I should check the woodshed before dark."
Clara smiled faintly.
"You already checked it."
"Then I'd better check it again."
She laughed.
He reached for his coat.
But before he opened the door, he paused.
"Clara?"
She looked up.
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
Then said quietly, "You know I wasn't laughing at you in the market."
Her smile faded.
"I know."
"I should've said something when Pike started in."
Clara lowered her eyes.
"You can't fight every rude remark on my account."
Caleb studied her.
"Maybe not."
He took a slow breath.
"But I don't like hearing people make you feel small."
Clara looked up sharply.
The words seemed almost absurd when spoken about a woman her size.
Yet Caleb's expression held no mockery.
Only tenderness.
She felt warmth spread through her chest.
"I'm not small," she said.
He smiled.
"No, ma'am."
Her mouth twitched.
"And neither are you."
Caleb laughed.
It was a deep, warm sound.
Then he opened the door.
Cold wind swept inside.
For one moment, Clara could see the snowy mountains beyond him.
She watched the flakes gathering on his long hair.
"Be careful."
He turned.
"I will."
Then he stepped into the storm.
Clara stood beside the table long after the door closed.
Her mother would have liked him.
She thought that with a sudden certainty.
And the thought frightened her almost as much as it pleased her.
The first serious snow began just after midnight.
Clara woke to wind rattling the window.
She lay still beneath heavy quilts, listening to the familiar sounds of her cabin.
The roof creaked.
The chimney drew strongly.