An occasional gust struck the walls hard enough to shake loose a little dust from the rafters.
She had heard worse.
But something about the early timing concerned her.
Winter usually gave the valley several more weeks to finish preparations.
This storm seemed determined to arrive before anyone was ready.
Clara rose.
Pulled on a shawl.
And walked to the kitchen.
She checked the stove.
Added wood.
Then looked toward the pantry.
Her stores were orderly.
Two sacks of dry beans.
A barrel of cornmeal.
A smaller sack of oats.
Potatoes in the root cellar.
Dried apples.
Salted meat.
Rendered fat.
Several strings of onions.
A little flour.
And the jars she had spent the past week preparing.
Enough for one woman through a difficult winter if she was careful.
Enough for two people for a shorter period.
Not enough for a settlement.
Clara closed the pantry door.
Then she looked toward the little window.
Snow moved sideways through the darkness.
She thought of Caleb.
His cabin stood higher along the timber trail.
He had assured her that he kept plenty of wood and provisions.
Still, she hoped he was warm.
She banked the stove.
Returned to bed.
And spent the next hour listening to the wind.
By morning, the yard had disappeared beneath more than a foot of snow.
The chicken shed was nearly hidden.
The path to the well had vanished.
And the mountains beyond the clearing were completely white.
Clara dressed in her faded blue gown, tied on her apron, and began clearing a path toward the woodshed.
She was halfway through when she heard hoofbeats.
A horse appeared through the snow.
Caleb rode into the clearing with ice clinging to his beard.
He dismounted.
Clara planted her shovel in the snow.
"You're out early."
He looked toward the mountains.
"Had to check something."
"What's wrong?"
Caleb hesitated.
Then looked at her.
"The road above Bellweather Pass has started sliding."
Clara went still.
"How badly?"
"Bad enough that the freight wagons turned back."
She stared.
"The ones bringing winter flour?"
He nodded.
Clara looked toward the north.
"Will they try again?"
"Not until somebody clears the slide."
"How long?"
Caleb's expression tightened.
"If the weather settles, a few days."
"And if it doesn't?"
He looked toward the sky.
The snow continued falling.
"Could be weeks."
Clara slowly removed her gloves.
She looked toward her cabin.
Then toward Caleb.
"We'd better find out how much food is in the valley."
He nodded.
"That's what I thought you'd say."
The meeting at the schoolhouse began that afternoon.
Nearly every family sent at least one representative.