But the man standing beside her now, crushing garlic with the flat side of a knife, bore little resemblance to the monster described by the valley's gossiping women.
He looked at the ribs, then at his wife.
"That's the last of our good beef until spring."
Clara sprinkled coarse salt across the meat.
"I know."
"Should we save some?"
She turned toward him.
"Save it for what?"
"Another Sunday."
She smiled.
"Samuel, if we keep saving everything good for another day, we'll grow old without enjoying anything."
He considered that.
Then he nodded.
"Fair enough."
Clara laughed softly.
"And besides, you spent the entire morning repairing the south fence in that dreadful weather. You deserve a proper supper."
Samuel stepped closer, resting his large hands gently against her waist.
"I already have everything I deserve."
She looked up at him.
"You're becoming terribly good at saying things like that."
"Only because you keep giving me reasons."
He bent and kissed her forehead.
Clara closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the familiar warmth of his beard against her skin.
Then she pushed him away playfully.
"Go peel those potatoes before you distract me into burning our last beef."
Samuel raised both hands in surrender.
"Yes, ma'am."
And he went to work.
For several minutes, the kitchen filled with the small, comforting sounds of two people who had learned to share a life.
The knife struck the cutting board.
Potatoes dropped into a wooden bowl.
Garlic skins gathered beside the stove.
Outside, the wind howled through the valley.
Clara melted a generous spoonful of butter in their largest cast-iron pot. When the iron grew hot, she carefully lowered the seasoned ribs into it.
The meat hissed against the metal.
A beautiful fragrance rose immediately.
Samuel looked over his shoulder.
"Mercy."
Clara smiled.
"That is only the beginning."
She browned the ribs slowly, turning them until every side developed a dark golden crust.
Then she removed the meat and added sliced onions, crushed garlic, dried thyme, and a little smoked pepper.
Samuel came to stand beside her, holding a bowl of peeled potatoes.
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
"What?"
She tilted her face upward.
"A kiss."
He grinned.
"Thought you said I was distracting you."
"I've changed my mind."
He kissed her gently.
The kiss lasted long enough for the onions to begin browning.
Clara broke away with a gasp.
"The onions!"
Samuel laughed as she hurried back to the stove.
For a few precious moments, there was nothing in the world except warmth, laughter, and the smell of supper.
Neither of them noticed the faint knocking sound that came from behind the pantry wall.
Not yet.
Clara and Samuel had been married for eleven months.
Their wedding had been a quiet affair, performed by an elderly preacher in a small wooden chapel below the mountains.