Beyond the orchard stood the old barn Samuel had repaired so many times that scarcely a board remained from the original structure.
And farther down the slope, the mountains rolled away in overlapping shades of blue and green.
Their land was not especially fertile.
It would never make them wealthy.
But after decades of work, it had become beautiful.
Not the polished beauty of an estate.
The uneven beauty of a place that had been loved.
A crooked fence repaired instead of discarded.
A fruit tree carefully supported after a storm.
A stone path built one rock at a time.
A flower garden planted where everyone said flowers would fail.
Clara looked across the property.
"Samuel?"
"Yes?"
"Do you ever wonder what our lives would have been like somewhere else?"
He considered.
"Sometimes."
"In a town?"
He shook his head.
"Too crowded."
"A little house near the river?"
"Too damp."
"A grand farm in the valley?"
"Too many neighbors."
Clara laughed.
"You're impossible."
Samuel smiled.
"Likely."
She rested her head against him.
"I think I would have been happy anywhere with you."
He looked down at her.
Then he said something she remembered for the rest of her life.
"I think I might have learned to be happy anywhere with you."
Clara raised her head.
"Learned?"
Samuel nodded.
"Before you came here, I thought happiness was just having enough wood for winter and enough food to survive until spring."
She listened.
"I didn't know it could be hearing somebody laugh in the kitchen."
His eyes moved toward the house.
"Or having someone argue with me about a crooked fence."
Clara smiled.
"Or the proper way to cook potatoes."
Samuel chuckled.
"Especially that."
Then he took her hand.
"I spent so much of my young life making sure nothing could be taken away from me."
His expression grew thoughtful.
"And then you came along and showed me that some things were worth letting into my life, even if loving them meant I could someday lose them."
Clara's eyes filled.
She leaned toward him.
Samuel kissed her gently.
Neither noticed the little girl standing beside the garden gate until she cleared her throat.
"Excuse me?"
They turned.
A thin child of perhaps nine stood holding a small basket.
Her dress was patched.
Her boots were too large.
And her reddish-brown hair had been braided so tightly that several loose strands stood away from her forehead.
She looked frightened.
Clara immediately sat straighter.
"Hello, sweetheart."
The girl swallowed.
"Are you Mrs. Thorne?"
"I am."
The child looked toward Samuel.
Then quickly lowered her eyes.
Clara noticed.
"That's my husband."
Samuel gave the girl a gentle nod.
"Afternoon."
The child whispered, "Afternoon, sir."
Clara smiled.
"What can we do for you?"
The girl lifted the basket.
"My mama said you sometimes have extra bread."