Ruth looked toward the barn.
"Two families are coming here. The schoolteacher sent word."
Lydia took off her gloves.
"Then let's prepare the house."
For the next hour, she helped move supplies, organize blankets, and prepare food for the families arriving from the lower valley.
She did not possess Gideon's physical strength.
She could not carry a fallen tree.
But she could organize people.
She could assign tasks.
She could prepare a list of those who had arrived and those still missing.
She could help frightened children find warm places to sit.
And she could make certain the elderly couple from the lower homestead had dry clothes and hot tea.
By late afternoon, Ruth's house had become a temporary shelter.
Lydia stood beside the table checking her list.
Then Elsie approached.
"Mrs. Hayes?"
Lydia looked up.
"Yes?"
"The Millers aren't here."
Lydia scanned the names.
The Miller family lived near the lower crossing.
A father.
A mother.
Two young sons.
She had warned a wagon driver near that area earlier.
But she had not reached their house.
Lydia looked toward Ruth.
"Have you heard from the Millers?"
Ruth shook her head.
"No."
Lydia's stomach tightened.
She looked toward the rising water outside.
Then toward the list.
"Someone needs to check."
Ruth grabbed her coat.
"I'll send two riders."
Lydia nodded.
She did not insist on going herself.
The roads were becoming dangerous.
She could help more by keeping the shelter organized.
It was a choice Gideon would have understood.
And it was one she was beginning to understand too.
Courage did not always mean being the person who rode into danger.
Sometimes it meant doing the necessary work that allowed others to come home safely.
At the upper diversion, Gideon had found help from three ranch hands and an experienced timber worker.
They examined the blocked secondary channel from high ground.
The old stone culvert still existed beneath the road, but fallen timber and years of debris had obstructed its entrance.
The men discussed whether clearing part of the obstruction could reduce the pressure on the lower channel.
They worked cautiously.
No one entered the water.
They used ropes, long poles, and the horses to move loose timber from safe ground while keeping watch for shifting banks.
The work was slow.
Frustrating.
And dangerous enough that Gideon repeatedly ordered people away when the ground began to crumble.
By evening, they had opened part of the old passage.
Water began flowing through it.
Not enough to restore the entire diversion.
But enough to reduce some of the immediate pressure downstream.
Gideon stood on the ridge watching the current.
One of the ranch hands wiped his forehead.
"That ought to help."
Gideon nodded.
"Some."
The timber worker looked toward the broken gate.
"Someone cut those supports."
Gideon's expression hardened.
"You saw it?"
The man nodded.
"Fresh tool marks. Not weather damage."
Gideon stared at the structure.
For a moment, he remembered Elias.
The disputed survey.
The letter.
Harris Crowe.
And Silas Rusk's repeated threats.
He felt anger rising.
But then he thought of Lydia.
Ruth.
Elsie.
The families below.