He looked embarrassed.
Then nodded.
"Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about. Just wait your turn."
The children sat together near the stove.
Their cheeks grew rosy.
Their voices became livelier.
The youngest were fascinated by Clara's chow-chow.
Some disliked the sharpness.
Others demanded more.
A small boy declared it tasted like summer had sneezed into his beans.
The room erupted in laughter.
Clara laughed harder than anyone.
Across the church, Caleb watched her.
She stood beside the serving table wearing the pale-blue dress and white apron from her kitchen, now clean enough for company.
Her hair was pinned loosely.
Her cheeks were flushed.
She was tired.
Every movement showed it.
Yet when she laughed, Caleb felt the room change.
For years, he had believed warmth came from a fire.
Now he was beginning to understand how much of it could come from one person.
After supper, Caleb found Clara outside the church.
She stood beneath the wooden awning, watching snow drift across the empty street.
He approached quietly.
"You slipped away."
She smiled faintly.
"Needed air."
He stood beside her.
For a while, neither spoke.
The lantern light from the church windows fell across the snow.
Voices carried from inside.
A child laughed.
Then a woman began singing softly.
Caleb looked toward Clara.
"You did a good thing tonight."
She shook her head.
"Everybody brought something."
"Because you asked them to."
"They would've helped anyway."
"Maybe."
He looked toward the church.
"But somebody had to organize it."
Clara lowered her eyes.
She had never been comfortable receiving praise.
Especially from him.
Caleb noticed.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"No."
"Then what's troubling you?"
She looked toward the snowy street.
"I keep thinking about the pantry."
He nodded.
"The shortage."
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"People are getting comfortable because we've managed a few meals. But I know the numbers."
Caleb waited.
She turned toward him.
"If the road doesn't open, we could run out before the worst of winter has even begun."
His expression grew serious.
"I know."
Clara looked up.
"Do you?"
He nodded.
"That's why I spoke with Daniel Finch."
"What about?"
"The old mule trail over Widow's Ridge."
Her face changed.
"Caleb."
"There's a supply depot on the far side."
"That trail hasn't been used in years."
"Not by wagons."
She stared.
He continued.
"Two men on snowshoes might reach it."