"Tell us exactly what's supposed to be in the wagons."
The merchant hesitated.
Clara noticed.
"We need to know what could be carried across if the larger road remains blocked."
Pike looked toward the floor.
"Flour. Salt. Kerosene. Dry goods."
"How much flour?"
"Several sacks."
"How many?"
He frowned.
"I don't have the invoice with me."
Clara nodded.
"Then bring it tomorrow."
Pike looked offended.
"Do you think I don't know my own business?"
She held his gaze.
"I think we're trying to make a useful plan."
For several seconds, he stared.
Then he turned and left.
Martha Bell watched him go.
"That man would rather freeze than admit he misplaced a number."
A few people laughed.
But Clara did not.
She had noticed that Pike's hesitation seemed less like embarrassment than fear.
And she wondered what the merchant was keeping from them.
Caleb returned to Clara's cabin shortly before dawn.
She was still awake.
An open notebook lay on the table.
A small lamp burned beside it.
Clara had been calculating the settlement's food requirements.
When Caleb stepped inside, she looked up.
"You haven't slept."
He removed his coat.
"Neither have you."
She ignored that.
"How many men?"
"Four willing to go. I'll take two."
"Why not all four?"
"Need people here if the creek rises again."
Clara nodded.
"That makes sense."
He approached the table.
She had written down the numbers of adults and children, dividing them according to age and need.
Several columns listed available food.
Others showed the projected daily use of flour, meal, and beans.
Caleb studied the pages.
"What's this?"
"The first proper count."
He leaned closer.
"There are fifty-three people in the settlement."
"Fifty-six if the teamsters return with their helpers."
She pointed toward the supplies.
"I've allowed for everybody we know about. Some of the children need smaller portions, but the men working outside in this cold will need more."
He nodded.
"And?"
"We need more grain."
"How much?"
"Enough that those wagons matter."
He looked toward her.
Clara closed the notebook.
"But I don't want you dying to bring me flour."
Caleb went still.
She looked down.
Her voice softened.
"I mean it."
He pulled out a chair.
Sat across from her.
Then carefully placed his hands on the table.
"Clara."
She looked up.
"I'm not going because Pike thinks he owns the road."
"I know."
"I'm going because there are men trapped out there."
Her eyes filled.
He continued.
"And because if there's a safe way to bring supplies back, we ought to try."