Caleb dismounted.
He looked toward Clara.
She crossed the street.
For a moment, she seemed unable to speak.
Then she put her arms around him.
He embraced her carefully.
Around them, people were laughing and shouting.
Clara barely noticed.
"You're home."
He smiled against her hair.
"Seems so."
She drew back.
His cheeks were red.
His eyes tired.
But he was unharmed.
She looked toward the mules.
"You brought supplies."
"Some."
"How much?"
"Enough to buy us time."
Clara nodded.
She did not ask why there was not more.
She knew what the journey had cost.
Instead, she turned toward the unloading area.
"Let's get them weighed and recorded."
Caleb grinned.
"There she is."
Clara looked over her shoulder.
"What?"
He smiled.
"The woman who can turn a miracle into proper bookkeeping."
She laughed.
"And thank heaven for it."
The arrival of the freight supplies eased immediate pressure, but it did not end the crisis.
The pass remained blocked.
The teamsters still needed help moving cargo.
The weather could close the upper trail again at any time.
And no one knew whether the remaining supplies would reach the settlement before another heavy storm.
Clara revised the ration schedule.
She made certain the added food reached the most vulnerable households first.
She also insisted that a portion be held for unexpected emergencies.
Pike objected.
"People are hungry now."
"I know."
"Then why hold back flour?"
"Because somebody may become stranded tomorrow."
He frowned.
"We can't feed imaginary people."
Clara looked at him.
"We've already had real people arrive in the middle of the night."
He said nothing.
She continued.
"An emergency reserve isn't the same as hoarding. We account for it openly, decide together when to use it, and keep enough back for surprises."
Pike looked toward the inventory ledger.
Then nodded reluctantly.
"All right."
Clara studied him.
He seemed changed.
Not transformed into a saint.
Still suspicious.
Still concerned about his business.
Still quick to argue.
But he had begun asking questions before dismissing other people's ideas.
That was something.
Sometimes change arrived in smaller portions than people wanted.
And sometimes those portions mattered.
The next surprise came from Martha Bell.
She arrived at Clara's cabin carrying a flat wooden box.
The box was old, with brass hinges and a broken leather handle.
Clara looked up.
"What's that?"
Martha placed it on the table.
"Something your mother left with me."
Clara went still.