The room smelled of wet wool, woodsmoke, and nervous people.
Snow melted from coats near the stove.
Children sat on benches beside their mothers.
Men crowded near the doorway.
Amos Pike stood at the front, holding a notebook.
He had appointed himself the person responsible for coordinating the settlement's winter supplies.
Nobody had officially given him that position.
But because he owned the largest store, people tended to accept his lead.
"We've weathered storms before," he announced.
Several people nodded.
"The road crews will clear the pass when the weather improves."
Caleb stood near the back.
Clara sat beside an elderly widow named Martha Bell.
Pike continued.
"In the meantime, every household should remain at home and ration responsibly."
A man raised his hand.
"What about the mill shipment?"
"Delayed."
"How much flour have you got in the store?"
Pike frowned.
"Enough for regular customers if people don't panic."
Another voice called, "What does that mean?"
"It means people should stop buying more than they need."
Clara looked toward him.
Then raised her hand.
Pike hesitated.
"Miss Bennett?"
She stood.
Several people turned.
Clara felt the familiar heat of being watched.
She straightened her shoulders.
"Has anybody made a proper count of the food already stored in the valley?"
Pike looked irritated.
"I keep store accounts."
"Not just the store. Every household."
He shrugged.
"People know what they've got."
"Some do. Some don't."
Clara took a breath.
"If the road stays closed, we'll need to know who has extra grain, who has dried beans, who has meat, and who has children or elderly relatives needing help."
Pike gave a short laugh.
"We aren't running an army, Miss Bennett."
"No."
She looked around the room.
"We're trying to keep neighbors fed."
Hester Pike whispered something to a woman beside her.
Clara ignored it.
Pike folded his arms.
"And what do you propose?"
"A simple list. Household members, available stores, and immediate needs."
One of the ranchers nodded.
"That makes sense."
Pike looked annoyed.
"People won't appreciate being told to surrender their provisions."
Clara shook her head.
"I didn't say surrender. I said count."
Caleb stepped forward.
"She's right."
Pike turned.
"Of course you think so."
Caleb held his gaze.
"Doesn't matter whose idea it is. It's sensible."
The room became quiet.
Then Martha Bell spoke.
"I'll help."
Another woman raised her hand.
"So will I."
A farmer near the stove nodded.
"I've got oats I can spare if somebody needs them."
One by one, people began offering information.
Pike watched his control of the meeting shift.
His expression hardened.
Finally, he raised his hands.
"Fine. Make your lists. But don't come blaming the store if we run short."
Clara looked toward him.
"No one is blaming anybody."
Pike smiled thinly.