A man beside the table spoke.
"There's no room here for thirty people."
He was right.
Clara's cabin was sturdy, but it was not large. The main room could hold perhaps a dozen people around the stove if chairs and furniture were moved. The loft could accommodate several more, but only for a night or two.
And no pantry intended for a single woman could feed half a settlement indefinitely.
Clara looked toward Caleb.
He was already studying the room.
"The church has a larger stove," he said.
"The chimney was smoking badly yesterday," Thomas replied.
"I can clear it if the roof's safe."
Clara shook her head.
"Not tonight. Not in that wind."
Caleb looked toward her.
She continued, "We need warm places first. Not just one place."
She turned toward the adults.
"Who has a house above the creek?"
A woman raised her hand.
"My sister's. But she's got four children already."
"Is the stove working?"
"Yes."
"Is there dry wood?"
"I think so."
Clara nodded.
"Then we can put two more people there if she agrees."
The woman looked uncertain.
Clara continued.
"Nobody needs to carry a whole family alone. We'll spread people among the houses that are safe and keep a count."
She pulled her mother's old notebook from the shelf.
Turned past the preserving recipes.
Found several blank pages at the back.
Then dipped a pen in ink.
"Names first."
Caleb watched her.
Even with snow melting onto the floor and frightened children crowding near the fire, her voice remained steady.
She was not the loudest person in the room.
She was not trying to prove she could command anyone.
She was doing what needed to be done.
And everyone began listening.
Within an hour, Clara had a list of twenty-seven people requiring immediate shelter.
Caleb had gone back outside with two men to inspect nearby buildings and escort arriving families away from the flooded lower ground.
The storm was still fierce.
Clara could hear the wind through the walls.
Sometimes it seemed to strike the cabin from three directions at once.
She moved continuously.
Boiling water.
Finding dry socks.
Checking the stove.
Helping people arrange bedding.
Separating damp garments so they could dry without catching fire.
She asked an older woman to supervise the children.
Another to keep the kettle filled.
A third to prepare a pot of thin porridge from the oats.
By midnight, the cabin was crowded but orderly.
The youngest children slept in the loft.
The elderly rested near the stove.
Several adults took turns sitting upright because there was not enough room for everyone to lie down.
Clara gave her own bed to a mother recovering from childbirth and her infant.
When the woman protested, Clara smiled.
"You need it more than I do tonight."
"But where will you sleep?"
"Near the fire."
She was exhausted.
Her feet hurt.
Her back ached.
Her apron was stained worse than ever.
But she could not bring herself to complain while children warmed their frozen hands beside her stove.
Shortly after one in the morning, the door opened.
Caleb stepped inside.
His face was red from the cold.
Snow covered the shoulders of his fur vest.
He carried a bundle of blankets beneath one arm.
Two men followed with firewood.
Clara turned immediately.
"How bad?"
Caleb closed the door.
"The southern trail is nearly gone. But the Carter house is safe. We moved eight people there."