Snow blew into the cabin.
A rider appeared through darkness.
Then another figure behind.
A woman on horseback carrying a small child against her chest.
Caleb stepped outside.
Clara followed as far as the doorway.
The woman nearly fell while dismounting.
“Please.”
Caleb caught her.
The child was maybe five.
Wrapped in a wool blanket.
His lips looked pale.
Clara’s expression changed instantly.
“Bring him inside.”
Caleb lifted the boy.
The mother followed.
A second rider arrived.
Her husband.
Then Clara recognized them.
Thomas and Mae Redding.
Farmers from the western flats.
One of the families who had laughed when Clara bought the thin chickens.
Mae had laughed hardest.
It did not matter now.
Clara cleared space near the stove.
“Sit him here.”
Mae trembled.
“Our chimney collapsed.”
“Roof?”
“Still standing.”
“Food?”
“Frozen.”
Thomas removed his hat.
“Pass is closed.”
“We know.”
“We tried Mercer’s.”
Caleb looked at him.
“Closed.”
Thomas nodded.
“People are starting toward the church.”
Clara crouched as much as her body allowed beside the child.
“What’s his name?”
“Henry.”
“Henry, look at me.”
The boy opened tired eyes.
“Hungry?”
He nodded.
Clara stood.
Not quickly.
Her size made rising from low positions difficult.
Caleb automatically offered his arm.
She took it.
No embarrassment.
She moved toward the stove.
A pot remained from supper.
Chicken broth.
Dumplings.
Carrots.
She ladled a small portion into a bowl.
Mae stared.
Clara handed it over.
“Slow.”
Mae’s eyes filled.
“Clara…”
“Slow.”
“Too much at once will hurt his stomach.”
Mae nodded.
Henry ate.
Thomas looked at the pantry.
Then away.
Clara noticed.
Of course she did.
“How much food do you have at home?”
He did not answer.
Mae did.
“Maybe two days.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“What happened to your stores?”
“Flour molded.”
“How?”
“Roof leak over the storage room.”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“Didn’t see it until last week.”
Caleb stepped toward the window.
More lights were moving below.
Lanterns.
Clara followed his gaze.
One.
Three.
Five.
Then more.
Her breath caught.
Caleb whispered:
“Clara.”
She knew.
People were coming.
Not tomorrow.
Now.
The north pass was closed.
The freight road gone.
Mercer’s store empty.
And somehow everyone had remembered the woman who spent autumn buying everything they considered worthless.
Mae saw the lanterns too.
“Oh God.”
Clara stared at her pantry.
Four sacks of flour.
Two sacks dried corn.
Beans.
Six jars preserved meat.
Seven crocks chicken stew.
Salt.
Onions.
Potatoes.
Dried apples.
The chickens outside.
Twelve.
Eleven laying irregularly.
One rooster.