“In this weather?”
“I know.”
“You’ll die.”
“Maybe.”
“Then no.”
He stared.
“You don’t control the mountain.”
“Neither do you.”
Silence.
Clara sat beside him.
“What are you saying?”
“That if the food runs out, I’ll go.”
“To find supplies.”
“Yes.”
Her chest tightened.
“No.”
“Someone has to.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
She stood.
“I said no.”
He looked up.
“You’re scared.”
“Yes!”
The word burst out.
Everyone nearby turned.
Clara lowered her voice.
“Yes.”
Caleb stared.
She continued.
“I am tired of burying people I love.”
The cabin became completely still.
Caleb stood slowly.
Clara realized what she had said.
Too late.
People quietly looked away.
Caleb stepped closer.
“You love me?”
Her eyes filled.
“This is not how I wanted to say it.”
His expression softened.
“How did you want to?”
“I didn’t.”
Caleb almost smiled.
Clara hit his chest.
“Do not laugh.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m trying not to.”
She hit him again.
Then he caught her hand.
Gently.
Clara looked at him.
Caleb whispered:
“I love you too.”
She closed her eyes.
That was worse.
Better.
Everything.
Caleb touched her cheek.
“Now can we discuss the pass?”
“No.”
He laughed.
Clara kissed him hard enough to stop it.
People in the cabin politely became interested in bowls, blankets, and the wall.
When Clara pulled away, Caleb looked dazed.
“Still no?”
“Still no.”
He smiled.
“Worth asking.”
By day fourteen, the weather finally broke.
Sunlight hit the valley.
It had been two weeks since anyone had seen blue sky.
People stepped outside simply to look.
Children screamed.
Adults cried.
The pass was still buried.
But hope returned.
Clear weather meant work.
Every able person went to the road.
Men.
Women.
Older children.
Shovels.
Axes.
Ropes.
Caleb organized.
Clara organized food.
She made the largest pot yet.
Not much chicken remained.
So she used beans.
Dried corn.
Three ham bones.
Onions.
Dumplings.
People ate while working.
The pass reopened on the seventeenth day.
The first wagon came through near sunset.
People cheered as if an army had arrived.
Flour.
Salt.
Coffee.
Fresh meat.
Medicine.
Everyone crowded the road.
Clara stood back.
Caleb came beside her.
“You did it.”
“We did.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Everybody helped.”
“After you showed them how.”
Clara looked toward the settlement.
People who once laughed at her chickens were unloading sacks.
The farmer who sold them to her saw her.
He raised one hand.
“Clara!”
She looked.
He shouted:
“I’ve got six ugly hens left at home!”
People laughed.
Clara smiled.
“I’ll take them!”
The valley erupted in laughter.
This time she laughed too.
Not because she had won.