Clara poured the cart driver a cup of water and sat down across from him. "Did Lester leave any message for me?"
He did.
The driver said, "Your husband asked me to pass along this message—"
'The journey home is long, and I only get one day of rest. I'd rather not waste it on the road and risk falling behind on my study plan. I kindly ask you, dear wife, to send my late-month living allowance with Uncle Driver. All is well at the academy. I'm strictly following the study plan and making good progress. Please don't worry.'
Clara raised an eyebrow as she listened. That definitely sounded like Lester's tone.
She cross-checked a few more details with the driver. Once she confirmed there was no deceit, she motioned for him to wait and stepped into the bedroom to get the money.
As she stepped out, she came face to face with four pairs of curious eyes.
She pointed toward their room. "Back to your calligraphy practice."
The children silently mouthed "yes" and scurried off to continue writing.
Only then did Clara go into the bedroom, retrieve two taels of silver, and hand it to the driver.
With money in hand, the driver stood up to leave.
Clara had no male relative at home—lingering would raise eyebrows. Besides, he'd left late today, and there were still villagers along the way waiting for his cart to go to town or the county. He couldn't afford delays.
Clara stood at the gate, watching the ox cart rumble out of the village. Her polite smile slowly faded, and her gaze darkened.
The village's rice harvest was complete. Fields now lay bare, with heaps of straw being hauled home. Those they couldn't bring back yet were temporarily piled in the fields, to be fetched when needed.
Clara picked out the driest, cleanest straw and re-stuffed every bed in the house.
The old straw was burned as firewood. The new straw was layered under the bedboards, with a palm mat over it and a thick quilt on top. It made the beds soft and warm.
With nights growing colder, this setup ensured no one would freeze.
There was still straw left over. When the small field of theirs wasn't keeping them busy, Clara and the children began weaving straw sandals again.
This time, they weren't for sale—they were for home use. Clara made hers sturdy and precise, a backless slip-on style. Deb saw them and immediately begged for a pair. Clara made her one too.
The little girl clomped around the house in them, bare feet slapping, sliding all over and flinging one sandal off every now and then—only to hop over on one foot to retrieve it. She could entertain herself with those slippers all day.
Adam and Ben watched with envy but were too shy to ask Clara for help. They tried to make their own, which fell apart after half a day.
In the end, Clara made a pair for each of them.
The four kids treated the slippers like treasures. They didn't wear them during the day, just lined them up neatly by their beds.
Every evening after dinner, when Clara told them to wash up, their first reaction was to rush into their rooms and swap their regular shoes for the straw slippers before heading off to wash their feet—then pad around the house in them.
For several days straight, the house echoed with the rhythmic patter of straw soles on wood floors.
That is, until an autumn rain brought a sudden chill. The kids finally toned down their excitement, obediently putting on long socks and cloth shoes.
Clara also built a straw stack behind the house near the outhouse, following the villagers' example.
From Frank Liew's household, she learned how to prep horse feed using straw and wood ash.
First, the straw was chopped into small bits. Then she scooped out a basket of wood ash from the stove's firepit and layered it into a spare vat with the straw, alternating every inch. Left to soak overnight, it made a nourishing feed.
Since it was a hassle, Clara only did it about once a week—for Old Yeller's occasional nutritional boost.
When she went up the mountain to chop firewood for winter, she'd call Adam to help. Clara handled the chopping; Adam cut grass on the slope below.
Ordinary grass was minced and mixed with purchased cereal grain to feed the horse. Old Walter Liew had seen it once and called it extravagant.
But it worked—Old Yeller's bald patches were slowly filling in, and he looked healthier by the day.
Even his strength improved. When Clara had to visit Quarry Hill, she'd take Old Yeller along to haul stones—he'd dash like he was born for it.
With his tall, muscular build, Old Yeller even scared the village kids. They'd dodge him from a distance—unless an adult was riding him.
Autumn deepened, painting the mountain slopes gold as the green slowly faded.
Lately, Adam had grown restless. He'd frequently take out the slingshot and mini bow Clara made him, heading out early and returning just before lunch.
When asked where he went, he'd say he was practicing at the base of the mountain—then stare at Clara with wide, expectant eyes.
At first, Clara didn't catch on. But after hearing someone mention that the Yang family boys from Riverbend Village had already gone into the mountains, it hit her—she had promised Adam she'd take him hunting this fall.
The leaves had turned golden, and yet no one had brought it up. The boy's patience was thinning.
If it had been Ben or Deb, they'd have pestered her already.
But this was Adam—sensitive and thoughtful. Seeing Clara remain silent, he assumed she'd forgotten or didn't want to go. Hence his awkward behavior.
"Childish," Clara muttered with a laugh. Then caught herself. He is a child. Of course he's a little childish.
With a single blow, Clara hammered a steel spike a meter long into a crack in the cliffside. With a thunderous boom, a swath of stone loosened and slid down the face of the mountain. The onlookers paled.
It wasn't the first time they'd seen such a sight, yet every time Brandon Liew and the others witnessed it, they felt the terror of a landslide all over again.
Even though they were standing well beyond the safety perimeter, they couldn't help but step back as the rocks came crashing down.
Once the noise settled, Clara checked the cliff, then hung a net of hemp rope on the hooks she'd embedded—just in case small stones rolled down and injured the quarry workers below.
Only after confirming everything was secure did she climb back up using the long rope and return down via the back slope.
Fifteen minutes later, she appeared behind the workers and gave her instructions:
"Safety first. Every life matters. Memorize the safety protocol. If I'm not present during the next rockfall, no one is to act on their own!"
The quarry workers sprang up and shouted, "Understood!"
Clara waved her hand. "Get to work."
The team resumed hammering, hauling, and shaping the stones.
Clara brushed the dust off her clothes and glanced up at the sun. It was already high in the sky.
Every rockfall session took the whole morning.
But with this haul, they now had enough stone discs for fifty sets of small millstones.
Once the workers transported all the stone back, the next round of full-speed grinding could begin.
As for the seventeen sets ordered by Manager Wu—that would take one more trip mid-next month to complete.
Clara was counting the days carefully—because today was another academy rest day.
Last night, the cart driver had come. Sent by Lester to pick up his living expenses.
But Clara hadn't given him the money.
She had personally escorted the driver out of the village.
By the time she returned home from the quarry, the afternoon sun was already tilting west.
She changed into a simple linen robe and reached for the saddle hanging on the main hall wall.
(End of Chapter)
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