Page 76 of Eleanor’s Earrings

“Lydia.”

Nathaniel smiled all the way to the damaged axle.

Chapter Eleven

April 11, 1854

Fire-Recovery Camp

Charlotte finished the inventory shortly after sunrise.

Eleanor’s ribs ached with every careful breath, but she refused to sit while the damage was being counted.

Eleanor knew the news was bad before her sister spoke. Charlotte had organized the figures into neat columns, and she only made her writing that tidy when she wanted to soften something unpleasant.

“How much?” Eleanor asked.

“Four sacks of flour are scorched. Two can be used if Martha sifts them. The bacon closest to the canvas is ruined. We lost dried beans, coffee, and part of the salt.”

Martha immediately rationed what remained, measuring every spoonful as if coffee itself had joined the list of endangered supplies.

Martha closed her eyes. “The coffee?”

“One bag remains.”

“Then there is still hope.”

Eleanor almost smiled. “What about the wagon?”

Rebecca came around the rear corner. Soot streaked her dress, and her hair had escaped its pins. “The axle is sound, but one iron strap warped. We need a replacement strap before we put the full load back.”

“Can it be made?”

“Not with what we carry.”

Caroline folded her arms. “The trader had iron straps.”

“At prices that suggest he made them from gold,” Lydia said.

“We need the strap,” Eleanor said. “And enough food to replace what cannot be saved.”

Charlotte looked at the cash record. “We can pay for the strap or replace enough food to keep from shortening rations before Fort Kearny. Not both.”

The sisters fell silent.

Eleanor touched the garnet at her left ear.

Caroline saw the movement. “No.”

“You do not know what I intend.”

“You intend to sell Mother's earrings.”

“Not sell. Use them as security.”

Rebecca shook her head. “They are yours.”

“Father gave them to me for an emergency.” Eleanor pointed toward the blackened wagon. “This qualifies.”