Page 67 of Caroline’s Compass

Caroline watched the needle tremble against the brass. “It means Father trusted me with the family.”

“He left eight adult daughters two wagons and a plan. That is not the same as leaving them to you.”

“I was the second oldest. Eleanor carried the final decisions, and I made certain everything else happened.”

“Everything?”

“Food, schedules, clothing, medicine, supplies. Who was frightened. Who was angry. Which quarrel could wait and which would become murder before breakfast.”

“A demanding category.”

“You have met my sisters.”

He smiled and returned to the hinge.

Caroline twisted the towel edge. “Sometimes I resent it.”

The admission came so quietly that she almost hoped he had not heard.

Thomas looked up.

“I love them,” she said quickly. “I would do anything for them. But sometimes I want one morning when no one asks where the frying pan is or whether we have enough flour. Then I hate myself for wanting it.”

Thomas set down the pliers. “Love that permits no honest feeling is only service.”

“That sounds like another instrument sermon.”

“I am expanding my range.”

“A dangerous habit.”

He reached across the crate and covered her clenched hand. “Resentment does not erase love. It tells you where the weight has become too heavy.”

“And what does one do with the weight?”

“Share it. Set some down. Allow Rebecca to choose a crossing order without believing the world has ended.”

“She will become impossible.”

“More impossible?”

Caroline laughed despite herself.

Thomas returned to the compass. He straightened the case, cleaned a sliver of glass from the pivot, and pressed the rim just enough to hold every cracked piece in place. Then he set the instrument flat on the towel.

The needle hesitated.

Caroline held her breath.

It swung north.

Thomas turned the compass. The needle moved again and settled freely, visible beneath the bright scar in the glass.

“It works,” Caroline whispered.

“It does.”

She traced the crack without touching it. The compass was not unchanged. It was still useful, still Father's, and now marked by her journey as well as his.