Page 68 of Caroline’s Compass

“Thank you,” she said.

“You gave permission.”

“I am practicing.”

Grace attempted to distract Lucy from the compass repair by teaching her a card game beneath the first wagon. Lucy cheated so openly that Grace accused her of misunderstanding secrecy.

“I am not cheating,” Lucy said. “I am improving my hand.”

Charlotte, sewing nearby, said, “That is the usual purpose of cheating.”

Lydia joined and changed the rules after losing the first round. Rebecca heard the argument from her position at the wagon corner and threatened to shuffle all three sisters into the creek.

The noise gave Caroline something ordinary to hold beside the fear of broken glass. Her family did not become solemn merely because she was grieving a damaged keepsake. Their quarrel continued, ridiculous and familiar, while Thomas straightened the case.

Martha handed Caroline a cup of coffee. “They are trying to help.”

“By accusing each other of theft?”

“It has kept Lucy from touching the tools.”

Caroline accepted that as service. When Thomas asked for the narrow pliers, Rebecca passed them without crossing the boundary she had established. When he needed more light, Grace abandoned the cards and held the lantern. The sisters' help arrived disguised as interference, threats, and disputed rules, but it arrived.

While Thomas worked, the sisters kept the rest of camp from pressing too close. Martha established a boundary with the coffee kettle. Rebecca stationed herself at the wagon corner and redirected three curious children, Mr. Avery, and Mrs. Bell. Mrs. Bell objected that concern was not curiosity. Rebecca said concern could remain concerned from twenty feet away.

Charlotte collected the smallest glass splinters from Caroline's skirt and wrapped them in paper. “Do you want these saved?”

Caroline almost said yes. Father had touched the glass when it was whole, but these fragments had no use and would only cut someone later. “No. Bury them where the animals will not step.”

The decision felt larger than broken glass deserved. She was preserving the compass, not every dangerous piece of its damage.

Thomas tested the hinge again. Caroline watched his hands and admitted that when Eleanor married, part of her had expected the family to come apart unless she held every task in place. Instead, Rebecca had taken the second wagon, Charlotte had strengthened the records, and the younger girls had learned duties Caroline had never allowed them to try.

“You trained them to depend on you,” Thomas said gently.

“That sounds unkind.”

“So does exhaustion.”

Caroline could argue with his phrasing but not the truth. By the time the repaired needle swung free, she understood that asking permission to mend the compass had also given her permission to decide what must be preserved and what could be released.

Before answering, Caroline turned the compass through a full circle. The needle moved each time freely, settling beneath the cracked glass. Thomas had left the scar visible because hiding it would have required replacing what Father touched. He had repaired function without pretending the damage hadn't happened.

“I thought keeping everyone safe meant never dropping anything,” Caroline said. “Never tiring. Never wishing someone else would carry the weight.”

Thomas shook his head. “That standard would make love impossible for humans.”

“My sisters may disagree.”

“Your sisters disagree recreationally.”

She smiled. Then she called Rebecca over and handed her the afternoon wagon-order list without explaining every choice. Rebecca read it, changed one team position, and waited. Caroline looked at the alteration and nodded. The world did not end. When she turned back, Thomas's expression held quiet pride. She did not resent it this time.

Thomas leaned closer. “Is the courtship still partial?”

Caroline looked at the repaired compass, then at the man who had preserved every original piece without pretending the break had never happened.

“Less partial than yesterday.”