Chapter Five
Lula, Belle, and Ella worked all morning along the riverbank, prying rocks loose from the mud and lifting them into the canoe one by one. The work was slow and heavy, but steady. By midmorning, a respectable pile had formed near the spot Lula had chosen for her cold house.
“Do you think the men would make shelves for me?” Lula asked as they paused to stretch their aching arms and started the walk toward Maggie’s cabin for lunch.
Belle nodded. “I suppose they would. I like using bins myself, but shelves would make sense if you’re storing different cuts. They’ll build what you ask for.”
Ella walked a few steps behind them, her eyes on the ground as if retracing the path in her mind.
She didn’t speak right away. When Lula started describing how certain cuts needed more airflow while others were better stacked flat, Ella finally said, quietly, “If you keep records...you won’t lose track.
” She paused, thinking, choosing her words with care.
“And if Katie wants something specific, it’ll be easier to wrap it correctly. ”
Lula smiled, genuine relief easing her shoulders. “That’s exactly what I was worrying about.”
By the time they reached Maggie’s cabin, the smell of soup and fresh bread drifted out the open door.
Inside, Maggie stood near the hearth with flour dusting her apron, her baby daughter asleep in a cradle nearby.
Myrtle was already slicing bread with quick, practiced motions, and Sally stirred a pot on the stove.
“There you are,” Maggie said, grinning. “Sit. You look like you’ve been hauling rocks since dawn—which, I suppose, you have.”
Belle tugged out a chair, and Lula slid onto the bench beside it, grateful for the chance to rest. Tin bowls were passed around, filled with thick soup dotted with potatoes and onions. Myrtle set a plate of warm bread in the center of the table, and a small dish of preserves followed.
When everyone had a bowl, Maggie finally sat. “All right,” Belle said between bites. “I think we’ve made a very good start on the rocks this morning—a good enough start that we’ll be feeling it for a few days. Everett says the men can dig on Saturday if we’re ready.”
“We’ve got a good pile,” Lula said. “Enough to mark the spot clearly. If we go back after lunch and work until the light fades, it’ll be worth the effort.
” She was already dreading the idea of fetching more rocks, but she knew it needed to be done if she was to have a cold house of her own—and she needed a cold house of her own to be able to sell to Katie.
Myrtle lifted her chin. “And I’ll bake Saturday,” she announced. “Bread for certain, and maybe something sweet if I have time. Men dig better when they know dessert is waiting.”
“I’ll provide the flour,” Lula said quickly. “It’s my cold house, after all.”
Ella ate quietly, listening as plans shifted and settled around the table.
She moved her spoon through the soup slowly, as if counting each motion.
When the conversation turned to who was doing what—who hunted, who baked, who cooked, who tended animals—she lowered her eyes, content to remain unnoticed.
But Maggie noticed anyway. “Ella,” she said, “you’ve been helping nonstop without saying much. I’ve been watching. You see things the rest of us miss.”
Belle nodded in agreement. “Patterns. Numbers. What disappears fastest.”
Ella hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. Then she said softly, “Someone has to remember.”
Lula looked at her then—really looked. “Would you be willing,” she asked, “to keep track of the meat? What goes to Katie. What stays. What should be used first?”
Ella considered the question for a long moment. Then she nodded once.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Something in Lula loosened. “That would help me more than you know.”
Maggie clapped her hands together, brisk again. “Good. Then it’s settled. After lunch, those with strong backs go back to the river. Those without can do what needs doing elsewhere. We’ll keep meeting like this until winter keeps us indoors—and then we’ll meet anyway.”
Bowls were emptied and stacked, chairs scraping as the women stood. Lula rolled her shoulders, already feeling the ache in her muscles, but it was a good ache. One that told her she’d had a productive morning.
Outside, Belle caught her eye. The work ahead was heavy, cold, and unending—but as they turned back toward the river together, Lula was thankful the burden wasn’t hers alone.
*****
The next morning dawned clear and cold as people began to arrive at Lula and Sebastian’s cabin from every direction. What had begun as one cold house quickly turned into a gathering.
Belle and Everett were the first to arrive, Everett with boards over his shoulder and Belle laughing as she coaxed their baby boy away from the tools. He had just learned to walk and was determined to prove it by wobbling straight toward the mud.
Maggie and James followed close behind, Maggie carrying their bundled infant girl while James set down a shovel and kissed his wife’s forehead before getting to work.
Sally and Tom came next, Tom with crates of fresh vegetables balanced carefully in his arms—potatoes, onions, and carrots still dusted with soil.
Agnes and Jasper arrived carrying a sack of dried salmon that smelled sharply of salt and smoke, while Myrtle and Aaron followed with loaves of bread wrapped in cloth and a pie Myrtle made everyone promise not to taste until supper.
Josie and Jack brought foraged goods—jars of berries, bundles of roots, and dried herbs—and set them near the cabin wall before Jack joined the men.
Last to arrive were Ella and David. They carried nothing at all.
Ella’s hands were empty, her eyes already scanning the ground, and David went straight to Everett and James without waiting to be told what needed doing.
At first, the chosen site near the river seemed sensible. The men dug while the women talked and finished their preparation for the meal they would share—and then, almost immediately, water began seeping sideways into the hole.
Everett straightened, planting his shovel. “That frost line’s uneven here.”
“And close,” James added, testing the wall of the pit with his boot. “Too close to the river. Spring thaw would flood it.”
The men began offering solutions—dig deeper, shore it up, build higher—but the ground crumbled further with every scrape.
Lula had been silent, watching. She studied the slant of the land and the way the water pulled. Then she set down the pot she’d been carrying and walked several paces uphill, stopping where the grass grew thicker, and the ground lay firm beneath her boot.
“Here,” she said.
Everyone turned.
She gestured once, simple and certain. “Higher ground. Still shaded. Far enough from the river that it won’t flood come spring.”
Everett crossed to test it, pressing his heel into the earth. He nodded. “She’s right.”
James laughed softly. “Saves us trouble later.”
Just like that, the tools moved. Shovels shifted. The men began again where Lula indicated, without argument or hesitation.
Ella watched the work resume. After a moment, she bent, scooped up a handful of dirt, rubbed it between her fingers, and nodded.
Belle caught Lula’s eye and grinned. Sebastian did nothing at all except lift another load of earth and keep working where his wife had chosen. Lula, Belle, and Ella immediately began moving the rocks to the new location, with Ella’s husband, David, joining them.
By afternoon, the pit was taking shape properly. Rocks were stacked neatly. Shelves were discussed and measured. Babies passed from arm to arm. Food was set aside for later.
As the men finished their work, they leaned their tools against the growing rock walls and scrubbed their hands at the river’s edge. The cold house was taking shape, with only mud needing to be added to the walls to finish the project.
Their meal was laid out on the makeshift table, and they all sat.
They’d worked up an appetite with their long day of work, and they were all ready for a feast. Myrtle’s bread was torn instead of sliced.
Agnes laid out strips of dried salmon, sharp and savory, while Sally’s vegetables were passed hand to hand.
Belle’s jars of berries were opened sparingly, spooned carefully so everyone had a taste.
At the center of it all, Lula uncovered the pot of venison stew. The smell alone drew appreciative murmurs. Sebastian ladled it out, thick and rich, meat tender enough to fall apart at the touch of a spoon.
They ate on benches and crates. Belle’s little boy made a determined attempt to toddle through the group, earning cheers when he managed three whole steps before dropping triumphantly into the dirt.
Someone made a joke—no one could remember who—and suddenly everyone was laughing. Everett laughed so hard he had to bend over, hands on his knees. James wiped his eyes. Myrtle swatted Aaron’s arm and laughed harder when he only grinned at her. Even Tom, usually quiet, chuckled into his bowl.
Lula laughed too, a sound that felt lighter than it had in days. She looked around the circle—the women, the men, the children, the food that had come from many hands—and felt something settle into place.
Ella sat beside David, eating quietly, her mouth curving into a small smile as she listened. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
As the last of the stew was eaten and the pie cut, Lula looked around happily. It had been a good day. The work would continue the following day. But for that evening, it felt as if they had already found what they were building toward.