Page 26 of Mail Order Moose

It was not starvation. Not with the preparing they’d done. That was the sort of truth Ella had learned to respect without softening it. No one would go hungry that night if nothing changed. She was still able to share a small portion with Mrs. Peabody and her children. But they needed cloth.

They sat and quilted together many days—all except Lula, who could usually be found in her treehouse, which mostly housed her from the cold, but had multiple windows she could shoot from. Every once in a while, Lula would declare it too cold to hunt. When it happened, they would all go home early and make sure they had enough wood to last the night. If Lula thought it was too cold to hunt, then it was too cold to do much other than breathe.

They gathered in the mercantile because it was large enough to hold everyone and still leave space for a stove. Mrs. Johnson stood behind the counter with a pencil tucked behind her ear. Maggie had the cold house ledger. Belle brought the ribbon-marked list of moved goods. Lula brought herself, which was nearly as useful as supplies. Men came too, Sebastian and David and Mr. Johnson and two lumbermen with snow still on their shoulders.

Ella stood near the flour barrels and waited for someone else to begin.

Then she realized everyone was waiting for her.

The old fear rose at once. It told her to step back. It told her that leadership belonged to people like Lula, who could fill a room without meaning to, or Sebastian, who could turn uncertainty into laughter, or David, who had a steadiness that made men listen. Ella looked at David.

He stood by the door, his hat in his hands, saying nothing.

Not because he had nothing to say. Because this was hers.

Ella took the ledger from Maggie and opened it.

“We do not need to use the mercantile shelves first,” she said.

Mrs. Johnson blinked. Mr. Johnson frowned, but not unkindly. “That’s where the goods are.”

“Some goods.” Ella turned the page. “Not all. Belle’s cold house has two sacks of oats that were set aside because the Peabody children cannot eat them easily. Myrtle has more potatoes than she marked because her husband stacked another crate behind the wash barrel. Maggie has dried apples enough to stretch porridge for children if we divide them by household size, not by request. And the beans in the mercantile should stay here for those who cannot reach the cold houses if the wind rises.”

No one spoke.

Ella’s pulse beat hard in her throat. She made herself continue before silence could become a wall.

“If the delivery comes tomorrow, we lose nothing by shifting now. If it does not come for a week, we will be glad we did not wait. I can make portions by household and work need. Men at the mill need more, but families with children need softer foods. We should not give everyone the same thing. We should give everyone what lets them last.”

Lula’s eyes shone. “There. That is exactly what I was thinking, only mine had fewer numbers and more panic.”

A laugh rippled through the room. Not much. Enough.

“Mrs. Sanders,” Mrs. Johnson said, “tell us what to move.”

*****

Sebastian and Mr. Johnson took a sled to Belle’s cold house for oats and salt. Lula went with Maggie to count dried apples and returned with her cheeks flushed from the cold and indignation because one sack had been tied with a knot only a sailor could untie. Myrtle sent potatoes. Josie sent onions. Agnes arrived with two jars of preserves and a look that dared anyone to say preserves were not practical.

Ella stood at the mercantile counter and wrote names, portions, substitutions, and notes. David carried sacks when she asked. He fetched twine when she needed it. Once, when Mr. Johnson began to ask him whether the mill men should take more beans, David only nodded toward Ella.

“Ask her,” he said.

Mr. Johnson did.

That was when Ella understood David’s pride most clearly. He did not need to announce it. He did not stand between her and the work or put his own name on her knowing. He stood beside her, steady as a post in deep snow, and let everyone see that he believed she belonged exactly where she stood.

By late afternoon, the first round of bundles was ready. Each was tied with a ribbon color and a paper mark. Ella had just finished writing Peabody—oats, apples, small flour, when a shout came from outside.

Everyone froze.

Then Sebastian burst through the door, snow powdering his hat. “You will not believe what is standing in the road.”

“If it is the delivery,” Lula said, already reaching for her shawl, “I shall kiss the freight driver and apologize after.”

“Not the delivery.” Sebastian looked delighted despite himself. “A moose.”

That was how Ella found herself standing on the mercantile porch with half the town crowded behind her, watching an enormous cow moose plant herself in the middle of the road as if the settlement had been built for her convenience.