Page 51 of Caroline’s Compass

“For all twelve if the ground holds.”

“And if it does not?”

Thomas looked at the broken axle.

Caroline counted aloud. “Two hours to prepare the slope, at least four to lower the wagons, more if a team balks. Then the company camps on uncertain ground with poor water. The cutoff saves two days only if nothing goes wrong.”

“The established road costs one extra day now, perhaps two.”

“Yes.”

Rebecca crouched and pressed her palm into the slope. Water gleamed in the print when she lifted it. “This bank will not take twelve wagons today.”

Thomas closed his notebook. “Then we have our answer.”

Caroline expected relief. Instead, she felt a small ache on his behalf. He had spent a morning proving that his proposed route should not be used.

“You could recommend the repairs,” she said as they ate Martha's bread beneath the elm. “The council might accept them.”

“Would you?”

“No.”

“Then why should I?”

“Because it is your survey.”

Thomas looked genuinely puzzled. “The purpose of a survey is not to make the surveyor right. It is to keep people from driving into a ravine.”

Mr. Hall raised his bread. “An excellent purpose.”

On the return ride, Caroline and Thomas reconstructed the cutoff mile by mile. Rebecca supplied soil conditions. Mr. Hall described the broken axle from a wagon owner's view. Thomas altered two of his original estimates without defensiveness and asked Caroline to calculate how long twelve wagons would require at the ravine.

She counted unloading, brush cutting, rope placement, descent, reloading, and the inevitable delay caused by someone insisting his wagon should go first. Mr. Hall named Mr. Daugherty. Rebecca named Mr. Avery. Thomas entered a general allowance for human nature.

Their conclusion remained the longer road, but the decision no longer felt like Thomas's survey defeated by Caroline's caution. It was a joint recommendation built from measurements, wagon knowledge, animal sense, and experience. When the company came into view, Thomas handed Caroline the field notebook. “You should give the labor estimate.” She understood he wasn't merely letting her speak. He expected the council to hear her authority.

The scouting party stopped for a brief meal before the return ride. Martha's packet contained bread, dried meat, apples, and enough bandages to wrap a mule. Rebecca lifted the roll of cloth.

“Martha expects poor judgment.”

Thomas looked toward the washed ravine. “Experience supports her.”

Mr. Hall found a small jar of salve labeled FOR BLISTERS, CUTS, BURNS, OR MEN WHO IGNORE ADVICE. He asked whether Martha had written the final line specifically for them.

Caroline recognized Grace's hand.

They ate beside the broken axle. Thomas drew the damaged approach while Caroline calculated unloading time. Rebecca fed apple cores to the horses. Hall attempted to explain that his horse preferred peel. The horse took the whole core and searched his pockets.

“Your expertise is respected,” Caroline said.

Hall moved out of reach.

The pause gave them time to examine the previous travelers' choices. The broken axle was not merely a warning; it showed where the downhill wheel had slid and how little room existed to turn. Caroline measured the distance with Thomas's chain. Their work replaced speculation with facts the council could use.

When they packed to leave, Rebecca returned the unused bandages. Thomas suggested keeping them accessible until all four horses reached camp. No one argued.

Near camp, Rebecca asked who would present which part of the report. Thomas assigned himself the measurements, Hall the damaged wagon evidence, Rebecca the soil, and Caroline the labor and company recommendation.