Riding a horse was quick—in just two hours, Clara made it back from Willowridge County Town to Liew Clan Village.

  And that was with her keeping to a relaxed trot. If she’d gone full gallop, she could’ve arrived in an hour and a half.

  It was around four in the afternoon when she entered the village.

  In just a few days’ absence, the rice fields had begun to yellow. From the look of it, they’d reach maturity in about a week.

  Earlier, with all the fields a uniform green, the ten acres Clara had planted using the seedling-transplant method hadn’t looked all that special. But now, along the same fertile riverside strip, her patch stood out starkly. The rice heads hung heavy and thick, clustered in bundles, swaying under their own weight—remarkably eye-catching.

  Old Walter Liew passed by the riverbank and had already lost count of how many times he regretted not following Clara’s advice. If only he’d used her method for the last thirty acres near the river—he couldn’t imagine how bountiful the harvest would’ve been.

  But time couldn’t be reversed. Regret was useless now. He could only comfort himself with thoughts of the next planting season, when he’d definitely use the same technique on his best fields.

  Clara trotted leisurely through the village toward the river, and along the way, every villager who saw her did a double take. Where had she gone to strike it rich? She was riding a horse, for heaven’s sake!

  No one in the village had ever ridden a horse before. Even Frank Liew only owned a stocky, short-legged cart horse used for hauling goods. Clara’s steed, on the other hand, was clearly meant for riding—it was tall and spirited, its back nearly as high as a grown man’s head. She sat astride it, commanding attention from everyone below.

  “Mom!”

  A girl’s excited shout rang out.

  Clara crossed the bridge on horseback and stopped in front of the watermill, where Adam and Deb had been guarding the coin box. They came running toward her.

  “A horse?” Adam gasped in awe, reaching out instinctively—Clara hoisted him up with one arm and set him on the horse.

  Deb looked up in wonder, trying to compare her height with the horse’s. She didn’t even reach its belly.

  “Hands up,” Clara said with a grin.

  Deb wasn’t scared at all. She raised both arms and was promptly lifted onto the horse, seated in front of her big brother.

  “Ma, is this our horse?” she asked, eyes wide with delight.

  Adam was too stunned to answer. He was mesmerized by the colorful tassels dangling from the horse’s neck, gripping the saddle horn tightly while keeping an arm around his excited little sister.

  Clara nodded. With a soft “Hyah!” the horse sprang into motion, galloping up the slope toward their hillside home.

  Ben and Chad, hearing the commotion, ran outside and gawked at the sight of their mother and two siblings thundering toward them on horseback.

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  The old horse, eager to show off, kicked into a gallop. Clara had to yank hard on the reins to bring it to a halt.

  The horse’s front hooves lifted high above the boys’ heads before slamming down again. Ben and Chad were frozen in place, too shocked to react.

  Clara dismounted, lifted her two kids down from the horse, then lined up all four children for a formal introduction.

  “Starting today, this old horse is part of the family. Be kind to him—he’s how you’re all getting to school from now on.”

  Adam asked, “Is Old Horse his name?”

  Clara shook her head. “Not really.”

  Ben jumped in. “Then let’s name him! How about Old Yeller?”

  Clara shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

  And so, without asking the horse’s opinion, the four siblings unanimously decided to name him Old Yeller.

  Chad’s big round eyes sparkled. “Ma, when I’m catching bugs for the chicks in the morning, can I take Old Yeller to graze?”

  “Not yet,” Clara said seriously. “He’s still not used to us. Don’t go near him without me. He might kick you.”

  The kids drooped their heads. “Okay.”

  Still, their enthusiasm for Old Yeller remained high. They were already planning to build him a shelter so he’d have a cozy place to sleep.

  There was no stable at home. Clara had never planned to raise pigs, so there was no pigpen either. For now, she tied Old Yeller to a patch of overgrown land behind the house, near the latrine, so he could graze and regain some strength.

  “I’ll build you a proper shed soon,” Clara murmured, patting Old Yeller’s neck. “Be good.”

  She unloaded the bundles strapped to the saddle and carried them into the house, both hands full.

  The children followed, jubilant—happier than they were on New Year’s.

  Only Adam thought to ask about his father’s progress at the academy. The other three couldn’t take their eyes off the oiled paper parcels in Clara’s hands.

  The thin sheets couldn’t hide the aroma within. Deb was practically ready to gnaw through the wrapper just to get a taste.

  “Look at you lot—what, haven’t you eaten in days?” Clara teased.

  They knew she was joking and scratched their heads sheepishly, grinning back at her.

  Clara dropped the parcels in the main hall. “Don’t touch yet. I’ll be back.”

  “Okay!” the four chorused obediently.

  She returned to her room, stowed her weapons, changed into a clean set of summer-weight linen, and threw her bloodstained clothes—disguised by dried gore—into the stone basin.

  Adam, ever thoughtful, fetched her half a basin of water to wash up.

  Thanks to the two full water jars she’d prepared before leaving, there was still plenty left from the kids’ daily use.

  Clara washed her face and hands, wiped the sweat from her chest and nape, and rid herself of any lingering metallic tang.

  She took a deep breath of the countryside’s clean air. After a day and night without rest, her body sagged with weariness.

  She slapped her cheeks, sat up straighter, and entered the hall again under the kids’ eager gazes. She unwrapped one of the oiled paper parcels.

  Inside was a whole roasted chicken, five braised pork knuckles, and a bowl of sweet and sour pork ribs—still warm from being freshly made an hour and a half ago. The aroma was mouthwatering. Chad was practically drooling.

  Clara waved at Adam and Ben. “Get the bowls.”

  The boys sprinted out and back with lightning speed, carrying bowls.

  Clara portioned the dishes into three large porcelain bowls. With the shiny glaze, the food looked even more tempting.

  She chuckled at the four little ones trying hard not to pounce on the food and nodded. “Eat.”

  They didn’t dive in like starving wolves. Adam got his siblings seated, then placed one piece of sweet and sour pork rib into each bowl. Only then did they begin their blissful feast.

  “Mom! It’s sweet!” Deb exclaimed.

  Clara bit into one herself and explained, “That’s called sweet and sour pork ribs. Tangy and sweet—makes your appetite perk up, right?”

  “Mhm!” Deb nodded happily. “Little Bro and I love it!”

  “Then eat up.” Clara pinched her twins’ soft cheeks. Seeing those four satisfied little faces—it was deeply healing.

  After two ribs each, their cravings were sated, and they paused in unison.

  Adam covered the remaining dishes with a straw food cover Clara had woven and cheerfully said, “I’ll cook the rice!”

  Ben, Chad, and Deb chimed in that they’d go pick vegetables and help prepare dinner.

  Clara sank into her chair, eyes closing in contentment.

  The kids, knowing how tired she was, moved about with careful quiet.

  (End of chapter)

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