At least the rock was hers.
“I’ll need an axe,” she said quietly. “And a bow saw.”
Mr. Gable blinked.
“A sack of flour,” she went on. “Salt. And whatever dried beans the rest will buy.”
His expression shifted, as if pity had stumbled into respect and didn’t like the company.
“That’ll leave you with next to nothing,” he warned.
“I’m already there,” Lena said, and slid the coins across the counter like she was paying a debt to the future.
He packed her supplies in silence. The paper bag crinkled. The flour sack thumped with weight that promised suffering. When he handed the bundle over, his gaze lingered on her face.
“You’ll die out there,” he said, not unkindly. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But… soon.”
Lena hooked the rope around her bundle and hoisted it onto her back with a grunt that she refused to let become a whimper.
