Lester's reminder made the constables turn to the four accusers. "Which one of you is injured?"
All four thrust out their hands, ready to claim that she'd beaten them so badly they were swollen.
But to their horror, the hands they showed were smooth and unblemished—no swelling, no bruises.
"Where's the injury?!" Lester shouted. "Brazen scoundrels, daring to toy with the constables and falsely accuse someone—looks to me like you're the ones who should be arrested!"
His counterattack was perfectly executed.
The constables' expressions darkened, their authoritative stares bearing down on the four men, who looked ready to weep. They could only point furiously at Clara, insisting she was the one who hit them—yet had no explanation for why there wasn't a single mark on them.
Only then did Clara step down from the ox cart. She cupped her fists and said politely,
"Gentlemen, my name is Clara from Liew Clan Village. I was at the cattle-and-horse market buying an ox, and had a few words with these four. They must've taken offense and now seek revenge by framing me."
At the mention of her name, the constables—who'd found her vaguely familiar—suddenly lit up with recognition and admiration.
"So it's the bandit-slaying heroine, Lady Clara!" they exclaimed in unison.
"Our apologies!" The four even returned her salute, leaving the four accusers stunned.
A heroine flouting the law? Impossible.
This clearly wasn't her fault.
Her heroic reputation from the bandit raid, coupled with her calm and unhurried explanation, had the constables instantly turning their ire on the four men.
"Sorry for the trouble, ma'am. Best leave the city quickly before it's too late. We'll handle these four and clear your name," the lead constable said with a smile.
Clara thanked them, got back on the cart, and led her family leisurely through the city gates.
Behind them came the sounds of anxious protests and pleas for justice—cut short by the constables' sharp reprimands.
What fate awaited those men, Clara didn't care. But faced with Lester's dark expression, she figured she should offer an explanation.
"They were trying to force the seller to lower the price and wouldn't let him sell to me. When he sold to me anyway, we had a little disagreement—right, Father?"
She flashed Old Walter a cheerful smile.
The old man's brow twitched, his forced laugh unconvincing. "Yes, that's all—Clara certainly didn't lay a finger on them and dislocate their arms."
Deb quickly corrected, "Grandpa, that wasn't breaking arms, that was just dislocating them. If she'd broken them, Mama couldn't have put them back together."
She turned to her eldest brother expectantly. "Right, Adam?"
She remembered Mama explaining it to him and Ben that way!
Adam glanced at his father's thunderous face and his mother's skyward look of exasperation. With a sigh, he pushed his little sister's head down. "Just… be quiet."
Deb: ???
"You really take the cake, wife," Lester muttered through gritted teeth—she'd nearly landed them in serious legal trouble.
Clara's sharp gaze cut to him. "I never fail in what I do. Do they have any proof?"
"…Well," Lester had to concede, giving her a discreet thumbs-up.
He quickly turned to Doreen and Caleb with a lighter tone. "All sorted now—just a misunderstanding."
But Doreen shook her head. "Oh no, there's something else."
The couple tensed—only to hear her continue, "I never knew you had such status in the county. The constables were so polite to you…"
Both exhaled in relief.
Clara chuckled modestly. "It's nothing. I've just met most of the office folks before."
Doreen's smile stiffened—so humble.
Clara shifted the subject, glancing at the cart loaded with goods. "What did you buy? It's packed full."
Now that they had two carts, everyone could ride.
Old Walter and Caleb squeezed into the horse cart with the six children, while the ox cart carried the goods—plus Lester as driver, and Clara and Doreen sitting at the tail.
The big gray water buffalo was sturdy and steady, obedient as could be—better than the horse cart, and it could plow fields too. Sixteen taels well spent.
Doreen pointed at the goods. "These are peanuts, those are kidney beans, and some dried goods from the south for soup."
Vegetables would be bought in the village, and eggs too—Clara would have to stop by Granny Wang's to ask her to save some instead of selling them.
"So much food—how many dishes are you planning?" Clara asked in surprise.
"Mother says it's a rare celebration, so ten dishes."
That reminded Doreen she still had to go invite relatives and friends. She asked eagerly, "Could we borrow your ox cart?"
"Of course," Clara said generously, "just make sure to feed it well before returning it."
Doreen was overjoyed, promising the buffalo would be well-treated. She could already imagine her family's surprise when she arrived at her parents' house with it.
Clara shook her head at her sister-in-law's glee, then lifted her gaze to the scenery.
A sigh drifted from the horse cart. Old Walter's voice was troubled. "The weather's been sunny day after day. I fear this late-winter cold snap won't bring snow after all."
"Isn't no snow a good thing? Snow kills people from the cold—why aren't you happy?" Ryder asked.
Old Walter shot his eldest grandson a look. "You've lived all these years and still don't know this? And you call yourself a farmer?"
"I never wanted to be a farmer," Ryder muttered, sneaking a glance at Adam and Ben. He wanted to go to school too—who liked working in the fields?
Old Walter ruffled his head—solid and simple, just like his father. Too bad he hadn't inherited his mother's cleverness.
Seeing all the children curious, he explained patiently, "We farmers depend on the weather. If the seasons are off, the harvest will suffer."
"Do you know why they say 'a timely snow promises a good harvest'?"
The children shook their heads. "Why?"
"Because snow kills the insect eggs in the soil. Without snow, when it warms up, they'll hatch and ruin the crops."
He shuddered, remembering the horrific locust plague twenty years ago.
Adam asked anxiously, "Grandpa, didn't it snow a bit in the twelfth month? Wouldn't that have killed some eggs?"
Old Walter nodded slightly, but his worry didn't lessen.
Even a small drop in yield made life harder. He could only hope for steady weather and good harvests.
(End of Chapter)
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