The first of the two rest days began the same way the house always began—without urgency.
Clara had the clinic open by mid-morning for a short list of local patients. A farmer with a cut hand from a scythe, an older woman needing a check on her joints, a child with a cough that had lingered after the last rain.
She worked through them in the usual order, clean and practical, the same way she had before they left for the road. When the last one left she wiped the table, restocked the shelf, and locked the outer door without comment.
Eli worked the garden fence one final time. The posts had settled in the weeks they were gone, and two of the rails needed new wedges. He finished the job, tested the gate, and then sat in the shade with their blades.
He cleaned the last of the road grit from the edges with a cloth and oil, checking each one for nicks that might have been missed in the hurry of the return.
