Months passed and the world seemed wider. The chain of Benton’s Markets now reached from the hill farms to the deep valleys. Trade grew steady again. Yet Clara felt a pull toward the east where the air smelled of salt. Travelers told stories of the coastal towns where ships brought goods from far lands. She began to think of new supply lines—spices, fabric, oil from the sea.

One morning she packed a small cart and told Mary, “Keep things steady while I’m gone. It’s time to see the edge of our roads.” Mary nodded though her eyes showed worry. Clara smiled. “I’ll be back before harvest.”

The journey took a week. Roads turned to sand and the wind grew thick with sea mist. When she reached the harbor town, she saw ships taller than houses, ropes hanging like vines, and men shouting from decks. The noise was wild but full of life. She felt like she was standing at the border of a new world.

She walked along the docks asking questions. Many traders ignored her, thinking she was just another buyer. But one old sailor stopped to talk. His name was Reed, a man with weathered hands and kind eyes. “You’re the woman from the valley markets,” he said. “I’ve heard of you. They say your people don’t cheat.” Clara smiled. “Then they tell the truth.”

Reed showed her crates of salt fish, barrels of oil, and bundles of strange cloth dyed blue with sea herbs. “These come from across the ocean,” he said. “But the merchants here raise prices too high. Most towns can’t afford them.”

Clara studied the numbers and made an offer lower than others dared. “Fair trade,” she said. “Steady payment, long partnership.” Reed looked at her and laughed softly. “You speak like a captain.”

They struck a deal that evening. She would buy small quantities first, enough to test the routes. The next day she hired two wagons and filled them with goods from the harbor. The road home was rough, but the new supplies drew crowds. People touched the blue fabric and called it ocean cloth. The oil burned longer than any they had known.

Mary hugged her when she returned. “You brought the sea to us,” she said. Thomas added, “And you brought new dreams too.”

Clara smiled but stayed quiet. She looked at the map on her wall and drew a thin line from the valley to the coast. It shimmered faintly in the lamplight. “One line today,” she said softly, “but someday many.”

She spent weeks refining the route—adding safe stops, mapping wells, setting small storehouses by crossroads. Each step tied the coast to the chain like a new thread in a growing fabric. Farmers could now trade inland goods for coastal ones. The cycle of give and return began to spin faster.

When spring came, she traveled again to sign more deals. Reed greeted her with a grin. “You’re early.” She answered, “I don’t wait for luck.” They shook hands, sealing the partnership that would carry Benton’s Market beyond the valleys.

That night, as she stood by the shore, waves brushed her boots. The moon shone over the dark water. She whispered, “The same wind that carried ships can carry ideas.”

She turned toward the hills, the smell of salt still on her coat. The road back would be long, but she no longer felt it was only a road. It was a bridge between worlds.