Effie curled in bed, faced the wall. Cora was gone. She’d come with two twisty loaves of bread, peaches even in that, and told them good-bye. Apologized for leaving at this horrible time. “I’ll be back in August.” And when Bridget asked why, Cora explained about a niece getting married and a trousseau needing purchased and packing and planning and arrangements to be made for guests and how the niece had lost her mother and counted on Cora. “I must go.”
Effie hadn’t really listened to all of that. Hadn’t asked questions. She’d thought of her own wedding and the contrast between the two. And how Cora was going because she wished to. No mention of how Mr. Graf liked it, or didn’t like it.
Now the Injun was in the lodge. Chief—he had a name. This time he hammered at the table with Bridget an
