Scrubbing at the window’s grime—layers of grease, flyspecks, and abandonment—Effie struggled to keep her mind on the work and not on the sinister-looking world outside. This was the second day since being pulled off the buggy and into the shanty perched on stilts. She had no idea how many days—surely not a week—before Rev. Jackdaw returned. Seeing the amount of wood he’d hired cut for winter fires had made her nearly sag to her knees. It ran along one entire side of the lodge. So high, Bridget needed to stand on a chair to take from the top. What was Rev. Jackdaw planning?
She’d try not to worry. Rev. Jackdaw would come back for her. When he did, he’d expect proof that she’d worked hard in his absence. Both she and Bridget had, sweeping out dirt, mouse droppings, dead frogs. They’d even d
