Standing far enough back from the window to avoid being seen, Effie watched Mae and how the hem of the ruined dress drug in back as she worked herself up the incline. Why hadn’t any respectable women come from town? Women wearing fine hats and riding in fine buggies and carrying fresh cakes and pies? She was a preacher’s wife. People had watched them ride through Bleaksville the first day, and people talked. Smoke rose from the chimney. Rev. Jackdaw had promised to stop at the mercantile on his way back through to establish her with credit. People knew she was there. Mae Thayer knew.
She lifted her rag from the dirty water, balled it in her hands, and threw it at the glass. “My name is Effie.”
Bridget, as frustrating a child as ever there was, stood at the same wall as before, smearing f
