In the morning, while Effie still slept, Bridget reached into the last bit of Chief ’s salve. Her fingers touched the bottom of the jar. She spread the ointment on her toes’ weeping blisters and wrapped dry strips of newspaper around them. Only the thinnest layer; her stiff shoes were already too small. She tied the broken laces and hobbled back and forth in front of the fire, coaxing her feet into accepting the pain.
When Effie woke to the sound of the trappers returning, Bridget watched her leave the bed with the quilt around her shoulders, a red s***h of fabric settled over her heart, and sit again at the window. Only blurred shapes of the men were visible through the thick ice covering the glass, dark and shadowy figures yoking Jake and climbing on the sled. Effie stared just as she h
