The river rushed high and fast. Debris floated, bobbed, and disappeared only to shoot back up to the surface farther down. The rolling water hadn’t yet reached the lodge, but it rippled between the stilts of the skinning shed and wrapped around Wilcox-the-tree, tugging, and trying to bring him down. Bridget imagined the hungry Missouri eating trees all along its course and still it was hungry for Wilcox.
Crossing Chief ’s pasture, Bridget felt the cold in her bare toes. The ground had thawed and warmed in places, while other soggy and chilly patches made her run and hop off them. Three days had passed since Rev. Jackdaw left and Effie stumbled for the first time into the skinning shed, staying until dark.
Three evenings in which Effie stepped back into the lodge after her day in the shed
