and rock, she stood above the horse, her hands open, encouraging. Under the drone of rain and the horse’s sharp cries, I first felt, then heard a tone expand, sweet and imploring. The horse struggled, muscles straining at the collapsing mud. Crouching, she opened her arms. Her strange voice soared, split through the drumming of rain. Brilliant. The horse reared and beat the ground below her. She straightened, her arms open wider. The mare gained purchase, heaving up, then pranced straight toward her, neighing triumphantly. She tilted her face up and closed her eyes. The mare nosed under her hat, mouthing her short red hair intimately. She held the horse’s head, laughing as her hands trailed the wet mane. Turning, they encircled each other.
I had to look away. Take a deep breath.
The two of them walked side by side, both seemingly oblivious to the rain and cold, to where she had dropped the rope. She picked it up and tied it to the saddle horn in a knot, her movements swift and sure.
I checked the line that bound Cole to the sled, then dragged him to a spot close to where the horse went up. She led the mare pulling the sled, and, with me guiding and pushing, we made it up over the rocks.
Cole came to, shouting a curse of pain just as we reached the top. Raising his head enough to see her and the horse ahead of us, he grunted, “Who is she?”
She. I glanced at her. Uncle Lester’s big hat covered most of her face. She was drenched to the skin. She.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, unable to form an explanation.
In the white noise of the rain, he heard a name. “Addie Nell? Addie Nell,” he said. He grasped the sides of the sled as it lurched forward. “That’s a nice name.” Then he cursed God and passed out again.
She put Cole’s horse in the barn and came back to help me. She was strong and well-coordinated, taking his whole weight from the bottom as we pushed him up the steps. I fought to keep my concentration, to not stare at her.
We set Cole up by the stove, on the spot where I had slept beside her a few days before. He shivered and then opened his eyes. He inspected her as she wiped mud off his face. “Evelyn?”
“Yes?” I replied.
He peered down at me as I cut his pants away from his swelling leg. His eyes went from me to her and then back and forth between us. “Addie Nell, right?” It seemed to please him that he remembered the name.
She turned to me. I shrugged.
“Yes,” I told him.
Cole opened his mouth as if to say more, but a wave of pain hit him as I pulled the boot off of his bad leg. He closed his eyes and trembled silently. The bone had not come through, but it was a bad break. Except for a few moans, he lay quietly while we finished covering and cleaning him the best we could without moving him anymore.
We stood, dripping on the floor. My momma’s eyes—my eyes—staring back at me. She left, came back with another towel, and began to dry my hair.
“No.” I pushed the towel away. “I have to go get help. He needs help now. I’ll just get wet again. We have to keep him warm or he’ll go into shock. You get some dry clothes on.”
She nodded and disappeared down the hall. I went for more blankets. I moved mechanically and did not allow myself to think.
She returned quickly and began wrapping warming bricks in towels. I froze, unable to take my eyes off her face. She laid the bricks at his feet then stretched on the floor next to him. She motioned for me to tuck the blankets around them. “Like you did for me.”
I touched her arm as I pulled more blankets over them. She held my gaze a moment, then smiled. One thought came to me, overriding everything: I don’t know who she is, but I trust her.
Then I had to go.
I shut the door behind me and stepped into the familiarity of the cold, stinging rain. In the barn, Cole’s horse startled and backed away, head high, and rolled her eyes while I saddled Becky. I fumbled the bridle. Cold and shock numbed me.
The ride to Cole’s house seemed endless. Twice I had to get off and walk for fear that my own horse would slip. My mind was