The neighbors had suggestions, because people like giving advice that costs them nothing.
“Pack straw under the cabin,” old Mr. Callaway had said, leaning on his cane like it was a judge’s gavel. “Stops drafts.”
Sarah did. She crawled under the cabin with a lantern and a bundle of straw and a mouth full of bitter language she didn’t let out. She packed it into corners, stuffed it between posts, came out coated in dirt and spiderwebs.
The next morning, frost still glittered on the floorboards.
“Hanging canvas around the foundation might help,” the pastor’s wife offered, bringing preserved apples and sympathy that tasted sweet and helpless.
Sarah hung canvas. She nailed it tight. The wind found the seams and laughed.
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