When she heard the first scratches at the door, she assumed it was more sleet, coming harder and faster now. But as it kept up in a ragged rhythm, she knew it was not weather. When she opened the door, the huddled figure started to fall inward, caught itself, and remained upright. Ola took it by the sleeve and pulled it in.

It might have been a small tower of cloth, wrapped in oilskin, and topped with a hat encased in rime. A scarf covered the nose and mouth and nearly blocked the ice-lashed eyes. Who or what it was, man, woman, friend, or stranger, Ola May couldn't tell. It was nearly frozen and unsteady on its feet.

The scarf did not want to unravel, the windings of it frozen to each other. When she took off the heavy iced hat, she saw. “My God, Sallie. My God. You're near froze.”

Sallie Richards's eyes stayed steady and unfocused, and Ola was not sure Sallie knew where she was or who was unwrapping the scarf frozen to her face. Her breathing was shallow and hoarse as though she were coming to the end of her breath. Her hair was iced, too. The water had soaked through her hat, soaked her hair, and frozen. Pieces of it stuck to the band of the hat.

When the scarf unwound from Sallie's face, Ola kept going, struggling to remove the oilskin from Sallie, who seemingly could not unclench her arms from her bosom. Ola stripped off a sweater and three shirts from under the oilskin. She put her hand just under Sallie's left breast, feeling the skin as cold as a dead woman's, but Sallie's heart was still beating weakly.

“Can you sit?” Sallie's eyes wavered, as if trying to focus, but then went back to their distant glaze. Ola had loosened Sallie's belt from her canvas britches, but she could not get the pants down because of the thickly iced and muddy boots Sallie had tucked them into. Ola draped a quilt over the frozen girl.

“Please, Sallie. Sit. Please sit.” Ola had brought a small rocking chair up close to the fire and had set it behind Sallie. Her eyes fluttered again, and then, to Ola's surprise, Sallie let herself go and sat in the chair. It was the first sign that Sallie had life left in her.

The boots were a terrible struggle. They were tight and crusted in ice and mud. When the ice melted, Ola couldn't get a good grip because the mud on them had softened. She was astride Sallie's extended right leg, her back to Sallie, trying to move the boot with small, hard tugs and little twists. She bent down and held the boot to her chest and pushed forward, and, for the first time, the boot budged.