
What do you do when the river freezes, the courts are compromised, and men with power call their violence righteousness? You keep your head, put your hands to the work, and write everything down. In The Frozen River, we follow Martha Ballard: midwife, apothecary, journal keeper, and a fierce witness to the quiet lives of women in post-Revolution Maine. It’s late 1789. A body is cut from the Kennebec River ice. The pastor’s wife, Rebecca Foster, claims Judge Joseph North and Captain Joshua Burgess raped her. The court hedges, the town divides, and Martha—who saw Rebecca’s injuries and believes her—pushes for a truth most men would rather ignore. She delivers babies, buries the dead, confronts fools, and squares up against a winter that feels like it will never end. As the river groans, the tavern fills, and rumors spread, Martha’s ledger becomes the spine of the town’s memory. The story carries us through a blizzard, a doomed trial, a castration in self-defense, and the delicate mercy of saving a newborn no mother can bear to claim. It’s about marriage that holds, children lost and cherished, and a community learning what justice looks like when it’s women who keep the books. Ariel Lawhon’s historical novel reads like a living diary—tense, tender, and exact—reminding us that quiet, persistent courage can hold its own against the cold.