Chapter 11

When his head began to ache again, Micah wandered into the mercantile to escape the stabbing sun. Light still filtered through the front windows, but the effect was far more muted, the warmth coming from the stove at the center of the room soporific. A young woman sat behind the counter, and when the bell over the door jingled, she looked up from the needlework in her lap.

Her dark eyes widened at the sight of him, and she promptly leapt to her feet. “May I help you, sir?” she asked, stuffing her hoop out of view beneath the counter.

Micah smiled, hoping to put her at ease. She was younger than he’d first thought, no more than fifteen, he’d wager, and her voluminous sleeves nearly swallowed her waifish frame. Black hair, braided carefully before coiled into a knot, made her already sallow complexion even more so