November—1875

Snow fell, drifting silently over Wheatonburg. Through the thickening curtain of white, Abaigeal Sullivan peered out the front window of the company store, then turned away from the lovely, flawless illusion. The soot and coal dust still tarnished everything beneath the white powder. With a heart heavy from too many burdens, she turned back to her cleaning.

Minutes later the clock chimed four. "I imagine that's it for you today, Mrs. Sullivan," Mr. Prescott said.

Abby gritted her teeth at his disdainful tone. He was the manager of the company store and as overbearing a taskmaster with her as the fire bosses were with the miners. He resented her leaving on the last stroke of four, but felt no qualm docking her an entire hour's pay if the same clock had stopped chiming twelve when she arrived.

"I don't see Daniel, so I'd better hurry along," she replied as cheerfully as she could manage.

Mr. Prescott looked up at her and their eyes met over his spectacles. "Have you decided about that dimity? You have very little on credit. You certainly need a new dress."

Abby looked down at her skirt. She could afford the lovely material, but every penny she spent kept her and Daniel in Wheatonburg longer. A new dress wasn't worth it. "I've decided not. I have three dresses. A body hardly needs more than that. Good day to you," she said, tossing her cape about her shoulders as she closed the door behind herself.

She stomped down the steps. Oh, wasn't he being sweet today after making her work on the Lord's day! And him, trying to tempt her from her goal after accusing her son of stealing. Without a drop of proof!

Abby took a deep breath and looked around, hoping the scene