Those thoughts occupied her as she prepared to leave for the day. She had discovered that it was best for her to be the last pupil to leave the schoolroom. Most of the students were eager to go, heading out the door the moment they were released. If she took her time tidying her desk and taking up her books, the schoolyard was usually deserted when she left, which meant that she avoided the other students.

Miss Walters always bade her a friendly goodbye. On this day, Hanna found herself looking forward to the farewell for two reasons: because it meant the end of a harrowing week, and because of its sheer banality. Miss Walters said goodbye to all her students. It didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like, and that included Hanna.

To Hanna’s relief, both Friday evening and Saturday were very busy, leaving little time for worry. Papa asked her to organize the shipments of goods that were stacked willy-nilly in the parlor of the rented house. She also made a quick visit to the shop site.

She hadn’t yet seen it. Other than going back and forth to school, she spent her days inside the rented house. Soon she would begin to feel penned in and restless, but for now school was adventure enough. And after all those weeks in the wagon, she relished staying in one place with a solid roof overhead, a cookstove, and a soft bed at night.

The rented house was on the corner of Second Street and Main; the shop was on the east side of Main Street, down toward the livery. Hanna stood on the sidewalk in front of the lot and watched Papa hold the frame straight to the plumb line while Charlie Hart hammered away.

A stocky, sturdy man in his thirties, Mr. Hart had a claim north of town and a fiancée named Angela in Ohio. He was working to earn enough for a house to replace the sod hut he was living in now. He hoped to go back to Ohio after harvest, get married, and bring Angela out before true winter.

Ginger-haired with a beard to match, he was so fair-skinned that he was perpetually sunburned. Papa had said that he was a steady worker with expert carpentry skills. “Better than mine, truth be told,” Papa admitted. Hanna was impressed, because Papa was himself a fine carpenter.

“Framing the front wall next,” he said to her.

Hanna glanced up and down the street. The shop fronts were structurally identical: two windows with a door between them. She imagined customers coming into their brand-new dress shop and felt a tingle of anticipation.

“Papa, have you already bought the door?”

He shook his head. “Charlie’s going to make it. Says it’ll be better than a bought one. Why do you ask?”