Trembling, she decided to go straight across Main Street; she would not walk past the saloon again. In front of the hotel a sizable group of men and boys were hooting and jeering, pointing at Swenson and Conners, still sprawled on the sidewalk.

“Make yourselves at home down there, boys!”

“Can’t hold your drink, Swenson?”

“Sweeping the sidewalk with yer face—you missed a spot, ha!”

Quickly she crossed the street and ducked behind the wagons and horses tied to their hitching posts. When she looked again, the two men were on their feet, trying to jostle their way out of the crowd while shouting at each other.

“—not my fault, you blithering idiot! You’re drunker than I am!”

“—that blasted Chinaman girl—”

Then the two men turned into the alley. To Hanna’s relief, they were soon out of sight.

Hanna hurried around to the back of the shop; she did not want to have to talk to Papa. She dropped the lard cans outside the lean-to, then went inside to fetch the trowel.

The prairie roses were doing well in the washtub. All six bushes had survived being transplanted. Hanna went down on her knees and started scooping soil out of the washtub, transferring it to one of the lard cans. She dug faster and faster as tears began rolling down her cheeks. Soon she was just stabbing the trowel into the dirt again and again, weeping, sobbing, with enough mind left to pray that Papa would not come out the back door.

Nothing she had experienced before had prepared her for this terror. Despite all the pain of being mocked and bullied in the past, she knew now that her body had always been safe. Swenson putting his hands on her had made her feel so vulnerable, as if she would never in her life be able to find strength again.

When the door opened a few minutes later, it was Bess, not Papa.

“I thought I heard—Hanna! Oh my stars, what’s the matter—what happened?”

Bess knelt beside her. She put her hand on Hanna’s arm, then gently took the trowel away. Hanna covered her face with her hands to smother her sobs. She sensed Bess leaving her side and returning a few moments later; by that time, Hanna had managed to stop crying.

“Here,” Bess said, her voice quiet and steady. She gave Hanna a damp cloth. Hanna wiped her face, then pressed the cloth to her eyes for a long moment, its coolness soothing. She took a drink of water from the tin cup Bess handed her, and finally felt her heartbeat slowing.

“Do you want me to fetch your father?” Bess asked.

Hanna looked up, wild-eyed. “No! No!”

“Shhh. All right, don’t worry yourself. But we need to get you upstairs to change your dress.” Bess nodded toward Hanna’s right shoulder. Hanna looked down to see that her dress was torn along the seam.