She forced herself to rise and dress before his return; perhaps if she fixed a good dinner, he would not notice anything amiss. She felt sore all over, moving woodenly about as she made fried potatoes and fried onions to go with the salt pork. The meal was ready by the time she heard the front door open and shut.

“Hanna!”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, loud, angry. A moment later he strode into the kitchen. “What the blazes happened?”

“What do you mean, Papa?” She was desperate to deflect his question. She was terrified that if she told him the truth, he would try to even things with Swenson, and who knew what kind of trouble that could lead to . . .

“You tell me!” He pounded the tabletop. “All I know is, more than half a dozen folks spoke to me after church. Said they wouldn’t be able to come to the opening. The very same women who’d told me that they could hardly wait to have a dress-goods shop in town. Something happened to change their minds!”

“What did you hear?”

That question seemed puzzling enough to calm him down some. “Nothing, exactly. But I had that feeling—folks were talking about something they didn’t want me to know.” He scowled. “The ones who did speak to me were plenty clear. They’re not coming to the opening, and from the way they were talking, they’ve no plans to become customers, either. Not a one of them would tell me why. And for every one who spoke to me, I’m betting there are others who think the same.”

Word must have gotten around town about Hanna’s encounter with Swenson. It didn’t matter what had actually happened. The townspeople, most of them anyway, would assume that she was to blame, just as Mrs. Blake had.

Indecent. Sinful. Un-Christian. That was how they were thinking of her.

And they would not patronize the shop where such a girl worked.

She pressed her hands hard against her stomach. Not only had she been assaulted, but that same attack was being twisted to hurt Papa and the shop. The weight of the wrongness was crushing her; she didn’t know whether to cry or scream curses or run to the privy and be sick.

Breathe. Breathe.

“You heard anything—any talk about us or the shop?” Papa asked.

“I’ve been home since yesterday afternoon,” she said, careful not to lie. “I haven’t seen anybody except Bess.”

Papa was shaking his head. “I guess there’s nothing for it,” he said. “We’ll just have to open as we planned, and see what happens.”

His shoulders were hunched in what looked like defeat. Hanna was alarmed to see him like that. I’d almost rather he were angry again.