“I see,” he said softly.

On the inside of the lid, carved in an ornate, scrolling font were the words Surely Goodness And Mercy Shall Follow Me All The Days Of My Life.

Her eyes burned and she blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry in this store. Her makeup would run and that would be the end of her disguise.

Sasha and Erin joined them, staring silently for a moment. Then Sasha murmured, “It’s a hymn, isn’t it?”

Mercy nodded. “He used to sing it to me. My stepfather, Amos. When I was really small, I thought the words were ‘Surely good Miss Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.’ I thought the song was about me. He called me Miss Mercy until the day I left his house.” To marry Ephraim. “He gave me a beautiful hope chest for my twelfth birthday, but . . .” She’d had to leave it behind.

Sasha squeezed her arm. “Sounds like he loved you.”

“He did.” She drew a breath, sliding her arm free from Rafe’s. “Can you turn it upside down, Rafe?”

He leaned his cane against a nearby shelf. “Of course.” Gently he did so, handling the jewelry box like it was priceless crystal. “What are you looking for?” Then he made a noise in his throat. “Oh.”

It was a small olive tree with twelve branches.

“Do you need something?” Ginger was back.

“Yes,” Mercy answered, not taking her eyes from Amos’s mark. “How much is this?”

“Six hundred and fifty dollars.”

Mercy winced. “Ouch.”

Ginger looked uncomfortable. “I can’t change the price. Only the store owner can.”

Mercy stared at the jewelry box, wrestling with herself. She might have told herself that she was only buying it to submit into evidence, but that would be a lie. Because she could hear Amos’s delighted laughter when he called her Miss Mercy, his pure baritone singing the song the way she’d thought it went, and the memory was . . . sweet. Glancing up at Rafe, she saw understanding in his eyes. “I really want this, but . . .”

His smile warmed her. “Does it bring back good memories?”

She nodded, kind of hating that it was true. “Some of the only good ones.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “Then get it.”

She turned to Ginger. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

The woman beamed. “Excellent. Come up to the register and we’ll get it done.”

Mercy followed her, reaching for her wallet. “I think I might know the artist,” she admitted. “Or at least of him. I wish I could contact the man who was his representative.”

“I don’t have his card. Sorry. He just came in whenever he had new items to trade.”

Mercy could feel Rafe standing behind her, the heat from his body letting her know that she was safe. It gave her the courage to press forward as the woman ran her credit card. “Was he young? The rep, I mean.”

Ginger handed Mercy the credit slip to sign. “No. Not young young. Maybe thirty, thirty-five.”