Then she wrote more carefully.
You trusted me tonight.
His eyes moved over the words.
Trust me tomorrow.
Something changed in his face.
The resistance did not disappear, but it weakened.
Finally, Gideon nodded.
Dr. Samuel Whitcomb lived above his surgery on the eastern side of Coldwater.
The following morning, Gideon harnessed the horses while Rosalie wrapped the strange object in clean cloth and placed it inside a small tin.
Snow had stopped falling, leaving the countryside buried beneath a brilliant white silence.
During the wagon ride, Gideon glanced toward her repeatedly.
Rosalie finally opened the notebook balanced between them.
What?
He wrote beneath it.
You could have left.
She frowned.
When?
Last night.
Rosalie almost smiled.
And gone where?
Gideon’s expression became serious.
He took the pencil again.
