Chapter Six
The rain had let up from its afternoon deluge when Alfred came down Market Street just after six o’clock. The fading remnants of the workday hustle were scattered along the street as figures dodged puddles and horses’ hooves sucked at the mud. The clouds had begun to disperse, leaving behind shafts of light that painted women’s dresses the color of summer peaches, and the warm evening air hung on the eaves like wet leaves. He had removed his jacket after the first five blocks of pedaling and welcomed the breeze that tickled his uncovered arms. When he arrived at the house on Postoffice Street, a coach waited in the street and the front door was propped open with a jar of pale sun tea.
Voices carried from upstairs as he hung his jacket on the coatrack. He stood at the landing
