“Mr. Hart, how are you?” Abigail asked. She was confused. Was he following her? “I’m surprised to see you.”
“Hello, Mrs. St. Clair. I brought some articles to donate,” he said, pointing to his carriage. “These are trying times.”
She thought his behavior odd but wasn’t sure why. “Yes, they are indeed,” she agreed. “I just donated some clothing left at the church.”
“It’s comforting to know our residents care for each other.”
She hesitated. It was a cryptic statement. Was he criticizing the British, or complimenting the citizens? Or was he only showing a different facet of himself—one she had never before seen? “I come at least once a week. Sometimes twice. If no donations are left at the church, I tend to bring something of my own, so great is the need.”
He looked at her for a moment, a
