If the Gordons were correct in their assessment, it seemed unlikely that George Howell was a brute who beat his wife. But why would Ellen Howell manufacture such a flimsy story about the bruise on her arm unless she was attempting to hide its true origin? It was his duty to interfere if he thought she was in danger, but in all honesty he couldn’t say that was the case. He had made his inquiry, and done what he could. Now he needed to put the woman firmly out of his mind so he could concentrate on the extra meetings he had scheduled in the wake of the debate. These had resulted in a far more hectic schedule than he had bargained for.
There was little enough time to spare before his next appointment, but Thaddeus couldn’t resist stopping for a few minutes at the shore of Rice Lake to watch the crew working on the bridge. Nor was he the only one who was curious. Several small boats full of sightseers bobbed in the water close to the construction barges. And farther out, Thaddeus could see the steamship chugging its way across the lake to the Sully dock. Passengers hung precariously over the port side, craning their necks in order to gain a better view of the work in progress.
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