The Distant Promise
Mildred Tillman’s fingers were deep in the mud of the cellar floor, pulling at the roots of a plant that should not have been there, when the plaster gave way. The ceiling of the apothecary, a structure that had stood on the Great Plains for three generations, did not crack; it simply exhaled, a long, dusty sigh that swallowed the light from the single window above. Dust filled her throat,...
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