Chapter 7
Life in Wroxham over the next week took on a familiar rhythm for Micah, one he embraced with enthusiasm that made Ewan’s mouth twitch.
Afternoons were spent writing, either at the desk in his rooms or in Mrs. Ruark’s dining room, papers strewn around him like a costume in tatters. Every time Mrs. Ruark brought a fresh pot of tea, she smiled and remarked about how much work he had to be accomplishing, but his productivity was only a mild surprise. When it came to his verse, Micah had always been prolific, if not profound. The words that poured now from his quill astonished him more for how easily they evoked exactly what he desired.
Evenings, he rushed off to Jefferson’s for supper and discourse, his fresh poems rolled carefully and tucked into his pockets, his journal joining
