Up here, everything was as tidy as could be. The staircase opened in the middle of the narrow space. With the slanted roof above, Eli could only walk down the middle. A treadle sewing machine and a table filled one side, while the other was clearly her bedroom, with a white-painted dresser and an old iron bed.
Nettie lay on her stomach atop the covers in the same skirt and blouse she'd worn in the shop the day before. Her dark hair lay in a messy braid, hanging over the edge of the bed to the floor. He couldn't see her face.
"Nettie?" Eli stepped closer, the sensation of wrongness making his stomach clench. "Nettie, are you all right?"
All he heard in reply was a soft whimper. He closed the remaining distance in two steps and laid his fingers on her throat. Relief made his knees weak when he found her pulse beat strong and steady. He sank to sit on the edge of the bed, which caused another moan. She was alive, but not well.