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Back Lyddie
Chapters (36)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Books by Katherine Paterson
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. Acknowledgments
  29. Dear Reader
  30. Pre-reading Activities
  31. Week One (Chapters 1–6)
  32. Week Two (Chapters 7–12)
  33. Week Three (Chapters 13–18)
  34. Week Four (Chapters 19–23)
  35. Post-reading Activities
  36. What’s next onyour reading list?

She tore the letter into tiny bits and stuffed every shred of it into Mrs. Bedlow’s iron cook stove, and then, to her own amazement, burst into tears.

19

Diana

She had been alone before Rachel came, but she had not known what loneliness was—this sharp pain in her breastbone dragging down into a dull, persistent heaviness. My heart is heavy, she thought. It’s not just a saying. It is what is—heavy, a great stone lodged in my breast, pressing down my whole being. How can I even stand straight and look out upon the world? I am doubled over into myself and, for all the weight, find only emptiness.

Workdays dragged by with nothing to look forward to at the evening bell. Rumor had it that the corporation had slowed the clocks to squeeze even more minutes out of the long summer shift. From time to time, she wondered why she was working so hard, now that the farm was sold and Rachel and Charlie lost to her. She brushed the question aside. She worked hard because work was all she knew, all she had. Everything else that had made her know herself as Lyddie Worthen was gone. Nothing but hard work—so hard that her mind became as calloused as her hands—work alone remained. She fell into bed exhausted and only felt the full burden of her grief in dreams, which, determined as she was, she could not control.

The weavers at the Massachusetts Corporation had all refused the agent’s demand that they each tend four looms and take a piece rate reduction as well. They signed a pledge in defiance and none of them backed down. The word went like a whispered wave through the Concord weaving room: “Not a girl has backed down. Not a one.”

Diana should have been elated. Wasn’t it a victory for the Association? But when Lyddie was finally able to rouse herself from her own pain, she saw that Diana’s face was drawn, the expression grim and set. Since Rachel had gone, whenever Brigid or Diana had tried to reach out to her, she had shaken them off. No one could understand her loss, she was sure. She did not have the strength to bear their vain attempts to comfort.

Then, suddenly, it was mid-July, and Lyddie realized that Diana was still at work, looking more sickly by the day. It was more than the heat of the weaving room. She’s worried, Lyddie thought, she’s sore troubled, and I, so bent on my own trial, never took it to mind.