Luke Stevens tied the horse and cow to the back of the wagon and then came around to give Lyddie a hand up, but she pretended not to see. She couldn’t have the man thinking she was a child or a helpless female. She jumped up the high step into the wagon and then realized she’d be squeezed between Luke and Charles on the narrow seat. She sat as tightly into herself as she could. She wasn’t used to brushing bodies with near strangers. They hardly touched one another in the family. It made her feel small and tongue-tied to be so close to this great hulk of a man.

He wasn’t much of a talker either. He leaned forward from time to time and talked around her to Charles. He asked if Charlie knew much about the mill where he’d be working. Charles’s sweet, high-pitched boyish tones made him seem heartbreakingly young against the deep male voice of his questioner. It was so unfair. This man had both father and mother and older brothers to live with and to care for him, while little Charlie must make his way in the world alone. She felt around the bottom of the gunnysack until her fingers found the lump of coinage. She pinched the money hard to remind herself not to cry.

“Then the farm will just lie fallow?” Luke was asking Charles.

“No, it’s let—the fields and pasture and sugar bush for the debt. The house and shed we’ll just leave be. I hope the snow don’t do in the roofs.” Charles’s anxious concern was almost too much for Lyddie to bear.

“Oh, they’ll be all right. And we’ll be back in a couple of years.”

“I could stop by. Would thee like me to stop by? Shovel the snow off the roof if need be?”

“No need …” she started, but Charles was already thanking him for his kindness.

“I’d be obliged,” he said. “It would take the worry off. Lyddie and me aim to keep it standing against Papa’s return. Don’t make it trouble for yourself, though.”

“It’d be no trouble,” Luke said kindly.

“Ain’t nobody to pack down the track come snow.”

He ignored her grumpy tone, smiling at her. “I can snowshoe it. Nothing better than a good hike on my own. That house gets mighty crowded come winter.” The way he spoke made Lyddie feel that she was the child and Charles the responsible one.

The horse and cow were safely delivered to Mr. Westcott. His farm lay in the river plain and was already alive with shoots of new corn. Lyddie watched Mr. Westcott lead their old cow and horse away. Next to Westcott’s sleek stock, they’d look like hungry sparrows pecking in a hen yard.