At a livelier clip they took the river road toward Baker’s Mill. “I can walk from here easy,” Charles protested, but Luke shook him off. “Faster I get home, sooner I’m hauling rocks,” he said, laughing.

She didn’t want Luke Stevens watching while she bid Charles good-bye, but again maybe it was better. She might weaken if they were alone, and that would never do.

“I’ll only be in the village,” she said. “Maybe you can drop up.”

Charles put his little hand on her arm. “You mustn’t worry, ey Lyddie,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”

She nearly laughed. He was trying to comfort her. Or maybe she nearly cried. She watched the gaping mouth of the mill swallow up his small form. He turned in the immense doorway—it was large enough to drive a high wagon through—and waved. “Let’s be going,” she said. “It’s late.”

*  *  *

Luke nodded his head with a dip of his funny black hat. “This here is Cutler’s Tavern,” he said. They hadn’t spoken since they left the mill. “Shall I come to the door with thee?” The wagon had stopped before a low stone wall, hung with a rail gate.

She was horrified. “No, no need,” she said. “They might not understand me riding up with a …” She scrambled to the ground.

He grinned. “I hope to see thee before too much time is up,” he said. “Meantime, I’ll see to thy house.” He leaned over the seat. “I’ll give a look in on thy Charlie, too,” he said. “He’s a good boy.”

She didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed, but he clicked his tongue and the wagon pulled away, leaving her alone in her new life.

3

Cutler’s Tavern

Lyddie stood outside the gate, waiting until Luke and his wagon disappeared around the curve of the road. Then she watched a pair of swallows dive and soar around the huge chimney in the center of the main house. The tavern was larger than the Stevenses’ farmhouse. Addition after addition, porch, shed, and a couple of barns, the end one at least four stories high. The whole complex, recently painted with a mix of red ochre and buttermilk, stood against the sky like a row of giant beets popped clear of the earth.

The pastures, a lush new green, were dotted with merino sheep and fat milk cows. There was a huge sugar maple in front of what must be the parlor door, and another at the porch, which, from the presence of churns and cooling pans, must lead into the kitchen.