Lyddie stopped to leave her snowshoes and lunch bucket on the porch, then followed the woman into a large, fragrant kitchen. “I was just starting dinner,” the woman said as if in apology as she hurried to stir the stew bubbling over the fire in the stone fireplace. “Charles is at school today.” She replaced the lid on the kettle. “He’s a very bright boy.”

“Yes,” said Lyddie. She would not be envious of Charlie. They were nearly the same person, weren’t they?

“My husband is growing very fond of him.”

What did she mean? Who was growing fond of Charlie? Charlie was not their child, not even their apprentice. She felt a need to explain to the woman that Charlie belonged to her, but she couldn’t figure out how.

“Just tell him I was here, ey?” she said awkwardly. At the door she remembered the sugar and shoved it at the woman. “Some sugar,” she mumbled.

“We’d be happy for you to stay awhile,” the woman said, but Lyddie was already picking up her things. “I have to go,” she said. “Not much time.”

She realized later that she had forgotten to say thank you. But there was no going back. Besides she was in a hurry to get to the farm. She’d have time to clean the house well and check the roofs, as well as find a good place to hide the money. She’d just spend the night there, as it would be almost dark by the time she got everything done.

If she got an early start the next day, perhaps she could stop by once more at the mill … but, no … She couldn’t stop by again and ask for Charlie and have him at school again. What would they think of her? And it might embarrass Charlie to have his sister clucking over him like an old biddy hen. She couldn’t stand the thought of Charlie being mortified by her in front of these people who thought so highly of him.

Well, she was glad. Hadn’t she felt bad that he didn’t have a father and mother like Luke Stevens had to watch over him? But these weren’t his real family. She was his real family. More than their mother, really, who had shucked them off like corn husks to follow her craziness.

Her anger, or whatever emotion it was that kept her head reeling, kept her feet moving as well. She was walking past the Stevenses’ farm by noon. She never stopped to eat, but on the last leg of the trip she suddenly realized her hunger and chewed on the now hard roll and dry cheese as she climbed the narrow track toward the farm.