“I hope you find your freedom as well, Miss Lydia,” he said. It wasn’t until she was well down the road that she began to try to figure out what he had meant. And he was right. At Cutler’s, despite Triphena’s friendship, she was no more than a slave. She worked from before dawn until well after dark, and what did she have to show for it? She was no closer to paying off the debt and coming home than she’d been a year ago. She needed cash money for that. She needed work that would pay and pay well. And there was only one place in New England where a girl could get a good cash wage for her work—and that was in Lowell, in the mills.

*  *  *

The weather held and the trip back was mostly downhill, so she was back by early afternoon. She hung the unused snowshoes in the shed and the lunch bucket in the pantry before she entered the warm kitchen.

“So! You’ve decided to honor us with a visit!” The mistress’s face was red with heat or rage. Behind her, Triphena grimaced an apology.

She stood in the doorway, trying to frame an excuse or apology, but as usual the words did not come quickly enough to mind.

“You’re dismissed!” the woman said.

“The best one you ever had,” Triphena muttered.

“Unless—”

“No,” Lyddie said quickly. “I know I done wrong to go off when you wasn’t here. I’ll just collect my things and be gone, ey?”

“You’re wearing my dress!”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall I wash it before I go or—?”

“Don’t be impertinent!”

Lyddie went past the angry woman without a word and up the back staircase to her tiny, windowless room. She pulled off the calico dress and put on the tight homespun, but it was like laying off a great burden. She felt more lighthearted than she had since the day Mrs. Peck brought the letter.

Triphena had followed her up. “Just stay out of sight today. By tomorrow she’ll have come to her senses. She knows you’re the best worker she’s ever likely to get—and at no price at all. Why she sends your mother fifty cents a week, and then, only if I remind her.”

“I’m going to be a factory girl, Triphena.”

“You what?”

“I’m free. She’s set me free. I can do anything I want. I can go to Lowell and make real money to pay off the debt so I can go home.”

“But your brother—”

“He’ll be all right. He’s in a good place where he’s cared for. They’re even letting him go to school.”

“How can you get to Massachusetts? You’ve no money for coach fare.”

“I’ll walk,” she said proudly. “A person should walk to freedom.”

“A person’s feet will get mighty sore,” muttered Triphena.

7