Lyddie nodded, so as not to seem to be contradicting their mother out loud.

“Tomorrow we’re going to Poultney,” their mother said. “I aim to be with the faithful when the end comes.”

“I don’t want to be with the fate full,” Rachel said. “I want to be with Lyddie.”

“Lyddie will come too,” their mother said.

“But how will Papa find us if we’ve left home?” Charles asked.

“Your father went out searching for vain riches. He ain’t never coming back.”

“He will! He will!” Rachel cried. “He promised.” Though how could she remember? She’d been barely three when he’d left.

It was hard for the babies to go to sleep. Their stomachs were empty since the porridge had been ruined, and Mama would not hear of fixing more. Charles helped Lyddie clean the cabin. They propped up the door and put the chest against it to keep it in place until they could fix it in the morning. Then he climbed up the ladder to bed.

Lyddie stayed below. The fire must be banked for the night. She knelt down on the hearth. Behind her left shoulder sat Mama in the one chair, a rocker she had brought from Poultney when she came as a bride. Lyddie stole a glance at her. She was rocking like one dazed, staring unblinking into the fire.

The truth be told, Mama had gone somewhat queer in the head after their father had left. Lyddie had to acknowledge it. Not so strange as her sister, Clarissa, and her end-of-the-world-shouting husband, Judah—surely not. But now the bear seemed to have pushed her too far. “Don’t let’s go, Mama,” Lyddie pleaded softly. “Please, Mama.” But her mama only stared at the fireplace, rocking slowly back and forth, her eyes blank and still as though her spirit had gone away and left the body there rocking on and on.

It was useless to argue, and Lyddie gave up, hoping that the mood would pass, like her mother’s times of craziness always had. But the next morning her mother had not forgotten her determination. “If it ain’t Clarissa’s, it will soon be the poor farm,” she said.

The only charity Lyddie dreaded more than Aunt Clarissa’s was that of the township’s poor farm. It was to escape that specter that their father had headed West.

“I can’t stop you to go,” Lyddie said, “but I can’t go with you. I can’t leave the farm.” When her mother opened her mouth to argue, Lyddie went on. “The sow won’t fetch enough to provide coach fare for the lot of us.”