Maybe if she read aloud, as Betsy had to her. She opened Oliver Twist and commenced. When Rachel fell asleep she didn’t know. Lyddie was lost in the comfort of the familiar words. When the bell rang, she blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, feeling the presence of the small body nearby. What could she do? Where could she turn for help? She couldn’t keep Rachel here, and yet she, Lyddie, must live in a corporation house to keep her job. And without her job, what good could she do for any of them? But how could she put this little lost child out with strangers? She cursed her aunt and uncle—what could they have been thinking of to bring the child here? And yet, wasn’t she better off here with Lyddie, who loved her, than with those two, who must not have given her enough to eat? Poor little Rachel. Poor old Lyddie. She heaved herself over in bed. She had to sleep. There was nothing she could do until she heard from Charlie. Surely Charlie could stop Judah from selling the farm, and then, debt or no debt, she’d take Rachel home. Let them try to get her off that land again. Just let them try.

In her uneasy sleep she saw the bear again, but, suddenly, in the midst of his clumsy thrashing about, he threw off the pot and was transformed, leaping like a spring buck up into the loft where they were huddled. And she could not stare him down.

16

Fever

Taking the money from the bank was like having a rooted tooth yanked from her jaw. Then, the most painful part past, she pressed two whole dollars into Mrs. Bedlow’s hand before going out on the town to buy Rachel shoes and shawl and to order a dress made for her. Having spent that much, Lyddie squandered fifty pence more to get the child a beginning reader and a small paper volume of verses that the bookseller recommended. All told, Lyddie had spent more than two weeks’ wages. There was less than a dollar in her pocket now left from the princely sum she had withdrawn. She tried not to think on it. It was for Rachel, wasn’t it? How could she begrudge the child?

The very next day Brigid was slower than ever, and it was all that Lyddie could do to keep from screaming. Time after time she took the shuttle from the girl’s clumsy hands, sucked the thread through from the bobbin, and threw it into the race, raging that a machine should stand idle for even a few seconds. Brigid was on the brink of tears all day.

At last Lyddie exploded when once again the girl’s inattention caused a snarl and a ruined piece. “You must mind, girl!” she shouted. “Forget everything else but the loom.”