He grinned wryly. “For a man who says the Lord is set to end the whole Creation at any minute, he’s got a powerful concern for the vain things of this world.” She realized he was trying to be funny, so she attempted a smile.

“But I near forgot …” He reached into an inside pocket and took out a sealed letter.

Lyddie stared at it. “He ain’t sending me money?”

“Who?”

“Uncle.”

“Oh, no, not him. He says anything from the sale is rightly his for taking care of Ma and the babies all this time. No. This here is a letter.” He handed it to her, studying her face the while. “From Luke.”

“Luke who?”

“Lyddie! Our friend, Luke. Our neighbor Luke Stevens.” He seemed shocked. He couldn’t know she was two lifetimes away from the day Luke had driven them to the village and at least one lifetime from the day the Quaker boy had stood on the doorstep of Number Five in his peculiar disguise.

She tucked the letter in her apron pocket. “Thank you,” she said, “and good-bye, I reckon. I’ll not be here in the morning when you come.”

“It’ll be all right, Lyddie. It’ll be best for us all, ey?” His voice was anxious. “It’ll work out best for you, as well.”

“You forgot your bag,” she said.

“No, that’s for Rachel.” He picked it up and handed it to her. He put out his hand as if to shake hers, but hers were tightly wrapped around the handle of the bag. She nodded instead. The next she saw him he would be taller than she, Lyddie thought. If there was a next time. She led him to the door. “Good-bye,” she mouthed the words. She couldn’t have spoken them aloud if she’d dared.

She climbed the stairs like an old, decrepit woman, clinging to the banister and pulling herself up step by step. Rachel was fast asleep. She would not wake her. In the candlelight she studied the lovely little face. Too thin, too pale, the skin nearly transparent. Lyddie brushed back a curl that had escaped its plait and smoothed it against Rachel’s cheek. Any minute she would start to cough, her little body wracked, the bed shaking. Mrs. Phinney would keep her safe. She could go to school. She would have a good life, a real mother. And she will forget me, plain, rough, miserly Lyddie who only bought her ribbons because she was shamed to it. Will she ever know how much I loved her? How I would have gladly laid down my life and died for her? How, O Lord, I am dying this very minute for her?