She took out the dress. It was a lovely sprigged muslin. It looked too big for Rachel’s tiny frame, but the child would grow into it. She would lengthen and fatten and turn once again into a stranger. Lyddie’s tears were soaking the dress. She wiped her face on her own apron skirt, then laid out the new garments—the frilly little bonnet with ribbons and lace, a petticoat fit for a wedding. A length of pink ribbon was woven in and out all around the top of the hem, wasted, pure waste where no one would ever see it. Except Rachie.

She packed the bag. It took less than a minute. Rachel had so little. She remembered the primer, and then decided to keep it. Rachel would have a new one, a better one now. She took the book of verses off the nightstand and shut it in the bag, then took it out again. She got her box of writing materials, dipped her pen in the ink, and wrote in painful, careful script on the fly leaf: “For Rachel Worthen from her sister Lydia Worthen, June 24, 1846,” wiping her face carefully on her apron as she wrote so as not to blot the page.

She lay awake most of the night listening to Rachel cough, the sound rasping and sawing through her own body. But the pain of it was her salvation. She knew, if she had ever doubted before, she was absolutely certain, that Rachel must leave Lowell.

When the first bell rang, instead of waking Rachel as usual, she waited until she herself was dressed and ready to go. Then she shook her gently.

Rachel awoke at once, alarmed. “I’m late! Why did you let me sleep?”

“You got a treat today, Rachie. Charlie’s come to fetch you.”

“Charlie? My brother Charlie?” She was as excited as if she could really remember him. Lyddie brushed away a cobweb of envy. “He’s come to take you for a visit.”

“He wants me to visit him?” She was plainly thrilled, but then she caught something in Lyddie’s face. “You coming too, ain’t you Lyddie?”

“No, not me. I got to work, ey?” The child’s face darkened. “I’ll come later.” She stretched out her hand. “Here, up you go, you got to get ready.”

Rachel took Lyddie’s hand and pulled herself upright, then threw back the covers. The child always slept under a quilt, even in the terrible summer heat. “How long will I be gone, Lyddie?”

“I don’t rightly know. We both, me and Charlie, we both think you should stay awhile. Make sure you get rid of that silly cough, ey? The factory is too hot in summer, anyways. Lots of the girls take off, come July.”

“Will you take off, Lyddie?” She was standing in her little night shift, scratching one leg with the bare toes of the other.