“I just might. Who knows, ey?” Lyddie wrung out the cloth over the basin and handed it to Rachel to wash.

“Come with me now, Lyddie.”

“Over on the other bed is a new dress for you to put on. You got to dress fancy for riding on a train.”

“A railroad train?”

“Luckiest girl I know. New dress and bonnet, train ride, holiday with a handsome man …” She took the cloth from Rachel’s hand, tipped up the child’s chin, and began to wash her upturned face. “Now you learn your letters better so you can write me all about that train ride.” The bell began to ring. She turned swiftly, wringing the cloth out over the basin, her face to the wall, lest she betray herself. “He’ll be here to fetch you in a hour or so,” she said brightly. “So get yourself dressed and go down and ask Mrs. Bedlow to give you a extra big breakfast.” She turned only long enough to give Rachel a light kiss on the cheek and then hurried out the door.

“Come soon, Lyddie.” Rachel’s voice followed her down the stairs. “I’ll miss you.”

“Be a good girl for Charlie,” she called back, and rushed on down the stairs with a great clatter to erase any more sounds, any more doubts.

*  *  *

Rachel had been gone nearly a week when she found the letter with her name written on it in small, neat handwriting. She had stuffed it into her trunk some days before and couldn’t remember at first where it had come from. She unsealed it curiously.

Dear Lyddie Worthen,

Doubtless thy Charlie has told thee about thy farm. Although our father pled on thy behalf, thy uncle could not be moved. Thus our father put down the purchase price himself, as he has four sons and not enough land for us all.

I have spoken with thy Charlie. He has urged me to put aside my fears and speak my heart plain. Which is that I long to earn from our father the deed to thy farm. Yet thy land would be barren without thee.

May I dare ask thee to return? Not as sister, but as wife?

Forgive these bold words, but I know not how to fashion pretty phrases fit for such as thee.

In all respect, thy friend,

Luke Stevens

What had Charlie said to the man to make him dare write such a letter? Do they think they can buy me? Do they think I will sell myself for that land? That land I have no one to take to anymore? I have nothing left but me, Lyddie Worthen—do they think I will sell her? I will not be a slave. Nor will I be his freight—some homeless fugitive that Luke Stevens must bend down his lofty Quaker soul to rescue.