He was a few steps ahead. He turned and looked at me, looked down along the length of my body and then around, as if there might be someone better equipped to help. He took my hand, and we walked as fast as we could to Sunnyside.

“Oh, pet,” Mrs. Ballard said as she ushered me into the kitchen. She nodded at Da, discharging him of any further responsibility. He kissed my forehead, then strode across the garden to the Scriptorium. When Lizzie walked in, she gave me a pitying look then went straight to the range to heat water.

Upstairs, Lizzie removed my clothing and sponged me down. The basin of warm water swirled pink with my humiliation. She showed me again how to fit the belt around my waist and the rags inside it.

“You didn’t make it thick enough, or tight enough.” She put me in one of her night shifts and made me get into bed.

“Must it hurt so much?” I asked.

“I guess it must,” Lizzie said. “Though I don’t know why.”

I groaned and Lizzie looked at me with an expression of kindly impatience. “It should hurt less over time. The first is often the worst.”

“Should?”

“Some ain’t so lucky, but there’re teas to make it better,” she said. “I’ll ask Mrs. Ballard if she has yarrow.”

“How long will it last?” I asked.

Lizzie was adding my clothes to the basin now. I imagined they’d all stain red and that would be my uniform from now on.

“A week—maybe less, maybe more,” she said.

“A week? Must I stay in bed for a week?”

“No, no. Just a day. It’s heaviest on the first day, which might be why it hurts so much. After that, it slows down and eventually stops, but you’ll need the rags for about a week.”

Lizzie had told me I would bleed every month, and now she was telling me I would bleed for a week every month and have to stay in bed for a day every month.

“I’ve never known you to stay in bed, Lizzie,” I said.

She laughed. “I really would have to be dying to spend a day in bed.”

“But how do you stop it running down your legs?”

“There are ways, Essymay. But it ain’t right to talk of them to a girl.”

“But I want to know,” I said.

She looked at me, her hands in the tub of water; it didn’t disgust her to have my blood on her skin.

“If you was in service you might need to know, but you ain’t. You’re a little lady, and no one will mind you spending a day in bed every month.” With that, she picked up the basin and went down the stairs.