AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was hard for Lyddie to follow the discussion. They were planning something for some sort of rally at the end of the month. She kept waiting for someone to mention the petition, so she could declare herself ready to sign, but no one did. At the first curfew bell, the woman in charge pronounced the meeting adjourned until the following Tuesday, and the girls broke into a buzz, gathering their sewing things together and putting on bonnets to leave.
The woman who had been in charge came over to where Lyddie was standing with Diana. She stretched out her hand. “I’m Mary Emerson,” she said. “Welcome. I think this is your first time with us.”
Lyddie shook the woman’s hand and nodded.
“This is my friend, Lydia Worthen,” Diana said. “She’s thinking about joining us.”
Miss Emerson turned expectantly to Lyddie. “I come to sign the—the petition,” Lyddie said.
The woman cocked her head, seemingly puzzled. What was the matter with her? “The one to ask for ten-hour workdays.” Why was she explaining the petition to a leader of the movement? It was crazy.
“Maybe next year,” Diana was saying quietly.
“No. I made up my mind to it. I want to do it now. Tonight.”
“But we’ve already submitted it,” Miss Emerson said. “We had to. Before the legislature recessed for the year.”
She had at long last made up her mind to do it, and now it was too late? “But—”
“Next year,” Diana repeated, “you can put your name in the very first column, if you like.”
“Yes,” said Miss Emerson brightly. “That’s our motto—‘We’ll try again.’ Since four thousand names didn’t convince them, next year we’ll have to get eight.” She gave Lyddie the kind of encouraging smile a teacher gives to a slow pupil. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”
Lyddie stood there, openmouthed, looking from Diana’s thin face to the other woman’s robust one. Too late. She’d come too late. She was always too late. Too late to save the farm. Too late to keep her family together. Too late to do for Diana the only thing she knew to do.
“We’d better get you back to Number Five,” Diana was saying. Like she was some helpless child who needed tending. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”
They hurried down the dimly lit streets toward the Concord boardinghouses without speaking. Lyddie wanted to explain—to say she was sorry, to somehow make it up to Diana—but she didn’t know how to do it.
As they neared Number Five, Diana broke the silence. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Oh Diana, I come too late.”
“You came as soon as you could.”
“I’m always too late to do any good.”
“Lyddie …” Diana was hesitating. “I’ll miss you.”
What was she saying? “I ain’t going nowhere. I’ll be right here. Next year and the next.”
“No. I’m the one who’ll be leaving.”
“But where would you be going?” Diana had always said that the mill was her family.
“Boston, I think.”
“I don’t understand. Are you ailing?”
“Lyddie, if I don’t leave soon—right away, in fact—I’ll be dismissed.”
“It’s because of the cussed petition. They’re trying to get you—”
“No. Not that. I wish it were.” They had stopped walking and stood several yards away from the steps of Number Five. They both watched the heavy door swing open and glimpsed the light inside as two girls hurried in to beat the final bell. “It’s because … Oh Lyddie, don’t despise me …”
“I could never do that!” How could Diana say such a thing?
“Lyddie, I’ve been, oh, I don’t know—foolish? wicked?”
