Charles shook out his newspaper and unobtrusively freed himself from Lizzy’s grip. “It’s not our business.”

  “They’re manhandling that woman!” Lizzy protested.

  The two train conductors successfully wrestled the Black woman out of her seat and dragged her toward the closest exit. A third employee snatched her satchel from her seat.

  All around them, white passengers stared straight ahead or through their seat’s windows as if pretending not to notice the injustice happening before them.

  Lizzy tried again. “Mr. Webster⁠—.”

  “Do you want to get to Lowell,” Charles sharply interrupted, “or do you want to get kicked off this train, too?”

  Advice from one of her mother’s etiquette books ran through Lizzy’s thoughts: If you travel under the escort of a gentleman, give him as little trouble as possible; at the same time, do not interfere with the arrangements he may make for your comfort.

  Lizzy clenched her jaw and said no more. She looked out the window and spied the Black woman in her fine dress on the train platform with her luggage. The ousted woman glared at the passenger trains with indignant fury painting her features.

  Lizzy forced herself to look away from the view beyond her window. Charles Webster had gone back to reading his newspaper. Their inaction filled her with a deep shame.

  Lizzy decided then that she hated Boston.

  She wanted to retire from its ugliness and cruelty and its falsified polite veneer. Provincetown wasn’t perfect, but it seemed much better than every place she’d seen thus far. Not for the first time since arriving in Boston, Lizzy Darby experienced a pang of regret.

  A whistle sounded and the conductor yelled his all aboard. The train car jerked forward and swayed sideways as the vehicle began to pick up speed.

  Charles had arranged for a carriage to transport them to their hotel upon their arrival in Lowell. The industrial city was far larger and more populated than anything Lizzy had pictured. She had anticipated the magnitude of a city like Boston, but she had not considered that Lowell might be just as loud and busy and chaotic as the state’s capital.

  If she had been traveling alone, she would have found lodging at the local Young Women’s Christian Association. Boston had its own location as well, but there was comfort in knowing she wasn’t entirely on her own despite how dismissive and curt Mr. Webster could be.

  Lizzy observed the landscape from the safety of their private carriage. The sky was overcast and gray that day, although she couldn’t be certain if it was the result of dreary weather or of steam emitted from the city’s numerous factories. A light snow had begun to fall.

  The mills generated great wealth, but Lizzy saw only bleak poverty. The streets were lined with peddlers and their street carts, ragpickers, and unattended children who should have been in school. Their driver navigated the horse-drawn carriage with care through the crowded streets.

  The ride had been silent for several minutes before Charles alerted Lizzy with his elbow. “There’s Joana’s factory.”

  Lizzy sat up and sharpened her attention on the view beyond her window. The Boott Cotton Mills rose out of the earth like a red brick fortress. Several brick buildings made up the factory campus, but the largest was a massive five-story structure whose giant windows faced the river and the street. The Merrimack River was a darker and duller color than the ocean. A brick tower was positioned adjacent to the main building. Lizzy thought it looked like the turret of a castle. Or maybe a lighthouse.

  Lizzy leaned closer to the carriage window as if it might get her nearer to Joana. “Could we stop?” she inquired. “Just to look.”

  She could not be sure if it was residual guilt over what had transpired earlier on the commuter train, but Charles didn’t protest the detour. He alerted their driver that they wished to stop and walk around.

  Lizzy kept her eyes on the imposing factory as Charles helped her out of the carriage. She walked in a direct line toward the factory grounds, not waiting for Charles or asking his permission. She only stopped when a tall, impenetrable wrought iron fence blocked her way.

  Her gloved fingers wrapped around the bars of the fence. The barrier made her heart clench.

  Joana was back in a cage.

  High above them, bells chimed from the imposing tower. Lizzy didn’t know the time, but she assumed it must be close to lunch from the way her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t been able to force down much breakfast that morning, too nervous to eat.

  From somewhere on the mill grounds, a door opened and a stream of workers—mostly young women—filed out of the factory building. They walked in a loose line, largely without speaking. A few women turned their eyes to the sky and the softly falling snow, but most trudged along as though their feet had been shackled at the ankles.

  Lizzy couldn’t believe their luck. She had anticipated having to wait until the end of the workday to call upon Joana. But that joy quickly turned to despair. One lifeless face after another. The same brown and gray and black clothing. How was she ever going to find Joana amongst this melancholy parade?

  She stood on tiptoe as if it might help her see better. “Jo! Joana!”

  Charles’ hand was tight at her elbow. “Don’t make a scene.”

  Lizzy cast off the man’s grip. She wasn’t going to squander another moment. She hadn’t sacrificed so much and come all this way only to let Joana walk away.

  “Joana Maria Pascoal!” she shouted.

  Several of the drab female faces turned and looked in the general direction of Lizzy’s great shout. Most of the faces became disinterested and turned away from the noise. One face, however, remained focused on the woman yelling from the sidewalk.

  The single woman left her place in line. She wore a white apron over a plain brown dress with a ruffle at the bottom of the long skirt. Her hair was covered by a scarf. Even at a distance, Lizzy could tell her face was skinnier, more gaunt around her cheekbones. She was paler, too, from being sun starved.

  The name caught in Lizzy’s throat: “Jo. Oh, Jo.”

  Lizzy would have thrown herself into Joana’s arms if not for the iron fence between them. Instead, she pressed her lips to Jo’s dry, chapped hands through the narrow openings of the fence. Her skin was cold and nearly lifeless.

  Jo’s eyes were wide and she shook her head as though seeing an unbelievable mirage. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have a letter,” Lizzy announced somewhat breathlessly. “From Mr. Howe.”

  Someone shouted from the line of women that continued to stream out of the factory: “You, there! Back in line!”

  Jo looked around nervously. “They only give us three-quarters of an hour for supper and then it’s back to work until dinner.” She bit on her lower lip. “I-I have to go back.”

  “But the letter!”

  Lizzy had kept herself together for so long. Stealing from her parents’ store, slipping away on the train without notice, the terror of Boston, and now this. It was too much. Lizzy choked on her tears.

  “Tonight,” Jo vowed. “I know a place.”

  Lizzy sniffled loudly. “Where?”

  “Meet me at 7:00 p.m. by the bridge on Aiken Street. It’s not far. I’ll come promptly after the final work bell rings.”

  Lizzy silently nodded despite having so much more she needed to say and do. Tonight. She could wait just a little longer.

  Lizzy stayed in her spot, still grasping the bars of the tall iron fence. She watched Joana quicken her step to merge back into line. She disappeared among the similarly slumped and wretched figures.

  Charles touched Lizzy’s forearm when the line of women had all disappeared into another building. His voice had lost some of its earlier edge: “Come along now, my dear.”

  Lizzy Darby stared into the bottom of her bowl of soup. It was only a thin bone broth, but Charles had insisted she eat something while they waited for night to come. Instead of the advice from one of her mother’s pamphlets keeping her from eating in public, her stomach was sour from the brief interaction with Joana.

  Their hotel accommodations were lush and extravagant, which only exacerbated Lizzy’s discomfort. Even the hotel dining room was more exquisitely decorated than anything she’d even encountered. How could she possibly enjoy herself knowing how Jo suffered? Lizzy had known that life in the mills would be a hardship, but seeing Jo’s drawn, pallid face had been worse than what she’d imagined.

  Charles ate beside her with little regard. He seemed at ease in their upscale surroundings, like a man who’d recently come home from a long voyage. “Where did Jo say to meet her?” he asked again.

  Lizzy looked up from her barely eaten meal. “A bridge. Near Aiken Street.”

  “I’ve never heard of this place,” Charles sniffed. He raised his fingers in the air and flagged down a passing waiter. “Boy, what can you tell me about Aiken Street?”

  The uniformed man refilled their respective water glasses. “Oh, you’ll want no business there. It’s mostly tenement housing for the French Canadians who work in the mills. It’s no place for a gentleman and a lady.”

  Charles frowned after the departing waiter. “Well, that won’t do,” he clucked.

  “We have to go!” Lizzy insisted. Despite her worry that Charles might keep her away from Jo, she dropped her voice low so as to not arouse attention from patrons at adjacent tables. “We can’t very well get a note to Jo at the mill and have her meet us here!”

  Charles’ eyes turned to narrow slits as he regarded her seriously. He wasn’t merely looking at her; he was inspecting her—studying her like an artist before a blank canvas. “Maybe,” he seemed to murmur. “Just maybe.”

  “What?” Lizzy pressed.

  “I have an idea.”

  Lizzy was sure the man’s faraway smile meant nothing good for her.

  CHAPTER 31

  “You need to slouch more,” Charles Webster instructed. “Your carriage is too erect.”

  Lizzy slowed her gait and tried to adjust her posture. Years of her mother scolding her for sitting with slumped shoulders rushed to her brain. If only she could see her now.

  Lizzy couldn’t deny the private thrill she’d felt when she’d stepped out of the lift and into the hotel lobby wearing one of Charles’ suits. Charles was of the belief that two men would attract far less attention in a rough neighborhood and be less of a target to any undesirables than a gentleman and a lady. They needed to blend in, not look like lost visitors on holiday.

  They hadn’t lingered any longer in the hotel than what was necessary. Although Charles was confident about the disguise he’d fashioned for Lizzy, he didn’t want anyone looking too closely in a well-lit space.

  He lamented not bringing Ollie along. He certainly knew how to dress himself, but his skills at making a lady look like a lad were lacking. Thankfully, he’d overpacked for the trip and had had an extra suit of clothes for his traveling partner. The suit didn’t exactly fit, but creative pinning and padding and binding had made it work.

  They were late. Charles had primped and preened for too long, and it wouldn’t do to hire a carriage to bring them to one of the most impoverished parts of the city. They’d had their driver drop them off a few blocks away.

  The walk to the bridge wasn’t overly onerous, but it felt much longer. The anticipation of seeing Joana again, this time without a barrier between them, had Lizzy walking at a brisk pace. Charles matched hers, stride for stride.

  Kerosene lamps burned along the narrow road. No carriages came their way, leaving the road open to pedestrians. The neighborhood wasn’t particularly well lit—not that there was much to admire. The alleyways were narrow and filled with wooden crates and other obstructing debris. The tenement apartments sprawled into the sky, snuffing out any possible light from the moon or the stars. Laundry hung from long lines strung between apartment windows. A single child’s cry filled the night like a haunting melody.

  Lizzy’s steps faltered when she saw a shadowy figure moving in their direction. A man in rough-hewn clothing staggered towards them. The man was visibly intoxicated. He stumbled from side to side, unable to walk in a straight line on the sidewalk.

  Lizzy held her breath as the man approached.

  The man stumbled terribly on the uneven ground, but somehow didn’t fall entirely. “Watch where you’re going, will ya?” he audibly slurred.

  “Excuse me,” she reflexively mumbled.

  “On your way!” Charles hollered at the inebriated man. He looked sharply at his companion next. “And you! You’re a man! You don’t have to apologize to anyone for anything!”

  “Right,” Lizzy said stiffly. “I’m a man.”

  “Let me see you spit.”

  Lizzy stared. “What?”

  “Spit,” Charles instructed. “On the ground.”

  Lizzy dropped her head and very daintily spit.

  “You can do much better than that, Miss Darby,” Charles chastised. “I’ve seen you Provincetown girls do much worse.”

  Lizzy stood a little straighter. She felt as though her hometown’s honor was at stake. She gathered the saliva in her mouth and tried again. This time, a more sizable wet spot on the ground was the result of her efforts.

  She looked up, smiling and proud.

  Charles wrinkled his nose. “That will do.”

  The tenement buildings eventually gave way to a brief respite as they came upon a bridge. The sky opened and the full, fat moon shone down on a lone figure standing near the river. It was still too dark and they were of too great a distance for Lizzy to make out Jo’s features, but she recognized the slim silhouette and the way she stood, one hip cocked out.

  Lizzy lengthened her stride until it became a sprint. She forgot about propriety and self-restraint and even Mr. Webster. Only Jo filled her vision.

  The slim figure turned away from the river just as Lizzy came crushing upon her. Alarm turned to disbelief as Jo came to recognize the person hugging her.

  “Lizzy!” she exclaimed. “What are you wearing?”

  Lizzy stepped back so Jo could better inspect her disguise. She touched her fingers to the brim of her top hat. “What do you think? It was Mr. Webster’s idea.”

  “It’s genius,” Jo marveled with a shake of her head. She, too, had abandoned the rough dress from earlier that day for men’s trousers and a buttoned-up shirt.

  Lizzy grasped Jo’s hands and kissed them. She hadn’t been able to suppress the memory of how ravaged they’d become in a short amount of time or how lifeless Jo’s skin had felt. It was as though life in the mills was draining the life from her. Lizzy wanted to coax the color back into the girl.

  “God, I’ve missed you.”

  Lizzy pulled Jo back into a tight embrace. She wove her fingers into the longer curls hair at the nape of Jo’s neck and inhaled. She frowned with the realization that Jo no longer smelled of the salty sea. Something else—something foreign and unfamiliar lingered on her skin.

  Lizzy tightened her arms around Jo’s waist. The other woman had always been slender, but now she felt delicate and fragile.

  Jo leaned into the embrace. “You’re here,” she murmured. She pressed her cool cheek against Lizzy’s warmer one. “You found me.”

  “I’ll always find you.”

  Charles eventually reached the bridge. He was eager to see Joana—he’d grown fond of the serious and duty-bound woman—but he lingered back until he saw the two women separate so they could have a proper reunion without an audience.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Jo marveled.

  “I can hardly believe it myself,” Lizzy admitted.

  “You would be proud to know the lengths our dear Lizzy has gone to make this all happen,” Charles opined.

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Jo said. She shivered when the wind blew across the riverbank.

  Lizzy seized Joana’s arm. “You’re frozen.”

  “It’s nothing,” Jo dismissed. “I came straight away after the final bell, so I’ve missed dinner.”

  “We could take you back to the hotel,” Charles thought aloud.

  “No, there’s no time for that,” Jo refused. “But there’s a place close enough where we can get a hot meal if you’ll indulge me.”

  Lizzy clasped Jo’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve come this far, haven’t I?”

  Joana led Lizzy and Charles away from the river and back in the direction from which they’d just come. Lizzy glanced periodically at the woman walking beside her. She missed being able to hold onto Jo’s arm as they walked along the beach, missed the press of her warm shoulder against hers. Posing as three men swaggering down the street, they were each on their own to fend off the worst of the freezing night air.

  They traveled down a dark, narrow alley before coming upon a building where a small group of men crowded outside. Joana maneuvered her way through the dense crowd and discreetly reached back to clasp onto Lizzy’s hand to avoid being separated. They walked down a short series of concrete steps. The doorway was so low that Lizzy had to duck her head to enter.

  There wasn’t much more lighting inside than there had been outside, but Lizzy could see just enough detail to surmise that the basement of the tenement building doubled as a tavern. A broad board had been set up between two barrels to create a rough bar area. Other patrons sat on wooden crates for stools and a few had pulled up more wooden barrels to use as a table. For a few cents, a man could get a hot meal and some stale beer.

  Lizzy began to remove her hat once they were inside, but Charles made a noise beside her. Her fingers stilled at the brim of the hat once she remembered how she’d arranged her hair into a high bun hidden beneath one of Charles’ hats.

  Right. That wouldn’t do.

  Lizzy took in their new surroundings and noticed that the space was largely occupied by men. Only a few women populated the area; their loud voices and bawdy laughter drowned out the other voices. She stared too hard at one woman in particular. From across the room, she looked a little like her friend Jane.