changed, Miss Bellamy. Ships were lost. Credit vanished. People panicked. Your father did not possess the imagination to understand what was necessary." "Necessary for whom?" Lydia asked. Wetherell looked at her for a long moment. "I have kept that relief society alive through difficulties your father could scarcely comprehend. If decisions were made that seem unkind when examined from a comfortable distance, they were nevertheless made in service of a greater good." Lydia thought of Samuel's ink-stained hands, of the coal they could not afford during the hardest winter, and of the widows who had gone without food. "Did those children agree to your greater good?" she asked.
The merchant's expression hardened. "You are living by the generosity of others. I advise you to consider what you stand to lose." He opened the envelope on his desk. Inside was an offer of a generous lifelong allowance, enough to secure a house and Samuel's education. In exchange, Lydia must sign a statement acknowledging that the accusations against her father had been justified and agree never to challenge the society's accounts. "You could be comfortable again," Wetherell said. "Society has a short memory when given good reason to forget." Lydia remembered the women who had gone without food. The money was not his to give.
"You want me to purchase my own silence with the money you took from widows," she replied. Wetherell rose so abruptly that his chair struck the edge of the carpet. "Be careful. One cannot build a life on pride alone." "No," Lydia said. "But one cannot build an honest life on a lie either." He came around the desk and lowered his voice. "I know the printer who employs your brother. A single conversation could end his apprenticeship. Your pupils' families may also become suddenly unwilling to employ you. You are not the first person to mistake indignation for power." He spoke without raising his voice, which made the threats worse. Lydia's fear was real. She could picture Samuel coming home with his belongings in a box, trying to smile for her sake. She could picture the schoolroom empty and the rent overdue. Yet she knew exactly what accepting the offer would cost them.
"You have already taken our home, our father's health, and the last good years of his life," she said. "You will not have his name as well." Wetherell's face changed. For one instant she saw the frightened man beneath the polished