Abigail hesitated.
“Two dollars.”
“Meals?”
“One fifty.”
Matilda stared.
“My wage is three.”
“Yes.”
“So I go fifty cents deeper into debt every month by working here.”
Nobody spoke.
Abigail’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Matilda continued:
“You designed it so I could never leave.”
“No.”
“You agreed.”
“I was nineteen.”
“You signed.”
“You told me my mother owed you.”
“She did.”
Jedodiah looked toward the burnt page.
“Maybe.”
Matilda’s chest hurt.
Not physically.
Somewhere deeper.
Nine years.
Thousands of meals.
Winter after winter.
Laughs swallowed.
Insults swallowed.
Knees aching.
Hands burned.
Three dollars a month.
Debt growing while she worked.
All because leaving seemed impossible.
She looked at Abigail.
“You told him I was dead.”
Abigail said nothing.
“Why?”
Still nothing.
Matilda stepped closer.
Her large body filled the doorway.
For the first time, Abigail stepped backward because of Matilda’s size.
Not laughing.
Afraid.
“Why?”
Matilda repeated.
Abigail's composure broke.
“Because men like him don't come looking for women like you.”
The words struck everyone.
Jedodiah moved.
Matilda raised her hand.
He stopped.