“Fill this out,” the man said. I looked up at his long face and grabbed the paper from his filthy hands.

My mama was home with my baby brothers and sisters and we’re all counting on me to bring some money home. Six children in total. I am the oldest, I am eight years old. My daddy left home about a year ago. Said he was gonna fetch us some money. He never came back.

I looked the form over a few times. It was just the same as my mama said it would be.

“Name… Lydia Bryant. Date… January 24, 1840,” I mumbled as I scribbled the words and numbers on the page. When I finished filling it out I handed it back to the man behind the counter and watched as he read it over twice.

“Alright, follow me,” he grumbled. He gestured to the door next to the window. When the door opened ear-splitting noise came flooding into the room. We were inside.

“This is the factory,” he said. “Seeing as you have no experience, we’ll start you over there.” He lifted his arm and pointed straight forward. I followed where his hand was gesturing. In front of us was a large bucket shaped object. Children, close to my age, were taking turns stepping up to the bin and dipping little wood sticks in the bucket.

“What is that, sir?” I asked.

“That is the phosphorus bin. We use that to make the part of the matches that catch on fire,” he replied. I watched as different children went up to the bin. Each child seemed to dread their turn. One girl went up and pinched her nose and held her breath as she dipped the wood into the liquid. She winced when she dipped it in and turned away from the pot. She had dry, dirty brown hair and freckles on her cheeks.

“Clara!” the man yelled over all the noise. The girl in front of the bin looked up and walked over to us where she finally let out her breath and removed her fingers from her nose. She was shorter than I was, probably younger too. She was wearing old pants and a stained shirt.

“Here I am,” she squeaked, keeping her head down and playing with her fingers.

“Would you please show… um… what did you say your name was?” he looked down at me impatiently. I was staring at all the pipes that went across the ceiling and the walls and the floor. There were smoke and dirt everywhere.

“Lydia Bryant, sir,” I said. I looked back up at him and smiled. Clara gasped, suddenly. I looked at her inquisitively but she remained fascinated by her feet.

“I believe she was surprised by your teeth,” the man said. “Unfortunately as a side effect, the material in that pot result in rotting and loss of teeth,” the man said. Clara lifted her head, still keeping her mouth closed. Slowly, she separated her top lip from her bottom lip. As they parted, I began to see a few teeth.

She was missing one of her two front teeth. In terms of the teeth that were still there, there were gaps between almost all of them. Every tooth was rotting and slim. The color was this disgusting yellow, gray. Although I didn’t realize, my expression was horrid. She jammed her lips back together and turned around to run back to the pot.

“Why do they pinch their noses as they go up to that pot?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, grotesque teeth ain’t the only side effect. It is believed that when you inhale the fumes, you will catch…” he paused and took a deep breathe, “Phossy Jaw. It was discovered last year when a woman who made matches caught the cancer. We strongly advise all of our workers to prevent themselves from inhaling the phosphorus fumes.”

“Has anyone at this factory caught this cancer yet, sir?”

“Yes. We lost a girl, around your age, last week,” he stared straight ahead as he spoke, avoiding making any eye contact. “She came in one day looking awful. The skin around her mouth was black and dented, her gums were swollen, and all of her teeth were gone or nearly disintegrated.”

I wasn’t so sure if I still wanted to work. It had never crossed my mind that it would be dangerous to make money to provide for my family.

“Since you’re new, Clara is going to help you get started.” Clara was just finishing her match when she heard her name. She walked over and grabbed my hand. The man turned around and walked back out of the factory.

“I’m Clara,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“My family needs money,” I said. She looked down at her feet again.

“My family died in a factory accident,” she said. “I live with my grandma.” I felt bad for ever saying anything about my family.

That day she showed me around the factory and explained to me how everything worked. She went over all the ground rules with me about pay and hours. I was required to be there from seven o’clock in the morning to ten o’clock at night, seven days a week, without fail. When we were done, I walked her home. Her grandmother’s apartment was only a few blocks down from mine. When I was sure that she was inside, I continued down the street to my apartment. When I got upstairs all my siblings were in the living room. They were fascinated by something, although I couldn’t see what it was.

“I’m home,” I said. “Mama?”

“Come into the bedroom,” she said. I turned the corner and found my mom sitting on the bed. She was beaming. I walked inside and looked around. Everything seemed the same.

“Charles,” she said, “come out.” A man walked in from another room. He was tall and had dark brown hair. He had a short beard and thick glasses on his face.

“Hey there Lydia,” the man said. “Remember me?” Of course, I remembered him. My father was back home. Which only meant one thing.

“Your daddy made some money,” my mom said, almost reading my mind. My father pulled out a little bag. It was like a pencil case or a small purse. He opened it to reveal money. More money than I had ever seen. I stared at the bag in awe.

“We have decided to move to the country where we can get a farm and finally provide for ourselves,” my daddy said. I looked up at his big brown eyes and smiled. He smiled back to show his beautiful, pure white teeth.

Clara, I remembered. Somehow I needed to help her.

“Father,” I started, “Is there any way we could spare some cash for a friend of mine.” He looked at me strangely, like he never would have expected someone to ask this of him.

“She worked at the factory I was going to work at, sir. Her parents died in a factory accident so now she lives with her grandmother. The match factory is a dangerous place to work. The phosphorus would rot her teeth and if you inhale too much you can catch this awful cancer where your jaw gets all messed up.” As I said all of this my father kept looking back down at the bag of money. I could see in his mind that he was seriously debating whether or not to do it.

“Yes, my darling,” he said. “We can give a little money to them.”

“Thank you, daddy!” I exclaimed. I ran over and wrapped my hands around his legs as I was not yet tall enough to hug him at the torso.

The very next morning, before seven, my mother and I got up, got dressed, and walked the few blocks over to Clara’s house. We waited outside for about ten minutes before the young girl came scurrying out the front door.

“Clara!” I yelled behind her. She snapped back around at the sound of her name. She obviously wasn’t expecting anyone to call her.

“Lydia?” She walked back towards my mother and I. I held the bag out in front of me. She hesitated before picking it up out of my hands. When she opened it, tears began to stream down her face.

“My father came home last night,” I began to explain. “He made quite a lot of money and I wanted you to have some. You deserve it.” She looked up at me and ever so quietly let out a meek, thank you. She ran back through the front door of her apartment building and disappeared from view.

My mama turned to me, smiled and grabbed my hand. We took our time walking back to our apartment.