“I’ll go,” said Sarah Payne.
“I’ll go!” said little Emelie. “I want to learn! And meet the Irish.”
“They’re no stranger than Vermonters,” Lydia warned the younger girl.
“What about our Seer?” asked Patience. “Oughtn’t she explain witchcraft to them?”
Lydia shrugged a shoulder. “She’ll come when she’s able.”
One floor below, Lucy and Abigail similarly took on looms in addition to their own, holding the place for their absent sister.
* * *
At the boardinghouse, in a show of favoritism that was sure to cause resentment sooner or later, Mrs. Hanson had abandoned her rear bedroom to Hannah while she convalesced. When the matron wasn’t keeping Judith busy with sweeping and laundry, the little radical was there as well.
Though the strike was over, she still wore her armband, and the ring she and Hannah had braided together.
“The others are back at work, so should you be,” Hannah said. Tucked in high and all alone in the four-poster, which had once been Mrs. Hanson’s dowry, she appeared even more singular a creature than ever. Judith shivered to think that she’d had the self-assurance to touch her, much less kiss her on the lips.
“I want to know you rest peacefully.”
“I do. I can,” said Hannah, and she closed her eyes, to prove it. “There’s nothing, only darkness.” She breathed deeply, exhaled long and relaxed, and opened her eyes again. Bit by bit, her cheeks were gaining color. Her fever had finally broken. She hadn’t coughed in seven days.
Still Judith sat uncomfortably on her chair beside the bed, her back straight as she could make it, hands pinned between her knees to stop their worrying. “Are you sure it won’t return?”
“It . . . feels like it will not,” said Hannah. “I think it all ran out of me that morning in Mr. Boott’s house.”
Judith watched carefully, her face hot, though she knew Hannah was honest: she also still wore her woven ring. Even without it, Judith didn’t think Hannah would lie. “Then I wronged you.”
“How?”
“You had a precious gift, and now you don’t.”
“I have much that I treasure more.”
“But what will you do without your Sight?”
“Work in the mills,” Hannah sighed. “As soon as I can stand without trembling.” She folded the covering away from her and leaned forward, to look deeply into Judith’s face. “It isn’t a bad life for a woman with a union behind her.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to you! You turned a key no one’s ever turned before. No working woman—nor man either—will have to take just what they’re given now.”
“The owners won’t roll over and let us,” Judith warned. “They’ll think of some new strategy.”
“Then we must be ever vigilant and teach our sisters,” said Hannah, reaching out for her beloved’s hand. “Unless you have had enough of Lowell and mills.”
“I—”
“Because if you haven’t, it isn’t a bad life for two women. If—if we managed it right, we could have a house of our own one day. Our own den of iniquity and rebellion.”
Hannah’s hand on hers was warm and urging, but the grip breakable. Judith knew she could break it. Instead, she smoothed the bedclothes and swallowed, and made bold to climb up beside the former Seer. “There’s no life I want more.”
Acknowledgments
Many people, often without knowing it, enabled the creation of The Factory Witches of Lowell. I want to thank:
My workplace family. Paula, Greg, Thinh, J. Hollister, Zara, Ingrid, Bridgette, and the rest of the APL crew.
The real-life organizers I know. Ron, Linda, Karyn, Sarah, Kenny, Patricia, Mike, Rod: you inspire me every day.
My fellow Speculative Wordsmiths, past and present, especially dave ring, who recognizes a love story when he reads one.
The Jellyfish Horde, aka Viable Paradise XXI.
Team Kirby of the 2018 Futurescapes conference: without you, this story would still be languishing on my hard drive.
My sensitivity readers Sam Kassé, Courtni Burleson, and Natasha Lane, for your encouragement and intelligent critiques. Any missteps here are all mine, not theirs.
Carl, my patient and savvy editor, who properly appreciates a flustered capitalist.
Mom and Dad, those oddball Vermonters.
Tay, the (witchy) sister of my heart.
John, who breathes life into me every day.
About the Author
Author photograph by John Musco
C. S. MALERICH grew up in northern New Jersey. In addition to writing, she has taught mythology to undergrads at the University of Maryland and pursued interests in folklore, cultural studies, and public health, sometimes all at once. Her fiction explores intersections of liberation and justice, with an infectious dance beat. Her work has appeared in Apparition Lit, Ares Magazine, and the Among Animals anthologies. Her novel Fire & Locket was published in 2019.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
1: The Foot Loom
2: Bedtime
3: The Boott Palace
4: The Advertisement
5: Loyalty
6: The Boardinghouse Keeper
7: Abigail North
8: Kitchen Magic
9: The Engineer’s Tidings
10: Passions
11: God in His Heaven
12: Hannah’s Genius
13: The Power Loom
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE FACTORY WITCHES OF LOWELL
Copyright © 2020 by C. S. Malerich
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Jaya Miceli
Cover photographs: red string © Shutterstock.com;
tangled thread © Getty Images
Edited by Carl Engle-Laird
A Tordotcom Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
120 Broadway
New York, NY 10271
www.tor.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of
Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
ISBN 978-1-250-75655-8 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-250-75656-5 (trade paperback)
First Edition: November 2020
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
The Factory Witches of Lowell Page 8