“They’re only jealous,” Briar said, “because you can buy your own hats, but they have to wait for their fathers to buy theirs for them.”
“You’re darn right,” said Mim. “Spoiled lot. Wouldn’t last a day on the looms.”
They parted near the mill. “Give these to the children for me.” Mim handed Briar a small paper bag with three lemon drops inside. “See you tomorrow.”
“You need to stop sending me home with treats or they’ll expect them every time.”
Briar waved and started down the road out of town, wondering if Henry had waited or not. She quickened her pace, eager to be with her kin.
“Hey, wait up!” called Henry from a gathering of boys down the lane. He ran toward her.
Briar smiled, surprisingly glad for the company after the coldness of the ladies in town. “Thanks for waiting.”
He grinned back. “I thought you’d be longer, but I saw Mim headed for Miss Olive’s.”
“Doesn’t take people long to make a decision. Besides, it was time we got on home before the sun sets.” She didn’t want to tell him the reason she was walking empty-handed, no piecework for her. They walked in silence for a while until she felt his gaze.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I just wish I could help.”
“Something will turn up. That’s what my da always said.” Briar stopped short. “Oh, no.”
They’d caught up to a young couple walking ahead of them. The boy, handsome, tall, and lanky, leaned in close to say something to the curly-haired brunette he walked with. Neither of them lived out this way, so the only place they could be going was the pond. Our pond.
The brunette tilted her head to listen, laughed, and then touched the boy’s arm. Wheeler and Sadie. Sadie was new at the mill and worked in the carding room, one of the worst jobs. Briar couldn’t imagine how Wheeler had spotted her so quickly. He never went near the carding room since he’d moved into the machine shop. Unless they’d met during break on the fire escape when he was waiting for Briar to come out. She didn’t want to imagine that; it was too painful to think how his heart was changing while she was unaware.
Last winter, Wheeler had spent hours with Briar, laying out their plans while they sat in the parlor at the boardinghouse. As soon as he was able, he was going to transfer to the new shirtwaist factory to work as a steamer, keeping an eye out for a cutter job—cutting out thick layers of material for the ladies to sew into the shirtwaists. Aside from being a boss or a dyer, it was the highest-paying job at the factory. And when he saved up enough, he’d leave rural Vermont to go back to the Old Country. He and Briar and the children.
Both their families hailed from County Wicklow in Ireland. Wheeler’s mam liked to tell the story of how Briar’s great-grandmother almost married Wheeler’s great-grandfather, except he proposed to someone in the dark, thinking it was his girl when it wasn’t. The proposed-to girl was so happy, he hadn’t the heart to break it off. Everyone said it was inevitable for Briar and Wheeler to meet in the new land and get it right this time.
His new sweetheart didn’t have a connection with him like that.
Everything had been settled. They’d had everyone’s blessing. And then Wheeler changed his mind for no real reason other than he needed time to think things over. Briar didn’t know how to stop him from getting lost in the dark like his great-grandfather did. Or if she should even try.
“If we walk any slower, we’ll start going backward,” Henry said, pulling Briar back to the present. He stepped into the woods and came back with a tall walking stick.
“Not that I mind this extra time with you, but I do have chores at home.”
Briar set her lips and didn’t answer. She never asked Henry to walk her to the cottage. But that was the way with a Prince, as everyone said. They acted out of habit, and once a habit was established, it stayed that way. His new habit appeared to be trying to keep her mind off of Wheeler.
“They’re ridiculous,” he said scornfully as the couple in front of them touched hands for a few moments before separating again.
Briar’s heart cracked a little more. She remained silent, but fingered the fancy comb holding up her hair. The comb that Wheeler had given her for Christmas. And now they’re going to our pond. Is there no other place he can take her?
“You can hold my hand if it would make you feel better,” Henry said. He held out his calloused, grease-laden fingers for her to grab. His hand had grown since the last time he’d offered it to her.
She sighed. Henry. He was there when her family moved into the valley and would likely still be there when they moved out. She was told there’d never been a time when Sunrise Valley didn’t have a Henry Prince in it. From son back to father to grandfather and beyond, and none of them had ever gone anywhere. They were known as a reclusive family, hardly leaving their farm. Except for Henry. He was different.
Briar’s family had only been in the valley since Pansy was born. They were supposed to be traveling through, but then Da got a job at the new factory and they stayed. Mam worked, too, but developed the coughing sickness from all the cotton in her lungs. She died when the twin boys were born, and then when Da died of consumption, the Jenny children were stuck there, like weeds that nobody wanted.
Briar didn’t intend for them to stay any longer in Sunrise Valley than they had to. She would find a way out for her sister and brothers. Back to the Old Country like Mam wanted for them. Back to where they would fit in. And Henry Prince was not that way.
He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
Unguarded, she laughed. This particular Henry Prince was also known for being an audacious flirt.
“That’s better. You’re irresistible when you laugh.”
But when Briar looked ahead and saw the couple again, she immediately stopped smiling. The pace they had set was torturously slow. If only she hadn’t gone into town, she would have been far ahead of them now, and she wouldn’t have had to witness this budding romance. It was worse that Henry had waited to walk home with her. She didn’t need an audience for her pain.
“I can’t wait to leave Sunrise,” she said.
Henry spun around and walked backward, facing her and blocking her view of the couple. “The way you say Sunrise makes it sound like you don’t like the place. This valley has a lot to offer. Our town is booming, if you like that sort of thing. Thanks to the mills, we’re getting electric lights installed, so we’re as industrialized as anywhere you’d want to go.” He cocked his head, holding up a hand to his ear. “Don’t you hear the powerful roar of Otter Creek? Smell the fresh mountain air? And look: Solomon’s Seal is already blooming in the forest. I can see the white bells from here. What’s not to like?”
Briar refused to look. “All I hear is the echo of the spinning machines. All I smell is the cotton dust that’s stuck in my nose. And all I see is a place filled with, with… nothing for me.”
Henry didn’t answer; he simply gazed at the scenery as if it were paradise and no other place on earth could be more lovely.
Despite herself, she followed Henry’s gaze to the forest where she couldn’t see anything at all blooming. The creek roared beyond the trees as usual, but there was no breeze coming down from the mountaintop.
As if to prove her wrong, the leaves on the nearest tree rustled like a gust of wind had blown through, twirling the leaves so they flashed silver and green on one branch only. The other trees and their leaves remained still. Briar stopped. A memory stirred.
“What is it?” Henry asked.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“A cavalcade of fairies,” Briar mused, remembering what her mother had taught her. “Whenever a wind seems to come from nowhere and affects only one tree or a strip of prairie grass, Mam would tell me it was fairies passing by, and she would pause to give them a moment to all get through.”
“I didn’t see a fairy go by. Is that an Irish thing?” he asked.
Go home came a whisper drawn out on the wind. Go home.
Briar cocked her head. “Hear that?” She brushed a hair back that had fallen out of her Newport knot.
“Is hearing voices an Irish thing, too?” he teased.
With determination, Briar returned her attention to the road. “Not everything I say is an Irish thing. Besides, what do you know, Henry? You’ve never left the valley. You don’t know what’s out there.”
He laughed like she’d told the funniest joke. “Sure, I know what’s out there. Another place, just like this one. And another. And another. If you can’t be satisfied here, you won’t be satisfied anywhere else, sweet Briarly Rose Jenny.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Briar. “I wish I’d never told you my proper name.”
“I like to say it,” replied Henry. “You should go by Rose, a pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Briar snorted. “Don’t feel pretty today,” she muttered, watching Wheeler and his girl stand at the top of the lane and search for the forest path that Briar could find in her sleep. She definitely felt more briarly today.
For once, Henry was silent. He tilted his head as he examined her, his mop of sandy hair falling over his hazel eyes, but he didn’t blink those long lashes of his. She put her hands on her hips. “Stop that right now, Henry Prince. I don’t need your pity.”
“Not pity. Curiosity. I was wondering what it would take to make you see what’s right in front of you.”
Briar rolled her eyes before she huffed and stalked away, almost colliding with Wheeler, who by this time had turned the girl around, apparently having given up on finding the hidden trail. Briar’s face burned as she mumbled, “Excuse me,” and brushed past them.
A heartache was what was in front of her, that’s what.
She may as well rip out her bleeding heart and hand it to Wheeler to toss in the river, all the good it would do her now.
“Hi, Briar,” said the girl brightly. “Is this where you go on the weekends? I didn’t know your family’s cottage was out this way. It’s quite a walk. No wonder you stay in town during the week.”
Briar nodded and tried to get away, but the girl kept talking.
“Wheeler was telling me about a hidden pond in the forest. You must know where it is.”
Briar looked up at the sky and slowly drew in a breath. No way on earth was she telling them where her pond was. She was claiming it back. “Sorry, Sadie, I’m late. My sister and brothers will be worried.”
Briar waved to Henry before she turned off the main road and strutted all the way down a long dirt path until she reached her home, not once looking back, despite the temptation to learn what the couple had decided to do.
The pot of geraniums near the door was always a welcoming splash of red against the brownness of everything. Brown dirt. Brown wooden shack. Brown smocks. Everything in her life was the color of dirt.
“Nanny?” she called out. “I’m home.”
Like clockwork, Nanny would welcome Briar into the cottage and allow her a few minutes to rest her feet. Together they would drink hot tea and discuss the children before starting on the evening chores. Usually the discussion was about what naughty thing the boys had done that week while Briar was in town, working during the day and spending the nights at the boardinghouse.
“Nanny?”
But instead of Nanny’s old, wizened face, a new, peculiar one peered out the door, making Briar stop short with the shock of it.
A stranger was in her house with the little ones. “Welcome home, dearie.”
Chapter 3
Briar stared at the strange sight welcoming her into her own home. The diminutive woman had bright eyes, pink cheeks, and gave off an underlying current of energy like she was a tornado about to tear across the earth.
“Hello?” A knot began to form in Briar’s stomach. This was too soon. It was only May. Nanny said she had until her seventeenth birthday in July to find a new caretaker for the children. “Are you from the asylum? Where’s Nanny?”
“Oh, is that what you call her?” said the peculiar woman. “Will wonders ever cease? I never expected her to get sentimental. Miss Prudence had something to do an’ asked me to look in on the littles, since she might be gone a spell.”
“You’re not here to take the children?” Briar squeezed her fingertips nervously, waiting for the answer.
“Take the children? Goodness, no. They don’t trust me to bring up children.” The woman’s expression altered. “Oh, my. That came out wrong. The children are perfectly fine with me while Miss Prudence is gone. Never fear.” She held out her hands as if to stop Briar right then.
Briar relaxed. “How long is Nanny—Miss Prudence— going to be gone? A few hours?”
The woman’s face took on a look like the kind the boys gave when they were caught in mischief. “Maybe longer.” She cleared her throat. “A few days.”
“Days! Will she be home when I come back again next Saturday?” Briar suddenly realized it was time to have a serious talk with Nanny about the children. There was no use pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
“Could be…but not likely. It might take her some time.” She gave an awkward chuckle. “Not more than a few weeks, though.”
The knot inside Briar’s stomach tightened. A few weeks would bring Nanny’s return close to Briar’s birthday. Since Nanny was deliberate about everything she did, it was quite possible she was away making arrangements for the children without her. Briar chided herself for not speaking up earlier. She had avoided talking about their predicament for too long, and Nanny’s patience must have run out.
“What is she—?”
“I can’t tell you, so don’t ask,” the woman said, interrupting. “Biscuit?” She pulled a cookie from her pocket.
“The children seem to love these.”
Briar relaxed, relieved the woman was kind and not there to take the children away from her. “No. Thank you. And you are?”
“Fanny!” she said with enthusiasm. “Come in, come in.”
Briar followed the lively woman into her house. “When I asked ‘who are you?’ I also meant how do you know the children’s nanny?” And can I trust you?
“Questions, questions.” Fanny waggled her finger at Briar. “You won’t be caught unawares if you remember to ask the questions.” She stood close to Briar and sized her up.
They met eye to eye, Briar being on the petite side herself. Fanny didn’t make much of an imposing figure.
“Did Miss Prudence warn you the boys can be a handful?”
“Tut, tut. The children and I are going to have a grand time of it. Surely there is no place else I’d rather be than Sunset Valley.”
“Sunrise Valley,” Briar corrected, taking in the look of their one-room cottage. The curtain separating the sleeping area from the main living quarters was drawn back, and the two beds haphazardly made as if Nanny hadn’t supervised the chore. The table was set with earthenware plates, a pot of something—stew, by the delicious smell—bubbled on the stove, and…and complete silence. Briar’s heart skipped a beat.
“Where are the children?” she asked.
“Oh, I set them loose to catch supper.”
“Excuse me?” Briar stopped her search of the bedroom. After working all week, it took a while to get the sound of spinners and looms out of her ears. “Did you say ‘catch supper’?”
“Oh sure,” said Fanny. “Those little boys thought it’d be great fun. The girl, on the other hand, looked at me like I’d suddenly sprouted wings. She was so earnest I had to feel my back to check.” She patted her shoulders in emphasis, and chuckled awkwardly.
Briar raised her eyebrows. “Right.”
She forced her tired self outside to see what trouble the twins and their older sister had gotten into. She also needed a minute to process the strange disappearance of Nanny, not to mention the arrival of this…Fanny.
The twins were usually difficult to handle, playing tricks all week long. Th
eir antics would tire any adult, especially one as old and cantankerous as Nanny.
Briar frowned. Despite Nanny’s crusty nature, she loved them, or so Briar thought. It struck her now, that she’d hoped Nanny would grow to love the wee ones so much she’d agree to keep them past her deadline. Especially now that any hope Briar had to marry Wheeler this summer was gone.
Given that Nanny could be finding homes for the children right now, Briar realized her backup plan had been no true plan at all. She’d have to do more than find piecework if she were to keep the children with her in Sunrise. There was no way she could earn enough at the mill to support them all. Not with her persnickety frame holding back her production, nor the company continuing to cut wages. People were calling the 1890s the Gilded Age, but for many of the operatives working in the factories, there wasn’t a glint of prosperity in sight.
She found nine-year-old Pansy at the edge of Nanny’s rented land, arms straight at her sides, tears running clean streaks down her cheeks, and staring into the patch of forest that climbed up and out of Sunrise Valley. When she saw Briar, her lips began to tremble, and she toyed with one of her long braids.
“They don’t mind me, Bri. I tell them to mind me and they don’t. I tried to tell ’em that new lady didn’t really want them catching supper; she was just shooing them out of doors. But they told me they was going hunting. What can four-year-old boys hunt? They’re going to get theirselves killed.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “At first, I won’t care. I’ll feel bad about it later, but it’ll be their own faults.”
Poor Pansy. She took everything to heart. Those boys knew just how to get to her, too. “I’ll go find them. Do you want to come with me or go back in the house?”
Pansy looked warily at the house. “I don’t know. What happened to Nanny?”
“Did you ask Fanny?”
“Is that her name?” Pansy lowered her voice, even though they were far enough away from the cottage not to be overheard. “She didn’t tell us nothing, just started giving us food. Nanny walked out this afternoon to use the privy and then Fanny walked back in. Did you know she doesn’t make us wash up before eating? And she doesn’t make us wait for dinner, neither; we can eat something small if we’re hungry. But I made the boys wash up anyway ’cause I know Nanny would want us to even if she’s not here. That other lady’s not like our Nanny at all.” A tentative smile spread across her face, revealing she was cautiously optimistic.
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