Sleeping Beauty's Spindle

by Shonna Slayton

  Fortunately, over the last several weeks, the children had settled in well with Fanny. She’d found the bunny and made a big show about the boys taking care of it without any help from her, and that it’d better not get into her garden. Although, Briar had already caught Fanny out back hand-feeding the cute thing a piece of lettuce.

  On one visit, Jack said he thought Fanny was made of magic because she seemed to be everywhere at once. “She can fly,” he said. “But not like a bird. She makes herself really tiny and then she can spy on us. That’s how she found the bunny.”

  Briar had laughed at how serious Jack was about his imagined theory. She was glad Fanny kept them on their toes. It helped ease her mind that the children were well cared for. All these thoughts filled Briar’s mind on today’s return trip to town and made the leaving easier.

  As she turned the bend on her narrow path from the cottage back to the country road, there was a sudden change in humidity. A mist crept in, settling into the valley. The thick fog sent tendrils her way, wrapping around her ankles, penetrating to the bone, and pulling her faster into town.

  It reminded her of the story Mam used to tell about the potato famine.

  Late at night by the light of the fire, Mam would draw a wool blanket around her shoulders, get a far-off look in her eye, and begin the tale: “In the wee hours of the morn, a mist rose out of the sea and spread its spindly fingers across the land. It stayed for three days, thick as pea soup. A cry was heard across the moors that none could track as it came in all directions. A mournful sound. Then finally, when the mist lifted, we could see the tops of our potato plants and the blackness of blight that would change our lives forever.”

  Every time a fog seeped into the valley, Mam would stand in the doorway, her arms crossed, her eyes observant, watching. Listening. It unnerved Briar as a child, and even now she shivered with the thought and picked up her pace. She had a need to get off this empty stretch of road and catch up to others headed into town.

  With each step, the fog grew thicker and thicker, becoming so dense Briar could only see inches in front of her. It was an odd feeling of white-blindness, viewing only her scuffed boots and a bit of the dirt path a foot in front.

  She was so busy watching her feet that when she did meet up with another person, she was practically on top of him. The only warning she’d had was a jingle of the harness on the peddler’s poor donkey.

  “Oh, excuse me,” said Briar, covering up her startled fright. “This fog makes it hard to see. I’m farther ahead than I thought if I’ve joined up the main road.”

  The peddler wore layers of rags with an odd assortment of accoutrements tied to his person. A scruffy beard, a too-floppy hat, and a cane completed his look. At his side, a sorry-looking donkey pulled an even sorrier-looking covered cart behind them.

  Out of curiosity, she examined the bundles hanging off the sides of the cart as she drew nearer. Saucepans, tin cups, a sewing machine, a hatchet, a birdcage, a dress form, a croquet mallet.

  He saw her interest and stopped the donkey. “Whoa there,” came the thin voice.

  “Nay, sir,” she called out, hurriedly. There was no point wasting his time. “I’ve no money to spend today.” She smiled. “Thanks for pretending I did, though.”

  She glanced at her dirty hands and patched skirt. A good scrubbing hadn’t gotten the oil out from under her fingernails, nor from the hem of her dress that dragged on the dirty spinning room floor when she bent down to reset the builder on the frames.

  “You have no news to trade, then?” he asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to these parts. Would like to know what’s what before I get to town.”

  “Don’t know that I have news, either,” she said. “Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

  “The Prince family still in residence?”

  She smiled. “Always.” She thought of the youngest Prince and her smile dimmed. I wonder where Henry is right now. Did he make it across the Atlantic already, or did his ship get caught in a storm? He’s been gone several weeks; a letter should have arrived by now.

  The peddler nodded. “Just as I would have it.”

  His tone of voice threw Briar. It was like he wasn’t glad the Princes were still here.

  “And you?” he continued. “Is your family new here? You don’t have features I recognize.”

  “Fairly new,” she answered. She didn’t like handing out personal information. A better set of questions would be to ask about the prosperity of the mill to find out if he could sell his wares here.

  “Are you a spinner girl?” The peddler’s eyes, a unique shade of blue, almost turquoise, bore into hers like he could read her thoughts and was daring her to lie to him.

  “We have several prosperous mills in town,” she said, avoiding the personal question. “How long was it since you passed through here last?”

  “Long time. Before the mills.”

  “Before the mills? There wasn’t much of a town here then. A few farms and a general store was about it from what I hear.”

  “And where, in particular, do you come from?” He studied her through narrow eyes. “Look more like a person who comes from the Emerald Isle with that fiery hair.”

  Briar didn’t like the feeling she was getting from this peddler. He was too personal, in an odd way. Most peddlers tried to be complimentary to flatter a girl into spending her money. He was simply intrusive.

  “I’ve been here since I was a child,” she said dismissively.

  That was all he was getting out of her. She shouldn’t have told him that much, for he was right about where her family came from. She clamped her mouth shut and edged around his cart.

  “And you are how old…sixteen, about to turn seventeen?” He tapped the syllables with his cane when he said sev-en-teen.

  Again, he was spot-on. Her birthday was in July, next month. Mere weeks to have a plan in place by the time Nanny came home. She squirmed under his intuitiveness.

  “Nice talking to you. I’d best get on.”

  He held out his cane to stop her path. “You’ve been so helpful; would you like to look at my wares? If anything I have wants to belong to you, you may have it as payment for your information. Never let it be said I don’t take care of my debts.”

  Briar raised her eyebrows. If anything wants to belong to me? She was about to refuse, but a pretty piece of cloth waved at her in the breeze. Briar could ask Mim to teach her how to copy a fancy pattern. It wouldn’t hurt anything to look.

  The peddler removed the rough wool cloth hiding the majority of the goods he had for sale, and stood back to let Briar get as close as she liked.

  Hesitantly she approached, drinking in the objects like her poor room-mate Ania always did with the candy peddler. Briar had a little money set aside as a cushion in case she fell ill or had to miss work for any reason, but he was offering her something for free. Ethel would advise her to get something practical. Mim would have her select something beautiful. Perhaps she could find something both practical and beautiful.

  “May I make a suggestion?” the peddler said. “I’ve been studying you and think I have the item here in this box.” His unique turquoise eyes drew her in.

  Curiosity piqued, Briar followed him back to the end of the cart where he pulled out an old wooden box.

  “Something from the Old Country. Something beautiful. Yet something practical.”

  Briar gasped then chewed her lip. Had she mumbled those words out loud?

  He turned the box so the object would be facing her when he opened it. After clicking the lock, he lifted the lid to reveal a drop spindle nestled in a cloth of royal blue. It was unlike any spindle Briar had ever seen before. The whorl was carved with roses and the wooden shaft, stained a light brown, came to an unusually sharp point on the end.

  “Well, spinner girl?” He tapped his fingers triumphantly along the edge of the box.

  “It’s beautiful. And practical.”

  “Even mor
e, ’tis special.” The peddler hiked his ragged boot up on the wagon wheel and leaned his arm against his knee. “That spindle is said to bring prosperity to the owner. Take that with you to your work and replace one of the spindles on your frame. Keep the whorl in your pocket and the wooden spindle will absorb the shock of the machine such that the threads will not break. You will finish your work quickly and easily ahead of all the other girls.”

  Briar eyed him sideways to show she wasn’t believing his tale. Besides, if she got caught changing out a metal spindle for this wooden one, she’d be let go on the spot and given a dishonorable discharge, not able to work anywhere in town again.

  She looked more closely at a dark smudge on the whorl. “Has it been in a fire?”

  “It’s been through many a trial, an old spindle such as this, but it’s proved its worth. Once belonged to kings and queens.”

  Briar let his words rush by. It was the habit of peddlers to create stories around their goods. An ax from a poor farmer became the ax used to forge a trail west by Daniel Boone.

  “What is it made of, then, that it didn’t burn? I don’t recognize the wood.”

  “Looks to me like fairy wood,” the peddler said. “A rare hardwood from the old German forests. If you believe it, legend says a fairy formed it out of briarwood from the Black Forest. Maybe she even imbued it with her magic.”

  Briar smiled indulgently at the peddler. “I’ve never heard of fairy wood, and I didn’t know rose stalks could grow thick enough to make a spindle.” She refused to even touch it. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s worth too much for me to take just for giving you the news about town. You’ll be able to sell that to an artisan. Don’t waste it on me.” She backed away and continued looking for something else. The peddler stood straight, closed the lid with a snap, and returned the box to the corner of the wagon.

  She glanced up at the man and moved on. A doll with a real porcelain face stuck out of a box of toys. It would send Pansy to the moon and back, but then the twins would likely abscond with it and make Pansy cry. Besides, her mam always taught her: If you buy what you don’t need, you might have to sell what you do. Even if she wasn’t actually buying. Briar touched the doll’s nose but kept looking. A plain and sturdy pot with only one dent lay on top of a box of kitchen items. Nanny could use it for her stews. What else did he have?

  The peddler stood with his arms crossed.

  “I’m sorry I’m taking so long, sir.” She didn’t want to waste her choice. It was like getting a wish.

  His eyes followed her every move, making her feel like she should take any old thing and let him move on.

  “You already know what you want. Take it.” He spoke so quietly Briar wasn’t sure if the peddler actually said anything or if Briar made it up, because she really did know what she wanted.

  The spindle.

  She’d never seen anything like it. A spindle like that might be common in a royal’s court, but not in out-of-the-way Sunrise Valley in the possession of a mere spinner girl.

  Already she felt guilty for wanting it.

  “Use it in your spinning frame and let the fairy magic work for you. You’ll be the best spinner in town.”

  She pictured the beautiful drop spindle lined up with the others, its beauty hidden with a bobbin. “No, thank you, sir. Sorry to have wasted your time. I have everything I need.” With that, she turned her back and walked with the wind toward town.

  However, the farther away she walked, the greater the urge to turn around.

  The spindle did want her. And she wanted the spindle.

  So much it scared her.

  She rushed back. If Henry could take a risk, so could she.

  The peddler had replaced the canvas over his goods, but the wooden box containing the spindle sat on his seat. He looked up from tying the ropes, not surprised to see her return.

  “If you don’t mind,” Briar said. “I’ll take the spindle.”

  Chapter 11

  Up and down the street, various peddlers’ carts parked in front of the boardinghouses to tempt the operatives out of their hard-earned money, but Briar paid them no mind. She already had what she wanted.

  Eager to take a closer look at the spindle, she bounded up the porch steps to her boarding house. Lizbeth, sitting with another operative on the porch, called out, “What’s that?”

  “It’s mine,” said Briar hurriedly. She hugged the narrow box to her chest and rushed into the house. Ignoring the chatter in the parlor, she raced up the wooden staircase to the third floor.

  The door to her room was closed. That either meant no one was there, or her room-mates didn’t want to be bothered. She held her ear to the door and didn’t hear anything. Turning the handle, she prepared an answer to explain what she was carrying.

  But the room was empty. Good. She had time.

  She set the package down on the mattress she shared with Ethel. Their double bed was covered in a dull patchwork quilt that Briar had brought from home. Some prints were so faded you couldn’t tell what the original color was, though Briar could remember each one from her childhood. Ethel didn’t care if their bed was fancy or not, so she welcomed the quilt. In fact, when Ethel came to town the only thing she came with was a bag full of hope.

  Thinking that Ethel wouldn’t approve of the fancy spindle, Briar glanced over at Mim’s bed. Mim would approve. Her bed had a quilt with lace sewn all the way around. The lace was patchwork, constructed of pieces Mim had acquired over the years that weren’t fit for dresses but serviceable for a quilt. The lace seemed extravagant to Briar, but it was important for Mim.

  Briar quickly opened the box. It was as she remembered it. No, better. The intricately carved roses were even more delicate. The variations in the wood more pronounced. Her heart ached with how beautiful it was. It would be a shame to take it apart to put in her frame.

  She hadn’t touched it when the peddler showed it to her, and she was hesitant to grasp it now. It was hers, and it was the prettiest thing she owned. Even if the spindle didn’t work in her spinning frame, she could use it to teach Pansy. They could practice with wool from the Princes’ sheep. Mrs. Prince, with no daughter of her own, had taken a shine to Pansy and would no doubt let her have as much wool as she could handle.

  “Where’d ya get that, eh?” a girl named Mary asked, pushing her way into the room.

  Briar automatically closed the lid. She was sure she had closed the door all the way. The other girls were usually good about keeping to their own rooms. There wasn’t enough privacy to go around in a boardinghouse.

  Mary jumped onto the bed. “Don’t hide it, I only wanted a look.” She pawed at the box, and Briar pulled it away when Mim walked in.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I only wanted to see what Briar has. She never buys anything. I wanted to see what was so special.” Mary left in a huff.

  Mim eyed the box. “Best go to the privy if you want absolute privacy, though you have to close the door fast on that one.” She flicked her thumb toward the door. “Besides, the bell’s about to go.”

  As if on cue, the mill bell clanged and the halls filled with noise as all the girls made the climb up to their rooms for the night. A chase erupted over a hairbrush, and an argument from across the hall broke out over someone leaving crumbs on the shared bureau. Before anyone else came into the room, Briar stashed the spindle under her bed.

  When Ethel opened the door, she eyed the two of them, her gaze shifting back and forth. “You look like you’re up to something.”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in,” said Mim, taking first rotation at the wash basin to brush her teeth.

  The next morning, the fog hovered among the buildings in town as if looking for something. Though the air was bright with the sun trying to burn through the mist, the fog held strong with feet dug in to stay. Briar raced from the boardinghouse to the mill, trying to shake the feeling that the mist was looking for her.

  She’d slept in, making herself late,
and her room-mates had gone on without her. Even after Ethel had woken her, she remained in bed, relishing a marvelous dream involving a magic spindle and reams and reams of cloth she’d woven on her very own looms. She’d never seen so much fabric, even more than the stacks in the warehouse, and she was quite heady with it.

  The drink of water and two bites of breakfast she managed to gulp down helped to clear her thoughts and wake her up. The gates were still open when she got to the mill, but by the time she’d climbed the stairs, the bell had gone off, signaling the start to the day. Frustrated with herself, she yanked the door open and came face-to-face with a new overseer.

  The new boss stood with hand held aloft dangling a gold pocket watch from its chain. He was a slim man, not very tall, with a thick beard and mustache of the old style. His glasses had slid partially down his nose as if he didn’t need them, and he peered at her through the dark lenses with a look that made the hair on Briar’s neck prickle.

  It was as if he had been waiting for her. He must have noticed a girl was missing and decided to welcome her at the door.

  Briar took a steadying breath.

  If only she could see his eyes clearly. Mam said the eyes were a window to the soul, and you could tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes. Something about him seemed familiar, yet at the same time, he was as out of place in their mill as a lit match. Perhaps she’d seen him in town before. At the bank? She paused to wait for the reprimand, but when he didn’t say anything, she scooted past to get her machines up and running.

  As the day wore on, beads of sweat started dripping down her back. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched, but every time she looked up, no one was there. The other operatives were all focused on their frames. Intensely focused on their frames. There were no smiles or passing comments.