Spindle

by Shonna Slayton

  “There is no need,” said a distant female voice. “She’s a good tracker. She’ll take care of it.”

  “Aren’t you tired of this?” Henry asked. His voice came out loud and filled with frustration. “Can’t we end it once and for all and then we can move on with our lives?”

  Briar strained her ears to make out what a second female voice was saying.

  “You know your family has tried. What makes you think you can make a difference? We contain it. That’s what we do. That’s what you will do.” Then the voice got whisper-quiet and Briar couldn’t hear anything else. Whatever was said, Henry didn’t like it because he threw his hands in the air and stalked off. In Briar’s direction.

  Briar spun around and trotted back to the boys, hoping Henry was so wrapped up in his own troubles that he didn’t notice her.

  The voices had been so quiet it was difficult to know who was speaking. One might have been Mrs. Prince, but what were they talking about? And what exactly went on at the Prince family farm? Before he could catch up to her, she darted around the back of the cottage and scooted into the enclosed space where the boys were hiding the bunny.

  The boys lit up when they saw the food Briar had with her.

  “I know how to pick those,” Jack said.

  “We both do. You don’t need to help us anymore, Bri. We can do it ourselves.”

  Briar reached over to ruffle the hair on both their heads. “I know you can. You two are smart boys. But you best let the bunny alone for now. We’ve got to get breakfast and be off to church.”

  They climbed out of the pen and followed Briar back to the house.

  “What do you think his name should be?” Benny asked. “Jack picked a stupid name, but I think it should be Hoppers because he hops.”

  Jack punched Benny. “Whitey is not stupid.”

  Briar was about to reprimand the boys when they turned the corner and saw Henry leaning up against the fence. His arms and legs were both crossed casually, his arms bare from his rolled shirt-sleeves, and he was biting on the end of a long piece of grass like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like she hadn’t been short with him last night. Like he wasn’t about to up and leave them.

  The boys tore away from Briar and rushed to Henry.

  “We’ve got a secret!” Jack shouted.

  “Hush, boys,” Briar said before Benny could chime in to explain. “A secret isn’t a secret if everyone knows it.”

  Henry bent down to the boys’ level. “Briar’s right. If you do have a good secret, you should keep it quiet until you have permission to tell it.”

  “What do you mean a good secret?”

  “Well, the opposite of a bad secret. If someone asks you to keep a bad secret, you should tell.”

  Jack’s eyes grew wide and Benny asked the question for him. “What’s a bad secret?”

  “One that you know in your heart isn’t right, and you should tell Briar.”

  “’Cause she’s responsible for us?” Benny asked, repeating what she told them whenever they asked about having a mam and a da.

  “And loves us,” added Jack.

  “That’s right. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for you if you were ever in trouble.”

  “And we’d help her, too,” said Benny.

  “I’m counting on it. You boys are sharp. You can help Briar by keeping watch at the cottage. Tell her anything unusual that happens. Like if the birds stop singing. Or the wind blows extra hard. Or the leaves on the trees curl and turn black.”

  Henry’s tone had suddenly gotten serious. This change was so unlike him that the hairs on Briar’s neck prickled and she gave a shiver. “Don’t scare the boys,” she chided him, forcing her tone to stay light.

  “We’ve got a guard bunny,” Jack whispered.

  Benny nodded. “He’ll let us know if someone bad comes along.”

  “Is that your secret?” Henry looked up and grinned at Briar. The old Henry was back. The dependable Henry. The Henry who didn’t put scary thoughts into little boys’ heads.

  “We don’t want Fanny to know in case she doesn’t like bunnies. We have to watch her first before we decide,” Benny said. He then took off, starting a race with Jack to the cottage.

  “Why did you scare the boys like that?” Briar asked.

  “They weren’t scared. Boys like that kind of thing,” Henry said, opening the door to the cottage and standing back to let Briar go in first. “Besides, if they’re going to wander in the woods alone, they need to pay better attention to their surroundings.”

  Fanny was back inside and had breakfast on the table. Pansy sat at her seat with her hair already neatly braided and a scowl on her face. Likely upset she didn’t wake up early enough to sneak off with the boys to see the bunny.

  Fanny nodded at Henry and waved the boys over to their full bowls of porridge. Briar was trying to think up a way to explain their absence, but Fanny never even asked. She added a bowl for Henry and, as soon as everyone was done, had them all shuffled out the door and on to church.

  “You’ve never walked with us to church before,” Briar said. She slowed her step, hoping to be able to speak to Henry without the boys monopolizing his attention, but they had each taken hold of one hand as if they knew he was fixing to leave them.

  “Let’s talk on the way back to town tonight,” Henry said, holding up the boys’ hands.

  Briar nodded. She let them bound ahead, leaving her with Pansy and Fanny.

  “Briar is an unusual name,” Fanny said.

  “It’s actually Briarly Rose. The girls in my family are named after flowers. Variations of the name Briar Rose go back generations. My mother was also called Briarly.”

  “And I’m Pansy Poppy,” Pansy said. She looked torn between racing up with the boys or staying behind and listening to Briar and Miss Fanny.

  “A perfect name for you, Pansy Poppy. Did you know that fairies like to use flower names to nickname children? Since you already have a flower name, maybe the fairies will leave you alone.”

  Pansy smiled but then looked uncertain, as if she didn’t know if she wanted a fairy to notice her or not.

  “Briar Rose, just like Sleeping Beauty,” Fanny said. “Pansy tells me you work in a room full of spindles. Best keep your fingers to yourself. That other Briar Rose was too curious for her own good.”

  “Good thing the other Briar Rose was a fairy tale, then,” Briar said. Her workplace was rather dangerous. The operatives had to keep their hair up and watch that their clothing and fingers stayed a safe distance away from the machines. The doffers, usually small children like Pansy, got hurt when they weren’t paying attention and accidentally wedged their fingers into the machinery. Briar set her jaw. She would do anything to keep her little sister from having to work there, too.

  Chapter Six

  When Briar started work, she’d signed a contract, like all the other girls, that included a moral clause requiring her to attend church. Didn’t matter if their denomination was available or not, a Catholic had to attend a Protestant church until a Catholic church could be built.

  Briar didn’t mind. She would have gone to services in the little country church no matter what, but some girls bristled at the idea of being forced to go, even if they wanted to. Now that Mam and Da were gone, her church family helped fill the void like aunts and uncles would. They took an interest in Briar and the children, and helped Nanny with repairs around the cottage. It was a small, poor community, fewer than ten families, mostly older folks, who lived even farther out from town. They met in a converted barn, one of the farmers doubling as the preacher. They shared what little they had, but no one had either the room or the energy for the Jenny children full-time, or Nanny would have already moved them on.

  Today Briar struggled to concentrate on the sermon. She found herself constantly glancing over at Henry’s family to get any hints if they knew what he was planning and if they approved.

  The Princes sat in her line of sight. Mr. Prince wa
s a lumberjack of a man, with a graying beard and mustache and incredible concentration on the sermon, only belied by the occasional twitch of a facial muscle as he clenched his jaw. Mrs. Prince was his opposite: a lace parasol, elegant and frilly, hovering over Henry. She kept glancing at her son like she wanted to whisper something in his ear, but kept changing her mind and glanced at her husband instead.

  They didn’t approve. Or at least, they had reservations.

  The service was ending and Briar lost what little focus she had after the preacher told everyone to make sure they said good-bye to Henry. The congregation stood to sing “It is Well with My Soul.” They’d sung it so often she could say the words and be thinking about Henry leaving at the same time. But despite what she sang today, her soul was not well; it was troubled.

  The children scattered as soon as the preacher said “Amen,” and the rest of the congregation swarmed around Henry with questions and well-wishes: Where was he going? Why was he leaving? It was about time a Prince went on an adventure.

  They kept him so busy with their questions he didn’t have time to look her way as she hovered at the edge of the crowd. Pesky Henry Prince. As much as he could exasperate her, she didn’t want him to leave. She’d never admit it to him because it would only swell his head, but she had come to rely on him for so many things. Not only for fixing her spinning frame, but for keeping her level-headed about Wheeler, and the business with the children. Sometimes he was a better chum than her room-mates.

  Meanwhile, several ladies busied themselves setting up the tables and laying out the food for potluck. The news must have gone out last night for all the church ladies to be prepared with food to share. The children were shuffled through first, and by the time the last adult had filled a plate, the kids were off playing again.

  “So glad you’re leaving, Henry,” Benny said as he ran by with cake crumbs on his lips.

  Henry caught Briar’s eye and she shrugged. They knew what Benny meant. He was excited about a party. But as soon as the memory of a rare dessert left, he’d be missing Henry something fierce. They all would. Henry shared with the boys a love of the forest, spending much of his free time home exploring with them. And Pansy, she liked everything about Henry. Especially how he included her in their forest explorations. Since the twins were so close to one another, Pansy often felt left out.

  Pansy shyly held out her hand to him now. “You’ll never plough a field by turning it over in your mind,” she said in her sweet voice, quoting Da and sounding very grown-up. “Good-bye, and Godspeed.”

  Henry solemnly shook hands. “Words of wisdom, Pansy. And I aim to act on them.”

  Unexpectedly, Pansy burst into tears. “Y-you shouldn’t leave,” she said. “Briar, don’t let him leave. You should marry him, ’cause then you’d be a princess.”

  Briar blushed while Henry grinned in amusement. He knelt down to her level. “How would that make her a princess, little one?”

  “Because that’s what happens. When a girl marries a prince she becomes a princess.” She looked up at Briar. Her innocent eyes wide; her best dress a plain cotton shift. Her head filled with fairy tales. “Don’t you want to be a princess?”

  Briar shared an amused look with Henry. “That’s not quite how it works,” she said. She was about to explain the difference between last names and royalty, but Pansy’s determined look quieted her. Let Pansy believe Henry could make Briar a princess if that helped her deal with his leaving. At that age, Briar would have thought the same thing and come up with some elaborately tragic love story. Now that she’d grown up, Briar knew that life was just tragic. Parents died. Children were orphaned. And older sisters failed at supporting their siblings properly.

  Another group of well-wishers called Henry over to say good-bye, and Pansy, in that resilient way children have, put a smile back on her face and ran off to play in a new game of Red Rover.

  Briar made polite conversation with the older ladies but kept her eye on Henry. She fingered the letter in her pocket, hoping he didn’t think she was being ridiculous, sending him on a mission with odds as good as tossing a bottle into the ocean.

  Finally, the folks said all they needed to, and the circle around Henry dwindled to his parents. They would say good-bye here, and then Henry and Briar would walk into town together. A Sunday afternoon ritual that Briar had never put much thought into before. Henry was always supposed to be there because he always had been.

  Henry took all the attention in stride. He was a favorite in the valley and no one was about to let him go without saying their piece. Briar wondered if she were the one leaving, if anyone would notice. She hadn’t the time to socialize like Henry seemed to. Too much work to do at the mill and then with the children. Speaking of… She searched the edges of the churchyard where the young ones tended to go—as far from the adults as they dared. One, two, three. All accounted for.

  Briar hung back as Henry said good-bye to his parents. His mother adjusted his cloak, reiterated what she had packed for him. Touched his cheek. His dad stood with arms crossed, his face stoic.

  “If it doesn’t work, just come home. We’ll continue what we’ve always done.”

  Briar jumped as Fanny touched her arm.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Fanny whispered.

  Briar was about to protest that no, she wasn’t listening in, but of course she was. Instead, realizing there was another way she could get information, Briar said, “Have you met the Prince family?” She stepped forward, grabbing Fanny by the arm so she had to follow. The woman stiffened at first, trying to avoid the introduction, but soon was face-to-face with the Princes.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Prince,” Briar said, studying their reactions to the newcomer. “Have you met Fanny? She’s looking after the children until Nanny returns home.”

  With her usual warm smile, Mrs. Prince held out a gloved hand. “Welcome to Sunrise Valley. If you need anything, be sure to ask. On the weekends Henry is usually about the place—Oh!” She covered her mouth, and shook her head. “How could I forget? He’s leaving tonight.”

  Henry busied himself with adjusting his small pack to avoid responding to his mother’s outburst.

  Well, Henry’s mam didn’t give any indication of knowing Fanny. Briar turned her attention to Mr. Prince, who stood stoically by until his wife’s facade began to crack, and then he put an arm around her.

  “Do you know where Nanny went?” Briar asked. “Do you think she’s gone to find homes for the children?”

  All three Princes exchanged a look before Mrs. Prince answered. “Oh, no, don’t think that. Not without telling you first.”

  Briar wasn’t assured at all by Mrs. Prince’s answer. Something was going on.

  Mr. Prince nodded hello to Fanny. “We live in the farmhouse down the valley. You can get there by the lane, or, in the day, through the forest. Send the boys if there’s an emergency; they know the way.”

  Fanny smiled. “We will be fine. After all, the trees grow without our help.” At that, her eyes grew wide and she reached for Briar’s arm. “Excuse us,” she said.

  Still trying to decipher the conversation, Briar was slow at noticing the twins. They were clear across the churchyard, having shimmied up the old oak, and perched themselves on a limb overhanging a group of older ladies. They were slowly releasing a string with a fishing hook at the end, getting closer and closer to Mrs. Clover’s Sunday hat. It was a lovely hat, her pride and joy. Some said it made her too proud. It was covered in carnations and ribbons, but the centerpiece was a tiny bluebird sitting on a nest of eggs.

  The boys had always been fascinated with Mrs. Clover’s Sunday hat, and it looked like today was the day they were going to find out once and for all if the bird was a real trained pet (Benny’s view) or a toy (Jack’s view).

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Fanny. They’re generally good-hearted boys, although interested in everything.” Briar ran over to intervene. Too interested. She waved her hands, trying to get their atte
ntion without arousing anyone else’s suspicions. Mrs. Clover had suffered at the hands of the boys’ curiosity before, and Briar couldn’t take another incident.

  “She’s coming!” called the blacksmith’s boy who stood at the base of the tree as lookout. He took off running across the churchyard.

  Instead of stopping what they were doing, the boys glanced up, judged the distance Briar had yet to go, and doubled their efforts to hook the bird. When the hook kept missing, they lowered it further to get the whole hat. They swung the hook once, twice, and hit their target.

  “Mrs. Clover,” Briar said as the boys pulled on the string. She reached up and caught the hat, deftly unhooking it. “Oh, look at that wind.” Behind Mrs. Clover’s back, Briar yanked the string out of the boys’ hands, carefully balling it up and tucking the hook into her pocket before holding the prized hat in front of her. “I’ve always admired your Sunday hat. Where did you get it from?”

  Mrs. Clover looked a little befuddled, especially with her hair out of sorts from the pull of the hat. “That’s what I get for leaving home without stopping for my hatpin. Thank you, Briar. It is my favorite hat. It was given to me by my Matthew on our honeymoon.”

  Briar helped Mrs. Clover adjust her hair and her hat before turning around and looking for the boys. They had already scrambled out of the tree and were running for home. She was about to go after them when Fanny stepped in. “No, no. You go ahead with Henry. I’ll just think of what Prudence would say, and say it twice. She’s always been much better at reining in children.”

  Looking at Henry waiting with his cotton sack, then at the running feet of the twins, Briar felt pulled in two directions. She huffed. The boys would be here next weekend, and up to trouble again. She needn’t worry about a missed opportunity to lecture them. Henry, on the other hand, was leaving. If she were to stop him, now was the time.