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.
If he at least had a donkey, he must have good things to trade. 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 she 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 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 more, ’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 just one of your spindles on your frame with the shaft. 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. 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 f
or 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 into 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.
Chapter Eleven
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.
Her new boss stood with arm 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.
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 and got her machines up and running.
Beads of sweat dripped down her back as the day wore on. 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.
“Is there a problem?” came a shout in her ear over the roar of the machines.
Briar jumped. The overseer had come up from behind.
She shook her head and busied herself with checking threads that were perfectly fine. Then out of the corner of her eye, Briar witnessed a chain reaction of threads spinning wildly and catching onto neighboring spindles. She’d never seen the like of it. Her persnickety frame had decided to practically explode.
She raced to shut down all her frames so she could deal with the mess. The overseer stepped back and watched with a glare. Briar’s face grew hotter the longer it took her to untangle the mess. Her fingers, normally nimble, were all thumbs as she fumbled her way through the strands. For once Briar was thankful for the raucous noise of the machines, or she was certain the overseer would be making disparaging comments. Of all days, this had to happen today.
When she finally had all the threads lined up and connected, the overseer glanced at his watch before walking away. He shut off the power to the spinning frames as the dinner bell went and the room fell silent.
Normally voices would rise to fill the void as the girls chatted on their way out of the room, but instead, the overseer called out, “Halt. You are all to come over here for a lesson.”
By “over here” he meant Briar’s frame. While waiting for the operatives to gather, he read the poems Briar had attached to her frame. At Ethel’s prompting, several of the girls kept pieces of poetry stuck near the windows where the light was true, or small pieces on their frames so they could think on lovely thoughts whenever they were tempted to think only of the monotony or the drudgery of their work. Books were banned, since too many girls got engrossed in what they were reading and forgot to mind their frames, so these bits of paper were a nice compromise, and the old overseer hadn’t minded.
She withered inside. If this lesson was long, they’d all miss dinner.
Once everyone had gathered, the overseer cleared his throat and spoke in a high, grating voice. “This operative is working at her lowest capacity. Her head is filled with silly notions of love.” He ripped down the poem attached to her frame and held it up as evidence.
Briar looked at her feet.
The offending poem by Rosalie M. Janas was awfully sentimental and romantic, especially under the scrutiny of the new overseer. It was about a love being meant to be. At least, that was how Briar interpreted it. Youth who flirted with love thinking it was blind and wouldn’t catch them missed that love was watching and waiting for the right moment to strike. She thought of Henry kissing her hand and her face warmed.
The overseer read the poem aloud in a mocking tone:
Rondeau
Love is not blind. Ah, no! Ah, no!
He only hides his eyes to show
A sweet unguarded mouth left free
To tempt his victims, while with glee
He works them thus confusion—woe.
For, sure as fate, rash youth will go
Too near that lovely Cupid’s bow,
And none dare warn him, “Love can see!”
“Love is not blind!”
Then peeping stealthily below
His bandage, with sure aim and slow,
Love points his darts, and, one! two! three!
Straight to the heart of youth they flee
And never miss their mark. Ah, no!
Love is not blind.
The poem seemed pathetic and not romantic at all, as read by him. He crumbled the paper and let it drop to the floor with the bits of cotton to be swept up at the end of the day. He then strode about the room ripping down the bits of poetry and articles the operatives had posted. “We will have no more of this. I’m here to ensure this room increases production no matter what.” He threw the crumpled scraps in the air. “Go!”
The operatives scurried for the door.
“Thanks, Briar,” someone whispered as she hurried by.
It wasn’
t my fault. Their previous overseer hadn’t had any problems with them tacking up poems. Briar glanced back at the new overseer, his eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. She had a suspicion there would be more unwelcome changes to come.
Chapter Twelve
Briar passed several girls already coming down the porch steps as she arrived at the boardinghouse for dinner. Mim and Ethel were waiting for her in the dining room, having prepared a plate for her.
“What happened?” asked Mim.
“New overseer, and my frame pretty much exploded in front of him. Then he made an example out of me and tore down all our articles as frivolity.” Briar gobbled up her sausage and potatoes.
Ethel crossed her arms. “This is just the thing I was talking about, Mim. You’ll hear all about it at the meeting. We are treated terribly with no recourse. If we had women overseers, perhaps something like this wouldn’t happen.”
Mim turned her back slightly on Ethel. “You’ve got to get it together if you want to move on to Burlington. I heard your new overseer is here to pick out the best girls to train the others.”
Briar didn’t have time to think one way or the other on Burlington. The more pressing issues right now were her bad frame and the new overseer. She’d had so much downtime lately her pay would be docked, and surely the new overseer must think she was incompetent and therefore not deserving of an extra frame.
“I don’t know how I can win anyone’s favor if I’m stuck with that bad spinning frame.”
“Are you sure there’s not something you’re doing to it?” Mim asked.
Briar huffed. “Of course not. I’m running three other successful frames, aren’t I? No, it’s that frame. Something’s wrong with it. It’s got a bad spindle.” She paused. A bad spindle. The peddler had suggested she put the fairy wood spindle in her frame. If only the answer were that easy. “Henry always managed to keep it going, but ever since he left it’s gotten worse.”
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