“Henry? Haven’t heard you mention that name in a while.”
Mim’s tone rankled Briar, so she retorted, “Haven’t heard you mention Pierre much in a while, either.” Pierre had been the latest beau, but he’d stopped coming around.
Mim closed her mouth and stood. The air between them was stretched with tension.
Miss Olive stood at the door, hands on hips and shaking her head as everyone left the house. “What has gotten into you all?” she asked. “Snippy, every one of you. Mim, Ethel, Briar, and Sadie, please come see me in the kitchen. I won’t keep you long. Briar, you can bring your plate.”
Briar checked with her room-mates to see if they knew what Miss Olive wanted them for, but they shrugged and followed the keeper down the hallway. Maybe Sadie issued a complaint against us? Did she hear Mim talk about Wheeler and me one too many times?
With a sick stomach, Briar followed the others into the kitchen where they all cast trepidatious looks at one another and the clock.
Miss Olive bustled about with empty platters. “Sorry, girls, I know you don’t have much time, but I’ve got a new boarder arriving any minute and I need to be ready for her. A space opened up for Ania at her friends’ place, so she is moving out tonight. Sadie, I know you wanted a change from your bedroom—the snoring and all that—so do you want Ania’s place with these girls here?” She turned her back to lift the boiling water off the stove and pour it into her wash basin for the dishes.
Sadie’s eyes brightened. “Do any of you snore?” she asked.
The three passed looks behind Miss Olive’s back. No, they didn’t, but Sadie and Briar in the same room?
“Great,” said Sadie. “Even if one of you snores a little, it’s got to be better than the elephant I’m living with now. Haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I moved in, and what’s worse is that she’s such a sound sleeper I can’t wake her up to tell her to stop. We’ll be great chums in no time, you’ll see.” She linked her arms through Briar’s and Ethel’s but didn’t seem to notice both girls go stiff with the familiarity of the move.
Mim just smiled and said, “Welcome to the family.”
“Excellent,” said Miss Olive, turning around. She fanned her face, now flushed with heat and exertion. “Now, off with the lot of you before you’re late.”
On the rush back to the mill, the mist was still so thick that Ethel’s ghostly bonnet bobbed as if on an ocean. Briar would have pointed this out to Mim for a laugh, but when she turned to say something, Mim avoided her eyes. With a pang of guilt, Briar realized Pierre must have been more than the usual entertainment. Could Mim’s heart be broken, too?
Well, if the past was an indicator of the future, Mim would soon have a new love to occupy her affections. Besides, Briar had something else on her mind. How was she going to share a room with Sadie? The last thing she wanted to hear about was Sadie mooning over Wheeler. What was Miss Olive thinking? Now she’d have a room with two sets of people at odds with one another.
“Terrible weather, ain’t it?” asked Sadie.
Briar jumped. She’d almost forgotten they’d left at the same time.
“Sure is.”
“It’ll be fun being room-mates. Who did Ania share with?”
“Mim.”
“Too bad. If we were together we could talk about Wheeler all night. You must be curious about him, aren’t you?” She blinked innocent eyes at Briar, which weren’t innocent at all. She was sending a message.
Briar slowed her pace, letting Sadie flounce ahead even if it meant Briar would end up late to her station for the second time that day. Her room-mates were the best part of working at the mill. The girl before Ania had been great fun to be around, too, until she got married. And now she had to room with Sadie?
That afternoon she worked as quickly and efficiently as possible, keeping track of her new doffer Maribelle, helping the young girl juggle the full bobbins that her little hands were too small to manage easily. Small hands were good for reaching in the frames to fix thread breaks and clean, but troublesome for keeping a grip on the full bobbins until they learned the proper balance.
The overseer continuously paced the floor, setting everyone on edge. Briar fumbled through keeping her frames going, which seemed to delight her new boss. Why would her becoming a trembling wreck be the only thing that pleased him? She’d heard about bad overseers before, those who looked down on the women they managed. He must be one of those.
As she worked, Briar’s thoughts spun back to the peddler’s cart and his solution for her problem. A wooden spindle. Could something so simple fix her frame? If only Henry were here, he would know. Plus, he wouldn’t make fun of her idea, no matter how far-fetched it was.
She couldn’t use the drop spindle by itself to earn a living. No one sold hand-spun thread anymore. Industrialization saw to that. She paced in front of her factory frames, noting there was nothing beautiful about them. They were made from impersonal metal, powered by the loud belts overhead transferring the might of the river and steam into her hands. They made the room alive with their motion, yet not alive. They were noisy and relentless and gave her headaches more often than not.
When she first started in the spinning room, she was fascinated how the thicker cotton strands called roving wound down to the bobbins below, pulled and twisted into thin but strong thread. The transformation happened so quickly compared to a hand spindle or even a spinning wheel. And all this by the thousands of spindles at the cotton mill. It was dizzying and exciting at first. But now, the job was monotonous. It left too much time for thinking.
Ethel told her the looms were more interesting to care for. Whether Briar moved up in this factory, or in the new one at Burlington, the change would be welcomed.
Briar got so caught up in her thoughts that she forgot to keep on number four, and before she knew it, threads had snapped all over the place. Not again. Plus it was time for doffing and the girl was nowhere to be seen. Now all her frames were down as Briar quickly tied knots to fix the breaks before the overseer noticed.
By the time she’d worked her way to the last frame, Maribelle ran in, with an excited, flushed face. Evidently it had been a good game of tag outside. The fog probably made it easy to dart away and be hidden.
“Maribelle! Now look what you’ve done,” she snapped. “You’ve got to pay attention. I need you in here every forty-five minutes.” Even as she chastised Maribelle, Briar knew the words were meant for herself.
Maribelle bobbed her head, staring down at her own bare feet, splotchy-black with grease. “Yes, miss.”
“What’s going on?” The overseer was once again at Briar’s elbow. He grabbed Maribelle by the ear and squeezed.
Maribelle went up on her toes as the overseer pulled her ear. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t cry.
Briar instinctively reached to free Maribelle, but the overseer only squeezed harder, stepping between them. Briar’s heart groaned for the wee thing, but she took a step back, hoping he’d let Maribelle go.
“It’s that last frame. It’s bad, is all. Let her go, please. She can help me tie the threads.”
Maribelle caught her breath as the overseer gave her ear one last shake before releasing her. Briar fought the urge to rush to the girl’s side in case the overseer would choose to inflict more punishment.
“You better do something about that frame or you’re out of a job,” he yelled over the other machines.
“Yes, sir.” Briar quickly began tying threads, motioning to Maribelle to do so, too. Her heart was beating hard against her rib cage. It wasn’t her place to fix the frame. She wished she could complain about the new overseer, but who could she tell who would care and be able to do something about it?
Once the overseer had gone, Briar mouthed, “I’m sorry,” to the girl, and with a shaking hand stroked her hair comfortingly. The wee thing was taking on a big responsibility. If the girl’s family didn’t need the money, she’d be at school with the other childre
n. Briar resolved to strengthen her mind to the task and be easier on her young doffer. Especially in front of the overseer.
“There now, we’re back up and running. Off you go and have some fun,” Briar said, choosing not to add another admonition to be back in time to swap out the bobbins. If she’d spoken to Pansy using the tone she’d used earlier with Maribelle, Pansy would have been blubbering tears. It didn’t help that they had to yell at one another to be heard above the din, which made tempers sound harsher than what was meant. Never mind how Pansy would have reacted to being grabbed by the overseer. Maribelle was made of sterner stuff than Briar had thought.
Briar turned back to guard frame number four from any more mistakes when she noticed another token left in Henry’s corner. This time it was a small, heart-shaped pebble. “Henry Prince,” she whispered. “I know it’s you. How are you doing it?” Grinning, Briar added the pebble to the acorn in her pocket.
Her whole mood changed with the latest gift. She couldn’t stop from smiling until the final bell rang.
Instantly the girls shut down all their frames. But instead of the quiet ringing in their ears, murmurings spread like a wave through the operatives. Briar rushed to the door to find out what was going on.
“Didn’t you hear?” asked Annie, the girl who manned the frames next to Briar’s. “Grace’s brother works in the countinghouse. He told her they’re lowering our wages this week. Less money in our envelopes on payday. It’s just like the panic last year. It’s getting no better. Pretty soon our pay is going to equal our rent, and then where will we be?”
Briar closed her eyes and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. After working so hard to make up for her bad frame, it didn’t matter in the end. Going forward she would need four fully-working frames just to keep up her normal pay rate, never mind trying to impress anyone or earn a fifth frame. She sighed. However was a girl to get ahead in this world? She looked around at the other operatives’ sullen faces. It was the same for all of them. Then her eyes settled on the overseer. He looked up with a scowl and met her gaze unblinking over his glasses, which slipped down his nose again.
Use the wooden spindle.
Briar sucked in a breath and looked away. Where did that thought come from?
Annie made a face. “Something about cotton cloth not selling as much as they expected and the train strike causing distribution problems. Say they have to trim expenses, but I don’t see the agent cutting back on his expensive cravats. He was wearing a new one today. And look at our new overseer with a gold pocket watch! Bet his paycheck isn’t getting shorted.”
“It’s not fair,” said another girl. “There’s nothing we can do about it. They’ll want us to work as hard as before, but get paid less just because they say so, and we don’t got no power to say no.” By now they’d streamed out onto the staircase and began to mingle with the other levels of the factory.
Briar caught sight of Ethel. She couldn’t hear her friend over all the other voices, but Ethel was definitely passionate about what she was saying. Her arms were practically a blur as she no doubt weighed in her opinion on the pay reduction. Well, good. Ethel’s passion would carry the conversation with their new room-mate tonight. Briar was drained from the day, and not looking forward to playing polite with someone new in the room.
If Henry were here she could ask his opinion about putting in a wooden spindle. He’d also know how to do it. Could she trust a peddler? One trained in saying anything to make a sale?
If the wooden spindle could absorb enough vibrations to keep her frame working, she’d at least be competing on even ground. After today, she was in danger of losing her job. Could a wooden spindle make all the difference? There was only one way to find out.
She had to find the peddler.
Chapter Thirteen
Ania had already cleared out her things by the time supper was over. She must have slipped in while they were eating, likely more eager to move in with her friends than to worry about saying good-bye to her old room-mates.
“Stay long enough to go over our expectations with us,” said Ethel when Briar tried to leave after supper. Her eyes were sympathetic, acknowledging how hard this was going to be for Briar.
Ethel had no idea. To have a constant reminder of what could have been with her ex-sweetheart was beyond what Briar could handle. She pivoted in the doorway, weighing the decision. She was eager to slip out of the house and search for the peddler while it was still light out.
“It won’t take long.”
“Of course not.” Briar sat down on her bed to wait for Sadie. They’d learned to have the talk about expectations early and straight out, so everyone would be comfortable in voicing their concerns, and small irritants wouldn’t grow into big fights later on. They didn’t spend a lot of time in their rooms, but they didn’t want that time to be miserable, either.
Mim was already taking stock of her space, a look of concern as she eyed the places that should belong to a fourth girl, but that she had already taken over.
Ethel joined Briar on their bed. Soon, Sadie came in with more belongings than Ania would ever hope to have, and Mim willingly gave up more space to her.
“Are you sure you only need that much room under the bed?” asked Mim. “I can stack some of my things up in the corner here. Just let me know.”
It was more than Briar could take. It was as if Mim was being extra friendly to punish Briar for her comment about Pierre. Briar stood and put a shawl around her shoulder. “I’ll be back before curfew.” Ethel was really the one who cared about the rules anyway.
“Stay with us,” said Sadie sweetly. “We’re just starting to get to know each other.”
“And the rules…” said Ethel.
Briar waved her hand above her head on the way out the door. Two steps outside and she was able to take a deep breath. Her churning stomach was sufficient motivation to find the peddler. Briar couldn’t tell if she didn’t like Sadie because she was seeing Wheeler, or if she didn’t like Sadie because of Sadie herself.
She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders to guard against the evening chill. The damp vapors seeped through to her skin and on any other night would have made her retreat to her room. The fog hung heavy, creating softly glowing balls of light around the lampposts turned on early because of the strange mist.
Up and down the street, various peddlers’ carts parked in front of the boardinghouses, but with the mist she couldn’t tell one apart from the other. She ran to the edge of the road where her peddler had been. She started to walk out of town, but quickly decided that was a bad idea. It was already growing dark and the curfew bell would go soon. Besides, he was a transient and had probably moved on to the next town.
He’d wanted to give her a gift. Why had she fought taking the spindle?
Her mood shifting with the mist, she returned down the long row of boardinghouses, eyeing the carts as she passed. No sign of an overpacked cart pulled by a rough-and-tumble old donkey.
She drudged home, letting the long day weigh on her. It was not meant to be.
At her boardinghouse, a peddler cart had pulled up last minute to catch all the girls leaving from visiting, and going back to their homes. Several girls had crowded around so she couldn’t get a good look at it. Could it be?
She pushed her way through. “Excuse me,” Briar said. But it was only Jolly Jim at the helm of his cart, a regular who never had anything of interest for her. Cheap goods that broke as soon as he left town. Disappointed, she squeezed through the mob again and started up the stairs.
“Seems to me the girl changed her mind,” came a voice out of the shadows on the porch.
The peddler!
“Where is your cart?” asked Briar, both eager and frightened at the same time. Something about this man sent shivers down her neck, and she found herself wishing Ethel were here to help her keep a level head.
“I don’t need my cart. Only this box.” He looked down at the bench.
&n
bsp; Briar blinked. She didn’t remember a box being there a second ago, although with the shadows it was hard to tell.
“Is that…?”
He nodded. “I was about to leave town and I still had it in my cart. I know to whom it belongs, so I couldn’t leave without bringing it to you. Remember what I said, but keep it hidden. Someone might try to take it from you.”
He used his cane to push himself off the bench and stood close to Briar. “Be careful. The end is sharp.” She took a step back. He tipped his floppy hat at her, and was down the stairs and up the street before Briar found her voice.
“What’s that?” asked Lizbeth, a girl who lived on the first floor. She made a move toward the bench.
“It’s mine,” said Briar hurriedly. She scooped up the narrow box and, hugging it to her chest, rushed into the house. Not even stopping to see who was 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. Opening the door, 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.
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