“Stop bickering or I’ll make certain those who complain have at least five girls in their bedrooms every night.” Mrs. Richards gave the group a hard stare. “Mellie has been assigned to the attic.”
A girl sitting across the table groaned. “There’s not enough beds, Mrs. Richards.”
“She can sleep with us.” The girl looked at Mellie. “Me and Clara don’t take much space. We’re twins, you know.”
Mellie smiled and nodded. “Thank you. I don’t snore, and I promise to keep to my side of the bed.”
Mrs. Richards’s lips curved in a broad smile. “Thank you, Cora. I can always count on you and Clara to be kind. Go on and tell the girls a little about yourself, Mellie.”
Mellie glanced around the table, pleased to see that the girls appeared far more interested in eating supper than anything else. “I came to Manchester seeking work. My sister and her children live in Concord and have fallen on difficult times. I thought working in the mills would offer me enough money to help them.”
“What’d you do in Concord?” The girl pointed her fork at Mellie’s hands. “Those hands of yours ain’t seen a lot of hard work.”
A low murmur hummed around the table as the rest of the girls leaned forward to gain a look. Mellie longed to hide her hands beneath the table, but that would never do. Instead, she agreed with the girl. “You’re right that I haven’t performed much manual labor. I was employed as a tutor for a family in Concord. Though the work is different, educating children can certainly be laborious.”
The girl sniggered. “We’ll see if you think that’s true after you’ve been in the mills a day or two. I, for one, think you’ll soon change your tune.” Her supper finished, she pushed her plate to the center of the table. “Anyone else going into town?”
The girls gobbled the remainder of their supper, and soon the clatter of shoes racing up the steps filled the house. Both Clara and Cora remained in the dining room with Mellie. Cora finished her last bite of the yeasty bread before touching Mellie’s arm. “We’ll go up to the attic with you. Olive might not like it if you change things around, but she won’t complain if we do it.”
Mellie silently rejoiced that she’d spent the afternoon writing in her journal rather than unpacking. She followed the twins upstairs. Who would ever believe that procrastination could prove to be advantageous?
Two shabby calicos and worn boots were a poor exchange for Mellie’s lace fichu and French-beaded reticule, but Olive had insisted she’d agree to nothing less. The twins had attempted to convince Olive it was her Christian duty to loan Mellie a dress and shoes until she received her pay, though Olive remained steadfast. She’d been quick to observe Mellie’s need and eager to benefit from the new arrival’s situation. The twins’ clothing was too small for Mellie, and Phebe’s far too large. Olive’s proved a perfect fit.
When Olive insisted upon both the fichu and the reticule, Mellie had considered bartering with one of the girls in a downstairs bedroom. Unfortunately, they’d returned from town only minutes before the ten o’clock curfew. She dared not prowl the house after bedtime, so she’d relented. The price had been dear, but she would have little use for her beaded reticule and lace fichu in the future—at least that was what she’d told herself during fits of wakefulness throughout the night.
No morning light had yet crept through the attic windows when Mellie was jarred awake by the clanging of the first morning bells. She moaned and struggled to roll onto her side when a quick jab of Cora’s elbow warned that her attempt would fail.
“Roll out, Mellie. We’ve only thirty minutes before final bells ring. You don’t want to be late or you’ll be terminated before you ever begin work.”
As Mellie suspected, there was neither time nor space for a proper toilette before rushing off to the mill. In turn, the girls washed at the pitcher and bowl, donned their calicos and boots, used the privy behind the boardinghouse, returned for their bonnets, and accepted a thick slice of brown bread slathered with jam from Mrs. Richards as they raced out the door and down the hill.
Clara nudged Mellie’s arm. “Eat while you’re walking, Mellie. You can’t take that bread into the mill. And make sure all the jam is wiped off your fingers.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Cora nodded. “Clara’s right. You need to eat whether you’re hungry or not. You’ll be famished in no time. That slice of bread will help stave off your hunger until we go back to the boardinghouse for breakfast.”
Grape jam smeared Mellie’s mouth by the time they’d neared the gates. Using a lace-edged handkerchief she’d tucked into the pocket of Olive’s shabby calico, she carefully wiped her face and hands.
Phebe huffed as she struggled to keep pace. “It won’t be as bad as you think, Mellie. I remember my first day. I was so scared I thought I’d lose my breakfast. As you can see, I made it through that first day and all the rest, too.” She made a sweeping gesture down her ample figure. “As long as you keep to your looms, you’ll do fine.” She grinned in a way that accentuated her plump cheeks. “Most of the girls are kind and will offer help if you have a problem.”
“Phebe’s right. There’s no reason to worry yourself.” Cora looped arms with Mellie as the huge iron gates swung open. “I’ll take you to Mr. Fuqua before I go to my looms. I hope he’ll assign you to work near us, but if he doesn’t, you’ll discover there’s always a kind girl or two who will help when needed. You’ll do fine. All of us made it through those first days.”
The bread and jam settled like a brick in Mellie’s stomach. She shouldn’t have eaten. Worse yet, what if she expelled the contents of her stomach in front of the overseer? Her thoughts whirred, and her head ached from lack of sleep and worry.
Cora nodded toward the nearby towering fortress. “Come on, this is Stark Number Two. Remember—once they start the machines, you’ll not be able to hear much, so you need to holler loud to gain the attention of the overseer or other workers.” Inside Cora gestured to the winding steps leading to the upper floors. “Weaving room is on the top floor.”
Phebe sighed. “Climbing these steps is the hardest part of the day for me.”
By the time they’d climbed the four flights of winding steps, Mellie longed for a drink of water and a few moments to catch her breath, but Cora grasped her hand and pulled her along. As they continued along the outer row of looms, Cora waved to a wiry man holding a ledger, then leaned her head close to Mellie. “That’s Mr. Fuqua.”
When they drew near, he smiled and bid Cora good morning and then looked at Mellie. “You must be the new girl. Mr. Walters told me you’d be reporting today. We had planned to keep you in the weaving room, but two girls from the spinning floor left earlier this week and there’s a greater need down there. I’ll take you to meet Mr. Comstock. He’s the overseer in the spinning room.”
Mellie’s lips began to tremble, and her hands shook. Her entire body converted into a quivering bowl of jelly. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Over and over she silently repeated the words, her mind begging her body to listen. She fixed her eyes on Cora and prayed the girl would sense her fear and do something—anything that would keep her nearby.
Cora squeezed her hand and smiled. “You’ll do fine in the spinning room. I know a couple girls who work there. When the bell rings, meet us at the bottom of the stairs, and we’ll walk home together for breakfast.”
Mr. Fuqua pointed to the steps. “We need to hurry downstairs. I must return before they start the machines.”
After one final glance at Cora and Clara, Mellie followed Mr. Fuqua down the winding steps and into the spinning room. Mr. Comstock’s smile faded when he learned she had no experience, yet he didn’t let her return upstairs.
He glanced at the paper Mr. Fuqua left with him before signaling her to follow him to a pedestal table, where he could stand and oversee the room. “You need to sign your papers.”
Mellie lifted the paper and scanned the page. “Does this set forth my wages? No one has mentioned m
y pay.”
“You have no experience, so you’ll begin at four dollars a week. One dollar and twenty-five cents will be withheld to cover your room and board.”
Mellie gasped. “I was told the company paid for my room and board.”
“The company pays twenty-five cents and you pay the remainder.” Mr. Comstock shrugged. “The keepers receive one dollar and fifty cents for each boarder.” He turned away and quickly scanned the room before tapping the paper. “Sign on the bottom line. You have to get started working if you expect to be paid for today.”
Mellie dipped the overseer’s pen into the inkwell and scratched her name on the designated line while calculating how much money she’d be able to send home each week. She would need to maintain a portion of her weekly wages for incidental expenses. Even if she’d been able to send Margaret three dollars a week, it wouldn’t be enough. She’d planned to send her sister at least four dollars a week. Why had she listened to Mr. Brownell’s puffery? Her thoughts raced. She would need to find a solution—perhaps tutoring a child in the evenings or working as a clerk in one of the local shops.
Mr. Comstock cleared his throat and frowned. “No daydreaming while at work, Miss Blanchard.” Heat rose in her cheeks as he crooked a finger at an operative standing near one of the machines. The young woman scurried to his side.
“This is our new girl. She has no training, so you’ll teach her.” He turned to Mellie. “This is Sarah, one of my best operatives. Listen to her.” That said, he returned to the far side of the room and bellowed, “Two minutes!”
Sarah waved her forward to one of the roving machines. “The machines will turn on in two minutes and then it will be hard to hear.” She tugged on her ear as if to emphasize her point. She indicated the spindles of thick cotton roving at the top of the machine. “The roving is pulled into the drawing roller where it is stretched. Then the spinning flyer pulls down the roving where it’s spun into yarn.” She pointed to the bottom of the frame. “Those heart-shaped cams provide even distribution of the thread onto the lower bobbins by slowly moving the bobbins up and down. If the machine isn’t working properly, signal Mr. Comstock.” She gestured to a young girl stationed nearby. “The bobbin doffers watch the frames and replace the bobbins when they’re full.”
Sarah had barely completed the explanation when the wood-and-iron beasts around them thundered and belched to life. Trembling sensations coursed from the bottom of Mellie’s feet to the top of her head. Sarah pulled the handle of her machine, and it joined in the pulsing chorus. With amazing speed, the machine stretched and thinned the roving before spinning it onto the empty wooden bobbins. The two of them watched as the machine did its work. Soon Sarah moved to another machine and pulled the handle, and then another.
She leaned close to Mellie’s ear. “You’ll be able to manage more than one machine before day’s end.” Pointing to one of the idle machines, she gestured for Mellie to pull the handle and set to work. Though she didn’t know what she’d do if the machine should malfunction, Mellie pulled down on the handle and watched as the spools of roving twisted and turned through the machine. Like the other girls, she stood watching the frame, amazed when one of the children rushed forward, removed the full bobbin, and slid an empty bobbin into place.
Sarah drew near and pointed to the next frame. “Go ahead and start a second machine. You’re doing fine.”
Mellie pulled the handle, and her second machine churned into action.
After nearly two hours standing in front of the frames, her eyes glazed and her legs ached. Lint filled the air, and the room was now warm and dank, making each breath more difficult than the last. The deafening noise worsened her headache. She longed for the peace and quietude of home. Closing her eyes, she envisioned the pastoral countryside, where she’d take the banker’s children for afternoon picnics during the spring and early autumn. Then a tap on her shoulder jerked her back to the present.
Mr. Comstock stood at her side and hollered near her ear, “Keep your eyes open and fixed on your frames, Miss Blanchard! The roving can snarl or break. You need to be attentive at all times. If you’re tired, go to bed early tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” The heat rose in her cheeks as he proceeded down one row of machines and up the next, his watchful eyes seeming to dart in every direction.
When the breakfast bell rang, Sarah shouted for Mellie to shut down her frames. Before she reached the handle on the second frame, the other operatives had raced toward the doorway and were clattering down the winding steps. She squeezed among the girls descending from the fourth floor and was pushed along with the throng to the outer doors. Once outside, she flattened her back against one of the cold brick walls and watched for Clara and Cora.
The twins spotted her. Clara grabbed her hand, and they began running. “How’d it go in the spinning room?” Clara asked.
“I grew weary of standing and staring at the frames, but I suppose it went well. While the work is tedious and mindless, I’m thankful for it.” How could the twins run at this pace after standing the past two hours?
Her legs ached as she hurried alongside the twosome. Would she be able to stand at her frames until seven o’clock this evening? She wanted to ask the twins if they ever suffered cramps in their legs or fainted from the oppressive heat and humidity inside the workrooms, but talking would take more breath than she could muster while hurrying across the mill yard toward the boardinghouse.
Mellie and the twins were among the last to rush into the house, hang their bonnets on the pegs by the door, and scurry to find a place at the table. As Cora and Mellie sat down side by side, Clara found an empty chair opposite them.
Cora nudged Mellie and leaned close. “Be sure you eat fast and as much as you can. Breakfast and noonday meals are hearty, while evening meals aren’t as plentiful.”
Mrs. Richards handed a platter of sausage to a girl at the end of the table, followed by heaping bowls of scrambled eggs, gravy, and warm biscuits. Several crocks of butter and jam were centered on the table, along with pitchers of cold water and milk. No manners were observed. A grunt and a pointed finger signified that a bowl or platter should be passed. Forks clattered on plates, and arms gyrated from hand to mouth like spinning whirligigs. Mellie did her best to keep up with the others, but the rapid pace barely allowed time for tasting, much less chewing. She’d finished only a portion of the food on her plate when the bells rang.
Chairs immediately scraped across the wood floor as the girls rose and dashed toward the door like a swarm of bees seeking nectar. They made their return down the hill, across the mill yard, and up the winding stairs at the same breakneck pace. With her stomach aching as much as her legs, Mellie came to a panting halt in front of her frames. She shouldn’t have eaten so quickly or so much.
Before she’d caught her breath, Mr. Comstock lifted his arm and jerked it in a downward motion, his signal to begin work. One by one, the operatives pulled the wooden handles, the frames rumbling to life. The noise seemed to be even more deafening than it had only a short time ago.
Along with the other girls, Mellie repeated the same rushed ordeal when the noonday bells rang. By midafternoon she was certain she couldn’t bear to stand at the frames until seven o’clock. Every muscle ached and begged for rest. She directed a look toward the wall of windows. If only they’d open one of them. Perspiration dampened her body, the calico dress clinging to her thin frame. Her eyes itched, and she longed for a breath of fresh air.
When the bells rang to signal the end of the workday, the girls hurried to the stairwell, but not with the intensity they’d exhibited earlier in the day. This departure was more casual. Their supper would be waiting, yet they could take time to laugh and visit during the walk home. The bells would ring again to tell them when to go to bed, but they wouldn’t call them back to work until morning. And for that, Mellie was most grateful. Though her aching body begged her to quit, she knew she couldn’t.
Her family needed her.
Chapter
five
MELLIE HAD BEEN WORKING AT THE MILL FOR ONLY A week when several girls suggested a walk into town after supper. While they continued to discuss ribbon and lace to transform old dresses, Mellie could think of nothing but sleep. Her weary body needed a night of peaceful sleep—a desire that would likely go unfulfilled until she could return to Concord for a visit. And with every cent needed to help her sister and the children, a visit home was a far-flung dream.
“Come with us, Mellie!” Jane, one of the girls who boarded in a downstairs room, leaned forward to capture her attention. “You need to see the town and walk through the shops. Trust me, you’ll enjoy doing something other than sleeping and standing at your frames.”
Mellie attempted a smile as she shook her head. “I’m too tired. I don’t know how you girls do it every day. My body aches, and I fear it needs sleep more than shopping or sightseeing.”
“We won’t stay long,” one of the other girls added. “Go upstairs and change into another pair of shoes—that always helps.” She looked around the table. “Everyone who’s going, be at the front door in five minutes.”
Cora circled around to Mellie’s side. “You should come. When new boarders refuse, the other girls think they’re being uppity. I know you’re tired, but Clara and I will go along. We won’t stay long. I promise.”
“Unless you want to remain longer once we get there.” Clara grinned. “I think it will cheer you a bit, Mellie. Please say you’ll come.”
She felt that she should remain behind and go to bed or even write a letter to her sister, but instead she nodded her assent. The idea that the other boarders might believe her unfriendly or aloof had been a motivating argument. She’d be living here for at least the next year, and she needed friends, not enemies.
Not all of the girls were waiting by the front door when the twins and Mellie returned downstairs. Mellie glanced over her shoulder. “Are the others coming?”
A Perfect Silhouette Page 4
