Sleeping Beauty's Spindle

by Shonna Slayton

  “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.

  Chapter 7

  During the walk back to town, the sun began to drop below the mountaintop, casting a warm glow on everything. Briar only noticed because of Henry. With that wistful and contented look of his, he drank in the valley as if memorizing each dip and crest on the land. Whenever he had that Henry look, Briar couldn’t help but try to see what he saw. Was the color green he savored a deeper green than what she saw? Perhaps his ears picked up on sounds more acutely than her ears. Or his skin was more sensitive to changes in the air than hers. She recognized how the breeze was warm with the scent of cedars, but could he taste them as well?

  His cotton sack looked too empty for a boy leaving his home, as if he were leaving everything behind. It was filled with food his mother had put in for him. Briar knew because Mrs. Prince repeated what she had packed for him over and over: cheese, bread, sausage, cheese, bread, sausage, as if she couldn’t find the words to tell him what she really meant: Don’t leave. I love you. You’re my only son.

  “You think Fanny can keep an eye on those boys?” Henry asked, breaking the silence.

  Briar groaned. “You saw?”

  “I, myself, have been curious about Mrs. Clover’s hat. I don’t blame them at all for investigating.”

  “Well, Mrs. Clover would, had she known what they were doing.”

  “I had no idea you were so quick on your feet.”

  “With those boys? I have to be.”

  “I know you sacrifice a lot for them, Briar, but they won’t be your responsibility forever. They’ll grow up, and you’ll be free to follow your own dreams.”

  “It might happen sooner than I like. Nanny only agreed to keep the children until I turned seventeen. That’s this summer, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m afraid she’s gone to find homes for them, and Fanny is too nice to tell me.”

  “Nanny’s not leaving you out of the decision making, Briar. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “People do things you don’t expect all the time.” She gave him a playful shove, knocking him off-balance. “See?” She crossed her arms. “I never thought she’d leave without at least telling me. How well do you know Nanny?”

  He elbowed her back. “I’ve known her all my life, but I don’t know her really well, just, you know, in the way that children know friends of their parents.”

  “So, like your family, she’s always lived here?”

  Henry smiled. “No. She moved in about the same time you moved here.”

  “Really? Good thing, that. No one else would take us.”

  “I know how just about every family ended up here. Or at least, my family used to keep track of that sort of thing before too many of the mills moved into town. Now it’s a lot harder to notice the new people with all the comings and goings.”

  “So, your family keeps an eye on the valley?”

  Henry laughed. “I guess it’s a bit of a game with us. We are observers.”

  “Did you notice my family when we first moved here? You and I started the mill at the same time.”

  “Of course, I noticed you.”

  “Lots of girls started work at the mill when I did.”

  “Ah, but no others were named Briar Jenny but you.”

  “So, it’s my name you noticed?”

  “It caught my attention.”

  “And you were the one who introduced us to Nanny after Da died.”

  His jovial face grew serious. “With a name like yours, you needed protection. Nanny needed some life in her cottage. It was a good fit for everyone.”

  “What do you mean ‘with a name like mine’?” Fanny had noted her name, too. But so many strange things had happened since yesterday, maybe this was just a coincidence. Henry never spoke of fairies like Fanny did, so he couldn’t be teasing her about Sleeping Beauty, too.

  “Is it because I’m Irish and everyone assumes my da was a drunk, and I’m a Catholic instead of a Protestant?”

  Henry didn’t answer. Perhaps she’d misunderstood him. He’d always said he liked her name, and now here she was assigning him bad motives.

  “Speaking of names.” Briar pulled out her letter. Flipped it over. Cleared her throat. “My mam had a sister who stayed behind. They lost touch, and it was one of Mam’s life regrets that the family never found out what happened to her.” Briar gave him the letter labeled with as much of an address as she could remember. “I don’t expect you to find her, but if you have the letter with you and as you meet people on your way…could you…ask if they know her? She wouldn’t want my mam’s family to be split up. She might be our hope to stay together.”

  “Of course, I’ll try.” He put it in his pocket and drew out an acorn. After rolling it between his fingers, he handed it to her, like he did when they were kids and he collected them for her. “Is that where you plan to go when you leave the valley? Ireland? Even though you’ve never been there yourself?”

  “Mam talked of it from morning till night: the green hills, the hunt for shamrocks, the music her da would play on the fiddle. She didn’t want to leave in the first place, but her people were forced to. It was all she ever wanted to do, go back and find her older sister. But Da would always pipe in with how skewed her memories were. He’d say it wasn’t as magical as she remembered. He focused on the potato famine that pushed both their families out. He only remembers starving.” She paused, smiling at a memory.

  “Mam used to tell Da that it’s easy to halve the potato where there’s love. She always won that argument because Da did love her so. Had they lived, I’m sure he would have found a way to return home, since the famine is long past.”

  No matter how much Mam glossed over the lean years in Ireland, the stories of the potato famine scared Briar. Da spared no detail in telling how bad it got. How entire crops were destroyed by blight, a sick blackening of the plants and potatoes, leaving people with nothing to eat. How some were so desperate they ate grass and died anyway. How packs of dogs roamed looking for those not yet buried. And how much better things were for them in Sunrise Valley, despite the long hours and low wages. They ate. They were alive.

  Until they weren’t.

  Weakened already from the famine, many died on the crossing, others after they’d arrived. Briar’s immediate family was the only kin who survived the first full year in America.

  She took a deep breath. “Mam had me promise that if I were able, I would set my feet on Irish soil. Try to find her sister who stayed behind with her husband.”

  After all the walks they’d had together, Briar had never told Henry this before. At least, not in so many words.

  “Hope is a powerful thing.” He looked at her with intense focus.

/>   Henry was so earnest it broke Briar’s heart. Not the way her heart hurt over Wheeler, but in a bittersweet kind of way. Why couldn’t she be interested in Henry instead of Wheeler? Most of the time she couldn’t take Henry seriously. If she were any other girl, not an orphan responsible for her siblings, maybe things could be different. She wouldn’t feel like she was in a rush to settle with someone who was able to support an instant family. Besides, they were from two different communities. Some roots ran too deep to change.

  He quirked a smile. “While I’m away, and if I were to do a feat of daring for you, what would you like? Take down a whale? Meet the queen? Build a railroad in honor of your upcoming birthday? I can do whatever you ask.”

  “Henry Prince, can you be serious for two minutes?”

  He grinned. “Not around you, Briar. You fill my heart with too much joy I canna contain it.” He attempted an Irish brogue that wasn’t half bad.

  There was a reason girls swooned around the young Irishmen working at the mill. That accent would weaken any girl’s knees. Too bad Henry was such a flirt no girl could take him seriously.

  As Briar looked up at the mountaintop, a strain of music settled into her mind. She had nothing else to give Henry but a proper Irish send-off. A peace offering, so he wouldn’t leave thinking she didn’t care.

  She sang the notes of her da’s fiddle. “Dum da dim diddle laddie, dumble da diddle dum.” Starting off fast, she then repeated the song slowly and mournfully, ending twice as fast as she started.

  “That was beautiful.” He looked at her with gentle eyes. “What was it?”

  “A farewell reel used in the leave-taking ceremony. Mam said when they left Ireland, they held an American wake and that was the last song to send them off. A farewell to Ireland. They were being exiled to a foreign land.” She paused. “And it’s what Da sang to Mam as she passed on.”

  “Thank you. For sharing that with me.”

  Now that she’d done it, she was embarrassed she’d shared something so personal. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” she said, turning the focus back to Henry. “What are you looking for?”

  “First, I’m going to find me a sailing vessel to take me across the ocean and then see if I can’t convince some of my own family to take me in. We’ve much to catch up on.” He swung his pack off his back and peered inside as if checking to make sure he had everything. The contents had shifted and Briar could see the corners of a boxy shape poking into the cloth.

  “Perhaps you can live your dream through me until you can follow it yourself. I can send you letters detailing my great adventures,” he said.

  “In the Old Country.”

  “Yes.”

  “’Tis not the same.” No, she couldn’t ever live her dream through Henry. She had to live it herself. “You’ve never talked about the Old Country before. You’re not a family in exile like the Irish. Driven out by famine and ill treatment.”

  That shared family history was what had made her and Wheeler a good match, and what made their breakup hurt so much now. She had thought he was the one. How could she have been so mistaken? She could never trust her feelings again. Even more so, how was a girl to know the depth of a boy’s feelings?

  “I understand why you don’t see my family that way. I’ve not talked about our home country to you. I didn’t want to make you think of something that made you sad. But our family talks about it daily. Our past is as alive to us as a person living in our house, hovering in every room, listening in on all our conversations. My ancestors left things undone and I’m hoping I can fix that.”

  “And how—”

  Henry held up his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. You won’t understand what it’s like to have something like this hanging over your family.” He settled his bag back on his shoulder, leaning with the added weight.

  Briar crossed her arms. Yes, she was familiar with a past that haunted the present. Her mam and da were always foremost in her mind. Her strongest memories were of Mam on her deathbed after birthing the twins, begging Briar to find a way to go home. Of Da on his deathbed as he lay stricken with consumption, admonishing her that she would have to look after the wee ones, and see the twins didn’t hurt themselves. Neither one of them had spoken of finding happiness for their oldest daughter. They’d spoken only of duty.

  She wasn’t bitter, because she agreed with them. She was the eldest Jenny left. It was up to her to raise the wee ones and keep them together. Given that she only made enough money to rent a shared bed in a company boardinghouse, she didn’t know how she could make it work, but she had to try.

  By this time, they were nearing the edge of town and traffic had picked up. Carts and buggies and single riders driving into town pushed them to the side of the road. They passed the train station and Briar said again, “You don’t have to walk me all the way to the boardinghouse. We can say good-bye here. I don’t want you to miss your train.”

  “There’ll be another one.”

  Henry was so stubborn. When he set his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it. If they said good-bye in front of all the other girls, Briar wouldn’t be able to voice all that she was thinking. Not that she could pin down her thoughts yet. They swirled as fast as the threads winding on her spinning frame. Should they shake hands? Hug? They’d done neither in all their years growing up together. And why was this the foremost thought in her head now? It was just Henry. Henry. And he was leaving her.

  They passed the mill and wandered down the row of boardinghouses. They all looked the same. Red-brick, three-story affairs with stairs leading up to porches where, in nice weather, much socializing took place. Tonight, however, the front porch was blessedly empty of gossipy mill girls. Henry walked her to the front door and took a deep, shaking breath.

  Is he nervous, too?

  A sudden lump formed in her throat. The weekend trips home to the cottage were sure going to be lonely. She didn’t know if she should admit that to Henry or not. He could get ideas. But if you can’t count on a Prince, who can you count on?

  The only way she’d be able to get through this was to stir up the anger she felt earlier. He was getting to do the thing she wanted to do most in the world. He didn’t know how fortunate he was to have the choice to go. He had so many freedoms she didn’t.

  She stiffened her back. “Thank you for walking me home,” she said. “I wish you safe travels.” Her voice sounded overly formal, given their friendship.

  He flashed a sheepish grin. “You could run away with me. See if we couldn’t set your feet on Irish soil.”

  Incorrigible Henry Prince. “I’d better go inside,” Briar said. Whether he acted it or not, he needed to catch that train. She reached out her hand to shake his at the same time he moved in to hug her.

  They both laughed.

  Before Briar could decide what to do next, Henry caught her hand and kissed it on that soft spot between first finger and thumb. There was something gentlemanly about the motion that raised her opinion of Henry another notch. When he held her hand longer than was proper, she let him, but then pulled away, clasping her hands together.

  He opened the door and waited for her to turn around and wave before he nodded, shutting the door between them. The hallway darkened.

  “Good-bye, Henry Prince,” Briar said to the closed door.

  Take care of the letter. And yourself.

  Chapter 8

  Briar hung her coat on a peg, and there was a rush of legs as the boarders in the house began dashing downstairs. Mim zipped by, pushing girls out of the way and squeezing into the parlor. Another room-mate, Ethel, followed slowly behind the other girls. Briar caught Ethel’s arm as she was about to turn into the parlor. “What’s the rush?”

  “Miss Olive is finished with the latest Godey’s Lady’s book and is dividing it up. Mim wants the fashion section, of course. I’m vying for the conclusion to ‘Loyal Foes’ before Mary gets it. Want to help my odds?” She pulled Briar in
to the parlor.

  “Actually, I’d rather have a look at the local paper,” Briar said, observing the woman near the pianoforte carefully cutting pages out of the magazine while girls gathered around like little chicks about a mother hen. Her brown hair was put up in the fashion of the time, but her age was difficult to discern. She was old enough to be any of their mothers, for certain, but was she of grandmotherly age or not? Her hair had a touch of silver mixed in but was cleverly hidden with fancy combs placed just so. She had no family other than “her girls,” as she called all the young women who came and went through the boardinghouse over the years.

  Briar continued, whispering, “She’s not going to save up much for herself if she keeps spending her earnings on us.”

  Ethel smiled. “You have been listening to my savings lectures. Don’t worry about Miss Olive. She’s a smart businesswoman—keeps her girls happy, educates us, and we all love her for it. If she were ever in need, we’d all pitch in to help.”

  “I think you are her star pupil.”

  “I have to be,” Ethel said. She spotted an empty seat on the sofa and scooted the other girls over to make room for the two of them. “In this world a woman has to look out for herself. It is the woman’s century, after all.”

  Mim rolled her eyes at Ethel as she came back triumphant with the fashion section. “I’ll show you the way out of the mill,” she said. “Spend your money on frivolity such as these fancy shirtwaists and catch the eye of a rich man. It’s a whole lot less work and a lot more fun than what you’ve got planned.”

  “Make sure you pick the right man, Mim. You don’t want just any rich man or you’ll regret it the rest of your life,” Ethel said.

  “Oh, pooh. You’re such a spoil sport.” She wiggled her hips in between the two girls. “Let me show you, Briar. You’ve got such natural beauty buried under your plain garb. I can bring it out in a minute if you’d only spend your money on a trinket now and then.”