Spindle

by Shonna Slayton

  Everything would be okay. Once all the operatives left the building, the door would be shut, the gate locked, and no one would step foot into the spinning room until Monday, when she would be the first one in.

  She skirted around the groups of operatives gathering to complain at the base of the stairs. Half of the money she earned had already been taken out to pay for room and board at the company boardinghouse. With what little was left, she’d give the majority to Fanny for the children, but she made sure to deposit a little, no matter how small, into her savings account. Ethel had taught her that much.

  Ethel had been the one to take Briar to the bank and open an account. They continued to go together every payday, meeting just outside the mill gates if they didn’t see each other earlier. Briar waved. Ethel was waiting for her now.

  “Shorted?” Ethel asked.

  “Haven’t looked,” Briar said. She self-consciously covered her pocket, hiding Miss Olive’s wrench and the whorl as they walked down the street.

  The bank was beyond the row of boardinghouses, in the center of town. The streets were always busy on payday. They reached a crossroads and waited for a horse and wagon to go by before continuing. The driver raised his hat and called out, “Lola! Oi, is that you?”

  The man was looking right at them, so Briar shook her head.

  Ethel lowered her hat and pulled Briar to go around the wagon. “All us operatives look alike, don’t we?” she said.

  “From Stowe,” the man persisted, stopping his vehicle and turning around in his seat.

  “He’s likely a confidence man, thinking he can fool us into some scheme.” Ethel pressed on. “Don’t look. He’ll keep talking to you.”

  “Seems like he’s just moved to town,” Briar said, noticing the wagon filled with an assortment of boxes, chairs, a table lamp, and more. “You can check at the boardinghouses if you’re looking for a factory girl,” she called to him, seeing as though Ethel wasn’t going to tell him.

  People were moving in all the time as the mills prospered. The storefront they were passing used to be where the blacksmith worked, but he and the stables had been pushed out to the edge of town to make way for another general store stocked with ribbons and perfume and small trinkets. Anything to tempt a mill girl from her hard-earned money.

  After they’d walked a bit farther, Briar asked, “Where are you from?” Even though they had shared a room for over a year, it suddenly struck Briar she didn’t know much about Ethel’s personal life.

  “Not Stowe.” She looped her arm through Briar’s. “Tell me in your heart of hearts you want to leave Sunrise Valley, the children, and your room-mates to go to Burlington.”

  Briar smiled. “I don’t think I’ll have to. My persnickety frame is fixed. Worked like a dream today. I think I can pull my production up and even take on another frame.” As long as everything holds.

  Ethel brightened. “Really? I’ve been so worried for you. Will it be enough?”

  She thought of how fast the frame was working. It was hard to tell, but it seemed to be getting slightly faster with each doffing. Next week she’d pay attention to see how often Maribelle had to work the frame. “I don’t know yet.”

  They’d reached the bank, and as always there was a line on payday. They queued up to wait. The people in line were also grumbling about their pay, so it wasn’t only the spinning and the loom girls who had theirs cut.

  When it was her turn, Briar opened her envelope to count out how much was there. She frowned. A disappointing amount. She hoped what she could bring Fanny would be enough. Quickly, she separated the money for deposit then filled out her deposit slip. The amount was so pitiful it seemed a waste of paper, but it was important to stay consistent and build up her emergency funds. Putting even the smallest amounts into an account like this kept her from spending it on a whim. She’d watched Mim buy too many things on impulse and later regret her decisions. Not that Mim would ever admit it to Ethel.

  Deposits made, they rushed back to the boardinghouse. The wrench in Briar’s pocket thumped against her thigh, reminding her that she had one more thing to do before leaving for home.

  It had been a long time since she’d felt so hopeful, and it made her not want to talk to the disgruntled mill girls today. Fortunately, avoiding eye contact on a Saturday was not unusual behavior for Briar. Everyone knew she was in a hurry to leave, so no one stopped her as she waved good-bye to Ethel and barreled through the front door, not stopping until she was at the utility closet. She bent down to drop the wrench into the toolbox, and upon straightening, bumped into Miss Olive again.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Briar said. Miss Olive sure seemed to be hovering over her lately.

  “Shouldn’t you be on your way?” Miss Olive asked.

  “Yes, leaving now.”

  “That’s a pretty fabric,” remarked Miss Olive, eying Briar’s apron.

  Face burning, Briar shoved the royal blue cloth back into her pocket. “I got it from a peddler.”

  Miss Olive smiled. “Dearie, it’s okay to splurge now and then. You work so hard. Have you ever thought about why I placed you, Ethel, and Mim together? And now Sadie?”

  “I thought we were placed where you had open beds.”

  “True, but I like to put girls together who go together.”

  Briar frowned. She’d never considered Ethel and Mim as two persons who went together. They were at sword points more often than not. And Sadie? Did Miss Olive not know the dynamics between them?

  “Think on it,” Miss Olive added before Briar could finish forming her thoughts. “Iron sharpens iron. Have a good time at the cottage.”

  Briar rubbed the base of her head, anticipating a headache more than answers. “I will. Are you sure it’s okay for me to take the bicycle? Some of the others might want a turn on the weekends.”

  The others did want a turn. Briar had overheard the whispered grumbles as they complained that Briar was getting preferential treatment. She also overheard Mim reminding them that the bicycle belonged to Miss Olive and shame on them for being so greedy, wanting a pleasure ride around town while Briar had that long walk to the countryside to care for her poor orphaned siblings. Mim did know how to word things.

  “Of course you may take the bicycle. It’s meant to be ridden. And that reminds me. Mim left something for you upstairs.”

  Sweets for the children. Briar raced up to their room, wishing Mim had given them to her earlier. She was wasting time. But the gift wasn’t sweets for the children. There on Briar’s side of the bed was a pair of tan bloomers. Mim!

  Briar’s eyes filled with tears at the thoughtful gift. She’d thought Mim was making them for Ethel. She shouldn’t have. Briar had planned to eventually get around to making herself a pair.

  Eagerly, Briar undid the buttons on her skirt and slipped on the bloomers. The cool fabric closed in around her legs. She strutted about the room like she’d seen the men do walking down the street. Laughter bubbled up inside. Blessed Mim. A perfect fit, and she even included a man’s trouser pocket. Briar transferred the whorl to her new pocket and set off.

  Energized, Briar pulled the bicycle out from the shed in back and pushed it to the street. Enough girls had taken it out for a spin that it no longer caused groups of young mill workers to gather out front of the boardinghouses to watch, but her bloomers might revive the interest.

  She kicked off and pedaled down the street toward the mill, reveling in the ease of the bloomers. As she passed the mill, she tried to figure out which window was closest to her frames. Not that she’d be able to see the spindle if she looked. She had the prettiest part of it in her pocket anyway, the whorl with its decorative carvings. When she got to the cottage she’d take it out and really look at it.

  If only there was someone she could talk to about the spindle. She could go out and search for the peddler, but since she’d never seen him before the other day and he talked like he traveled far and wide, she doubted she’d find him. Mim wouldn’t ever be
lieve her. Ethel could get mad at her for messing with her frame. Miss Olive would be obliged to tell the corporation. The children would blab it everywhere. Nanny and Henry were both gone, and Fanny, well, Fanny would find anything that seemed like fairy magic delightful, not understanding how dreadful it felt at the same time.

  Briar continued to steer her way through the streets, avoiding the horses and carriages. She wasn’t that confident of either her steering or stopping abilities, so she pedaled slowly and carefully. But once she got out of town and started down the road to home, she let loose and pedaled as fast as she could. Her legs were strong, and the wind in her hair felt like freedom. Who knew a bicycle could be balm for the worker’s soul?

  The town well behind her now, she bumped over the dirt roads, which became progressively bumpier the farther away she rode. In some places she had to stand up on the pedals to get enough force to keep the wheels moving, which she could never do so easily in her skirts.

  The jangle of reins signaled someone was coming up behind her. Briar angled toward the side of the road and stopped. She didn’t like the idea of hitting a rut in the road and ending up under a horse’s hooves.

  She looked over her shoulder as a pair of horses passed, and Mr. and Mrs. Prince pulled up beside her in their wagon. Briar’s heart lifted, hoping they had news of Henry, but then it plummeted just as quickly. The expression on Mrs. Prince’s face revealed a mother worried about her son. What if the news was bad?

  Chapter Twenty

  The Princes were the last people Briar expected to meet on the road. Maybe with Henry gone, they were forced to venture farther from home. They might not have news of him at all; they could just be on their way back from running an errand. She waited for them to offer any clue.

  Mrs. Prince broke her worried look with a smile. “Care for a ride?”

  “Oh,” Briar said. They’d caught her by surprise, and she didn’t know how to answer. On the one hand, she had been enjoying being by herself. She was rarely alone. Living in a boardinghouse filled with girls granted no privacy. But on the other hand, a ride would get her home in a few minutes and she’d be rested up to play with the children before bed. The horses stamped their impatience while Briar decided what to do.

  Nodding at the Princes, she said, “Yes, thank you.” She wheeled her bicycle to the side of the wagon and handed it to Mr. Prince, who had hopped into the back. Briar had never ridden in their wagon. She’d never actually spent any time alone with the reclusive Princes. Though she knew Henry as well as she knew this dirt road home, his parents were more like the mountains. A steady presence in the background.

  The Princes weren’t rich by any standards, and their wagon looked like it had seen better days. Boards had been repaired, giving the vehicle a patchwork look of its own, although Briar could tell it was sturdy, rebuilt by a fine craftsman. Henry or his dad?

  She climbed up the side of the wagon and sat beside Mrs. Prince.

  After loading the bicycle in the back, Mr. Prince returned to his seat and clicked the horses forward.

  “How are you, Briar?” asked Mrs. Prince. “We haven’t really spoken since Henry…since Henry left.”

  Briar smiled. “I’m well, thank you.”

  “Do you enjoy riding the safety bicycle?” Mrs. Prince craned her neck to look at it. “I’ve never tried one, but I can see the possibilities for a young girl such as yourself.”

  “It’s easy once you practice and don’t have an audience of mill boys watching you and giving you their thoughts.”

  Mr. Prince laughed.

  “You look positively radiant with the exercise,” Mrs. Prince said. “Doesn’t she, darling?”

  Mr. Prince nodded.

  “Miss Olive encourages us to take care of our health.”

  “She is a wise woman.”

  They rode on in silence, and Briar suddenly wished she’d stayed on the bicycle. The clip-clop of the horses not in a hurry made her wonder if she was saving any time at all.

  “How is your work at the mill?” asked Mrs. Prince.

  Briar stopped fiddling with her bloomers, glad for something to talk about. “I’ve got a new little doffer named Maribelle. She’s not as fast as Henry was, but she’s a sweet thing and is learning. Fortunately, my spinning frames have finally started to cooperate, which makes life easier for all of us.”

  “Even that frame Henry had such a time with?”

  “He told you?” Briar shouldn’t be surprised. Henry was so open and honest, he probably told his folks everything.

  “Yes. He says it’s the only frame like it in the whole building. Says the company should just replace it and start over. He thinks there is something wrong with it at its base. A crooked frame or something.”

  Mrs. Prince cleared her throat. “But you say it’s working now? What made the difference?”

  Briar’s face grew warm. “Maybe they changed the humidity in the room, so the threads aren’t breaking so much.” She wiped her hands on her knees. “Have you heard from Henry?” she asked, changing the subject. She wanted to hear he’d made it to Germany.

  “That’s why we went to town,” Mrs. Prince said. “We were hoping for news. We got a letter from when he was in New York telling us he’d found a ship, but that’s the last we’ve heard.”

  “Oh,” Briar said, her voice falling. “That was weeks ago. Did he say anything else?”

  “No, it was a pretty short letter. I suspect the railroad strike might be slowing delivery.”

  She sounded as disappointed and hungry for more news as Briar was.

  “I don’t understand why he left,” Briar said. “He loves it here.”

  Mrs. Prince sighed. “Yes, he does. But sometimes in life we make choices thinking we are doing the right thing, don’t we?”

  Briar nodded. She was working hard to secure the children’s future and fulfill her mother’s dying wish. But the tone in Mrs. Prince’s voice suggested she didn’t approve of Henry’s leaving.

  “Do you think he’s not doing the right thing?” Briar asked.

  Mr. Prince grunted, and his wife patted his leg.

  “We don’t know, Briar. He is trying something no one else in the family has done in a long time. His dad is a farmer, his grandfather was a farmer, his great-grandfather, you get the idea. They’ve all done the same thing. Tradition. Playing it safe. He was the first to get a mill job, so he has different ideas than past generations.” Again, she patted her husband’s leg. “Henry wanted to try something new. See if he could change the course for the Prince family even more.”

  “I see,” Briar answered, even though she didn’t. More than anyone she knew, Henry was the one she least expected to go away. Seems like Mr. Prince should be the one to go to change the family’s lot. “What exactly is he doing? He didn’t really say.”

  “He’ll tell us all about his adventure when he returns,” Mrs. Prince said.

  “He was kind of vague about that as well,” Briar said. “You sound like he’ll be returning soon. Doesn’t it take years to make your fortune?”

  “Ha!” Mrs. Prince laughed. “Being mysterious, was he? Likely trying to keep your interest, Briar. I’ll probably embarrass him for saying this, but he’s taken a fancy to you lately. He’s always favored you over his other playmates, but now that he’s looking toward the future, I suspect a lot of what he is doing has to do with you. You’re turning seventeen soon, aren’t you?”

  Briar nodded but didn’t say anything. Mrs. Prince was confusing her. Briar was still an Irish spinner girl, and not who Mrs. Prince wanted her son involved with, wasn’t she? What had changed Mrs. Prince’s mind?

  “Seventeen is such a stable age. Once you reach seventeen, you can breathe a sigh of relief and look forward to your future, don’t you think?”

  “Darlin’, you’ve gone and embarrassed the girl.” Mr. Prince cleared his throat. “Henry wasn’t seeking his fortune. He won’t need years to do what he is doing. Besides, I think he’d be afraid to leav
e you unaccompanied for too long.”

  “Look who’s doing the embarrassing now?” Mrs. Prince put her arm around Briar. “Don’t mind us, but we’re missing Henry, and you’re the next best thing.”

  Again, Briar was confused. They’d never shown such concern over her before.

  Mrs. Prince pointed to the cloth poking out of Briar’s pocket. “That’s a lovely piece of silk,” she said. She cocked her head as if examining it closer. “Did Henry give that to you?”

  Briar shook her head. “No. No, I got this from a peddler in town.”

  “Oh. May I see it? We used to have one that color. Did you buy anything else from the peddler?”

  Reluctantly, Briar slipped out the silk handkerchief, careful to shake free the whorl first, and handed it to Mrs. Prince. Briar hadn’t the chance to examine the silk piece, since her attention had always been on the spindle itself. “No, I didn’t buy anything else from him.” It was all a gift.

  Mrs. Prince grasped the silk piece by two corners and held it up to the light. “Oh. How lovely,” she said. “Darling, look at this.”

  Mr. Prince glanced over. “Nice,” he said, turning his attention back to the road.

  Briar held back a laugh. Mr. Prince obviously had not the care for pretty cloth as his wife had.

  “No, honey, look at it,” Mrs. Prince insisted, her voice tense. “You can see the faint pattern in the silk when you hold it up. It’s certainly unique. Not made in the mills here, that’s for sure.”

  Again Mr. Prince glanced over, but then he took a second look. “Briar,” he said. “Do you remember which peddler you got that from?”

  “He was passing through. Said he knew you, though.” Briar bounced in her seat as the wagon hit a rut.

  Mr. Prince was taken aback. “Knew me, you say?”

  “Of your family, anyway. But lots of people in the valley know your family, since you’ve been here so long.”