Spindle

by Shonna Slayton

  “No,” she was quick to answer back. Too quick.

  Ethel cocked her head. “What if I told you Sadie was going back home to her parents? Would you still not be thinking about Wheeler?”

  “She is?”

  “They want her to recuperate on the farm. Wheeler’s moving north; she’s moving south. They’re never going to see each other again.”

  “Oh.” Briar’s heart took the news with mixed emotions. As long as Sadie was still around, it meant she didn’t have to decide on her true feelings about Wheeler. She’d been trying so hard to move on and in that process had noticed things about Wheeler and her that she didn’t necessarily like. Not that she was comparing him to Henry, but Henry was so steady. She always knew where she stood with him, and that accounted for a lot. Could she ever trust Wheeler again?

  Ethel led the way up the walk. “This is our last house. Why don’t you do the talking this time? You’ve heard me plenty.”

  “But I couldn’t. I’d get all tongue-tied.”

  “You have to start somewhere, Briar. If you’re afraid to try, you won’t get anywhere. Weren’t you scared when you first applied at the mill? Yet you still did it.”

  “I had no choice,” she said. It was easy to do something when it was for the children.

  “Consider this your first lesson in proactivity. I know you want to keep your family together, but to do so, you’re going to have to learn to advocate for others. It’s not about you, it’s about them. Tell these operatives how meetings like these can help us all. We can go from feeling helpless and powerless to hopeful and powerful.”

  Briar gave Ethel a skeptical look.

  “Baby steps. You’re still finding your voice. Read the leaflet out loud and invite them to come.”

  “I can do that.”

  Ethel held back, making Briar open the door. The parlor was half-empty and when Briar stepped in she had everyone’s attention. They were all clearly looking for some excitement to walk through the door.

  Briar gave them a shaky smile. “I’m distributing leaflets for the WCTU meeting this week.” She thrust a paper at the closest girl. “We have a special speaker coming in to teach us all how we can band together to make a difference.” She continued around the room, handing out the leaflets while Ethel stood quietly by the door. Briar answered a few questions, checking with Ethel for accuracy, then said good-bye.

  Outside, Briar breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Ethel. “It won’t always be so easy. These ladies weren’t carrying rotten vegetables to hurl at us.”

  “People do that?” Briar asked, aghast.

  Ethel nodded. “Not often. But you should be prepared.”

  All their leaflets were gone with half an hour to spare before the curfew bell. When they returned home, the parlor games were still going on. The group was pushing chairs into a circle around the room, setting up for another game.

  “Got a new one,” called Lizbeth as they entered the room. “Join us. It’s called Crossed and Uncrossed.”

  Once everyone was settled, Briar between Ethel and Wheeler, Nell supervised as they passed a pair of scissors to their neighbor, and said either crossed or uncrossed. Nell would then tell you if you were correct. The purpose was to discover the secret about what made the pass a crossed or uncrossed pass.

  Briar was among the first to figure it out and tried to give Wheeler hints. Each time she spoke was like a test, asking can we go back to the way we were?

  By the end of the night, all the girls knew the trick but several of the boys left the game baffled. And Wheeler hadn’t answered her silent test.

  “I don’t understand,” said a new boy named George, shaking his head and grinning. “But I’m determined to figure out if I’m crossed or uncrossed. Tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, yes!” Lizbeth said. “Everyone, let’s meet here again tomorrow night. No telling the secret.”

  “I’m going to get it out of Briar by then,” joked Wheeler.

  She shook her head. “Only hints. You’ve got to figure it out yourself.” Her words held a double meaning. He did need to figure out what he wanted. And so did she.

  Nell and Lizbeth, the spontaneous organizers, stood at the door to the parlor saying good-bye to everyone.

  Mim slipped in just before the curfew bell sounded, and she gave Briar a wave on her way to the stairs. George paused in the doorway and watched Mim pass.

  Briar smiled. Another one smitten. He’d be back for sure, hoping Mim would join in the games. “Good night, all,” Briar said.

  She missed nights like this: fun and carefree, like a few months ago when her deepest concern was getting to work on time. Back when her seventeenth birthday felt so far away and it looked like she knew where her future was going. Suddenly her birthday was looming and her future was tied to a fairy-tale spindle and an evil fairy who wanted her dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Why are you in such a kerfuffle?” asked Mim after supper the next night when the room-mates gathered back in their room. A third girl had taken ill on the spinning floor, but she was one who worked on the far side of the room, giving Briar hope that her spindle wasn’t the cause. The overseer, instead of getting upset by another operative down, spent the day in his office with his feet up on his desk.

  “Wheeler is stopping by,” Briar admitted. The thought had been playing out in her mind all day.

  “Interesting.” Mim burst into a grin.

  “To play parlor games of course.” Briar anxiously squeezed her fingertips.

  Mim leaned against the desk. “Don’t waste your chance. You can remind Wheeler what you once had. If you want to.”

  What she wanted was to know if they could go forward, not back. To decide, she needed to spend time with him again. It wouldn’t take long. She’d know pretty quickly if the old feelings were still there.

  “Don’t go putting such thoughts into her head,” Ethel said, stepping into the room to grab her box of leaflets. “Come with me again tonight, Briar. They want to hand out more leaflets. Not everyone finished their lot.”

  Mim ignored Ethel and got out her cosmetics. “With my help, you can’t go wrong. We’ll sweep your hair up into a pompadour and turn you into a Gibson girl.”

  Ethel cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. “You don’t want a man who doesn’t want you,” she said, cutting straight to the heart. “And what about Henry? Are you sure he’s only a friend to you? I’ve seen you reading that letter he sent. Surely it’s memorized by now.”

  “Ethel! Spying on me?” Briar tried not to blush, but she could feel her face heating up. Henry was still as unlikely a beau as before—an insincere flirt. Of course Briar was missing him. They were friends. Didn’t mean she was pining.

  Briar glanced between the two room-mates. Ethel, always so serious and working hard to reach her goals. Mim, always out for fun, yet not lazy in the least. Handing out more leaflets suddenly seemed exhausting.

  “Quit fighting over me.” Briar held up her hands. “I just want to have a night of fellowship. Getting in on that scissor game last night made me realize how much I’ve missed the fun.” Her voice cracked and she looked away.

  All she said was true. Ever since Nanny left them, she’d been winding herself up tighter and tighter with worry over the future. It was nice to play for once. And she was so confused about Wheeler. Was Mim right, and he had only gotten cold feet with her? Or was Ethel, who thought Briar should get on by herself, taking up the cause of suffrage to change her future instead? She let out a deep breath. Mrs. Tuttle, the lecturer who came to the house, was a married woman. Briar could marry and still stand for herself and women’s rights.

  “You’ve been shouldering so much,” Mim said, sympathetically.

  They have no idea. Wheeler, Fanny, the spindle, and the children. Briar’s head would explode if she tried to think about it all at the same time.

  Mim turned to Ethel. “She’s only going to be
sixteen for a few more days. Why push her to act twenty-five?” She went over to her dresser and pulled out several outfits. “Did you want to wear my dress with the leg-o’-mutton sleeves?” Mim had a satisfied look on her face, like she had won the argument.

  “Yes, she’s young, but she is flirting with trouble. There’s a difference.” Ethel moved to leave the room, her nose in the air in protest. “I’ve given all my advice to deaf ears,” she said as she stalked out the door. “Heaven help you now.”

  Briar sighed. Her room-mates’ intentions were good, but some things she needed to learn on her own.

  “I don’t know if I can wear something that fancy,” Briar said, examining the dress Mim was pulling out. Everyone marveled at how many dresses Mim had managed to acquire. Besides being an excellent seamstress, she was quite verbal to her sweethearts about what she wanted them to bring her. “No flowers” was rule number one, but yards of material were always welcomed. “I wouldn’t look like me anymore.” And it would look like I was trying too hard.

  “Nonsense,” Mim said, holding up a buttercream gown to Briar’s shoulder with one hand and placing her other hand on Briar’s waist. “Do you have a better corset than that?”

  “This is all I have.”

  Briar looked uncertainly at the cosmetics. Mim was laying out cheek powder, some kind of cream, two bottles of perfume, and a handful of other products Briar had no idea what they were. Would Mam have approved? It was only a certain kind of girl who painted her face with store-bought items.

  Mim rolled her eyes. “Don’t look like I’m about to teach you how to lose your virtue. When I’m done with you, you will still look like you, only better. Wheeler won’t even be able to tell I’ve done anything to your face, but he’ll notice you look especially attractive today. What you do with your virtue is your own business.”

  Briar gasped. She crossed her arms and legs uncomfortably and looked at the empty doorway. Ethel had a point. A boy ought to like you the way you were.

  But Mim wasn’t done with her lecturing. “Once you are all dolled up, you’ll have his eye. Be sure not to waste it. Hang on his every word, even if he is boring.”

  “Oh, Wheeler’s not boring.”

  “Sure he’s not,” Mim said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Briar. Mim’s tone was starting to sound like Ethel’s.

  Mim grabbed Briar’s chin and tilted her face this way and that in the light. “I only mean that you seemed to have a better time with that Henry fellow than with Wheeler. I hate to admit that Ethel might have been more observant than me about this, but are you sure there isn’t anything between you?”

  “Henry isn’t here,” Briar said, fully aware she wasn’t answering the question. She didn’t know what she thought about Henry anymore. He was Henry. There was no one else like him.

  “At least Henry let you talk. Wheeler just goes on and on about himself. You do have a lot of freckles, don’t you?”

  Briar pulled her chin back. Her freckles were a sore spot for her. Instead of an ivory-white complexion like a heroine in a novel, her skin was all blotchy. Leave it to Mim to zero in on it.

  “Awk! Don’t take offense. A lot of you Irish girls have freckles. I’ve got rice powder to tone it down. When I’m a wealthy woman I’ll have pearl powder instead.” She’d already opened a canister and dabbed a brush inside. She gently patted down Briar’s face, stepping back to examine her work. “Hmmm, this blemish is a tricky one.”

  Briar held up her hand to cover the red mark that had appeared on her chin that morning.

  “Put your hand down. I can cover it better than that. You don’t see my blemishes, do you?”

  Briar examined Mim’s always-flawless skin and shook her head.

  With a sigh, Mim leaned forward and pointed at a tiny spot on her forehead. “We all get them. Some of us are just better at hiding them.”

  Briar chose not to comment. Mim thinking her tiny dot was a big blemish was an overstatement.

  Mim dabbed a bit more on Briar’s face, then tapped the lid back on, and opened another jar.

  “What’s that?” asked Briar nervously.

  “Settle down, it’s only rouge.”

  “I don’t need any cheek color.”

  “Will you trust me?” Mim stepped back. “Look at me, and tell me what cosmetics I have used on myself today.”

  “I don’t know,” Briar said. “You look like you always do during the day.”

  “Exactly. I look natural, but I’m wearing everything I’m going to put on you.”

  “I don’t know why you wear cosmetics to the mill,” Briar said. It seemed a waste. The only single male-folk on the spinning floor were the doffers, and they were all young-uns except for Henry.

  “You never know who you’ll meet on the street coming home for dinner, now do you? A girl has to be prepared.”

  Briar nodded. Since she agreed to let Mim help, there was no point in complaining at every turn.

  As Mim applied ointment and more powder, she began to hum, clearly enjoying making Briar up. But when Mim lit a candle and stuck a hairpin in the flame, Briar couldn’t remain silent. She jumped out of her chair. “I don’t want you burning my hair.” She grabbed at her locks to protect them.

  Mim laughed. “This here pin is not for your hair. ’Tis for your lashes, to make them darker.”

  “No! You’re not coming at my eyes with that hot poker.”

  Mim calmly held the pin in the flame. “It won’t be hot when I ‘come at you,’” she said. “I only want the soot. Try not to rub your eyes or you’ll look a mess. And no crying.”

  “Why would I cry?”

  “Girls just do sometimes,” said Mim. “Now hold still.”

  Briar stared at the spot where the wall met the ceiling, resisting the urge to blink while Mim attempted to bring out her eyes. She was surprised at the lengths she was willing to go to test Wheeler. Would she know at the end of the night what to do? Could it be that easy?

  Chapter Thirty

  Feeling self-conscious, Briar slipped downstairs and into the parlor. She’d not put on Mim’s fancy dress, thinking that was overdone. Instead, she wore her best dress, which only meant the one she didn’t wear to the mill. The cosmetics made her feel out of place, as if she were wearing a fur coat in summer.

  When she stepped into the room, the girls sitting around glanced up to see who was new, then went back to the games or activities they were working on. Briar was glad she’d not worn Mim’s dress. The parlor was busy tonight and she didn’t need to give anyone more fodder for gossip.

  Nell was on the piano. Mary and Lizbeth were deep in conversation, and the others were around the coffee table, playing Tiddledy Winks already. The two chairs set off by themselves, most often used for courting couples, were empty, and Briar sat in one. These were the seats she and Wheeler used to occupy all last winter.

  “I hear a doctor over in Rutland is calling it an epidemic. He’s got more than fifty patients, and several have died already. Some only a few days after getting sick.”

  Briar leaned in to the conversation. An epidemic meant it wasn’t the spindle. Some of the pressure weighing her down eased. She was already responsible for her siblings; she didn’t want to be responsible for a whole floor of operatives.

  At the first knock on the door, Briar shot up to answer it, but was beaten there by another eager girl. Everyone was ready for the fun to start.

  They began where they ended the previous night, with the Crossed and Uncrossed scissors game. Wheeler came in late, but the circle opened up to allow him in. He smiled and waved as he moved in his chair across from Briar, and they started passing the scissors around.

  Twenty minutes later when the boys still weren’t figuring out the trick, the girls began exaggerating their motions to give hints. Finally, Nell crossed her legs and said “crossed” then uncrossed her legs and said “uncrossed.” And if that wasn’t enough, the next girl crossed her ankles, saying “crossed�
�� then uncrossed her ankles and said “uncrossed.”

  George smacked his forehead. “It’s the legs, not how you pass the scissors.”

  The laughter from George’s comments set the tone for the rest of the night. Briar let go and allowed herself to be just a girl instead of a caretaker of her siblings, an operative at the mill, or the guardian of a dangerous spindle.

  At the end of the night she walked Wheeler to the door, like she used to do.

  “I had a good evening,” Wheeler said.

  “Me, too.”

  “It was like old times.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she agreed, and yet it was and it wasn’t like old times. She’d had fun, but so much had changed since they were together. Briar felt like she had grown, gained some perspective. Had he?

  Wheeler walked out to the porch, almost the last guest to leave. He lingered. “You look nice tonight. I found myself wishing we’d land at the same table, but we never did. Maybe another time?”

  To Briar’s shock, when she tried to answer, she teared up. She blinked rapidly, afraid of smudging the soot Mim had so carefully placed on her eyelashes. But it was no good. He seemed like his old self, playing games and having fun, but not showing Briar much deference over anyone else, despite what he said. She got the impression any girl could sit by his side and he’d be content. It didn’t have to be Briar. She fled back inside. “Good-night,” she called over her shoulder as she ran down the hall.

  If only Mim hadn’t planted the idea of crying into her mind. She never cried. At least not in front of Wheeler. How ridiculous to cry when a boy says you look nice.

  Ethel caught Briar at the base of the stairs. “What happened?” she asked.

  Briar pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping Mim’s hard work off her face. It felt wrong to dress up for Wheeler now, but how could she explain that? They weren’t the same together, and she didn’t think she wanted them to be. She had the chance to put everything back together for the children, just what she’d been working toward, and now she didn’t know if she could sacrifice her happiness for it. Tears welled up and she blinked them away. If she had the opportunity to save the children, shouldn’t she do it? What kind of sister would she be if she didn’t?