Spindle(16)

“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. Brown-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 Eight



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 into 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. “In this world a woman has to look out for herself. It is the woman’s century, after all.”

Ethel spotted an empty seat on the sofa and scooted the other girls over to make room for them.

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 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.”

Briar took one look at the fancy dress with leg-o’-mutton sleeves ending in not one, but three ruffles of batiste lace. “I’ll never be able to afford a silk dress trimmed in lace,” she said.

Mim turned the page. “That’s not the point. These pictures are for inspiration. You find what you like, then adapt it to what you have. Like this bonnet.”