Spindle(2)

Until last week, Briar thought she’d found a permanent solution. But now, instead of planning for a summer wedding, she was scrambling for ways to earn more money to bring the children back into town with her and was finding it nigh impossible. No matter how hard she worked at the mill or how much extra piecework she took on, it would never be enough on her own. Wheeler—her former sweetheart—had spoiled everything when he changed his mind.

Finally, the overseer shut off the power to the frames and the day was over.

Briar raced out the door and down the outside stairs to the mill courtyard, getting jostled by the constant stream of operatives leaving the buildings.

There was her room-mate Mim coming down from the weaving room. Briar waved.

“Let’s go, then,” said Mim, straightening her new Sunday bonnet that she had saved up several weeks for.

Mim was a few years older than Briar, the fashion expert of their boardinghouse and the only blonde in the mix. She was a gem with a needle and had been teaching Briar how to smock little girls’ dresses, adding pleats with colorful patterns to the bodice and sleeves.

Briar had also worn her best hat to work. Not a new hat. It belonged to her mam, so it was dated but decent. She’d also risked wearing her best cotton dress, worried all day the hem would come away soaked in the grease that was liberally applied to the machines and often dripped onto the floors. They didn’t have time to go back to the boardinghouse and change, if Briar were to make it home to the children before dark.

It was important she look presentable for where Mim was taking her: across town to where the wives of the mill executives lived and had their babies.

“You sure you want to do this?” Mim asked.

“Do what?” said Henry. He sidled up between them, his hands in his pockets.

“I’m looking for piecework,” Briar said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Don’t you think you work hard enough at the mill?”

“You know why I have to take on more.” It had been a long week and Briar was tired, more weary of soul than of body. She could push herself to work a little harder and, if nothing else, try to mask the hurt left in her heart.

“Let me—”

“No.” Briar stopped him. Henry was the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back. “I can’t. You can’t. Your family needs what you bring in.”

“Then let me walk with you.”

Mim stopped. “You’ll do no such thing.” She looked him up and down as if to emphasize her point. He was covered in grease, wearing an old, torn pair of work trousers, and his shirt opened one button too many, on account of a button falling off and not being replaced.

Mim did have a point. It would be hard enough to impress these ladies that she could do the job neatly and cleanly without Henry hanging around in the background.

“Then I’ll wait for you by the road to see you home. You are still going to the cottage tonight?” His forehead wrinkled in concern.

Briar nodded. She couldn’t stay in town without telling the children first. They looked forward to her weekend visits. “Thanks, but you don’t have to. Your mam will be worried.”

“No, she won’t. She’ll know I’m with you.” He turned and sauntered back toward the mill.

Mim snorted. “He doesn’t know his mother, does he?”

Briar frowned, thinking of what she’d shared with her room-mates.

Henry had invited her to his house one day, not long after the children had moved in with Nanny. He was showing off, having never brought her there before. Their entire property was fenced off with ominous KEEP OUT signs posted everywhere, making Briar nervous from the start, even though she had already met his parents.

They had fed the chickens, petted the goats, and he was about to invite her into the house when his mother stood arms akimbo in the doorway. Her usual smile was gone, replaced by stern, set lips.

“Henry, may I speak with you inside, please?” she’d asked in a way that let Briar know she wasn’t to follow. Trouble was, the window was open and Briar could hear everything.

“How could you bring her out here? What were you thinking?”

The white lace curtain in the window fluttered in the breeze. Briar stared at it, straining to hear more. As if of their own accord, her legs started forward, taking her closer.

“I’m sorry, Mama.” His voice came out whisper-quiet.

“We don’t know what causes a girl to be drawn to the spindle. You need to be careful who you bring here. The farm is not a place for a girl, especially a girl like Briar. Take her home now.”

Henry had come out with a basket, the first of many that he would bring to the cottage filled with food from Mrs. Prince’s garden. His grin faltered when he saw her so close to the house, but then he smiled wide and led her out of the yard. He never explained anything.

Nor did he ever invite her back.

From then on, Briar not only avoided the farm, she avoided Mrs. Prince, who seemed to have something against girls “like her.” She couldn’t figure out if Mrs. Prince was against spinner girls in general or Irish spinner girls in particular.

Briar wanted to tell Mrs. Prince it wasn’t that she was drawn to the spindle, it was simply the only job she could get. Options were limited, which was why, with Mim’s help, she was hoping these housewives would take the time to judge her by her work.