Spindle(21)

His tone of voice threw Briar. It was like he wasn’t glad the Princes were still here.

“And you?” he continued. “Is your family new here? You don’t have features I recognize.”

“Fairly new,” she answered. She didn’t like handing out personal information. A better set of questions would be to ask about the prosperity of the mill to find out if he could sell his wares here.

“Are you a spinner girl?” The peddler’s eyes, a unique shade of blue, almost turquoise, bore into hers like he could read her thoughts and was daring her to lie to him.

“We have several prosperous mills in town,” she said, avoiding the personal question. “How long was it since you passed through here last?”

“Long time. Before the mills.”

“Before the mills? There wasn’t much of a town here then. A few farms and a general store was about it from what I hear.”

“And where, in particular, do you come from?” He studied her through narrow eyes. “Look more like a person who comes from the Emerald Isle with that fiery hair.”

Briar didn’t like the feeling she was getting from this peddler. He was too personal, in an odd way. Most peddlers tried to be complimentary to flatter a girl into spending her money. He was simply intrusive.

“I’ve been here since I was a child,” she said dismissively. That was all he was getting out of her. She shouldn’t have told him that much, for he was right about where she came from. She clamped her mouth shut and edged around his cart.

“And you are how old…sixteen, about to turn seventeen?” He tapped the syllables with his cane when he said sev-en-teen.

Again, he was spot-on. Her birthday was in July, next month. Mere weeks to have a plan in place by the time Nanny came home. She squirmed under his intuitiveness. “Nice talking to you. I best get on.”

He held out his cane to stop her path. “You’ve been so helpful; would you like to look at my wares? If anything I have wants to belong to you, you may have it as payment for your information. Never let it be said I don’t take care of my debts.”

Briar raised her eyebrows. If anything wants to belong to me? She was about to refuse, but a pretty piece of cloth waved at her in the breeze. Briar could ask Mim to teach her how to copy a fancy pattern. It wouldn’t hurt anything to look.

The peddler removed the rough wool cloth hiding the majority of the goods he had for sale, and stood back to let Briar get as close as she liked.

Hesitantly she approached, drinking in the objects like her poor room-mate Ania always did with the candy peddler. Briar had a little money set aside as a cushion in case she fell ill or had to miss work for any reason, but he was offering her something for free. Ethel would advise her to get something practical. Mim would have her select something beautiful. Perhaps she could find something both practical and beautiful.

“May I make a suggestion?” the peddler said. “I’ve been studying you and think I have the item here in this box.” His unique turquoise eyes drew her in.

Curiosity piqued, Briar followed him back to the end of the cart where he pulled out an old wooden box. “Something from the Old Country. Something beautiful. Yet something practical.”

Briar gasped then chewed her lip. Had she mumbled those words out loud?

He turned the box so the object would be facing her when he opened it. After clicking the lock, he lifted the lid to reveal a drop spindle nestled in a cloth of royal blue. It was unlike any spindle Briar had ever seen before. The whorl was carved with roses and the wooden shaft, stained a light brown, came to an unusually sharp point on the end.

“Well, spinner girl?” He tapped his fingers triumphantly along the edge of the box.

“It’s beautiful. And practical.”

“Even more, ’tis special.” The peddler hiked his ragged boot up on the wagon wheel and leaned his arm against his knee. “That spindle is said to bring prosperity to the owner. Take that with you to your work and replace just one of your spindles on your frame with the shaft. Keep the whorl in your pocket and the wooden spindle will absorb the shock of the machine such that the threads will not break. You will finish your work quickly and easily ahead of all the other girls.”

Briar eyed him sideways to show she wasn’t believing his tale. Besides, if she got caught changing out a metal spindle for this wooden one, she’d be let go on the spot and given a dishonorable discharge. She looked more closely at a dark smudge on the whorl. “Has it been in a fire?”

“It’s been through many a trial, an old spindle such as this, but it’s proved its worth. Once belonged to kings and queens.”

Briar let his words rush by. It was the habit of peddlers to create stories around their goods. An ax from a poor farmer became the ax used to forge a trail west by Daniel Boone.

“What is it made of, then, that it didn’t burn? I don’t recognize the wood.”

“Looks to me like fairy wood,” the peddler said. “A rare hardwood from the old German forests. If you believe it, legend says a fairy formed it out of briarwood from the Black Forest. Maybe she even imbued it with her magic.”

Briar smiled indulgently at the peddler. “I’ve never heard of fairy wood, and I didn’t know rose stalks could grow thick enough to make a spindle.” She refused to even touch it. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s worth too much for me to take just for giving you the news about town. You’ll be able to sell that to an artisan. Don’t waste it on me.” She backed away and continued looking for something else. The peddler stood straight, closed the lid with a snap, and returned the box to the corner of the wagon.