Spindle(3)

Mim rang the doorbell of the first house, a new, two-story brick structure surrounded by a manicured lawn and a dozen purplish-pink azalea bushes. Mrs. Chapman opened the front door. Dressed in a pretty green dress with a lace collar and puffed sleeves, she beamed at Mim.

“Have you finished already?”

Mim handed Mrs. Chapman the wrapped package. “Yes, ma’am. And please meet my room-mate, Briar Jenny. I’ve been teaching her, and she is ready to start taking on her own clients. Do you have another dress that needs smocking, or do you know of another mother wanting fancywork done?” Mim pulled out a sampler showcasing Briar’s stitches.

Meanwhile, Briar stood silently under Mrs. Chapman’s penetrating gaze. She stiffened as the woman’s eyes roamed over Briar’s auburn hair, her freckles.

Making judgments.

This wasn’t going to work. Briar sensed it before Mim could.

There was no physical sign posted in the window, but Briar felt it in her being. She wasn’t welcome here. NINA. No Irish Need Apply.





Chapter Two



Oblivious to Mrs. Chapman’s reaction, Mim continued to sell Briar’s work. “Look at how beautifully Briar makes the baby-wave stitch,” she said. “Perfectly even: you’d think she was using a tape measure.”

Finally, the woman shook her head. “I’m full-up on clothes right present. Thank you, Mim.” With a final glance saying she should have known better, Mrs. Chapman snapped the door closed.

Briar shut her eyes, feeling the reverberations through her thin soles. And to think she dressed up for this.

Mim put her hands on her hips. “That’s a surprise. She’s always got work for me.” Mim led Briar down the steps. “Let’s try Mrs. Oxford.”

Turning back to their side of town, Briar said, “I should be getting on the road.” She had known none of these ladies would hire her. Too many immigrants had descended into Vermont too fast and some people didn’t like it.

“Just one more?”

Briar pointed to her hair. Though Mim had done it up for her in a Newport knot, the style didn’t hide the color. “They can spot me a mile away.”

“Oh, pooh. They’re not all like that.” Mim frowned, and then looped her arm through Briar’s as they walked back to their side of town. “How about I take in the jobs and you can help me with the work? What they don’t know won’t kill ’em.”

Briar gave a half smile. “Thanks.”

They were passing a group of town girls, one of whom was wearing the exact same hat as Mim. One of the girls pointed and said in a loud whisper, “That mill girl’s got your hat, Felicity.” The rest began to giggle behind upheld hands.

The girl, Felicity, said, “I never did like this hat much. Too cheap-looking. I’ve been thinking about putting it in the charity box.”

Briar felt Mim stiffen, but the two of them raised their chins and walked on like they hadn’t heard.

“They’re only jealous,” Briar said, “because you can buy your own hats but they have to wait for their fathers to buy theirs for them.”

“You’re darn right,” said Mim. “Spoiled lot. Wouldn’t last a day on the looms.”

They parted near the mill. “Give these to the children for me.” Mim handed Briar a small paper bag with three lemon drops inside. “See you tomorrow.”

“You need to stop sending me home with treats or they’ll expect them every time.”

Briar waved and started down the road out of town, wondering if Henry had waited or not. She quickened her pace, eager to be with her kin.

“Hey, wait up!” called Henry from a gathering of boys down the lane. He ran toward her.

Briar smiled, surprisingly glad for the company after the coldness of the ladies in town. “Thanks for waiting.”

He grinned back. “I thought you’d be longer, but I saw Mim headed for Miss Olive’s.”

“Doesn’t take people long to make a decision. Besides, it was time we got on home before the sun sets.” She didn’t want to tell him the reason she was walking empty-handed, no piecework for her. They walked in silence for a while until she felt his gaze.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just wish I could help.”

“Something will turn up. That’s what my da always said.” Briar stopped. “Oh, no.”

They’d caught up to a young couple walking ahead of them. The boy, handsome, tall, and lanky, leaned in close to say something to the curly-haired brunette he walked with. Neither of them lived out this way, so the only place they could be going was the pond. Our pond.

The brunette tilted her head to listen, laughed, and then touched the boy’s arm. Wheeler and Sadie. Sadie was new at the mill and worked in the carding room, one of the worst jobs. Briar couldn’t imagine how Wheeler had spotted her so quickly. He never went near the carding room since he’d moved into the machine shop. Unless they’d met during break on the fire escape when he was waiting for Briar to come out. She didn’t want to imagine that; it was too painful to think how his heart was changing while she was unaware.

Last winter, Wheeler had spent hours with Briar, laying out their plans while they sat in the parlor at the boardinghouse. As soon as he was able, he was going to transfer to the new shirtwaist factory to work as a steamer, keeping an eye out for a cutter job—cutting out thick layers of material for the ladies to sew into the shirtwaists. Aside from being a boss or a dyer, it was the highest-paying job at the factory. And when he saved up enough, he’d leave rural Vermont to go back to the Old Country. He and Briar and the children.