Spindle(47)

“Thank you.” Briar spoke with relief. She was more worried about Prudence finding out than the spindle causing harm. The way it was positioned in her frame, it should be easy to avoid the tip.

“The most important thing is, never touch the spindle. Ever.” Fanny raised her eyebrows. “Ever.”

“I understand.” Briar hopped on the bicycle and rode back to town, her mind cycling as fast as the wheels she was riding on. If only Mam were here to talk to. She would help Briar make sense of all this, because she didn’t understand. Not at all.

Back in town, Briar eyed the mill warily, wondering what a magic spindle did when no one was around. Lie in wait for its next victim?

She zoomed down the row of boardinghouses, savoring her last few minutes of freedom. She slowed to a stop by the porch, turning heads of the girls sitting outside. “I’m back! Anyone want to use the bicycle before I put it away?” She slid off the seat. Her legs wobbled a little, not yet accustomed to cycling such a distance.

Met by blank stares, she assumed no one was interested, and so she parked the bicycle back in the shed. When she climbed the porch stairs, one of the girls she didn’t know very well leaped up from the bench and said in an exaggerated deep voice, “Miss Jenny increased her production today. Let her be an example of what you can accomplish with focus and hard work.”

Another mocking voice joined in. “Work more quickly, and like Miss Jenny, your next paycheck might go up.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“That’s what the overseer told everyone in line after you left on Saturday. He thinks we’re slow and lazy, and because you were suddenly working faster you’ve made us all look bad. Thanks a lot. We’re working as fast as we can.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why he would say that.” Briar was mortified. “I know you work hard. It’s just my bad frame started working better is all.” She searched the faces of the girls on the porch. They didn’t look convinced.

Briar sighed and went directly to her room to freshen up. She was hot and sweaty after cycling. The room was empty, so she splashed some water on her face then lay down for a rest before supper. She’d not had a restful time at the cottage, nor a welcome greeting back at the boardinghouse.

When she came down to eat, there was a hush in the dining room, followed by more quiet whispers and looks directed her way. Ethel squeezed her hand encouragingly, and Mim gave her a wink. Their support was just enough to see her through until she could go back to the room.

Later, she asked her room-mates upstairs, “Why are they so angry with me? I didn’t lower their wages.”

“They’re not angry at you exactly, they’re frustrated that our wages were cut again and we have no recourse.” Ethel paced between the beds. “Where else are we going to work? The next mill over? They offer the same wage. Our working conditions keep getting worse and worse, our pay lower and lower, and our rents, paid back to the mills, are staying the same. We’re going to have to walk out to get their attention.”

“For once I agree with Ethel,” said Mim, blocking Ethel’s path to stop her pacing. “The other operatives will forget about it by morning. Don’t you worry.”

“But what about our wages?” asked Ethel, hands on hips. “Do you finally agree with me that we’re getting a bad deal?”

“Of course I do, I’m just not as loud about it,” retorted Mim. “But the bosses are going to do what they’re going to do. They can pay us more, but then have to fire some of us to make up the difference. Is that what you want?”

“If you believe what they’re telling us. I still see the agent driving up in his new buggy, wearing his fine tailored clothes. They used to treat us operatives better. Like Mrs. Tuttle said about Charles Dickens’s report on the Lowell girls. He said conditions weren’t like those in the factories in England, but here and now we are already halfway to workhouse conditions like those in Oliver Twist.”

And with that, Briar’s troubles with the other operatives were forgotten as more and more girls wandered in to watch Ethel and Mim go at it. There were operatives sitting on the beds, the floor, and spilling out the hallway. At the bell, they all cleared out, not having solved anyone’s problems, but feeling better for letting off steam.

“That was exciting,” said Sadie, squeezing her way back in. “Couldn’t even get into my own room.”

Briar hoped everyone had put their anger back on the company and off her. She’d quietly go about her business, keeping her frames running as best she could and staying away from the spindle until she turned seventeen. She didn’t want to be the focus of anyone’s attention anymore. Not the other operatives, nor the overseer or agent. She hoped the girls wouldn’t walk out until after she and Fanny had figured out how to get rid of the spindle. She didn’t want to have to choose between supporting the operatives and keeping her job so she could protect everyone from a cursed spindle.

The next morning, Briar tried to leave by herself again, but Sadie also woke up early, and followed her all the way to the mill, asking questions about Ethel and Mim, and finally getting around to the real questions she wanted to know.

Twisting her fingers nervously, she asked, “Do you think Wheeler’s parents would accept a girl who’s not Irish? I haven’t met them yet, even though they live right here in town. He keeps telling me he is waiting for the right moment to invite me over.”