Spindle(56)

“Oh, Wheeler’s not boring.”

“Sure he’s not,” Mim said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Briar. Mim’s tone was starting to sound like Ethel’s.

Mim grabbed Briar’s chin and tilted her face this way and that in the light. “I only mean that you seemed to have a better time with that Henry fellow than with Wheeler. I hate to admit that Ethel might have been more observant than me about this, but are you sure there isn’t anything between you?”

“Henry isn’t here,” Briar said, fully aware she wasn’t answering the question. She didn’t know what she thought about Henry anymore. He was Henry. There was no one else like him.

“At least Henry let you talk. Wheeler just goes on and on about himself. You do have a lot of freckles, don’t you?”

Briar pulled her chin back. Her freckles were a sore spot for her. Instead of an ivory-white complexion like a heroine in a novel, her skin was all blotchy. Leave it to Mim to zero in on it.

“Awk! Don’t take offense. A lot of you Irish girls have freckles. I’ve got rice powder to tone it down. When I’m a wealthy woman I’ll have pearl powder instead.” She’d already opened a canister and dabbed a brush inside. She gently patted down Briar’s face, stepping back to examine her work. “Hmmm, this blemish is a tricky one.”

Briar held up her hand to cover the red mark that had appeared on her chin that morning.

“Put your hand down. I can cover it better than that. You don’t see my blemishes, do you?”

Briar examined Mim’s always-flawless skin and shook her head.

With a sigh, Mim leaned forward and pointed at a tiny spot on her forehead. “We all get them. Some of us are just better at hiding them.”

Briar chose not to comment. Mim thinking her tiny dot was a big blemish was an overstatement.

Mim dabbed a bit more on Briar’s face, then tapped the lid back on, and opened another jar.

“What’s that?” asked Briar nervously.

“Settle down, it’s only rouge.”

“I don’t need any cheek color.”

“Will you trust me?” Mim stepped back. “Look at me, and tell me what cosmetics I have used on myself today.”

“I don’t know,” Briar said. “You look like you always do during the day.”

“Exactly. I look natural, but I’m wearing everything I’m going to put on you.”

“I don’t know why you wear cosmetics to the mill,” Briar said. It seemed a waste. The only single male-folk on the spinning floor were the doffers, and they were all young-uns except for Henry.

“You never know who you’ll meet on the street coming home for dinner, now do you? A girl has to be prepared.”

Briar nodded. Since she agreed to let Mim help, there was no point in complaining at every turn.

As Mim applied ointment and more powder, she began to hum, clearly enjoying making Briar up. But when Mim lit a candle and stuck a hairpin in the flame, Briar couldn’t remain silent. She jumped out of her chair. “I don’t want you burning my hair.” She grabbed at her locks to protect them.

Mim laughed. “This here pin is not for your hair. ’Tis for your lashes, to make them darker.”

“No! You’re not coming at my eyes with that hot poker.”

Mim calmly held the pin in the flame. “It won’t be hot when I ‘come at you,’” she said. “I only want the soot. Try not to rub your eyes or you’ll look a mess. And no crying.”

“Why would I cry?”

“Girls just do sometimes,” said Mim. “Now hold still.”

Briar stared at the spot where the wall met the ceiling, resisting the urge to blink while Mim attempted to bring out her eyes. She was surprised at the lengths she was willing to go to test Wheeler. Would she know at the end of the night what to do? Could it be that easy?





Chapter Thirty



Feeling self-conscious, Briar slipped downstairs and into the parlor. She’d not put on Mim’s fancy dress, thinking that was overdone. Instead, she wore her best dress, which only meant the one she didn’t wear to the mill. The cosmetics made her feel out of place, as if she were wearing a fur coat in summer.

When she stepped into the room, the girls sitting around glanced up to see who was new, then went back to the games or activities they were working on. Briar was glad she’d not worn Mim’s dress. The parlor was busy tonight and she didn’t need to give anyone more fodder for gossip.

Nell was on the piano. Mary and Lizbeth were deep in conversation, and the others were around the coffee table, playing Tiddledy Winks already. The two chairs set off by themselves, most often used for courting couples, were empty, and Briar sat in one. These were the seats she and Wheeler used to occupy all last winter.

“I hear a doctor over in Rutland is calling it an epidemic. He’s got more than fifty patients, and several have died already. Some only a few days after getting sick.”

Briar leaned in to the conversation. An epidemic meant it wasn’t the spindle. Some of the pressure weighing her down eased. She was already responsible for her siblings; she didn’t want to be responsible for a whole floor of operatives.

At the first knock on the door, Briar shot up to answer it, but was beaten there by another eager girl. Everyone was ready for the fun to start.