“Nothing has been decided. I have to consider every opportunity that comes my way.”
There was no more time to talk as they gobbled down their dinner of cod and hash. On the rushed walk back to work, Briar kept a pace slightly ahead of Ethel so her room-mate couldn’t tell her what to think before she had a chance to think it for herself.
Briar’s mind kept wandering all day, imagining life in Burlington. It would be hard not to see the children regularly, but there would be more money for them, to ensure Pansy could keep going to school instead of working at the mill as soon as she was old enough.
Annie, the operative working the frames beside Briar’s, nudged her arm and pointed at frame number four. Broken threads all over the place. Briar nodded her thanks and rushed to join the pieces before more damage was caused because of her daydreaming. She should have known with Henry gone she’d have to pay extra attention to her fourth frame. Seems she would just get it going again and before long all the threads were snapping and catching on one another. Constantly stalled equipment was no way to garner the right kind of attention, and the new doffer, Maribelle, was no help at all. Today was her first day on the job and the other doffers were doing their best to train her, but the girl was slow to learn.
Briar frowned as she fixed her threads. Maybe Henry was why she was out of sorts. The mill felt empty with him gone. His easy way, how he would swagger in and fix her frame, tapping that one corner as he said good-bye. She glanced at the corner and noticed an acorn sitting there. Where did that come from? She looked around but everyone else was busy at work.
She picked it up and examined it. A perfect acorn with a dark, variegated body and pale little cap like the ones she used as cups in her childhood fairy gardens. She smiled at the memory and placed the acorn in her pocket. Strange to find one sitting on her frame. She looked around again, expecting to see Henry jump out to surprise her, but he wasn’t there.
Chapter Ten
It didn’t take long for Briar to notice the big hole Henry Prince left behind. Aside from missing his mechanical skills with her spinning machine, the first time she walked the long road to the cottage by herself, she realized Henry was like the air—something you never really noticed because it was always there, but once it was gone, your chest felt like it was stuffed with cotton and left you struggling to breathe. She hadn’t felt this way since Da passed, and was surprised to feel it now about Henry. Each quiet walk home reminded her of all she missed about him.
Fortunately, the children were getting on well with Fanny, who by now had found the bunny and made a big deal about the boys taking care of it without any help from her, and that it’d better not get into her garden. Although Briar had already caught Fanny out back hand-feeding the cute thing a piece of lettuce.
Jack said he thought Fanny was made of magic because she seemed to be everywhere at once. “She can fly,” he said. “But not like a bird. She makes herself really tiny and then she can spy on us. That’s how she found the bunny.”
Briar laughed at how serious Jack was about his imagined theory. She was glad Fanny was keeping them on their toes. It helped ease her mind that the children were well cared for. It was never easy to leave them for the week.
As Briar turned the bend on her narrow path from the cottage back to the country road into town, there was a sudden change in humidity. A mist was creeping in, settling into the valley. The thick fog sent tendrils her way, wrapping around her ankles, penetrating to the bone, and pulling her faster into town.
It reminded her of the story Mam used to tell about the potato famine.
Late at night by the light of the fire, Mam would draw a wool blanket around her shoulders, get a far-off look in her eye, and begin the tale: “In the wee hours of the morn, a mist rose out of the sea and spread its spindly fingers across the land. It stayed for three days, thick as pease soup. A cry was heard across the moors that none could track as it came in all directions. A mournful sound. Then finally, when the mist lifted, we could see the tops of our potato plants and the blackness of blight that would change our lives forever.”
Every time a fog seeped into the valley, Mam would stand in the doorway, her arms crossed, her eyes observant, watching. Listening. It unnerved Briar as a child, and even now she shivered with the thought and picked up her pace. She had a need to get off this empty stretch of road and catch up to others headed into town.