“Heard you’ve got a new spinner,” Mim said, her eyes wide. She and Briar were walking up to the room after supper to work on two baby dresses Mim had brought in over the weekend.
Briar mimicked Mim’s wide eyes. “It was a surprise.” They both laughed at the understatement. “She’s actually a quick learner, for which I’m glad. She shadowed me for a couple of hours and then I had her work one of her own frames for the rest of the day. She’ll do all right.” Briar was glad she hadn’t tried to swap out the spindle yet, or Sadie would have seen.
“And did the overseer get a good look at you teaching? You’ll need his recommendation for Burlington.”
“All he does is watch us. The old overseer used to spend most of his time in the office. This one paces all day and makes us nervous.”
“Gather ’round ladies,” Miss Olive said, calling up the stairs to those who had already escaped. “Everyone. It’s an all-house meeting and I’ve got your mail captive to make sure you come.”
Mim groaned. “Not again. How much improving does she think we need?”
Miss Olive believed it was her duty as keeper of the boardinghouse to instruct her girls in the ways of the world and she took her role very seriously. There were several activities the girls in the mills were required to participate in: work and church, and they were to avoid any activity meant to destroy one’s moral character.
Mim plunked down in the most comfortable chair in the parlor and crossed her arms in annoyance. She was of the opinion that these meetings were generally a waste of time. She received the majority of her information from Godey’s Lady’s Book and would rather practice her man-catching skills than sit about in improvement circles.
Miss Olive stood in front of the fireplace and began calling out names, handing out letters. The stack was down to a handful when she called out, “Briar.”
“Me?” She never got mail. Everyone she knew was right here. Except Nanny and Henry. She took a deep breath, unsure of who she’d rather receive a letter from.
New York City
May 25, 1894.
Sweet Briar Rose,
I made it all the way to the Atlantic Ocean. My ship leaves tomorrow, so by the time you read this I may already be halfway to England. (A stone’s throw from Ireland.) From there I’m off to Germany to see if I look like any of my relatives. Hope number four is working for you.
Yours,
Henry.
“May twenty-fifth? That was more than three weeks ago. Where did he mail it from? Germany?” Mim said, reading the date upside down.
Smiling, Briar folded up the paper, imagining Henry penning his letter, thinking of her.
Ethel looked from the letter to Briar and smiled herself. “Good news, I take it?”
Briar felt heat rising in her neck. She shrugged it off. “He’s started his adventure.”
Miss Olive had finished handing out the mail and now stood, hands clasped, waiting for everyone to settle in. She had a big smile, which meant she was more excited than usual about today’s topic.
“I will begin with a recitation from last September’s Outing Magazine, a poem from Madeline S. Bridges:
The maiden with her wheel of old
Sat by the fire to spin,
While lightly through her careful hold
The flax slid out and in.
To-day her distaff, rock and reel
Far out of sight are hurled,
For now the maiden with her wheel
Goes spinning round the world.
Miss Olive gestured to the parlor door.
The mill girls looked questioningly at one another, then simultaneously turned to the door as a woman in reform clothes strode in with a bicycle.
Gasps sounded, followed by excited voices.
Miss Olive raised her voice above the others. “Today is a new day for you girls. I’ve managed to make a little purchase for us to share, and I’ve invited a guest to teach us how to use the new safety bicycle.”
Murmured excitement continued to spread through the room. Briar sat up eagerly. She’d always wanted to try riding a bicycle.
“Hush, hush, we’ll all get a turn. First, let Miss Spence give us the basics of being a wheel woman, then we’ll take the vehicle outside and give it a try.”
Mim stood, hands on hips. “No way. You can make me come to these meetings, but I’m not riding that thing.” She held out her full skirt as if to emphasize the ridiculousness of the notion.
“You need yourself some bloomers!” called out Hettie, a sharp-witted weaver. She peeled with laughter at Mim’s shocked face.
“Never,” said Mim. “You’ll never see me out in public in bloomers.” She sat down in a huff and said to the room, “You won’t either if you want husbands. Men don’t like women who push their freedom.”
Ethel reached across Mary and pinched Mim.
“Ouch. What did you do that for?” Mim rubbed her arm, which was already turning red.