‘To throw obstacles in the way of a complete education is like putting out the eyes; to deny the rights of property, like cutting off the hands. To deny political equality is to rob the ostracized of all self-respect.’
“Mrs. Stanton gives them facts to touch the intellect, and then illustrates with examples to touch their hearts. She tells them of a girl of sixteen thrown on the world to support herself, like many of you.”
Mrs. Tuttle caught Briar’s eye. “You who must maintain your spotless integrity but with so many temptations and trials to pull you down you feel like you are swimming upstream when all you want to do is rest a moment. You long to drift with the current, but you risk losing all you have gained only because you are weary of the struggle.”
Mrs. Tuttle paused. She shook her head slowly, allowing the operatives time to imagine a girl giving up and giving in to the baser ways of surviving when you are young and alone.
“‘She knows the bitter solitude of self.’”
Briar felt a tightening in her gut. She was that girl of sixteen trying to support herself. And it was hard. She worked tirelessly to keep a home for her little sister and the boys. They were blessed to have Nanny to shelter them for as long as she was willing. The old woman shared what little charity she had for the sake of the children. If only Nanny could hold on a few more years.
Nanny never asked for more than Briar offered to pay, which never did seem enough, but somehow, with the food baskets from the Prince family, they were surviving. Briar’s solitude wasn’t bitter, but it was burdensome.
She glanced at Ethel, who was leaning into the speech, nodding along with every point Mrs. Tuttle made. Ethel never talked much about herself, never told her story. But she sure was drinking in all that Mrs. Tuttle was saying.
Likely every girl in the boardinghouse knew what it was to feel alone. All together, yet still alone. They should help carry one another’s burdens more. Briar smiled when Ethel looked her way. Yes, Briar resolved to be ready to help her fellow mill girl when the opportunity presented itself. They needed each other.
“We are told to stay in our sphere, the home. But what if a woman can’t stay in the home—either through widowhood, or an abusive husband, or no husband at all?” Mrs. Tuttle put her hand on her hip. “If the woman’s place is in a good home, where are all the good husbands?”
She paused to allow for laughter from all the single women. It was a question the mill girls batted around in their parlor on a nightly basis.
“Your sphere goes beyond the home to include whatever work you are able to do. At the Chicago World’s Fair last year, Lucy Stone, God rest her soul, pointed out that ‘the tools belonged to those who could use them; that the possession of a power presupposed a right to its use.’ Use your God-given tools, ladies. As she would say, ‘Make the world better.’”
Mrs. Tuttle smiled demurely as she received a standing ovation.
“Well? Isn’t she marvelous?” Ethel leaned over and grasped Briar’s hand. “Tell me all your thoughts.”
Briar took a deep breath to take time to compose herself. “She described my situation almost exactly.” Her voice cracked. “I feel like I’m constantly trying to swim upstream but getting nowhere.”
Ethel squeezed her hand. “You are getting further than you think you are. Next, you’ll have to come to a temperance meeting. We’re making real progress bringing the issue of drunkenness to light. We’ll be marching through town Saturday night, which you would miss, but you can help with the signs. And then we need to make the white ribbons for the WCTU rally.”
Briar turned to the door, about to excuse herself. “Thank you for inviting me, Ethel. I do mean it, but I’m going to turn in early tonight.” The lecture had given her much to think about, and she wanted to be alone to think through her next steps.
“I know it’s overwhelming to take in all at once. I’ll come up with you.” Ethel started to follow Briar out of the room.
“No, no. You stay and talk with Mrs. Tuttle.”
Ethel looked relieved, like she had really wanted to stay. “Is there anything you’d like me to ask her?”
Briar shook her head. “No, I already know what I need to do.”
Ethel’s eyebrows shot up. “You do? Oh, Briar, I’m so glad. I hoped she would inspire you in the right direction.”
Ethel couldn’t possibly know what Briar was planning, but Mrs. Tuttle had given her the push she needed to take a risk, to use the tools she had, even if that wasn’t exactly what the lecture was about.
Tomorrow she would do a quick spindle swap, and if it didn’t change anything, a quick swap back. She could do it all in one shift, if the overseer got distracted enough. At least then she would know, and if it didn’t work, she could move on to another plan. She didn’t want to become the girl who stopped fighting and allowed the current to sweep her away.
All she had to do was get to the spinning room tomorrow morning before the overseer.
Chapter Sixteen