“Think on it,” Miss Olive added before Briar could finish forming her thoughts. “Iron sharpens iron. Have a good time at the cottage.”
Briar rubbed the base of her head, anticipating a headache more than answers. “I will. Are you sure it’s okay for me to take the bicycle? Some of the others might want a turn on the weekends.”
The others did want a turn. Briar had overheard the whispered grumbles as they complained that Briar was getting preferential treatment. She also overheard Mim reminding them that the bicycle belonged to Miss Olive and shame on them for being so greedy, wanting a pleasure ride around town while Briar had that long walk to the countryside to care for her poor orphaned siblings. Mim did know how to word things.
“Of course you may take the bicycle. It’s meant to be ridden. And that reminds me. Mim left something for you upstairs.”
Sweets for the children. Briar raced up to their room, wishing Mim had given them to her earlier. She was wasting time. But the gift wasn’t sweets for the children. There on Briar’s side of the bed was a pair of tan bloomers. Mim!
Briar’s eyes filled with tears at the thoughtful gift. She’d thought Mim was making them for Ethel. She shouldn’t have. Briar had planned to eventually get around to making herself a pair.
Eagerly, Briar undid the buttons on her skirt and slipped on the bloomers. The cool fabric closed in around her legs. She strutted about the room like she’d seen the men do walking down the street. Laughter bubbled up inside. Blessed Mim. A perfect fit, and she even included a man’s trouser pocket. Briar transferred the whorl to her new pocket and set off.
Energized, Briar pulled the bicycle out from the shed in back and pushed it to the street. Enough girls had taken it out for a spin that it no longer caused groups of young mill workers to gather out front of the boardinghouses to watch, but her bloomers might revive the interest.
She kicked off and pedaled down the street toward the mill, reveling in the ease of the bloomers. As she passed the mill, she tried to figure out which window was closest to her frames. Not that she’d be able to see the spindle if she looked. She had the prettiest part of it in her pocket anyway, the whorl with its decorative carvings. When she got to the cottage she’d take it out and really look at it.
If only there was someone she could talk to about the spindle. She could go out and search for the peddler, but since she’d never seen him before the other day and he talked like he traveled far and wide, she doubted she’d find him. Mim wouldn’t ever believe her. Ethel could get mad at her for messing with her frame. Miss Olive would be obliged to tell the corporation. The children would blab it everywhere. Nanny and Henry were both gone, and Fanny, well, Fanny would find anything that seemed like fairy magic delightful, not understanding how dreadful it felt at the same time.
Briar continued to steer her way through the streets, avoiding the horses and carriages. She wasn’t that confident of either her steering or stopping abilities, so she pedaled slowly and carefully. But once she got out of town and started down the road to home, she let loose and pedaled as fast as she could. Her legs were strong, and the wind in her hair felt like freedom. Who knew a bicycle could be balm for the worker’s soul?
The town well behind her now, she bumped over the dirt roads, which became progressively bumpier the farther away she rode. In some places she had to stand up on the pedals to get enough force to keep the wheels moving, which she could never do so easily in her skirts.
The jangle of reins signaled someone was coming up behind her. Briar angled toward the side of the road and stopped. She didn’t like the idea of hitting a rut in the road and ending up under a horse’s hooves.
She looked over her shoulder as a pair of horses passed, and Mr. and Mrs. Prince pulled up beside her in their wagon. Briar’s heart lifted, hoping they had news of Henry, but then it plummeted just as quickly. The expression on Mrs. Prince’s face revealed a mother worried about her son. What if the news was bad?
Chapter Twenty
The Princes were the last people Briar expected to meet on the road. Maybe with Henry gone, they were forced to venture farther from home. They might not have news of him at all; they could just be on their way back from running an errand. She waited for them to offer any clue.
Mrs. Prince broke her worried look with a smile. “Care for a ride?”