Nancy

Nan looked up at the sign on the board outside Mr Aikman’s shop. She’d overheard Mrs Lawd complaining to Mr Aikman about it, and already knew the gist of the message.

She backed up a little to study it – though 12 years of age she was as small as a ten year-old and it was tacked up high. She spelled out the words: ‘Girls & Boys Wanted.’ 

Cold Spring Woolen Mill was hiring new boys and girls for pieceners, strippers, slubbers and bobbin carriers. Nan didn’t know what any of those jobs were, but the sign said the mill would train them. Boys could earn 60¢ a day, girls 40¢. She did the sum on her fingers. Forty cents a day would mean $2.40 a week; that was a lot of money. Of course, a skilled girl or boy would earn more, but 40¢ was better than nothing, and the mill couldn’t be worse than working on the Lawd’s farm.

She was the only girl on the farm, besides Mrs Lawd, of course.  She had been their skivvy for two years, working her fingers raw from cock-crow to sunset, often drenched with sweat. She hated it, but had no choice. Mr Lawd bought her at the pauper auction; the Durrand workhouse decided she was old enough to work, and paid him two bits a week for her keep.

If she only could get a job at the woollen mill, she could save up enough money to… to do what, exactly? Nan wasn’t sure. But there had to be a world out there; there had to be more to life than laundry, washing dishes and feeding the chickens. The problem she could not solve was how would she live if she took a job at the mill? The attic bed, crusts of bread and the rinsings from the milk buckets the Lawds gave her would be gone. Was $2.40 enough to pay for a room, and food, and clothes? She ran her hand over her rough wool skirt and tawdry blouse. Even those belonged to the Lawds, as they often reminded her.

“You mark my words, Mr Aikman,” Mrs Lawd’s loud voice filled the air as she opened the door to the shop and stepped out. “Giving boys and girls money like that will cause trouble! Who knows what they’ll get up to?” Nan hurried over and took the parcels off Mrs Lawd, who dropped them into her arms without even a glance. There was something heavy in one parcel, and the other three were lighter. Nan carried them as best she could.

“Hurry up, Nan!” Mrs Lawd admonished her. She set off at a stiff pace up the board sidewalk toward the millinery shop, her shawl and periwinkle blue skirt swirling in the breeze while Nan hurried behind her, barefoot. She wished she had as pretty a skirt, but Mrs Lawd said the worn, patched garment she’d given her was more practical for a workhouse girl. At the milliner’s Nan waited outside and looked at the hats through the window. Mrs Lawd always said there were better hats to be had in Durrand, but she still stopped by the milliner’s to try on her latest styles. 

Once, when Nan was cleaning upstairs, she’d tried on one of Mrs Lawd’s hats to see what it looked like in the mirror. Mrs Lawd had caught her and given her a thrashing, of course, but Nan wished she had something to wear other than the horrid cloth caps the Lawds gave her.

“Buying a hat, Nancy?” she turned toward the voice. It was Billy, the lead-hand on the Lawd’s farm.  Nan looked up at him.

“I don’t have any money,” she said, but her eyes drifted over the hats on display, lingering on a small, flat, crocheted hat in pale green, with a little bunch of tight, pink buds, like cherry blossoms,  tucked under a darker green ribbon on one side. Billy watched her and smiled.

“That’s just the ticket for you, Nan. It would set your blonde hair off a treat.”

“Oh, there’s no point even looking,” Nan sighed. “Where would I ever wear a hat like that?”

“Oh, church on Sunday, I suppose,” Billy replied, taking the parcels from her. “Or, who knows, a boy might ask you to a dance come the end of harvest.” Nan giggled at the idea, but took off her cloth cap and twisted it, somehow, into a semblance of the hat in the window, then holding it on top of her tresses at a rakish angle. 

“You’d look a treat in it,” Billy said, with a wink, and Nan blushed. When Mrs Lawd came out there was no milliner’s box in her hand, and no new hat on her head. Nan hurried to climb up on the back of the wagon, securing the parcels in place and wedging herself between the sacks of flour and oatmeal that Billy had loaded there, while they were at Aikman’s. Once Mrs Lawd was secure in her seat, Billy clicked his tongue and Dobbin pulled the cart down the bumpy road.

Mrs Lawd complained about the sign for the woollen mill the whole trip; it was clear she thought that the owner was trying to tempt boys and girls off the farms to a life of debauchery and high-living. Billy nodded and held his peace through the long-hour trip along rutted concessions and sideroads, until Mrs Lawd would talk herself out. When they got to the farm, Billy dropped Mrs Lawd at the front door, then pulled the cart round to the kitchen door in back. Nan and he unloaded the things for the house.

“Billy?”Nan asked him as they worked, “Where will the boys and girls stay when they work at the mill? There’s not much places to live round here.” Billy looked round to make sure no one was listening who shouldn’t hear.

“They’ve a dormitory,” he said. “Room and board for $1.50 a week. Some of them might find rooms close at hand, instead.” Nan did the sums.

“So almost a dollar a week left?”

“Close enough,” Billy said. “Are you thinking of running away, there, Nan?” Nan nodded. She knew she could trust Billy. He was a kind young man, and took good care of the horses for Mr Lawd. 

“Don’t you be telling nobody,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But the next time I have to go to Kesteven without the Lawds, I’ll let you know. You get your things ready, because I don’t know when it will be, and you need to hurry when it’s time.” Nan nodded. It wasn’t as if she had much to bring with her, if she left.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” she asked. Billy laughed.

“Workhouse girls run away all the time, Nan. You’ve lasted here longer than most.”

On Sunday, after church. Mrs Lawd had taken the parson to one side, and tried to enlist him as an ally in her fight against the woollen mill. Reverend Andrews didn’t seem all that amenable to the suggestion that the mill was Satan’s playground, however. “Now, Mrs Lawd, Mr Eccles needs hands to do the work, and I’m sure there’s no idleness there. He’s a good man of business, I’m told.”

“I’m shocked at your attitude, Parson,” Mrs Lawd said, giving no quarter. “Think of the lads and girls tempted away from the farms by easy money! Consorting and keeping company like wantons, where will it end?” Reverend Andrews held firm, however, and the departing  church-goers smiled behind their hands at Mrs Lawd’s tirade. Nan wished they’d paid her more mind, though; she knew that someone would pay for putting Mrs Lawd in a bad temper, and she suspected who it might be.

 Ten days later, as she was clearing the breakfast things from the table, Billy bent down and whispered in her ear. “Mr Lawd needs me to go to Aikman’s store today. You finish up and then hurry along to where the road fords the stream. I’ll be there in about an hour’s time.” They both glanced at the clock.

“I have to feed the chickens, first,” Nan said. 

“Well, you better be lively,” Billy replied. “I can wait there a little, but not too long.” Nan washed the dishes and pans as quickly as she could. She fetched the bucket of scraps for the chickens and carried them out to scatter them near the coop; she felt a little guilty dumping them in a heap – some of the older and smaller hens might not get their fair share – but she hoped they’d sort it out. Then she ran quickly up to the attic, pulled out the flour sack that held her few things, gathered her shawl about her, and hurried down to the spot where Billy told her to meet him.

It was months before Nan saw Mrs Lawd, again. She was stepping out of the milliner’s shop, with the little, green, crocheted hat sitting on her head, when her former employer stomped down the wooden plank sidewalk toward her.

“There you are, you hussy!” Mrs Lawd said. “I should have the law on you for running away, you vagabond!” Nan held her ground; she’d shot up a good three inches since going to the mill and, although still shorter than her former employer, she wasn’t as easy to browbeat any more.

“No you won’t, Mrs Lawd. Because if you report me for running away, the country might want to know why you kept taking the money they sent you for my care this past year.” It was a cheeky bit of back-talk, but Nan could see from Mrs Lawd’s face that it was true. She’d nothing to fear on that score. But Mrs Lawd recovered quickly, and looked her up and down, taking in her linen skirt and new shawl and hat with a glance. Nan lifted her skirt a bit to show off her shoes, too.

“You…you…you’ve become a strumpet, Nan!” Mr Lawd went on the attack once again, with less vigour than before, but annoyed her former skivvy dared to flaunt herself. “I bet I know how you paid for those.”

“It’s Miss Moore, if you please, Mrs Lawd, and Nancy if you must be familiar,” Nan replied. “You’ve got a nasty mind! Anyway, I work at the cotton mill, and the foreman himself has said I’m Mr Eccles’ hardest worker. You know that’s true; you made me work hard enough on the farm for crusts and watered milk! Now, I’ll bid you good day, Jane Lawd!”

With that, Nan pushed past her former employer and crossed the street. She felt satisfied, and she noticed more than a few smirks from people who’d overheard. They’d enjoyed it, too.