CHAPTER 3

I wiped the sleeve of my shirt over my face. The heat inside the mill made it feel cold outside. I moved the handle, and the machine clicked into place, allowing for the cotton to be threaded through.

The sound of the whistle brought a collective gasp from those of us in the room. Sweat dripped from my nose as I joined the line heading outside. Lunch wouldn't be much more than a drink of water and a short time in the shade, but it would be enough to refresh the soul.

It was under a large oak tree, behind the mill, that James found me. He dropped to the ground beside me and leaned against the tree.

"Be glad to finish up tonight," he said. I swear he'd said the same thing every day at lunch since we were seven and collecting the cotton from under the machines.

"Me too."

"Millie said she saw you coming home late last night."

It felt like an accusation, like I'd done something so evil that hellfire awaited. Millie often sat by the window of her room just across the way from my place. A year older than James and I, she worked in the mills when needed, but a cough that just wouldn't go stopped her from working all the time. A lot of the workers suffered with the cough. We all knew one day we could be next and that it would put us in the grave. At least, it would if we could afford a nice grave. Ma and Pa weren't much for church on Sundays, and their patience for listening to ministers was even shorter. No surprise that Pa's plot sat unmarked.

"Went for a walk, is all." That sounded like a reasonable excuse.

"Millie said you were soaking wet." I looked at James to see his eyebrows raised. "Weren't no rain last night."

"Fell in the lake."

"Fell in the lake?" One of his eyebrows arched higher. "You got into the beers last night? Nah, hardly be that."

"Slipped, a bit muddy by the edge," I offered.

He'd been courting Sarah Howlett three doors down, but that hadn't stopped him going regularly to the Green Frog to drink away his wages. Ma didn't like drinking. She'd once told me her pa had been a mean drunk and she wouldn't stand for even a drop in the house.

"Perhaps you went seeking some warm company and got refused." I glanced at him in time to see the smirk on his lips.

"Perhaps you gotta go clean between those ears since there's so much dirt. Sarah wouldn't be happy hearing you say such things."

"I'm on my best behaviour with her," he paused. "At least I am when her folks are around."

I shook my head. Ma hadn't been happy about us being friends, but she never stopped it.

"You really not going to tell?"

"Fell in the water, nothing more than that."

James' smirk faded. Turning, I saw the reason why. His sister, Mille, was making her way towards us, her hand pressed to her chest as she coughed, a rattling, hacking sound that made my own chest ache.

"Mille, what are you doing out here?" James asked, rising to his feet. "Ma said you were to rest today."

She waved a dismissive hand; her face was pale and drawn. "Resting's for the dead, James. Little Jane down the road is sick as a dog and if the replacement weren't here within the hour, old Mr Bryson was gonna give the place to someone else."

"But you're sick too," James said in a quiet voice.

"She's still little. Maybe when she's my age, they'll have a cure for this. Until then, I'll do what I can." Millie leaned forward. "Plus, with all the talk of striking, every shilling counts."

"Damn strike," James muttered under his breath. He glanced around, checking who was within earshot before continuing. "This is what it's all about, John. Better conditions for us folk so workers don't get sick like Millie. Owners of this place don't give a damn. They're just happy throwing their fancy balls up in their fancy house, building their fortunes while we workers die for it all."

I looked away from James. He was right about the what we didn't have, but the rich did. To the rich, when workers got sick, they were replaceable and masters took no responsibility for any sickness the work they made us do caused.

"We've got to do something," James said. "Each year that goes by, they just take more and more. They walk over us like dirt. We need better wages and better conditions to protect us from all the damn fluff."

"Yeah, well, you can strike all you like. Ain't nothing going to save me, but maybe those little ones might have a chance. Will you be at the meeting, John?"

"Meeting?" I asked.

"You got a memory like a leaky barrel. I told you about it yesterday. After work today, we're all meeting over at the empty lot next to the cemetery. You promised you'd be there. Every man will be," James said.

When I looked up, I saw both were watching me. Strike meetings could go long into the night, and I had another promise to keep as well.

"I don't know. I need this job. So do you James. Look what happened a few years back. They tried to fight against what the masters were bringing in and some ended up at the end of a rope. Others shipped off to the colonies. It's a lot to risk, James."

"Hey, so some paid a price, but it got attention. I bet even those down in London heard about it."

"But they lost. Those machines were replaced, workers culled. I don't know if we can win against masters. They're always going to have the power."

"You sound like some ram whose had his—"

"James," Millie said. Her brows furrowed as she glared at him.

"What? Like John's never heard that said before. I'm just saying we gotta stand up and try."

"Maybe there's a better way than striking. Don't you think it's like a child rolling around in the dirt having a tantrum demanding to have whatever their ma said no to?"

"You think you can just go and talk to ol' Lady Catherine, then? You wouldn't make it past the gate. Gamekeeper would take one look at you and take his damn shot."

Torn, I knew I'd dug the hole myself. James chatting away yesterday when I clearly didn't pay attention. Pa always said never to agree to something unless you were going to see it through. Two promises to keep.

"Fine, I'll be there."

James smiled. "See Millie, told you he'd show up."

The whistle sounded for the end of our break. Hours of work ahead before a long night. At least when working, my mind stayed focused on something other than life.

When the whistle finally blew for the end of the shift, I finished cleaning my station of any cotton. Others left without looking twice, but I preferred to start with a clean machine in the morning. Besides, if Bryson came around and found an untidy machine, your job could be ended there and then.

I hurried out of the mill, joining other workers streaming through the iron gates. If I was lucky, I might make it home to Ma before James saw me. Of course, that wasn't to be. Ahead, I saw James leaning against a stone pillar of a fence, hands waving about as he was talking. He waved me over when he saw me, a broad grin on his face.

"Ready for the meeting, John?" he asked.

I nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Good man!" James said, clapping me on the back. "We're meeting at the old oak tree by the church on second. I'll be heading there in a bit; we can go together."

A familiar cough. I turned to see Millie being helped by one of the piecers.

"Do you need some help?" I asked.

James' elbow dug into my side. "Hey, you promised."

"Thanks John, but I'll get her home. You men got places to be," the piecer said. I watched as Millie covered her mouth for a moment before taking a short breath.

"Wouldn't have taken long to get her home," I said to James.

"Pfft, Jane will see her home. Come on, don't want to be the last to get there."

We walked in silence for a bit. There were other workers on both sides of the street, avoiding the horse mess as they headed for the meeting. It was a relief when the church came into view when we rounded the corner. It sat there with its neatly trimmed yard and upright headstones. A little paved path even led to the graves of most importance. Of course, the further from the church you walked, the less well kept the grounds.

James and I passed the stone fence that surrounded the churchyard. I could see the weeds that climbed high around the sunken stones, the crooked wooden crosses, and, of course, the pauper graves where there were no markers. Pa was buried there. Buried about five steps from the big oak tree's branch that reached over the wall and cast its shadow on the poor souls. One day I'd save enough to have a stone put there. One day.

My boots stepped off the path and onto the trampled weeds of the empty lot. To the right stood the oak tree and under it a couple of chairs had been placed.

James nudged me as we approached the group. "See, John? Nearly the whole town's here."

"Hardly the whole town," I mumbled back.

"There'll always be cowards too scared to step up and speak up. Too scared to do anything other than obey their masters. All the good men are here tonight," James replied.

Voices chatted away as I passed my gaze over the small crowd. I recognised some of the faces from our mill as well as others in town. Despite what James had said, it wasn't just men, there were women, and a handful of children.

A man who looked to be a good ten years older than me stepped onto a chair. His beard covered most of his face, straggling hair that needed a cut stuck out from under his cap, and his patched clothes were in need of more repairs. He raised his arms, and the crowd hushed. He cleared his throat, looking about the silent people.

"Men, ladies, thank you for coming. My name is Samuel Cartwright, and I work over at the Ashworth Mill. Like many of you, I've had enough of the conditions we're forced to endure."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. James leaned forward; his sights fixed on Samuel.

"We all know why we're here," Samuel continued. "The owners of these mills think they can work us to death for a pittance. They think they can replace us like the cogs in their machines. But we are not cogs. We are human beings, and we have the right to demand better."

A cheer went up from the crowd. I felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Beside me, James clapped, a wide smile on his face. Better wages. Better condition. Yes, I wanted that, too. But the cost. The cost of a strike. There were no certainties with strikes. Masters bring in help to break them. Fire those that didn't turn out. A high cost for some.

"We demand fair wages," Samuel declared, "and safe working conditions. No more children dying because of the dust, no more men and women coughing their lives away. If we stand together, we can make them listen."

James turned to me; his eyes alight. "This is it, John. This is our chance to make history."

I nodded, though without the same enthusiasm he had. The thought of losing my job, of not being able to care for Ma, gnawed at me. Millie came to mind. How she'd stood there in front of me earlier today. How she'd been helped from the mill.

A woman stepped forward next, her apron stained with grease or dirt. "My name's Mary Taylor, and I've lost two children to the mill's dust. I won't lose another. We need to strike, and we need to do it now before any more young'uns get buried next door."

Heads nodded as voices shouted in agreement.

Samuel raised his hands again, calling for quiet. "We need to be organised. We need to be ready for the consequences. The mill owners will not take this lying down. They will try to break us, but if we stay united, we can win."

James leaned close to me. "It's going to work, John. Like the stars in the sky, we will shine."

"Talk of strikes will reach the masters soon enough. They'll know we will ask for a raise first; each mill has their nominated men to do that. Raise your hands." I looked around and saw several fists raised high, but couldn't tell who they were. "We strike all together. Same time, same demands. We request tomorrow, walk off five minutes before time, and strike on Friday. Go in peace."

"You're going to be there for the strike?" James asked.

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I'll be here."

"Good," he said, clapping me on the back again. "We should go celebrate."

"I need to get home to Ma. Besides, best keep every coin for the strike."

"Meh, one beer won't do no harm."

"You have work tomorrow."

"You have work tomorrow? What are you, my mother? John, you need to loosen up a bit."

"You need to grow up a bit."

"One day. Not today. Your loss."

The night air felt cool against my skin and helped to keep me awake. If I hadn't promised Miss Hannah, I'd be asleep within the hour.

"Hey John."

James' boots thundered on the path as he caught up with me.

"Thought you were off to celebrate?"

"I am, but left the coin at home."

We started walking again. I saw movement from the shadow of the tree ahead. James didn't seem to notice anything until we reached the darkness. On the far side of the saddlery gates, a woman sat hunched over.

"A swallow in a cage will die." Her hand caught the hem of my pants, forcing me to stop walking.

"Swallows should be free. Free to fly. Free to come and go. A swallow in a cage will die. Even a gilded cage is a prison."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, hoping she'd loosen her grip.

"Swallows be free. Swallows fly."

"Get off him." James' boot swiftly knocked the woman's hand, freeing my pants. I stepped back. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"Swallows fly free but hares get trapped and eaten."

I saw James' face contort.

"And dirt gets trampled on," he replied.

"James, enough," I said.

The lady raised her dirt-streaked face and stared up at James. She didn't seem bothered by his comments. Instead, she reached up her hands and snapped them together in front of his face.

"You wanna…"

"James, leave it be. Leave it be." I pulled on his sleeve to prevent him from punching the woman.

"Stay out of my way," James said. The woman smiled but said nothing.

We paused when we reached his house.

"You sure you don't fancy a night out? Just this once?" James asked.

I breathed in the night air. "Not tonight."

"Is it your ma you're so keen to check on, or will Millie be seeing you sneaking off again? You know, a little bit of liquid warmth would help make for a fun night, I'm sure."

I could just imagine drinking, then drowning in the lake, trying to find the little ball Miss Hannah lost.

"Clear head."

James paused. He stuck his hands into his pant pockets. "Best enjoy the wages while they come. A strike means living on very little."

"Best keep the extra then, in case it's needed."

"You were more fun when we were younger. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

I waved him off, waiting until he went into his house. My own house sat in darkness. Ma likely had tucked herself in bed to keep warm. I took a step backwards to be concealed in the shadows. Waiting a little while longer before I saw a light in the upstairs room. Hopefully, James hadn't decided to watch out the window and follow. His sister's silhouette appeared at the lower window.

Turning away, I headed to the lake. I hoped to be lucky and find it quickly. The night air at least hadn't cooled as much, but swimming at night wasn't ideal.