on the table and flashed a smile at the thin-faced woman seated across from her. “Hello. I’m Carrie. I’m new.”
The woman nodded. The ruffle of her mobcap fluttered. “Thought so. I’m Mildred.” She indicated those seated on her right and left. “This here’s Helena, and this is Stella. We’re all sorters.” A hint of pride entered Mildred’s tone as she stated her position. “Sittin’ over there next to you is Evangeline and Daisy. They’re mixers.”
Caroline’s nostrils filled with the sweet, fruity essence emanating from the two beside her. “You must have been mixing something with raspberry this morning.”
Daisy said, “The filling for raspberry creams.”
Caroline inhaled deeply, drawing in an aroma so rich it flavored her tongue. “It smells delightful.”
“It does ’til you’ve smelled it every day of every week for more than a year.” Daisy crinkled her nose in distaste, but teasing winked in her eyes. “Before I started working here, I welcomed a box of sweets from a fella. These days I prefer hair ribbons or flowers.”
The other women laughed, and Caroline joined them even though a little part of her heart ached. Never in her twenty-seven years had she received any kind of gift from a fellow. Except from Noble, and he didn’t count.
Caroline turned her attention to Daisy. “You’ve worked here an entire year?”
Daisy picked up her sandwich—corned beef on rye bread, if Caroline wasn’t mistaken—and took a bite. “Uh-huh. Hope to stay until me and Robby get married.”
“You’re getting married?” Caroline heard the shock in her voice, but she couldn’t squelch it. The girl looked so young—maybe seventeen. Much too young to be someone’s wife, in Caroline’s opinion.
Stella rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, don’t ask her about Robby. We’ll never hear the end of it.”
Daisy giggled. “You’d brag, too, if you had a handsome fella like Robby courting you.” She hunched her shoulders and fluttered her lashes at Caroline. “Robby’s a crater here at Dinsmore’s, but he works nights. Keeps us from frat-truh-nizin’.” She giggled again, and the others snickered behind their hands.
Caroline sent a curious glance across the women’s faces. “What’s funny?”
Mildred removed a pickle from the tin box in front of her. “We shouldn’t laugh at Mr. Hightower’s rules. He is the boss around here, after all. But it’s hard not to, considering.” She turned to look toward the door. Seemingly assured all was safe, she leaned toward Caroline. “He’s the biggest breaker of rule number two. You’ll need to watch yourself, Carrie. You’re real pretty, and you’ve got a nice figure. That man loves to sneak up on the buxom girls and pinch their bottoms. He’s cornered a couple of them and stolen kisses, too.”
Indignation roared through Caroline. “He does no such thing!”
All five women nodded emphatically, their expressions serious. Stella said, “Oh, he does. And nobody can stop him, ’cause if you complain, you lose your job.”
Caroline’s fingers itched to record the women’s statements in the little notebook she carried in her pocket. Noble would be interested in what they’d said. But she’d have to wait until she was alone. She needed these ladies to trust her, and making notes in their presence would surely arouse suspicion. “I’ll becareful,” she said. “Is there anything else I should know? Any other”—she chose her next word carefully, not wanting to frighten them into silence—“dangers?”
Evangeline said, “What do you mean?”
Feigning nonchalance, Caroline shrugged. “Work-related hazards of which I should be aware.”
Evangeline shook her head. “Nah. The men they handle the most dangerous jobs—stoking the coal, keeping the boilers going, loading the filled crates on flats for the railroad … Our jobs are easy.”
Caroline could have argued about her job being easy. Why didn’t Mr. Hightower
The woman nodded. The ruffle of her mobcap fluttered. “Thought so. I’m Mildred.” She indicated those seated on her right and left. “This here’s Helena, and this is Stella. We’re all sorters.” A hint of pride entered Mildred’s tone as she stated her position. “Sittin’ over there next to you is Evangeline and Daisy. They’re mixers.”
Caroline’s nostrils filled with the sweet, fruity essence emanating from the two beside her. “You must have been mixing something with raspberry this morning.”
Daisy said, “The filling for raspberry creams.”
Caroline inhaled deeply, drawing in an aroma so rich it flavored her tongue. “It smells delightful.”
“It does ’til you’ve smelled it every day of every week for more than a year.” Daisy crinkled her nose in distaste, but teasing winked in her eyes. “Before I started working here, I welcomed a box of sweets from a fella. These days I prefer hair ribbons or flowers.”
The other women laughed, and Caroline joined them even though a little part of her heart ached. Never in her twenty-seven years had she received any kind of gift from a fellow. Except from Noble, and he didn’t count.
Caroline turned her attention to Daisy. “You’ve worked here an entire year?”
Daisy picked up her sandwich—corned beef on rye bread, if Caroline wasn’t mistaken—and took a bite. “Uh-huh. Hope to stay until me and Robby get married.”
“You’re getting married?” Caroline heard the shock in her voice, but she couldn’t squelch it. The girl looked so young—maybe seventeen. Much too young to be someone’s wife, in Caroline’s opinion.
Stella rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, don’t ask her about Robby. We’ll never hear the end of it.”
Daisy giggled. “You’d brag, too, if you had a handsome fella like Robby courting you.” She hunched her shoulders and fluttered her lashes at Caroline. “Robby’s a crater here at Dinsmore’s, but he works nights. Keeps us from frat-truh-nizin’.” She giggled again, and the others snickered behind their hands.
Caroline sent a curious glance across the women’s faces. “What’s funny?”
Mildred removed a pickle from the tin box in front of her. “We shouldn’t laugh at Mr. Hightower’s rules. He is the boss around here, after all. But it’s hard not to, considering.” She turned to look toward the door. Seemingly assured all was safe, she leaned toward Caroline. “He’s the biggest breaker of rule number two. You’ll need to watch yourself, Carrie. You’re real pretty, and you’ve got a nice figure. That man loves to sneak up on the buxom girls and pinch their bottoms. He’s cornered a couple of them and stolen kisses, too.”
Indignation roared through Caroline. “He does no such thing!”
All five women nodded emphatically, their expressions serious. Stella said, “Oh, he does. And nobody can stop him, ’cause if you complain, you lose your job.”
Caroline’s fingers itched to record the women’s statements in the little notebook she carried in her pocket. Noble would be interested in what they’d said. But she’d have to wait until she was alone. She needed these ladies to trust her, and making notes in their presence would surely arouse suspicion. “I’ll becareful,” she said. “Is there anything else I should know? Any other”—she chose her next word carefully, not wanting to frighten them into silence—“dangers?”
Evangeline said, “What do you mean?”
Feigning nonchalance, Caroline shrugged. “Work-related hazards of which I should be aware.”
Evangeline shook her head. “Nah. The men they handle the most dangerous jobs—stoking the coal, keeping the boilers going, loading the filled crates on flats for the railroad … Our jobs are easy.”
Caroline could have argued about her job being easy. Why didn’t Mr. Hightower
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