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October
One Month Later
The little boy looked up at Jennifer with big brown eyes. He reminded her so much of her younger brother Adam. Therefore it gave her great pain to watch him plunge his hands into a tin bath of fabric dye. He plunged one sheet of cloth after another, turning the fabric black. Because of this, his hands were also black, almost every time that she saw him. It filled her heart with anger.
After a month of working at the factory and finding lodging in a shared room lodge house just down the street, Jennifer felt exhausted by London. Indeed, she had been grateful to have the work, but having to watch children work themselves tired had become a heavy burden. She had not expected such harsh reality.
“Hello,” She said quietly as she moved through, together with the bolt of cloth she would need for the day in order to make black shirts. She had been slowly saying hello to the children as much as she could, with a smile. She thought they could use some warming smiles in such a hard day's work.
“Hello. What is your name?” The little boy asked her. She was surprised, for most of the children had been very timid and did not want to strike up any sort of conversation.
She crouched down next to him. “ My name is Jennifer. What is your name?”
“I am called Kevin. I do not know my last name, if I have one.” He said.
“You do not? What of the last name of your parents?”
“I do not have a mum and dad,” He said, very matter-of-fact.
“Those be from the orphan workhouse,” Helen said as she walked past to gather cloth herself. Helen was Rebecca's cousin, the one that she had spoke of that day in the tavern.
“Orphan workhouse? Monstrous,” Jennifer replied.
“Don't let Mr. Clark see you, he'll take off a wage of an entire shirt. Best to leave them be,” Helen grabbed what she needed and moved back to her work station.
Jennifer smiled at the boy and as she walked away said, “ it was very nice to meet you. You are a young gentleman.”
The young boy smiled and she felt joy that maybe she had given him a little light in his day. Then she went back to her workstation. The tips of her fingers were scarred and bloodied from having to thread needles in the dim light of candle light. Every time she wanted to get up and walk out, she thought about her family at home, and how the money she had sent them was definitely needed. She had even managed to send a letter to Katrina, and Katrina was very nice to reply with news of her family, since her mother could not read or write. Jennifer was very relieved to know everything at home was exactly the same as she left it, but that money was indeed needed to buy food. Therefore it forced her to continue on in the harsh conditions.
“Do not go getting attached to those little ones. It will only break your heart. Most of them don't last,” Helen said sitting beside Jennifer.
Jennifer looked at her confused. “ What do you mean they don't last?”
But Helen gave her a silent answer, and Jennifer did not want to think that what she meant was death. It could not be. She would not allow it.
She was very glad that it was Saturday, for it meant that she had the next day off. Sundays were always a delight to her. She spent it writing letters, or exploring the city. Sometimes she just stayed in bed all day, enjoying the rest which was very much needed.
The next day, she met Rebecca on the corner where they sometimes convened.
“How are you today, Jennifer? The tavern is ever so busy, I was lucky that I was not asked to work today. But with two more working like me, they can handle it. I have worked 7 days straight in a row,” Rebecca said, rambling on as she took Jennifer's arm and they walked down the busy cobblestone street.
It was cold and windy, but not enough to keep people indoors on their day off. Being outside was one of the only luxuries that the factory working class had.
“Jennifer, what is it? You are not smiling and you have not said a word. That is not like you.” Rebecca stop to look at her friend.
“I cannot stop thinking about the children that work in the factory. There is one that is so young and sweet. A little boy. He is an orphan, and who is there to say that he cannot work? No parents to say no. He is being taken advantage of. I have a mind to take him home with me when I return to the country,” She said, with anger rising in her heart.
“I understand. There are many that share your anger Jennifer. But they don't just dwell on it, they want to do something about it.”
“Do something? But what can be done? The people have no power, only the rich.”
“But you are wrong. Do you not remember the French Revolution? The people took over Mary Antoinette. The people have power, they just need a good leader every now and then. Come with me. I want to show you something,” Rebecca said.
Together they walked through the busy streets, down a few alleyways deeper into the east of the borough of Whitechapel.
At the end of a particular alley, Jennifer heard the shouts of a young man, and applauding with almost every word he said. As they turned down one Corridor and then another, the alley seem to twist together in a labyrinth, until it finally spit them out into a large bald dead end. The walls were high, and it offered much privacy; one could only see the black smog of the London sky above.
“That is why we must fight the system! We cannot let them walk over us and set a low wage! We cannot let them walk over us and set the hours of a work day! Children would be working 12-hour days if the law had not changed. But that is not enough, they should not be working at all. Those job should be for adults at a living wage we need to take the system back! Who are they without us?’ the young man shouted.
Jennifer and Rebecca now stood behind a group of 20 people of mostly young age. The man stood on top of a table; he was quite handsome with dark hair and green eyes. He was also young, possibly the same age as Jacob, she thought. There was something about his words that reminded her of Jacob, the way Jacob spoke about taking what you needed, and not letting society tell him what he could and could not do. This young man had the same fire.
“Join me in this party! With large numbers, we can make a change. But I cannot do it without you. Come to a meeting next Sunday, here at noon. There is much work to be done! We will change the system! Down with factory!”
Then the entire group started to chant those words, down with factory.
Jennifer looked around, completely amazed by what was happening around her. There were people that had the same amount of anger as she did. Something was happening here and she knew that she had to help, but she did not know how.
The man had his arms in the air, and people applauded and cheered him. She knew then that she would be at the next meeting. She did not know what she could do, but perhaps her reading and writing skills could help. Perhaps just her being part and making up the numbers could help. One thing was for sure, she needed to do something in order to help that little boy Kevin.
The young man jumped off the table and walked through the crowd, shaking hands and receiving accolades. Then he made his way over to Rebecca.
“Rebecca, what do you have here? A new member?”
“Billy Barnes, meet Jennifer Bronson. She is just arrived two months ago, to work in the factories. She is in a factory with children,,She was expressing her anger to me just a few minutes ago, so I brought her here to hear you speak.”
“Welcome to London. It is a rude awakening, is it not, Miss Bronson?”
“It is not what I expected. I never thought children would be in these conditions. It is not right.”
“I agree. But the question is what will you do about it? Will you sit idly by as everyone else does and allow the rich people to treat children in such a horrid way? Or will you do something?” He said, then he walked to the next group, shaking hands and speaking politics.
The fire in Jennifer's green eyes lit like a blaze. His words had stirred her. It was just enough to know that there were those that thought it was wrong. When Helen had told her to just let it be, she wondered how anyone could just let it be. But hearing this group opposed the actions of the factories, made her feel like she was fitting in.
“And what do you think of Mr. Billy Barnes?” Rebecca whispered in her ear.
“His words I agree with.”
“Yes, his words are full of passion. And it does not hurt that he looks as well as he does. Quite handsome, is he not?”
Rebecca let out a girlish giggle, and yes she was right. Billy Barnes was quite handsome, and he only seemed more handsome with the confidence that he exuded. People seemed ready to fall in line and follow him, a natural-born leader. But as she looked at him, why did she think of Jacob almost immediately?
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