“That sounds like an advertisement for a telescope,” Opal said.
Soon they arrived at their destination, and Bertie turned on the light; a naked bulb hung from a wire, which now illuminated the laboratory. Light reflected orange on the glass beakers, glass bowls, glass measures of varying sizes. In the back, three large vats looked like giant metal mixing bowls, paddles and all. Opal spun in slow circles. She took quick inventory of the shelves: Reduction pans. Bunsenburners. Balance scale. A pill press. Mortar and pestle. Small tins and overwrap. String. Clamps. Pipettes. “And your husband won’t mind?” Opal asked.
The corners of Bertie’s mouth tucked, just slightly. Sudsy had found them, and now he licked her hand that she held out toward him to be kissed. “I’ve asked him to stay away from the factory for the time being. Charles can do that much for me.”
“I see.”
“There’s no need for it, really. He has a foreman, managers, all that. Besides, if he’s so ambitious, he should focus on publicity. The look of things. We haven’t told anyone yet about the baby, but when the world finds out, what will it look like?A working girl.”
THE LUNCHROOM HAD NEVER ACCOMMODATEDso many Earthshine Girls at once. A body occupied every chair, every space against the wall. Some made seats of the tables.
So many bodies heated the room. Opal wished for water; she was endlessly thirsty. She lit the candles she’d brought from home. She adjusted herself in her chair. The small of her back ached from all the standing. The baby tired her easily, but she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t get comfortable.
She closed her eyes and remembered watching Madame de Fleur in her tent at the circus. Once she sat silent for a full ten minutes, so long that people began leaving, suspecting she’d fallen asleep. The stage manager tapped her shoulder, and Madame de Fleur woke with a banshee howl. She howled so long and with such a feral force that many in the audience covered their ears. Some left. Opal moved closer to the woman and felt vibrations rattle her insides, like she was standing in front of a train.
“Why are we here?” Betsy now shouted. She nervously smoothed her bangs.
At that moment, a rapping sound. The room collectively inhaled, exhaled. Then, silence. Opal stretched out her foot until she could feelthe string she’d affixed to the bottom of the table, the weight of the apple holding it taut. Two knockings, the thump of the apple bouncing against the wall.
Opal began to hum. The rapping continued, louder, so Opal lifted her voice. “He communes with me directly. One knock means yes, two means no. Ask of him what you wish.” Opal positioned her leg just so.
“Are you a ghost?” Maria asked.Knock.
“Are you real?” Amanda shouted toward the ceiling.Knock.
“Are you of this world?”Knock knock.
“Were you ever alive?”Knock.
“Do any of us know who you are?”Knock.
“Are you my mother?” Betsy said. She covered her eyes, as though she didn’t wish to know the answer.Knock. Knock.“Thank goodness,” she replied, and everyone laughed.
“Then who?” No knocking now, only silence.
“Now I’d like for everyone to join hands,” Opal commanded. “Please, hurry.” The women quickly outstretched their arms and formed a large circle that spanned the room. Some women closed their eyes. Opal thought of the Shirtwaist Strike again, of the workers in their coats overlaid with sashes.PICKET LADIES TAILORS STRIKERS. They linked arms like a human chain. Look at all they had gained!
The Earthshine workers held the room in silence. Their eyes were closed, and Opal imagined them sleeping, for what is sleep but daily surrender, the hope you’ll get back all you let go. She relaxed her body. She imagined her skin unbuttoning, like a corset, until she could breathe more freely. She tried to remember the sound of Madame de Fleur’s voice, her habit of clicking her tongue. She clicked her tongue now, too. Her baby seemed to respond to this, offering her a firm kick.
Opal let go of the hands she was holding and leaned in toward the flickering flame. Wax pooled on the tablecloth. She dabbed it and felt it harden around her fingertip.
“Someone else has come through,” she said. “Bremen’s the name. Albert Bremen.” Bertie’s father.
Some women gasped. A young girl stood and ran out of the room.
“What does he want?” asked Maria.
Opal took a breath and steadied herself. People believe what they choose to believe. “I want to help you.” Opal’s voice held now a German accent, harsh with sharp edges. She thought of her landlord, how he spoke to her in chipped English while his young son ran figure eights through his legs, countingeins, zwei, drei. “I’ve watched the conditions under which you labor. You stand all day, from morning till evening, few breaks, and even those all too short. The machine noise is horrendous. The heat from the broilers unbearable. Penalties for arriving late. Penalties for relieving your bladder. Lined up like cattle. I’ve watched it all. And for a pittance, I’m afraid. You have become victims of my own ideas,” Bremen’s voice said.
The room pressed with silence. Nobody spoke.
“But I need to work,” said Betsy now. Her dress sleeves were pushed up. The scar on her arm had faded completely. “I need to put food on the table.” She bounced her leg.
“We’re not complaining,” said Maria. “Tell him we’re not complainers.”
Bremen’s voice continued. “Strengthen your bodies by strengthening your position.”
“What do you mean?” someone asked.
