She gestured to Alice. “Come on,” she urged. “We only have half an hour.” Alice hesitated a fraction of a second before following her up. She had never seen the top floor. She glanced quickly as they passed the third landing, where the roving, spinning, dressing, warping, and drawing in were done, wishing she could watch for a while. But Lovey kept climbing, and then there they were, standing in a strangely quiet room. Women sat on benches with cloth before them, weaving in patterns. “It’s left thread to harness one and right thread to harness two, and you bloody well have to concentrate, because you can’t let them cross or the pattern will be ruined,” Lovey whispered. Alice watched, fascinated. The pattern weavers were the most-skilled mill workers of all. They wove the highly prized calico cloth, which was not, as Lovey had taken pains to tell her, the cheap coarse muslin the English called calico. The weavers here were creating densely intricate patterns of vines and branches in indigo blue woven through with graceful curls of white.
What do You think about The Daring Ladies Of Lowell?
