The Man She Hated

"Hey Fair, guess what I heard about you last night," Sadie Allen said with a sly grin, leaning over to talk to the girl beside her.

Fairfax Fielding didn't look up right away. Her red-brown curls shimmered under the factory lights as she focused on guiding a piece of soft white fabric through her sewing machine.

"What'd you hear?" she asked casually, finally glancing up with a pair of warm brown eyes that could've lit up any room.

Fair wasn't flashy-just one of the girls on the floor-but even among rows of machines and harsh lights, she stood out. Her skin was smooth and glowing, her smile came with cute little dimples, and her face had this quiet strength, framed by loose waves of golden-auburn hair that the other girls teased her about. But Fair's look wasn't something you could copy-there was just something real about her.

Sadie gave her a teasing look. "I heard you're getting married!"

A few girls nearby snickered. Fair's cheeks flamed bright pink.

"That's a lie-and you know it," she snapped. "You're just trying to mess with me, Sadie. I don't even have a boyfriend. And I don't want one, either."

"You're forgetting about Waverley Osborne," someone else chimed in from the other side of Fair's machine.

The sewing room was packed with long rows of machines, each girl tucked into her own little space. Most of them had known each other for years-some had started here as kids. Fair herself had come in at twelve, running errands for three bucks a week. Now at seventeen, she was learning the trade and pulling in seven dollars. If she stayed until twenty, that would double.

Among the regulars was a new girl named Miss Platt. She was tall, cool, and strikingly blonde, with icy blue eyes and a skill for embroidery that got her top pay. Rumor was she had left her last job because her boyfriend worked in the showroom downstairs. True or not, she stiffened noticeably when someone brought up Waverley Osborne's name-and kept listening closely.

Fair scoffed, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Can we not talk about him? I can't stand that guy."

Sadie grinned. "You say that, but he did bring you flowers. And didn't he walk you home-twice?"

"Once," Fair corrected quickly. "And not because I wanted him to. I told him to leave me alone, but he just wouldn't take the hint. Then he had the nerve to try and visit my mom-she definitely set him straight."

Miss Platt suddenly looked up from her embroidery, her voice tense. "Set him straight how?"

Fair had no clue why the blonde cared so much-but the other girls did. They weren't about to spoil the fun.

"She told him not to walk me home, not to visit me, not to give me flowers-not to do anything," Fair said honestly.

Miss Platt gave a short, bitter laugh. "Wasn't he good enough for you?"

Fair blinked, confused by the snippy tone. "I don't see why that's your problem, Miss Platt," she said, starting to get annoyed. "If my mom doesn't want me hanging around guys, that's her choice."

Miss Platt's blue eyes flashed, but she forced a fake laugh. "So your mom doesn't want you dating at all? That's weird. I'd think she'd be happy to get you married off."

Fair's temper flared. "Oh really? Married and off her hands? When I'm the one supporting her? No thanks. And for the record, my mom says she'd rather see me in a grave than married to some broke guy."

"Oh, so she wants you to snag a rich one?" Miss Platt said, with a sharp edge.

Fair raised her chin. "If I could get one, sure. Why not?"

That got the room laughing. A factory girl dreaming of a rich husband? Hilarious.

Fair blushed hard. She hadn't meant it seriously. "Don't get it twisted-I don't want to marry anybody. But I'll tell you this-I wouldn't marry a poor man, not even if I loved him like crazy. My mom always says, when poverty walks in the front door, love jumps out the window. And trust me-she'd know."

Everyone knew the story by now. Fair's mom had once been rich, spoiled even, before she ran off and married someone beneath her. Got disowned. Ended up in a rundown apartment, struggling to survive, and full of regrets. Her husband had died young, and ever since, she'd drilled her beliefs into Fair's head like a survival guide.

But now, the forewoman-a kind older lady with grey streaks in her hair and a no-nonsense air-stepped in.

"Fair, I've heard you talk like this before, and I think it's time someone told you the truth. Will you listen?"

Fair nodded, caught off guard.

The forewoman smiled, gently but seriously. "Your mother's story isn't everyone's story. She had a hard time because she never adjusted. But not every poor man makes a bad husband. I married one-a carpenter. We didn't have much, but we worked hard, and we were happy. I still tell my daughters: if a good man loves you and you love him, don't turn him down just because he's not rich."

She paused, looking at Fair with kind but firm eyes.

"You're a working girl. You're used to doing your part. You'd do fine with a man who's willing to work beside you. But dreaming about marrying rich? That's not a plan-it's a fantasy. Rich men don't usually marry factory girls. No matter how beautiful they are."

After saying all this, the forewoman turned away. The other girls murmured in agreement-except Sadie Allen, who stayed quiet, because she saw that Fair's eyes were full of tears.