Rose sat in front of the three interviewers. She saw the other girls, older and more experienced. Some of them had even worked in factories before. She was just a girl from Metlas, wet behind the ears and full of too many jitters for her own good. The factory was not what she’d imagined. She thought there would be some towering building of brick and mortar, with massive smokestacks releasing clouds of blackness into the sky.

Hollyworth Factory was nothing like that. There was a large shop floor where women worked in rows, along long tables. It was brightly lit, the walls painted pink. The women were dressed in pretty uniforms and they looked happy. She was in the manager’s office, overlooking the floor below.

That could be her future, if she was lucky. Some of the girls from Wetlas had settled into jobs as housemaids or nannies, but she had come across the advertisement for openings in the newspapers and came to the interview. Somehow, she’d passed two rounds already, and was among the two dozen who were now being interviewed personally.

“Do you think you’d be a good fit here, Miss Blackman?” the manager asked.

Rose nodded. “Yes, sir. Definitely. I’m a hard worker and people have always told me I’m easy to get along with.”

“Good, good,” the man said. “Any previous experience? Any references we could check?”

“I only worked on my family’s farm before this, sir,” she said. Rose wondered if she should’ve lied. She had an uncle who was a merchant. She could’ve gotten a reference from him. But she was never a good liar.

“That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll put you on a trial period of two weeks instead of offering you a permanent job from the beginning. If everything works out during the trial period, you will be employed officially. Is that alright?”

The manager’s question was rhetorical. Rose smiled. Of course it was alright. It was more than she was expecting. She’d thought that the interviewers would make them wait, leave them in suspense and send appointment notices to their addresses. That she would have to take their silence as rejection.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “When can I join?”

The manager peered through the schedule pasted to the wall.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’re getting a new batch of orders.”

“Yes, sir,” Rose repeated. “I’ll be here.”

She left her name and details with the guard at the door. Some of the other girls, the rejected ones, cast sad looks her way. Her smile was almost dulled by their misfortune, but the guilt only lasted for a second. The guard had given her an advance, enough money to cover a week’s rent and send some home to her family.

Rose wandered the streets of Soverden. She hadn’t had enough time to see the streets, and with no money in hand it seemed like a waste to walk past the various shops and stalls. It would’ve just been an exercise of walking away with the feeling of having missed out. She paused in front of window displays, ran her fingers over handmade shawls and scarves, and tapped her feet to the music of a violinist on the side of the road. A few coins lighter, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with a smile on her face, she entered her rooms.

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Her landlords were distant relatives. She didn’t like them, but the rent was low and the food was edible, so she had promised to stay for a few months. Their children kept entering her room when she wasn’t there, trying to get into her suitcase, but it was an annoyance she had to put up with. Hopefully, not for long.

“Uncle Victor’s found you a job at the lumber mill,” her aunt said. Rose had just stepped into the house, slipped off her boots.

“Oh. I, already, got a job,” Rose admitted. “At Hollyworth.”

Her aunt’s face twisted into accusation for a second, and then gave way to a smile. “Hollyworth? Did they need sweepers or cleaners?”

“No, they offered me a job as a worker. I’m to start tomorrow.”

She heard her aunt mumble to herself as Rose went up the stairs. She knew Hollyworth was reputable. Their products were shipped and transported all over Tharn. Her aunt was no doubt imagining scenarios in her mind where Rose was not hired because of her interview or her work ethic, but because of her youth, her rustic prettiness.

Girls were always accused of that. Even in Wetlas, families were jealous of the money the girls sent home, yet they gossiped about how the money had come into the girls’ hands. They spoke of Soverden’s underbelly, the brothels with tiny rooms and endless customers, of how even in the northern part of the city, there were grander buildings that offered the same sordid services.

In her room, she found her two cousins, trying to pick apart the lock on her suitcase. Rose had nothing to hide, but that didn’t mean she wanted her things to be touched and seen by near strangers. The children were shameless in the way only children could be, when they were undisciplined. She couldn’t completely blame her aunt and uncle for their lack of manners. It was hard making a living in Soverden, and both of them toiled morning to night. Her aunt made a living out of baking cakes for the neighborhood. None of the people on the street could afford the artistic creations of white flour, white sugar, and berries that were sold on the main street. Instead, people bought her aunt’s more humble fare, made of dried fruits, molasses, and whole flour. The cakes on the main street made you feel like you were floating, and her aunt’s brought people down to earth.

Rose ushered the children out to change out of her street clothes. From her suitcase, she withdrew a simpler dress, one of violet faded to lilac over the years and slipped it on. She would help her aunt in the kitchen, to blunt the edges of the bitterness the older woman must feel. Factory jobs were coveted, and it would sting to have spent decades slaving away, and then to see a new girl get an opportunity so quickly, with so little effort. Rose could admit that to herself. There were thousands in the city that deserved the job as much as she did, and some more. She’d just been lucky.

Her uncle walked in, well past sunset. She helped her aunt set the table and serve dinner. Her uncle worked at the shipyard of Soverden. He spent his days breaking down ships no longer safe for the seas, and building new ones. It was steady employment, but it was hard. Uncle Victor never said so, but she saw the redness of her skin from hours in the brutal sun, the callouses on his hands, fresh blisters still showing up sometimes despite his years on the job.

“Hollyworth’s a good place,” her uncle commented, his mouth half-filled with Aunt Minnie’s bread pudding. “They pay well, too.”

She wondered if they would increase her rent. She hadn’t even discussed the pay yet. The advance was generous, but so were her needs.

“I was hired for a trial period,” she said. “Because I have no experience. They said that if everything worked out, they would then hire me full-time.”

Her uncle nodded. “Makes sense. Make sure they don’t have any excuse to fire you. It’s hard getting a job in this city.”

She heard the weariness in his voice. Sometimes her uncle didn’t go to the shipyard in the mornings. He went to other places, trying to find other work and failing. Rose nodded obediently. Was that her future? She didn’t know much about the work at Hollyworth, but it seemed easier than most jobs. Most people said it was comfortable work, if a bit monotonous. She didn’t mind monotony. She didn’t work to stimulate her mind or fulfill her passion. Those kind of pursuits were for those who could afford it.

“Yes, uncle,” she said.