Love and Other Wicked Games (A Wicked Game Novel) Read Online Free Page B

concentrating with great detail on the piece of sewing in her hands. But that was not the case. Her hands were motionless, the needle laying slack in one while the fabric rested lightly in the other. There was a drop of water on the fabric and Mandy tried to rub it away. Ellie knew that all the hardness Mandy put forward was a facade. They all knew, but Mandy still clung to it for protection.
    “Listen here, I’m going to tell you exactly what I told Ellie when she was about your age and I’m only going to say this once. This world can be a wonderful place, an amazing place, but it can also be harsh and cruel. Not all people are as kindhearted as Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, certainly not all employers. To some employers the people they employ are not even people—”
    “Not people? But how can—what does that even—”
    “Not. People.” Mandy emphasized. “They are a means to an end; to money and lots of it. Those employers don’t care if you cut off your finger or your hand or you work hour after hour until you can’t force your eyes open and you fall on your face and die. You can and will be replaced, by the next able-bodied person who just wants to support their family. But they won’t stay able-bodied for long because if the mill doesn’t kill them, then the slums will. But none of that matters to the employers. And as long as their pockets are lined at the end of the day then all is right with the world. All is right with their world.”
    Amelia fell back into her chair, eyes glazed over. “That doesn’t even seem real.”
    “Believe it, dear,” Mandy tightened her throat to bite back the tears. Her fingers began to work quickly on the sewing again, distracting her from the full emotional depth of her words. “It’s not something you forget, seeing a person’s body and mind worked that hard. My brother and father and grandfather—even my mother—all worked themselves to the grave. No, I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I can’t. Not when I saw it with my own eyes… not when I lived it.” Mandy cleared her throat. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”
    “But… But why doesn’t anyone do anything?”
    Ellie’s mother stood up and went to the table with the stack of fabrics. She began to sort them, busying herself as well, as she spoke. “For a long time no one thought anything could be done.”
    Amelia took a slow deep breath. “But why?”
    “Remember what my mother just asked you about this job and if you needed it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, that’s precisely the problem. There’s an uneven balance of power.”
    “The worker needs the employer but the employer does not need the worker. They just need a worker. Any worker.” Amelia said as her eyes glazed over. Everything was beginning to sink in. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her lap. “But isn’t there anything anyone can do?”
    “That’s what the protests are about,” Ellie’s mother said. “The workers are demanding to be heard.” She stood up and went back to the table to busy herself, briskly patting the pile of fabrics she had been sorting and smoothing her hands across the top.
    “Well, that’s good. That’s a start right? And that’s what you meant, Ellie, when you said that they were forcing people to see—to look. They want everyone to know how they live and work.” Amelia frowned as she watched Ellie’s mother resume folding and patting down piles fabric. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think the protests are helping?”
    “Honestly? I don’t know.”
    “Why not? Why wouldn’t they be?”
    “Because the balance of power is still uneven. It doesn’t matter how often or how loudly or how forcefully the workers protest if the mill owners and employers continue to see them as nothing more than work vessels. They’re still making their money and there’s still more men and women desperate enough to work for them, no matter the conditions. So what incentive do they have to