‘You’re late.” Evangeline glanced up from her workbench, neck already aching from the intricate creation before her: a hat decorated with no fewer than six hummingbirds, pinned to netting so fine it would look as though the creatures were, indeed, flying – if one ignored the metal spikes impaling their tiny bodies. Mr Hornbeam was glaring at her down his beaky nose, his small black eyes pinning her to where she sat.
“That’s the second time this month. I see everything, as you know.” His tone was triumphant. Evangeline opened her mouth to tell him about her mother who lay glassy-eyed in one of the family’s two rooms all day, about her younger sister who sometimes cried quietly in her sleep from hunger. But before she could speak, Mr Hornbeam continued: “One more strike and you’re out. That goes for the rest of you. I see everything.” He swept his black gaze over the other 50 or so women – girls, really – who worked for Hornbeam Millinery & Co: “Hats so modern they fly off the shelves!” An allusion to the hats themselves,
