“This room.” Someone pointed, and we went in.
Inside there were three iron beds, each covered with a single army blanket. There was nothing else in the room, no chair, no shelf, only a bulb hanging down from a long black wire to show the raw timbers of the walls.
“I’m freezing,” Ruth muttered.
“Can’t you stand it for one night?” Mother demanded. We lined up to receive our supper: a stew of potatoes and green beans with slivers of meat. After that we lined up again for the washroom. People did not speak to each other or introduce themselves. By tomorrow they would be strangers again, sailing on different ships to different places.
Annie slept with me, and we kept each other warm by huddling close together. We were awakened by a sharp blast, like a factory whistle, and I jumped out into the cold.
Mother was already dressed, and she hastily packed our pajamas. “Hurry!” she told us repeatedly. “Ruth, hurry up. Stop combing your hair, for goodness sake. Lisa, help Annie get dressed.”
Annie was still half-asleep, and I had to push and pull to get her clothes on, for she kept popping her thumb back into her mouth. As soon as we were on the bus, Annie began to wail. “I have to go to the bathroom!”
“You can’t. You’ll have to wait,” I told her, “until we’re on the train.”
It was still pitch black outside, and it felt as if we were driving through a tunnel all the way to the station. In the train there were dim night lights.
It was a short ride to LeHavre, where the ship waited. Again we were in a huge station room, and again our luggage and papers had to be inspected.
“I’ll never travel again,” Ruth mumbled, “never. I’ve had enough. It’s nothing but waiting and getting up at the crack of dawn to go to another waiting room.”
I had never seen so many people rushing and shouting, all carrying bundles. Even the little children were laden with bags and boxes, Annie, too, with her dolls and things.
“I want to go see the ship,” Annie said, hopping up and down impatiently.
“We have to wait here for Mother,” I told her. “Just sit down.”
Through the windows I could see the huge ship bobbing up and down like a giant cork in the gray water. I could see barrels and boxes being brought up the ramp, and others being hoisted aboard with a huge crane. “Just look at it,” I said. “Look, Annie.”
Annie! She had been there, right beside me! “Ruth, where’s Annie?” I shouted above the noise.
Ruth stared at me. “Where? You were watching her. I don’t know where she went. Why didn’t you watch her? Why didn’t you hold on to her?” Her voice rose sharply, and I strained to see through the crowds, my panic mounting. How, among all those people, could we find her? And Mother—what would I say to Mother?
“Find her! Find her!” Ruth shouted at me.
“Maybe she’s at the candy stand,” I said, steadying my voice. “I’ll go and look.”
“No! Mother told us to …”
“You stay here and tell her … tell her.”
I broke away and rushed over to the candy stand, but no Annie. I called, but my voice was lost in the sounds of other voices, and when I came back to Ruth, Mother was standing beside her, her face white and hard.
“You two sit here,” she said, “and this time obey me!”
I wanted to explain. She had been there and then she was gone. I wanted to tell Mother I was sorry, for all the good that would do!
“Just stay here. I’ll find her,” Mother said.
“They’ll sail without us,” Ruth said over and over again while we waited. “They won’t wait. I knew something like this would happen.”
I tried to concentrate on looking for Annie, and on ignoring Ruth’s accusing moans. “They’ll sail without us. It’s all your fault.”
At last I couldn’t bear it and I wanted to shake Ruth with all my might. “Stop it!” It was not a shout, although inside I felt that I was bursting. “You are the oldest. Just stop that awful moaning and behave yourself!”
She only gasped, and in that instant Mother was beside us, grasping Annie tightly by the arm. Annie was silent, red-eyed, sniffling only a little, and rubbing the place where she had been spanked.
“Now,” Mother said, drawing a deep breath, “we will go to the ship.”
Our ship was a large French ocean liner, as large as several city blocks, and in every way like a whole town afloat. Whatever we wanted, there it was: games on the deck, meals we had once dreamed about, music in the lounge at night, and dancing. There were movies, and we all went to see them at night, even Annie. They were the first films I had seen in nearly a year, wonderful, funny films and stories that I loved.
It was like one long vacation from day to day, until on the fifth day the air grew cold, the wind began to blow, whistling along the deck, and the ship tipped and swayed from side to side.
Annie thought it was a joke to try to walk on the rolling, pitching deck, until at lunch she became very pale and whispered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Nonsense,” Mother said quickly, giving her a piece of bread to eat. “You’re just hungry. Only babies get sea-sick.”
I didn’t say anything, but it was clear by the empty places in the dining room that nearly half the passengers couldn’t face the thought of a meal, and even as we ate our lunch others left hastily, their hands over their mouths.
At the evening meal only a handful of people appeared. Glasses slid clear across the table. We clutched at the hand rails as we walked, sometimes being tilted from one side of the passageway to the other.
Everywhere there was talk of the storm, and passengers crowded around the purser’s desk, anxiously wanting to know when it would end, when we would arrive in America. A sign was posted announcing a delay in our arrival. We would be a whole day late, due to the storm, and maybe two.
All the next day the wind blew in fierce gusts, and by noon Ruth lay in her bunk, unable to rise. “Go away,” she moaned. “I can’t eat. Go away. I’m dying.”
“Seasick,” Mother said lightly; and Annie sang out, “Only babies get seasick, Ruth,” whereupon Ruth threw down a slipper, which Annie dodged.
Again we stood at the purser’s desk, and this time the people were all talking at once, frantic about the delay. Two elderly women were in a state of near-hysteria. “We’ll sink, I know it,” one cried out.
And the other wept, “How can fate be so cruel? We’ll never see America. Never.”
“I’d like to send a message,” Mother told the purser when our turn had come. “My husband will be planning to meet the ship, and I want to tell him about the delay.”
“I’m sorry,” said the purser. “We cannot send any private messages. Your husband will probably be in touch with the steamship company, or he will find out through the newspapers.”
“He’ll check with the company,” I told Mother. “Papa always checks things like that. Don’t worry.”
“I hope so,” Mother said, frowning. Then she smiled at me. “You’re right, dear. It’s silly to fret about it.”
By morning the winds had settled, the sea was calm. People began to sit on the deck again. The next day, it was said, the next day we would see land.
Night brought a change in mood, a great excitement, an air of celebration. People danced in the dining room and the ship’s orchestra played gay tunes, while newly found friends exchanged addresses.
The next morning everyone was up early, crowding at the rails, straining to see the first glimpse of land. We stood close together, the four of us, and several times there was a false cry—land!—then disappointment and Annie’s questions, “When? When?”
For nearly two hours we stood. Then, suddenly there began a murmur, rising to a shout, until it spread the length and breadth of the ship. “America! America! I see it! Look!”
People shouted wildly as they pressed closer and closer to the rail to see the dim, distant outline of the Statue of Liberty. Parents held their lit
tle children high on their shoulders that they might see, and I strained on tiptoe, shouting at the top of my lungs while I stared at the statue and the buildings in the distance, thinking it might be a dream, but the throbbing inside me was real, very real.
“I’ll never forget this sight,” Mother whispered.
Beside us an old woman wept, her head pressed against her husband’s shoulder. “America! God be praised!”
On and on the shouting, the waving, the tears. The ship seemed to rock and sway with it, and then I heard the first strains of music from the ship’s orchestra. If people didn’t know the words, they sang the tune,
“America! America! God shed His grace on thee.”
Amid the streaming crowd we made our way down the gangplank, and when we stood on firm ground, my legs still swayed from the motion of the sea. I saw a bearded young man beside me stoop down and gather up a handful of soil, and everything he felt showed in his eyes.
For a few moments we stood lost in the tangle of people, all waiting for someone, all wondering where to go. We began to walk, following painted arrows. We passed through many rooms and saw many people who looked at our papers, and then, suddenly, Mother stopped short.
I can’t remember what I said or did, but I heard the shriek from Ruth, and I suppose my own voice mingled with hers, “Papa! Papa!” It was as if I had been hurled through space and dropped here, straight into Papa’s arms.
With all the crowd milling past, Mother and Papa drew close in a long embrace. At last Papa exclaimed, “Annie, darling, don’t you know me?” For Annie hung back, clutching Mother’s hand.
Now Annie came forward and said with a strange, shy look, “Are you my Papa? Are you really?”
“Oh, yes, my little Annie! I am, and I love you.” Papa scooped her up into his arms, and Annie buried her face in his neck. “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh, Papa!”
“Come now,” Papa said, with his arm around me. “There’s time for talk later. I want to hear everything. But now,” he said, his voice husky, “let’s go home. It’s just a little apartment, and I don’t have much furniture yet.”
“It will be beautiful,” Mother whispered.
Home, I thought, home was a feeling more than a place. I gave Papa’s hand a squeeze and he smiled down at me. Yes, we were home.
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