Her father and brothers said the prayers before eating and Leah served the family a breakfast of boiled eggs, sliced bread, and coffee. By the time Avir’s workers—both slight, stoop-shouldered young men—knocked at their door at six o’clock, Rebekah and her family were ready to work.
At eight o’clock, about fifteen minutes after Jacob had left for his yeshiva, Avir came in smiling and nodding as he gazed about the room and found the others hard at work. But his glance stopped at Sofia, who was neatly dressed and ready for school, her hair drawn back tightly and tucked under a fresh white kerchief. “You … little Sofia,” he said. “You need a job, too. Are you strong enough to carry home a box filled with black buttons from a shop on Broadway?”
Leah shook her head, not looking up from the seams she was pressing. “Sofia is only eight, Avir,” she stated firmly. “If you had children you’d know that she is much too young to go about this city by herself. Besides, Sofia is going to public school.”
Avir’s eyes widened in amazement. “Public school? What is this? You have debts. You have rent to pay and food to buy. Sofia can wait until next fall to enter school, and right now there are many jobs small fingers can do.”
“Avir,” Elias answered, “we have talked this over and decided. We will get the pants made on time. We do not need Sofia’s help.”
Rebekah silently laid aside a waistband on which she had been doing a row of tiny finishing stitches. She stood, pulled on her jacket, and tied her kerchief over her hair. “Give me the name of the button shop and tell me what you need, Uncle Avir,” she said. “I’ll bring the box back to you.”
“I don’t want to take you away from the job you have here,” he said, “but the boy who usually runs my errands is home ill. I had thought that little Sofia …”
“I’ll hurry,” Rebekah assured him.
He gave directions to the shop and handed her a slip of paper with the address and order written on it. Rebekah shoved it into her pocket and reached for Sofia’s hand.
The school was only a few blocks away. It was an imposing building with thick, round columns on each side of the stairway that led to the front door. With a mingled sense of excitement and jealousy, Rebekah guided her sister up the stairs and into the cool hallway. If only she had been given the chance to attend a school like this one!
Rebekah found the main office and registered Sofia, then followed directions to the classroom where Sofia would study. Sofia hung on Rebekah’s arm, pulling back. “I don’t want to go to school,” Sofia complained in Yiddish. “I don’t know anyone here. I can hardly speak English. I want to go home.”
“Sofia! You must be joking! This is a wonderful opportunity for you,” Rebekah told her.
“I want to go home,” Sofia insisted, and her eyes filled with tears.
Rebekah knew she should be patient, but all she could feel was anger that Sofia was rejecting what Rebekah wanted and couldn’t have. “Behave yourself,” she snapped and gave Sofia a tug. “You’re going to school, and that’s that.”
Sofia burst into loud wails.
The door to the classroom suddenly opened, and a teacher, who was young and almost as blond as Kristin, looked down at Rebekah and Sofia and smiled. “Do you speak English?” she asked.
Sofia, startled into silence, hid behind Rebekah’s legs and held on tightly.
Embarrassed, Rebekah switched to the English language. “Yes, we do,” she answered.
“Good!” the teacher said. “So many of the children speak only Yiddish. I’m glad to have this child in my class. My name is Miss Albert.”
Rebekah introduced herself and her sister as she struggled to release herself from Sofia’s grip.
“Everybody will speak English, and I don’t want to speak English,” Sofia insisted.
“That’s not true, Sofia. Miss Albert said many of the children speak Yiddish.”
“I don’t believe her,” Sofia mumbled and made another grab for Rebekah’s legs.
But there was sudden laughter as two girls close to Sofia’s age burst into the hall in a game of tag. “You can’t catch me!” one of them shouted in Yiddish.
Sofia raised her head and stared at them.
“They speak Yiddish. You see?” Rebekah said.
“Miriam! Gilah! Come here. We have a new student,” Miss Albert said. She smiled again at Rebekah, then took Sofia’s hand and ushered the three little girls into the classroom.
Rebekah walked down the hall, opened the heavy front door, and hurried down the steps. She thought about Miss Albert’s clothes and kind voice. What a wonderful thing to see a woman work as a teacher. She paused, taking deep breaths, as she fought back a burning resentment, but soon gave an impatient shake of her head. Enough feeling sorry for herself. There was work to do. The button shop on Broadway was many blocks away, and she had promised Uncle Avir she would hurry.
Rebekah turned to the right, striding briskly, until she realized that this was not the way she had come. A woman leaned from an upstairs window and called to another, and Rebekah didn’t understand the language they were speaking.
Nessin had told them the city was divided. Jewish … Italians … Irish … What had she blundered into? Nessin had been beaten! What would happen to her?
Rebekah turned and began to run, terror blinding her. She dashed across a street, narrowly missing being struck by a heavy cart. She stumbled over a curb—Which way? Which way?—and ran toward the right, dodging startled pedestrians.
Had she come this way? Around the next corner Rebekah flew, colliding with a large, solidly built man. As he grabbed her shoulders to steady her, Rebekah could see his dark blue uniform, cap, and badge. He was not a soldier like in Russia. He was a policeman!
Rebekah squeezed her eyelids shut and waited in fear for what would happen next. She knew it was best never to attract attention. It was told that if you were arrested by the Russian police, you might never be seen again.
A hearty voice asked, “Are you all right, young lady?”
Rebekah realized that the policeman’s English sounded much the same as her friend Rose’s. Could he be Irish? She tried not to be frightened. “I guess I’m all right,” she whispered.
He peered down at her. “Then suppose you tell me why you came bounding around that corner in such a hurry.”
“I don’t know where I am … That is, I’m supposed to hurry, but I can’t find …” Rebekah stopped for breath and added, “I didn’t mean to run into you. I’m sorry.”
“No harm done,” he said and smiled. “It seems to be that you’re lost. If you tell me where you’re trying to go, I’ll be glad to give you directions.”
Silently, Rebekah held out the slip of paper to him, and he nodded. “You’re headed in the right direction. Now keep going straight, and four blocks from here you’ll find Broadway, that’s the wide street. Then it’s just a simple matter of turning to the right. The shop should be only five or six blocks farther.”
“Thank you,” Rebekah murmured.
He touched the brim of his cap before he strolled on. Rebekah gave such a loud sigh of relief she hoped he hadn’t heard it. The police in the United States were nothing at all like the police in Russia. She calmed herself and carefully followed the officer’s directions. Soon she came to Broadway, with its heavy cart and buggy traffic, clopping horses, and hurrying, pushing crowds of people. Where were all the people going? Everyone seemed to be in such a rush.
She noticed young women wearing bright coats and hats and wondered what kind of life these women led. Could they be students? Was there a university nearby?
Rebekah’s attention was drawn to the large window on the ground floor in the building she was passing. She stopped and stared. The window was decorated like a little room, and behind the glass stood two female mannequins dressed in elegant outfits. Rebekah pressed her nose to the glass, enchanted by the elegant wine-colored coat with a full skirt and narrow waist. It reminded her of the coats she had seen on first-class passen
gers on the ship. This coat was decorated with black braid that was stitched down the front and around the hem. The collar was black velvet, and gold buttons fastened the coat and sleeves.
She sighed in admiration, then she noticed that the braid was machine stitched in a single line down the center, its edges curling away from the fabric behind it. Papa would never have turned out a coat with such poor quality stitching. Papa’s tiny hand stitches would have made that braid lie flat.
With a shrug, Rebekah turned away and walked briskly down Broadway, passing a door over which hung a neatly painted sign on which was lettered: HEBREW IMMIGRANT AID SOCIETY.
So this is where the office was! She peeked into the window and saw a large, comfortable room inside. Maybe she could stop in, just for a minute … only to say thank you again. While she was there, she could ask about the evening classes and find out if girls were allowed to enroll.
But she had promised Uncle Avir that she’d hurry. Rebekah walked on by until she reached the button shop, opened the door, and stepped inside.
As a young clerk behind the counter unfolded his long legs from the equally long legs of a high stool and took the slip of paper from her, Rebekah stared around the room in amazement. Fastened to cards and pinned around the walls were buttons of every type, color, and size. She reached out a finger to stroke a smooth, gold-toned button, elegant enough to decorate a woman’s expensive, fine suit.
“Are all these buttons for sale?” she asked in awe.
The clerk bent to search for a box under the counter, so his words were muffled. “That’s what they’re here for,” he said in English that obviously had very little accent.
“The gold buttons … How much do they cost?”
The clerk stood, thumping a heavy, rectangular box down on the counter, and turned down the corners of his mouth in a wry smile. “More than Avir Levinsky would pay.”
Rebekah tried to sound grown-up and haughty. “Avir Levinsky wouldn’t be the one buying those buttons. I would, and I simply asked the price. Will you tell me, please?”
“Those buttons will set you back twenty-five cents each!” He grinned at Rebekah’s expression of dismay and shoved the box and a printed pad of order blanks toward her. “Sign here,” he said, “and I’ll give you the buttons Mr. Levinsky ordered.”
But Rebekah had spotted something else—an array of thickly stuffed envelopes with pictures on them of women’s suits, dresses, and coats. “What are these?” she asked.
“Patterns,” he said.
Rebekah peeked into the open top of the envelope where she saw folds of soft, thin paper. “Do you mean these are paper patterns to lay on cloth when cutting out a garment?” She thought of the thick, rough paper her father had always used.
“The very same,” he said. “Made by McCall’s, and fifteen cents apiece.” His eyes were mocking as he added, “Can I sell you one? Along with the gold buttons?”
“Yes,” Rebekah answered slowly as an idea began to grow in her mind. She met his teasing smile and added, “Not right now, but someday.”
She signed the order, put a copy of it in her pocket, and hoisted the box filled with buttons to one hip. But at the door she stopped and asked, “Maybe you could tell me, how do women students dress in this country?”
His grin became broader. “You want gold buttons and a degree from Columbia University?” he said, almost laughing but without malice.
“Columbia University—is in New York City? Where girls can be students?”
“Right uptown.” He fished through the pattern box and pulled one out, holding up the picture so Rebekah could see it. In the drawing a young woman was dressed in a white, long-sleeved blouse and a skirt that fit snugly over the hips and fell in graceful folds. On the woman’s head was a hat like those Rebekah had seen in the store windows. Except for the hat, the outfit looked like the one Sofia’s teacher was wearing. “Students dress simply,” the clerk said good-naturedly. “If you’ve got fifteen cents the pattern is yours.”
“Later,” Rebekah told him. “I’ll be back.”
She began the trip home, but as she passed the door of the HIAS office, she stopped. What could one moment hurt? she thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN Rebekah entered the HIAS office she stood quietly, trying to catch her breath, watching as a woman with gray hair and a pleasant smile came to greet her.
“My family has just arrived in the United States, and my brother Nessin is going to study in your evening classes,” Rebekah blurted out, “but I need to know if girls are allowed to take the classes, too?”
“Sit down, dear,” the woman said. “First tell me your name.”
“Rebekah Levinsky,” Rebekah said, “but I haven’t got time to sit down.”
The woman smiled again. “My name is Gussie Meyer. I’m pleased to meet you, Rebekah, and I’m impressed that you speak English so well.”
“There is so much I want to ask you,” Rebekah told her, “but my uncle wants me to hurry back with this box of buttons, so all I can ask right now is, are girls allowed to take the evening classes?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Meyer answered.
In spite of the fact that Rebekah had received the answer she’d wanted, she was amazed. “You really don’t believe that education is wasted on a girl?”
“I certainly do not!”
“To have an education is my dream,” Rebekah confessed. “This is a surprising country. In spite of the terrible way people have to live, there are rewards. Is it true that in some of the Western states women can vote?”
“Yes, in Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and Idaho.” Mrs. Meyer’s eyes glowed as brightly as candles. “If the hard work put in by all of us suffragettes pays off, women in every one of the forty-eight states will someday have the vote!”
“Even in New York?”
“In New York and in every state.”
They laughed together, and Mrs. Meyer asked, “Would you like to sign up now for one of our classes, Rebekah?”
“I can’t. Not yet,” Rebekah answered and reluctantly began to edge toward the door. “For a while I’ll have to work with my parents to help pay the debt we owe my uncle. When that is paid off, and we have saved enough money to send for my grandfather, then I think my father and mother will be more willing to listen to my reasons for getting an education.”
“Where do you work?”
“In our home.”
“Sewing?”
“Yes. I’m a finisher. I do the hand stitches on garments.” Rebekah shifted the box, which gave a muted rattle. “I was supposed to hurry back with these buttons. I’ve taken far too long.”
“Have other people been hired to work with your family?”
“Yes.” Rebekah could tell from Mrs. Meyer’s expression that she knew all about sweatshops. Rebekah was embarrassed.
“Not everyone in New York City lives in such crowded conditions, Rebekah,” Mrs. Meyer told her. “I hope your family will soon repay the debt and your father will find another job and be able to move the family to a larger apartment in a quieter neighborhood.”
“Where would a quieter neighborhood be?” Rebekah asked in surprise. All she had seen in New York City were crowded, noisy neighborhoods.
“My parents came from Germany. We started out living on the Lower East Side. My father was a peddler,” Mrs. Meyer said. “But they prospered, and eventually my father established a large dry goods store. They moved to the Upper East Side. I hope your family will prosper, too, and you will attend our classes.”
“Thank you,” Rebekah said. With new energy, her mind racing almost as fast as her feet, Rebekah strode briskly for the entire long walk back to the flat.
That night, after work had ceased, Rebekah told her father what she had seen at the button shop.
“Papa, you could use those patterns to tailor elegant suits and coats for women. Yours would have hand-finished seams and hidden stitches and beautiful detailing.”
“If only I co
uld, Rebekah,” her father replied.
“You can, Papa. We need to put aside a few pennies a week, but it will add up. When we have enough you can buy a pattern—oh, you should see those beautiful patterns!—and a fine piece of wool, and the trimmings, and make a lovely coat.”
Her mother broke in. “But what could he do with this coat? Sell it on Hester Street? He wouldn’t earn enough to pay back what it would cost to make. Be practical, Rebekah.”
“Mama, there are big clothing stores here,” Rebekah continued, and she told about the mannequins she’d seen. “Papa could take the coat to show to the owners of that store and to others. Surely, they’d be interested in clothes that were beautifully tailored. They’d want to sell that coat for him at a good profit, and they’d probably hire him to tailor more coats.”
Elias looked hopeful, but he said, “I don’t know, Rebekah. We are strangers in this country, and we don’t know how things like this are done.”
She ran around to face him, kneeling on the floor and clasping his hands. “Maybe someone at the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society could tell us.”
“Maybe in the future we can discuss this possibility,” Elias said, “but in the present we have our responsibility to pay back Avir.”
In the future. We’ll discuss a good tailoring job in the future. We’ll talk about the possibility of your schooling, Rebekah, in the future. Did everything have to wait? “Papa,” Rebekah complained.
But Leah interrupted. “No more talk tonight,” she said. “Look how your father’s head is hurting.”
“Did I say my head is hurting?”
“I can tell when your head is hurting. Now … off to bed, everyone. We have to wake up very early, and we all need our sleep.”
* * *
The family quickly adjusted to the routine Avir had set, beginning work each day at six and continuing until nine at night in order to keep on schedule. Cloth scraps lay everywhere, and a dusting of black lint covered everyone and everything in the room.
The brisk walks Rebekah took as she escorted Sofia to and from school became the highlights of Rebekah’s days; for a short time she escaped the heat and drudgery of the sweatshop. She encouraged Sofia to read her lessons out loud while Rebekah hand stitched garments, praising her use of English, helping her with words that were difficult. This is what Mordecai would have done, Rebekah told herself. This is what a teacher would do.
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 11
