Ellis Island: Three Novels

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “I’m telling you there’s no peat at all.”

  “I thought this was a civilized country,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I’m afraid there’s much I’ll have to get used to.”

  Johnny patted her shoulder. “You’ll learn in no time. You’re bright enough—for a girl.”

  Laughing, he ducked the slap she sent his way and stood in the doorway. “The kettle’s on the stove, as you can see. There’s a faucet for cold running water at the sink, and the tin of tea is in the cupboard.” He pointed at the ice chest. “You’ll find cheese in there, along with a bit of sliced beef, and there’s a half loaf of store-bought bread in the box on top.” He gave a loud sigh and said, “It’s going to be good to have real, home-baked bread again.”

  “You could have learned to bake it yourself!” Rose shouted after him, but Johnny had disappeared.

  Rose managed to get the teakettle boiling and sandwiches made. She found a dented tray with chips in its painted floral design, wiped it off with a damp cloth, and set the cups and saucers, pot, and sandwich plate on it.

  Nowhere could she find napkins, and she worried what Tim Ryan would think. Well, never mind. She was not responsible for Tim Ryan, and the tea was getting cold. Rose carried the tray to the parlor and put it down on the nearest table. “Now,” she said to her brother, “you can tell me the good news you’ve been holding in all this time.”

  Johnny munched through a large bite of his sandwich before he answered. “It’s good news for you, Rosie. It’s about your job. And you can thank me for it.” He sat up a little straighter and looked important.

  Rose had wondered if she’d have any trouble getting a job. She was eager to help save money for Ma’s and the girls’ passages and had hoped she’d get work as a servant for a well-off family, a common job with many single girls from Ireland, since they had no worries about room or board. “I do thank you, Johnny, for finding me a job so quickly,” Rose said and put down her teacup. “Tell me. What is the family like? Are they good people?”

  For a moment Johnny looked surprised, then his eyes twinkled. “Household help, is it? You know, don’t you, that the girls who take those jobs work up to eighteen hours a day, and their earnings come to only about four dollars a week?”

  Rose took a deep breath before she answered, “Well, I’m sure to get a day off now and then to see my family, and if there’s one thing I know how to do well it’s keep a house clean, and …”

  Johnny interrupted. “Rosie, Rosie, you’re not going to be a servant. What I’m telling you is that because of the political connections I’ve made while working for Alderman Frank McMahan, I’ve been able to get you a really fine job as salesgirl in a dry-goods store owned by a man who owes a few favors to McMahan. You’ll be paid seven dollars a week and have Sundays and evenings off. What could be better than that?”

  “Not much, I’m thinking.” Thankful that she wouldn’t be spending her days scrubbing other people’s floors, Rose grinned at Johnny. “But how will I know what to do and how to do it? And exactly what are these dry goods I’ll be selling?”

  “Bolts of material for ladies’ dresses and coats, a few ready-made clothes, and some hats.”

  “Hats,” Rose repeated as her elation disappeared. She glanced at her homespun kerchief and shawl draped over the top of the chair. “Johnny, I don’t have a hat, and I’m sure I don’t have the right clothes to work as a salesgirl.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that part of it,” Johnny said, “and I’m a little short of cash.” He suddenly brightened. “Rosie, do you have any of your traveling money left?”

  “A few cents over fifteen dollars.”

  Tim broke in. “Don’t look so worried, Rose. That’s enough to get you most of the things you’ll need. I’ll ask my sister Kate to go shopping with you. She’ll know where to find the best bargains.”

  “Thank you,” Rose murmured and tried to smile, but she hated having to spend money on clothing when every single cent should go toward Ma’s passage money.

  Johnny tilted back his head and drained his cup of tea. “Let’s go see Kate now,” he said.

  “Now?” Rose complained. “But I just got here. Truth be, I’m tired. I haven’t even unpacked my things.”

  Johnny stood and held out a hand. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, and Monday morning at seven o’clock sharp you report for work.” He glanced toward the kitchen and sighed happily. “The store closes at six-thirty, so you’ll be home by seven with plenty of time to cook dinner. The three of us—Da, Michael, and myself—aren’t much for cooking, so you don’t know how glad we are that we’ll have a woman in the kitchen again.”

  Rose didn’t answer. How often she’d heard her mother recite—usually with a smile—“ ‘Men work from rise to setting sun, but woman’s work is never done.’ ” Well, that had always been the way of it, and she had more important things to think about. In spite of wanting to save every extra penny to bring the rest of her family to America, Rose couldn’t help feeling just a little excited at the prospect of going shopping for new clothes.

  Kate O’Malley, who was in her late twenties, already had crinkle lines around her eyes and mouth and a sprinkling of gray through her dark hair. She was friendly and kind, offering Rose a brown woolen coat she insisted she’d never be thin enough to wear again, and Rose liked her immediately. Kate left her two little boys in her mother-in-law’s care, assured Tim and Johnny that she’d help Rose find her way home after the shopping trip, and took Rose on a cable car to the huge Sears, Roebuck and Company building between Jefferson and Desplaines streets.

  Rose was overwhelmed by the tremendous number of items for sale. Her head swiveled from one side to the other as she surveyed cookware, baby buggies, carpenter’s tools, men’s shirts, and oak tables while Kate tugged her through the aisles.

  “Shoes first,” Kate said and made a sudden stop. “Boots like yours are not city wear, as I well know from having to make the change myself a few years ago.”

  Rose glanced at the array of stacked-heeled, pointed-toed, high-laced shoes and shuddered. “They’ll pinch and hurt. I know they will.”

  “They do feel a little different, but you’ll get used to them,” Kate said. A clerk approached, and she told him, “My friend would like to see a nice pair of black leather shoes.” She paused, glanced at Rose, and added, “Shoes that are as comfortable as possible.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “Do you know the size?”

  Kate looked at Rose, but Rose shook her head. The salesclerk gestured toward two empty chairs, and as soon as Kate and Rose were seated, he perched on a low stool in front of them and reached for Rose’s right foot.

  Rose pulled back in alarm. “What do you think you’re up to?” she demanded.

  “It’s all right,” Kate said. “He needs to take off your shoe so he can measure your foot.”

  “I can do it myself,” Rose mumbled.

  “This is part of his job,” Kate told her. “Let him do it.”

  Rose allowed the clerk to remove her shoe, but her face burned with embarrassment and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He asked her to step on a board marked with numbers and lines, then stood and disappeared through a curtained doorway. Within a few moments the clerk returned with four boxes. He took a shoe from one of them and slipped it over Rose’s stockinged foot.

  “Ouch!” she said. “That’s too tight.”

  “You’ll be wearing a thinner stocking,” he explained, and Rose blushed again, angry at herself for feeling ashamed of the thick woolen stockings her mother had knit for her.

  “Nevertheless, I don’t like the feel of the shoe,” she said stubbornly.

  “How much are those shoes?” Kate asked.

  “Two ninety-five,” the clerk answered.

  Rose gasped, and the clerk looked indignant. “You won’t find quality like that at a better price anywhere,” he said. “Our store lives up to its motto: The Cheapest Supply House on Earth.”

 
Kate leaned forward and asked the clerk, “Do you have anything a little less expensive?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied. “I didn’t realize that price was our main concern. We’ve got a style that’s one of our most popular at only two dollars and fifteen cents. It’s lined throughout with genuine kid, it has a cushion felt inner sole, and it laces up above the ankle.”

  “My friend would like to try them on,” Kate said, with a firm look in Rose’s direction.

  Rose quietly submitted to having the first shoe removed and the second put on her foot. As soon as it was laced she stood. “It’s snug,” she said, “but it does feel better than the first.”

  “Try on the left shoe, too,” the clerk said. “We want to make sure they are both a good fit. One foot is always bigger than the other, you know.”

  Rose had never heard such foolishness. Back home, when your feet grew larger you either inherited boots someone else had outgrown, or you went to the shoemaker’s and bought the next size flat-heeled boot, wearing it in comfort until it wore out or your feet changed size again. There was none of this measuring and lacing and comparing one foot to another.

  Dutifully, she tried on both shoes, walking across a short strip of carpet and back. “They feel very strange,” she told Kate.

  “Do they hurt or pinch anywhere?” Kate asked.

  “I guess not.”

  “Then she’ll take them,” Kate told the clerk. With a sympathetic glance at Rose she said, “Please wrap them. For now she’ll wear her boots.”

  Rose paid for the shoes and carried the wrapped package gingerly, glad that the shoes were still in the box and not on her feet. “Now should I buy a shirtwaist and skirt?” she asked Kate.

  “You’ll need the underpinnings first,” Kate told her as she led the way across the store.

  “What in the world are underpinnings?”

  Kate drew Rose to the side of the aisle and looked at her intently. “It wasn’t so many years ago that I was just like you, Rose. I was right off the boat, not knowing anything but the farm I’d grown up on. I’d never seen fitted underskirts and corsets. I had no idea …”

  “Corsets?” Rose interrupted. “Oh, I’ve seen corsets in the Dublin stores. They squeeze you in the middle and push everything up in front and out behind. Are you telling me I’ll have to wear one of those things?”

  “If you’re a salesgirl in a fine dry-goods store you’ll have to look fashionable,” Kate said.

  “What kind of a country is this United States?” Rose asked indignantly, but her eyes began to twinkle, and she grinned. “I’m paying good money that could be well spent elsewhere just so that I can feel uncomfortable from head to toe! I’m thinking I should be like your brother Tim and plan to go back to Ireland.”

  Kate shot Rose a startled, appraising glance, then took her arm and led her back into the aisle. “I hope,” she said firmly, “you won’t give serious thought to anything Tim happens to tell you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROSE unlocked the door of the Carney flat with the key Johnny had given her and dropped her parcels from Sears Roebuck on the nearest chair. The packages of mutton chops and potatoes she kept in her arms. “Kate,” she said, “I’m pretty sure I remember how Johnny lit the stove. Let me make you a cup of tea.”

  Kate smiled. “A few more minutes away from the children won’t be amiss. I’d love a cup of tea.” She followed Rose to the kitchen, where Rose tucked the meat inside the ice chest. Seeing that the tray under the steadily melting block of ice was full, she dumped the water into the sink and replaced the empty tray.

  “There are biscuits in the pantry,” Rose said. “I found a tin.”

  “Thank you, Rose. That reminds me,” Kate murmured. “I promised to bring some shortbread to Hull House tonight.”

  Rose saw to her satisfaction that the wadded newspaper had caught and the coals were beginning to burn. As she put the lid back on the stove she asked, “What’s Hull House?”

  “How can I describe it? It’s a center over on Halsted Street, west and north from here, but it’s a special place. Immigrants, neighbors, anyone who wants to come is welcome. At Hull House anyone can attend lectures, art exhibits, social programs, and there are even classes for children and for adults.”

  “Is it a school?”

  “No, except for its kindergarten. It’s more of a community center. Miss Jane Addams believes that just because people are poor doesn’t mean that they aren’t interested in learning. That’s why she established Hull House in a neighborhood where people need help to improve their lot.”

  “So it’s not exactly a school, and it’s not just social. I’m sure there was nothing like it in Ireland.”

  Kate smiled. “You can find almost anything going on in Hull House. When I was there on Tuesday last, a baby was being cared for after its operation for a cleft palate. And Miss Addams was entertaining two professors from Denmark—or was it Sweden?—who had come for a meeting about world peace.”

  Rose dropped a scoop of tea leaves into the pot and filled it with the boiling water. “This place is run by a woman?”

  “Jane Addams. She’s a very special lady, and a very rich one, who founded Hull House. She lives right on the property.” Kate accepted the cup Rose gave her and sat at the kitchen table. “Come with me some time, Rose,” she said. “You’ll like going. There are many times when my life needs a bit of cheering up, and Hull House provides that.”

  “I’m not a great one for lectures, but I only know you and my family. It would be nice to get out,” Rose answered. She waited a moment, watching the steam curl up from her cup, then asked, “Do the men ever go?”

  “If you mean our family men, no,” Kate answered shortly. As she slowly stirred a dollop of milk into her tea, she added, “But Tim just might go, if you asked him to, Rose.”

  “Maybe I will—someday,” Rose answered quietly.

  “I hope you do. What Tim might learn at Hull House could do him some good.” Kate gave a shake of her head as if to push away her worries.

  As soon as Kate left, Rose put away her purchases. As she laid the corset in one of the dresser drawers, she shuddered. Imagine wasting thirty-nine cents on that monstrous garment of satin and netting, with its six long steel bars from top to bottom! Even worse, she’d have to wear it!

  The hat was a different matter. “Proper and girlish,” Kate had said approvingly of the black split-straw sailor. Rose approved of the hat, too. She liked the simple faille ribbon and bow better than the plumed and flowered hats for older women, and she liked the price—sixty-five cents.

  The navy-blue skirt of heavy-duty melton kersey cloth that Rose had chosen was fitted around the hips, slightly flared at the bottom, and trimmed at the hem with double rows of black braid; and there was a jacket to match. Her two shirtwaists, which buttoned up the front with a minimum of tucks at each side, were of white cotton with high, tight collars and wrist-length sleeves, puffed at the top. Kate had told her the sleeves were called leg-of-mutton. Strange name. Strange country.

  Rose sighed, feeling that when she put on all those trappings she’d turn into someone she didn’t know. Oh, how terribly she missed her mother and her home in Ireland where she could bundle in her shawl in the winter or run barefoot through the soft grass in the summer—where she could be just plain Rose Carney. But now she didn’t know what she’d become. It was so hard to realize she’d only arrived in Chicago that morning.

  She wondered how soon Tim was going back to Ireland and how he could afford to. Maybe one of these days he’d tell her. If not, she might just ask. She smiled to herself as she realized that question was only one of many she had about Tim Ryan.

  It was close to seven o’clock by the time Rose had tidied the house, lit the oil lamps, and prepared potatoes both to roast in the oven and simmer on the stove. She had browned the mutton chops with a bit of onion, and they slowly cooked in a covered iron skillet. Now and then she held the front curtains aside an
d peered into the darkness, watching nervously for her father to arrive.

  Should she run to him with a hug, as she had when she was a little girl, or would he expect her to behave with dignity like a grown woman? Why, oh, why couldn’t she remember his face?

  As she heard footsteps on the stairs, Rose dropped the spoon she was holding and ran toward the parlor.

  The door opened. Johnny glanced around the room, then flung his derby hat at the top of a coat tree near the door, where it wobbled, then hung.

  “Looks like I’m the first one home,” he said. He walked toward the hallway to the bedrooms, tugging off his suit coat, cravat, and stiff linen collar; but he paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep, exaggerated breath. “Ahhh! Something smells wonderful, Rosie.”

  Michael, dressed in workman’s clothes, arrived just moments after Johnny and swept Rose off her feet in a gigantic hug while he, too, sniffed the air appreciatively. “Already it smells like the house did in the old days,” he said and set Rose down with a thump.

  “If you’ll remember, we didn’t have mutton chops—or any kind of meat—that often,” Rose told him. She put her hands on her hips and tried to look stern. “And what’s all this concern about what’s going into your stomach? Where’s the ‘Did you have a good trip, Rose?’ or ‘How are Ma and the little girls, Rose?’ ”

  Her brother Michael still looked like a picture of a large, friendly bear Rose had seen in one of her school-books. He pulled off his billed workman’s cap and said contritely, “I’m sorry, Rosie. You just don’t know what the meals have been like around here.” He gave her a tentative smile. “How was your trip? Better than mine was, I hope, with the hold crowded and stinking of vomit, and the food not fit to feed pigs.”

  “Enough of that,” Johnny interrupted as he returned to the parlor. “Traveling steerage to America is nothing we want to remember. A simple ‘Glad to see you, Rosie’ would have been enough.”

  Rose heard other, slower footsteps on the stairs. Her palms were wet, and she found it hard to breathe. “Why don’t you both wash up?” she said quickly with a glance at Michael’s dirty overalls. “We’ll eat as soon as Da gets home.”