Ellis Island: Three Novels

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “Michael!” Rose whispered. “You didn’t tell us that Ellen is rich!”

  Michael chuckled before he answered. “Ellen isn’t rich. She works as a lady’s maid.” He took Rose’s elbow and steered her around a corner and through a walkway that led to the back door of an immense, yellow stone house.

  He lifted a hand to knock, but the door quickly opened, and a short, blond woman stepped outside. She gave a quick smile to Rose, but she beamed at Michael. She wore a forest-green skirt and fitted jacket that emphasized her tiny waist—“Corsets,” Rose muttered to herself—and on her head was a fashionable hat decorated with gray and black plumes that curled under her chin.

  “Ellen, this is my sister Rosie,” Michael said. He took Ellen’s hand and led her toward Rose. “I’ve told her all about you, and she’s been eager to meet you. She’ll be spending the day with us.”

  “You are beautiful, just as Michael said,” Rose blurted out. Feeling large and clumsy and awkward, she fervently wished she’d worn her new clothes, wished she’d stayed home where she belonged, wished that she’d never come to America in the first place.

  “It’s all thanks to my mistress, who is generous with her cast-off clothing,” Ellen said and winked as though Rose were an old friend sharing a good joke.

  I like her already, Rose thought, and I’m going to like having a sister close to my own age. The world immediately became a happier place.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JACKSON Park was larger and more impressive than Rose had imagined. Following the shore of the great Lake Michigan, the park’s wide lawns and trees spread out like green paint from a spilled bucket. A large, round bed had been dug and planted with small, already-blooming seedlings of orange-and-yellow marigolds.

  Rose stopped, inhaling the damp pungency of the freshly dug earth, and remembered with a pang the newly turned clods of dark, broken soil at corn-planting time. During this season Da wore this same deep, earthy fragrance on his clothing, his hair, and even in the sweat on the back of his neck.

  They passed a small lake on which people boated and fished, and Ellen tugged playfully at Michael’s arm. “Let’s rent a boat. It’s such a lovely day for being on the water.”

  Michael looked embarrassed. “I don’t have enough money with me, Ellen. There’s barely enough to cover carfare home.”

  Ellen’s smile didn’t waver. “Well, for that matter,” she said, “a walk along the shore is really what I’ve been dreaming of all week, and we couldn’t have a nicer day for it, could we?”

  As she crooked an arm through Rose’s, Ellen said, “Michael told me about your fine new job as salesgirl. I’m happy for you.”

  Rose glanced down at her old-country clothing. “I—I won’t dress like this. I’ve already bought a shirtwaist and skirt and … and the other things I’ll need.”

  “You’ll look fine,” Ellen said. She turned and stood on tiptoe, pulling off Rose’s kerchief with one hand and twisting a strand of hair upward. “You have beautiful hair. Sweep it up like this. Do you have hairpins?”

  “Yes,” Rose said.

  “I had to learn so much when I came. The lady of the house was very patient with me and taught me how to look and behave.”

  “How to behave? What do you mean?”

  “Well, there are certain little things that employers like. I must walk softly and dip a small curtsey when spoken to and keep my aprons freshly starched and ironed and …” Ellen’s voice dropped to a whisper and she made a face as she added, “And always wear a corset.”

  Together Rose and Ellen burst into laughter, and Michael asked, “What’s so funny? Can you share the joke?”

  “No!” Ellen said, and the girls laughed again.

  As they resumed their stroll Rose asked, “Do you like the family you’re working for? Are they good people?”

  “They’re as good as any,” Ellen said, “maybe better than some. The working hours are long—six in the morning until ten at night—but they don’t stint on food for the staff, or heat for the bedrooms. John, the butler, is a sour apple if there ever was one, but our cook, Berta, knows how to keep him in line.” Before Rose could ask another question, Ellen said, “It’s hard work, but I don’t mind it. Cleaning house is what I was doing back in Ireland, and it’s what I’ll be doing after Michael and I are married. It’s something I know how to do and do well.”

  “Which is more than I can say about the job I’ll be starting tomorrow,” Rose murmured.

  Ellen squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Nothing is going to go wrong, and you’ll learn what you need to do in a hurry.” She turned toward Michael. “Berta’s daughter is going to marry that policeman who’s been taking her out. You should hear what Berta has to say about a policeman’s job.”

  “It would be dangerous, wouldn’t it?” Rose broke in.

  “No more dangerous than working high up on a building under construction, as Michael does.”

  “You’ve said before that I should apply for a job on the force,” Michael told her, “but I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a police officer.”

  “They’d teach you.”

  “I don’t even know what qualifications they ask for.”

  Ellen’s cheeks grew pink. “Well, I do,” she said. “I asked Berta to find out. All you need is to be a young man in good health—which you are, Michael!” She bounced on her toes as she said, “And I found out what policemen are paid! You’ll never believe this, Michael— up to five dollars a day! That’s much better than what you’re getting as a day laborer—a dollar seventy-five a day.”

  Michael stopped in surprise. “The beginning salary is bound to be lower,” he said.

  “Not that much lower.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he answered. Rose hoped Ellen knew Michael’s thinking about it would take awhile. Michael was a deliberate kind of person, turning an idea around and around in his mind the way he’d examine an apple for bruised spots.

  Rose let the two of them talk while she gazed out at the lake—as large as an ocean—and allowed the serenity of the glistening water to fill her mind.

  She was surprised when she heard Michael say, “Rosie, it’s time to turn back.”

  “There’ll be a next time,” Ellen said. “We’ll all come here again soon.”

  Rose smiled at the two of them, glad that Ellen was going to become her sister. “You were right, Michael,” she said. “This trip to the park was just what I needed. The world seems right again.”

  That evening, before she cooked supper, Rose counted the money in the canning jar and wrote the amount with the date on a sheet of paper. Then she hid the jar among the potatoes in the large burlap potato sack. No one would be likely to look for it there.

  Michael came into the kitchen as Rose was carving thick slices from the slab of bacon. “Da’s home,” he said.

  Rose laid down the knife and looked up, relieved. “Is he … all right?”

  “Of course he is,” Michael said. He looked away, then back at Rose. “Go easy on him, Rosie. You had your trip to Jackson Park, and you met Ellen, and the three of us had a fine time, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” Rose said and tried to smile, but she ached inside, missing her mother so terribly she could hardly bear it. “When Ma gets here,” she said, “Da will be his old self again, won’t he?”

  “I’m sure he will,” Michael said, and brightened, obviously glad to change the subject. “I haven’t had a chance to ask you, Rosie. What do you think of my Ellen?”

  “She’s everything you said she was and more. I’m honestly glad the two of you will be getting married,” Rose answered.

  “Thank you, Rosie.” Michael wrapped her in a bear hug.

  “Don’t thank me. It’s you who had the good luck to find her.” Rose pulled herself free and made a shooing motion. “Now get out of my kitchen, Michael, so I can get supper ready.”

  The meal went much better than Rose had expected. Da was lavish with pra
ise for her cooking, comparing her skills with her mother’s.

  “How was your day in Jackson Park, Rosie?” he asked. “I should have come, but the time got away from me. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course I do,” Rosie said, trying to ease his embarrassment. “It’s a beautiful park with the lake and all that green grass and … Oh, Da, there were fresh-turned flower beds with marigolds newly planted. Just the smell of that earth reminded me of our farm.”

  Da rested his fork on the edge of his plate and studied her a moment. “There were gardeners at work in the park?”

  “It’s Sunday,” she said. “There wasn’t a gardener in sight.”

  “They’d need plenty, no fear, for the size of the parks in this city,” Da said and went back to his meal.

  Michael began telling a humorous story, and Johnny tried to top him. It wasn’t until Rose stood to scrape and wash the dishes that her father put an arm around her shoulders and quietly said, “Rosie, the time just got away from me today, but I’ve got something in mind for you—something I’ve been planning for some time.”

  “That’s fine, Da,” Rose said and reached for a plate.

  “You say it’s fine, but you don’t know what it is,” he teased. “It’s better than fine.” He gripped her shoulders and turned her so that she looked into his face. “I’m talking about your birthday, Rosie girl. In three weeks—June seventh. We’ll do something to make it special. Did you think your father would forget such an important day?”

  Rose was touched, but she was embarrassed. “I’ll be sixteen, Da—a woman. Birthday celebrations are for children.”

  When she was a child, Rose loved to remember, Ma would make a pudding and put a sprig of wildflowers on the table. Sometimes there’d be a special treat like sugar-candy drops. Once Ma had given her a rag doll with eyes, nose, and a mouth stitched from scraps of yarn.

  Da’s face sagged with concern. “You’ve got tears in your eyes, Rosie girl. What did I say to make you so sad?”

  Rose threw her arms around her father and buried her face against his shoulder. “It’s Ma. I miss her so terribly much!”

  “I miss your mother, too,” Da said in a tone so woeful that Rose clung to her father even more tightly. There was nothing else to say.

  In the morning Rose woke to the ringing of the alarm clock in her father’s room. She pulled a wrapper over her nightgown, stoked and lit the stove, then set a filled teakettle over one of the lids. The darkness of night had faded to a dull gray by the time Rose had fried the eggs, sliced bread—she would have to make a fresh batch tonight—and made a pot of tea so dark and strong it would flip sleepy eyelids wide open.

  Rose felt comfortable doing the tasks that Ma had always done so well. Someday she’d be even more like Ma, with her own husband and children to care for. She smiled at the thought, but there was too much to be done to daydream.

  As soon as Rose had made and packed lunches for all of them she ate quickly, standing at the stove. One by one her brothers and father came to the table. She served them, then hurried to her room to dress. She wasn’t eager to push and pull herself into that terrible corset and the tight-waisted skirt, but she did what had to be done.

  It was not until she had swept up her hair the way Ellen had showed her and had fastened her hat on her head that Rose dared to look into the mirror.

  “I knew it! It’s not Rose Carney staring back at me. It’s someone entirely different!” she said aloud.

  There was a sharp knock at her door. “Talking to yourself, are you?” Johnny called. “Get a move on, Rosie. I’ll take you to Sweeney’s this first day, and we’ll have to leave no later than ten minutes from now.”

  “I’m hurrying,” Rose called back. When she opened her door Johnny had gone back to his room, so she went to the kitchen to put the dishes to soak, careful not to soil her new clothes. There was no time to wash the breakfast things. She’d have to do the cleaning up tonight. How did other women manage to get everything done? Maybe she should take the alarm clock into her own room and get up fifteen minutes ahead of the others.

  As Rose strode into the parlor, her father and brothers were at the door ready to leave. The three of them stared at her with wide eyes.

  Johnny recovered first and exclaimed, “Rosie! You look like a model in an ad for Marshall Field’s! You’re a beauty!”

  “Nonsense. I’m the same Rose Carney I was yesterday and the day before,” Rose replied, but she glanced away, knowing she hadn’t spoken the truth. She had left girlhood behind with her old clothes and had become a woman—the woman she’d seen in the mirror.

  Johnny grinned. “My chum Tim Ryan thought you were pretty when he first saw you. He should see you now.”

  “Who cares what Tim Ryan thinks?” Rose said, but quickly looked away as she felt herself blushing.

  “Tim Ryan?” Da asked.

  “He’s a friend of mine,” Johnny said, and he flung open the front door. “Let’s go, let’s go! We don’t want our Rosie to be late for work her very first day.”

  By trolley Sweeney’s Dry Goods Store, on State Street, was a half hour’s ride. Rose trembled as they arrived, and the only thing that kept her from clinging to her brother was the cheerful appearance of Sweeney’s store. Bright-green awnings were rolled down to shield pedestrians from the sun and protect the colorful bolts of material in the window display from fading.

  The inside of the store was immediately intriguing to Rose. On one side were tables covered with huge bolts of fabric, and behind them was a wall covered with racks of buttons and colored braids, spools of thread and shiny silver thimbles, paper packs of pins and needles and bright red pincushions. There were scissors of all sizes and yellow-and-black tape measures.

  On the other side of the store stood racks of ready-made clothes for women and children and shelves displaying hats for every occasion.

  Mr. George Sweeney was short and stout with a pug-nosed face mapped by crinkle lines. He looked Rose over, nodded, and said, “You look like a proper young saleswoman, but I was told you’ve had no experience in the selling line.”

  “I learn quickly,” Rose answered.

  A smile twitched at his lips. “I also heard you were straight off the farm.”

  “I’ve had convent schooling,” Rose said. “I’m good with sums.”

  Mr. Sweeney’s smile deepened. “Welcome, Rose Carney. We’ll see what you can do.”

  He turned to glance over his shoulder and called, “Catherine! Where are you?”

  From behind a curtain at the back of the store a pudgy woman appeared. Wisps of gray hair had pulled out of the bun at the top of her head, and her apron was askew.

  “I was shelving the stock,” Catherine Sweeney said. “I suppose I look a sight.” She straightened her apron and smiled at Rose. “You must be Rose Carney. We’re glad to have you here. There’s lots of work to do. We recently lost our full-time clerk and our part-time clerk. Both girls left to get married.”

  Rose began to feel a little less nervous. She liked the Sweeneys and decided she was going to like working for them.

  She’d been asked to arrive before the store officially opened so Mrs. Sweeney could show Rose what to do. She was told where to hang her jacket and hat, where to store her handbag and lunch, how to fill out a sales slip, how to divide the bills and change in the cash register, and how to understand the American way of sizing clothes. “Don’t worry, Rose,” Mrs. Sweeney said. “If you have any questions, just call on me. I’ll help you out.”

  As Mr. Sweeney turned the cardboard sign in the window from CLOSED to OPEN, a woman who had been studying the window display entered the store.

  Rose walked over to the racks of clothes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as the customer approached, but the woman turned left into the fabric section of the store, and Rose relaxed with a sigh.

  “Miss? Will you please help me?”

  Rose turned to face a fashionably dressed young woman holding a
n equally fashionable toddler by the hand. The little girl was bundled in dark stockings and high buttoned shoes. Her many petticoats held out a ruffled cranberry-red skirt and a wide, ruffled, lace collar decorated a short, fitted jacket of the same shade. Lace framed a bonnet through which a tiny face peered solemnly at Rose.

  Rose’s heart went out to the child, and she flashed her a smile. Someday she hoped to have a little girl as dear as this one.

  “I’m sorry,” Rose began to explain. “I didn’t see you come in. How may I help you?”

  “I’d like some summer dresses for my daughter. What do you have in white lawn?”

  Rose quickly found what the woman was looking for, and the woman made her purchase. Rose filled out the sales slip without any trouble. She’d been nervous about handling the unfamiliar currency, but she deposited the dollars in the cash register, which gave a loud, satisfied ring as it opened.

  The woman and her daughter who stood waiting were expecting something. Rose stared at the little dresses and wondered what she was supposed to do with them. How was she to wrap them up so as not to ruin them?

  Suddenly Mrs. Sweeney appeared at Rose’s side and began folding the dresses. “I’ll lend you a hand in wrapping this parcel,” she said, and as she did she chatted with the customer. First she talked about the weather and then discussed a new dessert called Jell-O that was making such a hit.

  A dessert you could see through? A dessert that shook and wiggled? Rose was aware that her thoughts of Jell-O should be pushed aside. She had to concentrate on what Mrs. Sweeney was doing.

  Mrs. Sweeney was a wonderful businessperson. She had the knack of talking easily to customers. Rose realized this was part of what she had to learn.

  As soon as the customer left Rose began, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sweeney. I should have known what to do. I guess I’m still nervous.”