“It’s not your fault,” Mrs. Sweeney told her. “I didn’t explain how to wrap the packages. Look—here’s a roll of paper and here’s the string. You saw what I did.” She took a shirtwaist that was hanging nearby and placed it on the counter. “Remember, lay the garments facedown, then fold in each side toward the back, making sure the sleeves are flat, without wrinkles. Then fold here … and here … You can do it, Rose.”
“Of course I can,” Rose answered as she copied what Mrs. Sweeney had done.
The door opened and customers entered the store. Three women headed for the fabric section, where they were greeted by both Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney, but a middle-aged woman, even rounder and plumper than Mrs. Sweeney, bustled over to the ready-to-wear section.
Rose hurried over to her and asked, “May I help you?”
“Yes, thank you,” the customer answered. “I’m looking for a silk waist. Black, I think. Maybe with ruffles around the yoke.”
“I’m not that familiar with the merchandise yet,” Rose said cheerfully, “but the waists are over against the wall. Let’s take a look.” She remembered what she had learned about sizes. “What size will you want? Thirty-eight? Forty?”
The woman bristled. “Thirty-four.”
“Oh, it’s for your daughter then. I didn’t think the added bulk of ruffles would be something you’d want for yourself.”
“Perhaps someone else could wait on me,” the woman said angrily and loudly, and Rose saw Mrs. Sweeney stop what she was doing and hurry toward them.
“Is there a problem?” she asked quietly.
“This young woman has been quite insulting,” the customer snapped. “Asking me if my size is a thirty-eight or forty! And then telling me I don’t want a waist with ruffles when that’s exactly what I do want!”
“Rose,” Mrs. Sweeney said, “suppose you unpack the boxes of merchandise in the storeroom. I’ll be delighted to help Mrs. …?”
“Mrs. Horace Elverson,” the woman replied firmly. “And I’d like a black silk waist with ruffles.”
Her face burning with embarrassment, Rose hurried into the storeroom, where she immediately busied herself with the unpacking of boxes. She’d been at her job only a short while and already she’d made a customer unhappy. Most probably she’d be looking for another job tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
ROSE had finished the shelving of the contents of both large boxes by the time Mrs. Sweeney pulled back the curtain and entered the storeroom.
“I’m sorry for the terrible mistakes,” Rose began. “If you’ll give me another chance I’ll …”
“That’s enough, Rose,” Mrs. Sweeney interrupted.
Rose took a deep breath and tried not to feel weak. Oh, how she wished her mother were here. “Will you want me to finish out the day?” she asked quietly.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking—that you’re going to be dismissed?” Mrs. Sweeney slowly shook her head. “There’s much to learn about being a good salesclerk, and it isn’t picked up in one morning, let alone one day. There’s only one customer in the store at the moment, and George is taking care of her, so now let me give you a little lesson about what went wrong. Keep in mind that you always give a customer what she wants.”
“Even if she wants the wrong size? That woman could never get into a thirty-four waist.”
“Yes, she could, if it were expensive enough, and we do carry a few expensive lines. The manufacturers of expensive clothes size them differently in order to flatter their customers. Mrs. Elverson is willing to pay extra, not just for quality but to convince herself she is still a size thirty-four.”
“Well, I never!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s not exactly truthful, is it?”
“It’s a small deceit, pandering only to vanity.”
“Like the business with the ruffles, I suppose. I was only trying to be helpful.”
“If a customer wants ruffles, give her ruffles.”
“Ruffles would make Mrs. Elverson look even larger.”
“It doesn’t matter what we think. It’s what Mrs. Elverson thinks and is willing to pay for. Do you understand, Rose?”
Rose nodded. “I thought that selling would be little more than writing up orders, but I can see there’s a lot more to it than that. It’s learning how to deal with people, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Sweeney beamed at Rose. “That’s it, exactly. I knew you were a smart girl when I met you. Comb your hair and tidy up, then come back into the store and see what you can do to make our customers happy.”
“Thank you,” Rose said as Mrs. Sweeney ducked behind the curtain and disappeared. Mrs. Sweeney was a kind woman. Rose could hardly wait until Ma got here and the two women could meet. Tonight she’d write to Ma and tell her all about her new job and kind employers.
The store became so busy that Rose, without a spare moment for worry, relaxed with her customers and began to chat as she had seen Mrs. Sweeney do. She found herself discussing something she’d never even seen—a noisy new invention called the automobile. There were reported to be at least a dozen in Chicago.
“They don’t need horses to pull them?” Rose asked in amazement.
“Horses! Oh, my dear, the terror those automobiles are causing in horses!” her customer said as she nodded wisely. “I’ve heard of two runaways and an upset carriage in which someone was badly bruised, all because of those noisy automobiles. Mark my words, those automobiles are nothing but a foolish passing fad.”
Late in the afternoon, while Rose was thinking about automobiles and wishing she could see one, she looked up to see her brother Johnny with Mr. Sweeney at the counter. Rose started forward to greet her brother, but Mr. Sweeney handed Johnny an envelope, which he quickly slipped into his coat pocket before turning to leave the store without so much as a nod to Rose.
That’s strange, Rose thought. Why wouldn’t Johnny stop? But it occurred to her that visiting with friends or relatives would definitely be frowned on during working hours. She returned to sorting chemises as to size and arranging them on the shelves.
The blue of the sky had deepened and the electric lights on State Street were bright by the time the CLOSED sign was put on the door and Rose began her journey home. She was warm with the praise Mrs. Sweeney had given her as she left. Rose had put Mrs. Elverson out of mind, and the only problem she had to contend with was her feet. How different her new shoes were from her boots! She was glad she’d be taking the State Street trolley most of the way home.
She arrived last, and with two hungry brothers and a father waiting, Rose exchanged her hat and jacket for an apron and began to cook the evening meal.
As they ate supper Rose told about her day and asked about theirs. Rose was concerned about her father. He looked so exhausted, his shoulders drooping as he hunched over his plate. After Rose had finished the washing up, she found Da sound asleep in his chair, copies of The Chicago Times and The Chicago Citizen, which Rose had soon learned was the official “Irish” newspaper of Cook County, sprawled across his lap and on the floor by his chair.
Rose heard footsteps on the stairs. She opened the door to find Kate and quickly held a finger to her lips and led Kate through the living room into the kitchen. Automatically Rose put the kettle on to boil.
“I can’t stay long,” Kate said. “I just thought I’d stop by and ask about your first day at work.”
Rose was pleased by Kate’s friendship. “I’m afraid I made more than my share of mistakes, but Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney were patient and kind.”
The water in the kettle steamed, so Rose poured it into a pot that held a heaping spoonful of tea leaves and carried it to the table.
“Johnny and Michael said they were going to a meeting,” Rose said as she poured the tea. “I’m guessing it was with the Clan na Gael.”
Kate frowned. “Tim’s at the meeting, too, but I’m afraid it’s not the Clan na Gael. It’s a splinter group of hotheads trying to raise money to fund Irish rebels. Every Irishman in the United States
wants freedom and independence for Ireland, but not all of us are for going about getting it through violence.”
“Ma is strongly against violence,” Rose said, “and I am, too. I’m sure that a great deal can be accomplished through peaceful meetings and talking out the problem, even though it takes time.”
“We’re in agreement,” Kate said. “The result can’t be measured in months or years. It should be measured in the number of lives lost or saved. That’s all that counts.”
“I take it Tim doesn’t see things the way you do.”
Kate sighed. “Tim’s not the kind you can convince of anything. I worry a great deal about him.”
Rose stared down into her teacup. “Your brother is very nice,” she said.
“That he is,” Kate answered, “in spite of his stubborn, mulish ways.” As Rose looked up and laughed Kate added, “Tim thinks you’re very nice, too.”
As she took another sip of tea she said, “No more talk about brothers. There’s a party at Hull House on Saturday night. My Sean isn’t too interested in the Hull House parties, but I’ve convinced him to care for the children and let me go. Why don’t you come, Rosie? You can meet me there.”
“Will there be dancing?”
“Maybe. Often people entertain with dances from their native countries.”
“Will Tim be there?”
“I doubt it,” Kate said. “He’s not much for Hull House either. Of course, if he knew you were going …”
Half an hour later, as Kate whispered good-bye, Da snorted and snuffled, turning in his chair without waking. Rose settled at the table to write letters. She wrote a note to Rebekah at the address she had given her in New York City. She hoped her friend had settled into her new life easily. Of course, Rebekah had her parents with her and that must have offered comfort. Then Rose began a long, detailed letter to her mother. At nine o’clock she walked into her father’s bedroom, picked up the noisily ticking alarm clock, and reset it a half hour ahead. She placed it next to her own bed before she woke her father and informed him it was bedtime.
As Da stretched, rubbing his neck and arms, Michael and Johnny came in the front door. Michael walked toward the bedroom, but Rose put a hand on Johnny’s arm. “Johnny,” she said boldly, “there’s a party at Hull House on Saturday night. Why don’t you come and bring Tim?”
Johnny shook his head. “You’ll not catch me inside that Hull House, and Tim shouldn’t go there either.” “Why not?”
“It’s not in the best interest of our jobs or our future.”
Rose plopped onto the arm of the sofa. “Tell me, Johnny, exactly what is your job?”
Johnny stood a little straighter and said proudly, “I’m one of Alderman McMahan’s staff assistants, as is Tim.”
“Fine words, but what do they mean?”
“They mean that we can be trusted to take care of some of McMahan’s business, such as calling on his supporters and those with whom he does business, even collecting campaign contributions.”
“Is that what you were doing at Sweeney’s?”
For a moment Johnny looked startled, then he said, “You could say that. McMahan has done them favors, and they’re grateful.”
“What kind of favors?”
“Rosie girl, running a business in Chicago involves more dealings than you can imagine. There are business and fire inspectors, tax collectors—the list goes on and on. If McMahan can save the Sweeneys the bother and hassle and—let’s face it—an occasional under-the-table payment, then they have a good reason to be thankful.”
“It doesn’t sound completely honest to me.”
Johnny broke into laughter. “Honest? It’s a good, workable system, and it suits me just fine.”
“I still don’t understand why you can’t go to Hull House.”
“Jane Addams is treading on the aldermen’s toes with some of the things she’s done in her neighborhood, which is in the nineteenth ward—Alderman Johnny Powers’s territory,” Johnny said. “Would you believe that a few years ago she made such a fuss about the garbage piling up in bins that the mayor appointed her garbage inspector of that ward!”
“But if she wanted to clean up the neighborhood, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Not when she captured a job that’s considered one of the political plums Powers should have the right to hand out. Fortunately, Powers had enough power to get the city council to eliminate the job, and out she went.”
Rose opened her mouth to protest, but Johnny went on. “Poor immigrants live in the area around Hull House, and the woman is constantly sending them things they need. She doesn’t understand that delivering baskets of food and toys is every bit as important in politics as providing bail and fixing court cases and taking care of funeral expenses and handing out railroad passes and all the other benefits an alderman gives his constituents. A basket of food can buy a vote.”
“Johnny! That’s so selfish!”
“It’s politics, Rosie. And politics is something a girl would know nothing about.”
“I know enough, from what you’ve just told me, and I’m surprised that you’re involved in it.”
“Would you want me to be a laborer? Don’t you think I can do more with my mind than think about setting one brick on another?”
Rose threw a glance at their father. Had he heard Johnny’s thoughtless remark?
Johnny lowered his voice as he explained, “The Irish have got a strong foothold in Chicago politics, and it serves us well. It’s kept you from being a housemaid, hasn’t it? I like the work I’m doing, and I’ve got my eyes on the future.” He grinned. “Who knows, someday you may be calling me Mayor John Carney!”
Their father yawned, stretched, and lumbered to his feet. “Early to bed, early to rise,” he said. “Good night to one and all.”
Rose watched with an ache of pity as Da slowly walked from the room as though every bone in his body hurt.
* * *
The week went by quickly. One evening Rose found her father hunting for the jar of money, and she explained her bookkeeping system.
“I put in more than I should last week, so I’m a little short,” Da said. “I want to stop by Casey’s and see the boys, so just let me borrow a bit, Rosie.”
“No,” Rosie said firmly. “Da, the sooner we can bring Ma and the girls to Chicago, the better it’s going to be for all of us.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” he said as he slowly shook his head. “Well, I’ll be off to see the boys anyway. The building I’ve been working on has reached the point where bricklayers are no longer needed. Maybe one of the boys will have heard of a contractor looking for men.”
“Oh, Da!” Rose cried. “I’m so sorry about your job. What will you do?”
He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Don’t look so frightened, Rosie girl. This is the way of it in the building trades.”
“It’s happened to you before?”
“Of course it has, and I’ll do what I always do. I’ll go down to the hiring hall each morning until something turns up. I’ve been giving some thought to putting a few other irons in the fire, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
As he turned to leave the kitchen, Rose put a hand on his arm. “I’ll pray for you, Da.”
He patted her hand and smiled again. “That’s just what your mother would have said. Ah, Rosie, you’re so much like her.”
Rose hugged her father. “I miss Ma so much,” she said.
“And so do I, daughter,” her father answered. “So do I.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN spite of her concern about her father, Rose couldn’t help feeling excited every time she thought about the Saturday-night gathering. Kate had sent detailed directions through Johnny, so Rose took enough fare for two cable-car rides each way, dropping the coins in the pocket of her jacket. She set aside what would be needed for her share of the living expenses, then placed the rest of her weekly salary in the jar. She marked down the amount added and t
he total before she set off for Hull House on Halsted and Polk.
Rose was surprised at the dreariness of the neighborhood she entered. The streets around the crowded apartment houses were littered with trash and garbage, and even though the sun had given way to twilight, a few pieces of washed, faded clothing still hung from the lines that were strung from houses to fences like tangled spiderwebs.
“You’ll change here to a Chicago Union Transit car,” the conductor called to Rose. “There’ll be one along in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“How far are we from Hull House?” Rose asked.
“Only about five blocks.”
“Thank you,” she said. She’d rather walk than stand on the corner and wait for the next car, so she set off down the street.
From the open windows of the apartment houses Rose passed floated the odors of hot grease, onions, and garlic, with an occasional unfamiliar spice that tickled her nose. Children ran past and around her as they played in the street, dodging occasional carts, and quite a few men and women, dressed in dark homespun clothes, sat on the steps of the soot-caked tenements, chatting or arguing in unfamiliar tongues.
Rose had walked at least three blocks when she heard a high-pitched wailing that sent shivers up her backbone. She looked in the direction of the sound and saw that a group of people had clustered outside the door of one of the buildings and a large, black, enclosed buggy was parked next to the curb.
People at the foot of the steps parted to make a path as a small, compact woman in an untrimmed coat and bonnet hurried up the stairs and into one of the crowded apartments.
Curious as to what was happening and wondering if she could help, Rose followed.
A thin, elderly woman, her white hair tangled, knelt on the floor, crouched over a small, wooden chest. Her wails had faded to small whimpering sounds as she clung to the chest with all of her strength.
Two men in stiff black suits stood behind the woman. They looked at the newcomer with obvious relief, and one of them said officiously, “We’re from the County Agent’s office, Miss Addams. We have orders to take the old woman to the County Infirmary.”
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 19
