by MJ Auch
Uncle Patrick brought extra chairs to the table. Elsa had recovered some manners and set out plates and cups for us. Then she came back from the kitchen with the worst-smellin’ concoction I had ever run into and dropped a big gray dollop of it onto each of our plates.
Bridget wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”
Uncle Patrick laughed. “It’s sauerkraut, made out of cabbage. Ye never had that in the old country, did ye?”
We hadn’t eaten all day, so I was hungry enough to take a bite. The smell wasn’t the worst of it, though. It had a bitter taste that made me want to spit it out rather than swallow, but I knew Ma would light into me good if I tried a trick like that. I chewed my mouthful for a long time, then, finally, managed to get it down. I remembered the sweet boiled cabbage we had at home and wondered how on earth anyone could get a cabbage to behave like this. Hildegarde passed me the breadboard with thick slices of black bread. I took it gratefully and let the dark-rye taste drown out the sauerkraut.
Ma was so excited she ate the sauerkraut without noticin’ what an abomination it was. She carried on a conversation with Uncle Patrick about all the people he used to know in Limerick. She didn’t seem to notice the looks that were flyin’ around the table. Trudy was havin’ a silent conversation with her mother. There were no words, but her eyes asked, “Who are these people, and how soon can we be rid of them?”
Uncle Patrick sat back in his chair. “I can’t believe ye’re here. I knew Michael wanted to come someday, but I had no idea it would be this soon.”
“Ye mean ye didn’t expect us?” Ma asked, her eyes widening. “Ye didn’t get Michael’s letter? He sent it just before we left Ireland.”
“The mails can take weeks from the old country,” Uncle Patrick said. “No, we had no idea. Did he arrange for a place to stay?”
Ma’s face turned red. She was speechless just long enough for Maureen to blurt out, “Da said ye’d let us stay here until he came back. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
Ma’s elbow arrived on target too late. Uncle Patrick laughed. “Of course it’s all right. We’ll be pleased and proud to have ye stayin’ with us, won’t we, Elsa?”
“Of course,” she said, not too convincingly. “I’ll go get the coffee.”
“I’ll help,” Trudy said, jumpin’ up so fast she almost upset the sauerkraut bowl, which wouldn’t in my opinion have been a great loss.
The kitchen was in my line of sight, and I could see Trudy and her mother havin’ a heated discussion. Every now and then one of them would gesture toward our table. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination to figure out that they were talkin’ about us, and they were not happy.
7
Uncle Patrick’s apartment had five rooms. There was the parlor and the dining room and the kitchen all lined up one behind the other. Then there were two bedrooms, one off the kitchen for Uncle Patrick and Elsa and one off the dining room for the two girls. Friedrich had a small cot by the kitchen stove.
There was more space here than in our whole house in Limerick, which consisted of one room downstairs and a bedroom upstairs with a curtained-off section where Maureen and I slept.
At first Uncle Patrick offered the girls’ bedroom to us, but Trudy dragged her mother into the hall, where we could hear her whinin’ even with the door closed. Elsa came back and suggested that she and Uncle Patrick would give us their bedroom. By then Ma was gettin’ the picture. She said we didn’t want to be puttin’ anybody out and we’d be just as happy spreadin’ our feather bed on the parlor floor.
Well, didn’t Trudy and Elsa have to go have another discussion about that. I edged near the hall door to eavesdrop. Now I knew why Da always said ye should mind yer own business, or end up hearin’ somethin’ ye’d wish ye hadn’t.
Elsa’s voice was just a low hum, but Trudy’s sharp words cut through the door like a spoon through lard. “They’ve been traveling in steerage for the last two weeks, Mother. Can you imagine what manner of vermin they must be carrying with them? That feather bed should be burned before it unloads its cargo of fleas and lice into our flat. There might even be mice in that filthy thing. And they all need baths.”
I heard the murmur of Elsa’s voice, then Trudy again. “But, Mother, they’re dirty. They smell like goats. I don’t think they’ve ever seen a bar of soap.”
I was so angry I wanted to go in that hall and yank Trudy’s yellow braid until she squealed like a pig. Dirty indeed! Ma took such good care of that feather bed, it was in perfect condition. She had kept it tied up tight in a linen tablecloth all the way from Ireland, and she had hung it with a bit of string from the bunk above hers, so it couldn’t come in contact with the bedding in the ship. She was every bit as worried about the ship’s vermin as Trudy was.
As for us needin’ baths, Trudy might have a point about that, but it wasn’t because we didn’t use soap. The only baths we could get on board were with cold seawater. It was possible to get a bath with warm freshwater, but it cost dear, over three times the price of the seawater. No matter how we tried to scrub ourselves with the soap we’d brought along, the saltwater left a scum on our skin that we couldn’t rinse off. My hair had become so sticky it was hard to get a brush through it.
I was glad Ma hadn’t heard Elsa’s remarks, but she soon figured out what was going on when Elsa and Trudy offered to “freshen up” our feather bed, then proceeded to take it out on the fire escape and beat the livin’ daylights out of it with brooms for the next half-hour. Ma thanked them when they brought it in, but her face was red. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment.
It wasn’t until Elsa suggested baths to us that I realized they had an indoor bathroom with a sink, tub, and flushin’ terlet. We had heard of these things, but never seen one. Even Grandma Nolan, who was pretty well off by Limerick standards, still used an outdoor privy.
“Here are towels and soap for you,” Elsa said.
“We won’t be needin’ yer soap,” I snapped. “We have our own.”
Elsa held out a creamy white oval. “I just thought you’d like something special after your long trip. This one’s lavender. It always makes me feel wonderful when I use it. Come, let me show you how to work the tap. The faucets here might operate differently from the ones in Ireland.” Elsa’s words sounded kind, but I could tell that she knew we’d never seen indoor plumbin’ in our lives. In Limerick, we thought we were lucky to have a tap right in the yard, instead of havin’ to carry water up flights of stairs, the way they did in the tenements.
Wonder of wonders, the one faucet gave out hot water. There was no need to boil water and lug the steamin’ pot. And the tub was long enough so a full-grown person could stretch her legs all the way out, instead of havin’ her knees bump against her chin the way they did in our washtub at home.
Ma bathed with Bridget first and got her off to bed, then it was Maureen’s turn, then mine. “Mind you don’t take too long,” Ma said. “There’s a whole family still needin’ to bathe.”
The water had cooled, so I added some hot from the faucet and slid down till I was submerged up to my neck. What a glorious feelin’ it was. And to think that ordinary people could live like this, not just the rich folks. I lathered up my hair with the fragrant soap, then slid all the way under to rinse it out. The water finally cooled enough to make me shiver, and I didn’t dare use up any more of the magic hot water, so I got out, dried off, and cleaned the tub after the water had drained. I wasn’t goin’ to give Trudy another chance to call us dirty.
When I came out, I was surprised to find that everyone had gone to bed. I could hear some talkin’ in the girls’ room, but the lights were off. I slid open the door to the parlor and climbed in under the blanket Elsa had given us. Though it was a bit crowded on the feather bed, it was a far sight better than sleepin’ on the cots in steerage. The feather bed was still chilled from bein’ out on the fire escape, but I moved my feet around until I found a warm spot.
Lyin’ in bed, I co
uld hardly list all the events of the day in my mind. I’d started out in the stinkin’ bowels of our steamer, heated only by the crush of other human bodies. Now I was curled up in the warm parlor of my uncle’s apartment in America with the isinglass windows on the wood-stove makin’ orange patterns flicker across the ceiling.
Uncle Patrick was warm and welcomin’, and reminded me so much of Da in his looks, voice, and the way he flung his hands about when he talked, it made my heart break and swell with joy at the same time. But the rest of the family, at least Elsa and Trudy, weren’t as friendly. I could excuse some of it because of the surprise. If someone drops on yer doorstep without so much as a word of warnin’, it might take an hour or so to get used to the idea that they’re stayin’.
But there was more to it. Except for Uncle Patrick, they all looked on us as foreigners, and dirty ones at that. I should have felt safe here, but I had a strange dread about our stay with our new American family. I hoped Da got back soon.
8
After complainin’ for two weeks about the rollin’ and tossin’ of the ship, I spent the night thrashin’ around for the lack of motion. Ma woke us early. “Let’s be up and out of the way before the rest of ’em arise.”
“Where will we go?” Maureen asked, rubbin’ the sleep from her eyes.
“We’ll not go anywhere. I just want to have our things gathered up so they won’t be trippin’ over us while they get ready to go to Mass.”
I had forgotten it was Sunday. Suddenly I looked forward to the comfort of goin’ to church in this strange country. When Ma was afraid to be leavin’ our parish at home, our priest had told her that the Mass would be the same in America as it was in Limerick, probably one of the few familiar things we’d find here. We dressed and made ourselves ready, but hadn’t heard any sounds from the rooms beyond the door, even when we each slipped into the bathroom.
I carefully unpacked my good dress and smoothed out the creases. Ma had made it for me just a few months before we left. In Limerick she was a seamstress for a fancy shop on O’Connell Street, and they had paid her only a small fraction of what they sold the dresses for. The shop owner must have felt guilty about that, because every now and then he’d let Ma have some fabric, usually something that was damaged. The piece she made my dress of was silk taffeta in a new color called “ashes of roses.” It had some water stains on it, but Ma cut the pattern so none of them showed. I’d never had anything quite so grand. Though I tried not to be prideful, I couldn’t help but notice in the mirror how the soft rose color brought out the blush in my cheeks.
“What time do you think they have Mass here?” Maureen asked. “I’m half starved.”
“We’ll pick up somethin’ to bring home for breakfast after church,” Ma said. “They should be comin’ out soon.”
“I’m goin’ outside,” I said. The heavy drapes in the parlor covered the windows, and I wanted to see what our new neighborhood looked like.
“Mind ye stay just outside the building,” Ma said. “I don’t know which Mass we’ll be goin’ to. It’s already too late for eight o’clock.”
I knew Ma must be annoyed that Uncle Patrick’s family was sleepin’ in so late. At home she liked to get to the first Mass so the day wasn’t half gone by the time we got home. My dress made a rich rustlin’ sound as I ran down the stairs and out into the mornin’. It was cold enough to send my breath steamin’ into the air, but the bright sun gave promise of a nice day.
I could see the el at the end of the street, so I started walkin’ toward it. The neighborhood was filled with brick and stone buildings packed side by side. Each one was five or six stories in height with a stoop leadin’ to the front entrance.
I heard a door open and close, and Maureen came runnin’ after me. I didn’t stop, but she caught up. “What do ye think?”
“What do I think about what?” I was annoyed that the few minutes I might have had to be alone with my thoughts had ended abruptly.
“You know, the girls. They don’t seem too friendly, especially yer friend Trudy.”
“Who says she’s my friend? She hasn’t spoken one word to me.”
“Well, she’s closer to yer age than mine. Hildegarde would be my friend if she weren’t so pleased with herself. I can tell she thinks she’s better than me.” Maureen squinted at me, the sun full in her face. “They are better than us, aren’t they? I mean, they have such nice things, they must have a lot of money.”
In this light Maureen’s eyes looked like pale-blue beach glass, and her black hair gleamed in the sun. She was much prettier than either of the two sour dumplin’s upstairs, though I didn’t tell her that for fear of makin’ her conceited. “Money doesn’t make them any better than us. Besides, now that we’re in America, we’ll be able to earn money and have nice things, too.”
“Then we won’t have to live with Uncle Patrick anymore, will we? We can leave as soon as Da gets here?”
“Absolutely. But livin’ here may not be so bad. Once we all get to know each other, I’m sure things will be fine.” I didn’t really believe that, but I thought it was best to keep Maureen happy. When she got upset, she often said more than she should, and that could make things even more uncomfortable than they already were. The cold finally found its way through my woolen coat, makin’ me shiver. “Let’s go inside and find out when we’re leavin’ for Mass.”
As we climbed the stairs, we were met by the smell of fryin’ meat. My stomach cramped from hunger. One of the neighbors was havin’ a good breakfast. But when we opened the door to the apartment, we saw that it was Elsa who was cookin’ sausage, along with a full dozen fried eggs. She seemed to be slammin’ the pans and utensils around with more than what I would have considered necessary noise.
“Did everybody go to Mass already?” I asked before I noticed that Ma’s face looked like a storm cloud. Somethin’ had obviously happened while we were outside.
“Yer father’s brother and his family don’t go to Mass,” Ma said. “They’ll be takin’ themselves to church. The Lutheran church, if ye please.” She spat out the word “Lutheran” with so much contempt, ye would have thought Uncle Patrick would be waltzin’ his wife and children into a house of ill repute.
In spite of the fact that he was a full ten years older than Ma, Uncle Patrick blushed and shuffled his feet like a scolded schoolboy. “It’s not so bad as ye think, Margaret. Ye’ll see when ye’ve been here a while. Some of the old ways … Well, things are done different here, is all.”
“Old ways?” Ma’s eyes were shootin’ sparks now. “I’m sure the Holy Mother of God must be pleased to hear that she’s nothin’ more than the old ways.” Ma crossed herself, as if she thought she might have blasphemed even though she was standin’ up for the Holy Virgin. Then she turned to us. “You children get it into your heads right now, there’ll be no fallin’ away from the Church. I don’t care if we’re the last practicin’ Catholics in all of New York. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Ma,” Maureen and I mumbled. Bridget looked puzzled, but said nothin’. It must be nice to be so young ye don’t understand what’s goin’ on, I thought. It was bad enough that Uncle Patrick’s wife and daughters didn’t like us, but the fact that they’d taken him away from the Church was too much to forgive. I knew now that our stay with this family would be more than uncomfortable. What would Da think about this? And how could we possibly live here until he got back?
Ma pulled on her shawl with the flourish of a matador. “Come, children,” she said. “We’re goin’ to Mass.”
“Do ye want directions to a Catholic church?” Uncle Patrick asked.
“Not from a heathen,” Ma said, and swept us through the door.
9
Ma led us down the sidewalk like a general marchin’ the troops off to war. I had to scoop up Bridget in my arms, because she couldn’t keep up and Ma seemed to have forgotten about her. It was hard to see, because we were headed into the sun. As bright as it was, I noticed it hadn’t done much
to warm the air.
“Do ye know where we’re goin’, Ma?” I asked.
“We’re walkin’ until we find a church.”
“But maybe we’re headin’ the wrong way. Maybe we should ask someone.”
When we passed into the shadow of the Third Avenue el tracks, the cold and dampness settled around us. Ma didn’t answer me. She just turned and started walkin’ along the sidewalk under the el. Every time a train went overhead, we were sprayed with cinders, and the deafenin’ noise set Bridget cryin’. Ma led us to the next street, which was Second Avenue. I liked the way the streets all had numbers in New York. That would make it easy to find our way around. After a few more blocks, we found a Catholic church. Ma acted as if she’d known all along it would be there.
When we went inside, I felt peace flood over me. This church was larger than St. Mary’s in Limerick, but the rosy glow from the stained-glass windows was the same. We genuflected and slipped into a pew. When I knelt and closed my eyes, the smell of incense, the soft click of rosary beads, and the sound of the bells made me feel I was back home. I still had no idea if Da and poor little Joseph had started back to Ireland, or if they were bein’ held on Ellis Island. I decided they must be gone, otherwise he would have tried to send word to Uncle Patrick. That was good. The sooner he left, the sooner he’d be back. I realized I hadn’t been payin’ attention, so I pulled out my rosary beads and joined in the “Hail Mary.”
After church, we stopped at a bakery for scones, but found they didn’t make them. Instead, Ma bought a flat apple cake with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled over the top.
“May we have some now?” Maureen asked. “I’m about to die of starvation.”
“You’ll survive until we get home,” Ma said. “It wouldn’t be polite to eat part of it before we get there.”
