Elsa put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him toward the door. “I’ll take care of her, Walter. It’s best you leave now.”
Walter took one look over his shoulder and did as he was told. Elsa ran to the sink to wet a washcloth, then held it to Trudy’s forehead. Hildegarde patted her sister’s hand and glared at us.
Trudy’s eyelids fluttered open right away. I was sure she had been fakin’ the whole time. Then her eyes widened and focused on us. “I just want to die! Walter saw these … these … immigrants running a sweatshop in our home. I’m so humiliated. He’ll never want to marry me now.”
“Nonsense,” Ma said. “We were just workin’ on a little project. There was no harm in it. No need to take on so.”
Trudy let out a wail. “Mother. Pleeeease! Get rid of them.”
“This has gone far enough,” Elsa said. “I really don’t know how much more we can take.”
She got Trudy to her feet and helped her into the girls’ bedroom. Hildegarde started to follow, then stopped in front of Ma. “You’re in for it now. When Papa comes home, he’s going to throw you out on the street, where you belong.”
She stood there with her hands on her hips and a prissy smile on her face. Her pudgy cheeks were framed with two coiled braids, which made her look like someone had just taken her head out of the oven with potholders. I wanted to smack that face so hard her head would spin, but I never got the chance, because Maureen went by me in a blur.
She grabbed Hildegarde by her potholder braids and dragged her down to the floor. Then she pulled on the braids, poppin’ hairpins all over the floor, and tied them together right in Hildegarde’s mouth like a gag. I knew that we had just crossed some sort of line here and that there was big trouble ahead, but seein’ that little brat on the floor silenced by her own hair was as sweet a moment as I’d had since steppin’ off the boat.
Ma seemed to be enjoyin’ the entertainment, too, and hadn’t made a move to call Maureen off. As fate would have it, that’s just the moment when Uncle Patrick came home, and all hell broke loose.
Poor Bridget didn’t understand what all the yellin’ was about, so she added her own bawlin’ to the din. I could tell right from the beginnin’ that this was a battle we had already lost, so I just held my breath and watched.
Elsa hauled Uncle Patrick into the bedroom, and we could hear all three female voices shoutin’ at once.
Maureen came over to the table and hugged Ma. “I’m sorry I went after Hildegarde, Ma. I just couldn’t help myself.”
Ma tried to look stern, but her lips twitched into a smile. “Well, I don’t condone fightin’, but that girl’s been askin’ to have her braids stuffed in her mouth ever since we got here. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”
16
When all the yellin’ was over, Uncle Patrick came out of the bedroom with a sad look in his eyes. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and one for Ma, and motioned for her to sit at the table with him. At first she jutted out her chin and started to say somethin’, but then she thought better of it and joined him.
“Things were easier in Limerick,” he said. “I miss the Island Parish. Remember how we all used to play on Thomond Bridge when we were children?”
With the big fight that had gone on, now he was goin’ to reminisce about Limerick? I couldn’t believe my ears.
When Ma didn’t say anything, he went on. “And all those games of king-of-the-castle on the steps of St. John’s? How many children get to have a real castle as a playground?”
Ma smiled. “Or a real ghost for a playmate?”
She was talkin’ about the Bishop’s Lady, a ghost who was supposed to haunt Thomond Bridge. It was said that anyone who dared cross alone at night risked bein’ thrown in the River Shannon by the angry she-ghost. We all grew up knowin’ exactly where to find the marks made by the Bishop’s Lady’s fingers on the stone parapet. Even after I was old enough to know the story was just a pishrogue—a superstition—I couldn’t bring myself to cross Thomond Bridge alone, day or night.
Ma and Uncle Patrick were still sharin’ memories. “I loved watchin’ the swans in the river,” Ma said. I saw a quick picture in my mind of Ma’s sad face lookin’ over the bridge when I was little. Had she been mournin’ her own lost childhood?
Uncle Patrick got up to pour more coffee. “We were lucky to live in the Island Parish instead of the lanes. At least we had food on the table, and enough coal for heat in the winter.”
I knew what he meant. The very poorest people lived in the lanes of Limerick. They were crowded into small, damp stone houses, and most of them were on the dole.
As Ma and my uncle talked, scenes from Limerick tumbled through my mind. How strange to think that they had played the same games I had as a child. It was hard to picture them bein’ young.
Maureen, who had been cowerin’ in the corner of the parlor, went into the kitchen and took a seat next to Ma. I thought she was pushin’ her luck. Ma and Uncle Patrick might have forgotten the fight for the moment, but it wasn’t too bright of Maureen to be remindin’ them by comin’ out in plain sight like that. There wasn’t a sound from the bedroom, but I was sure three pairs of ears were tryin’ to pick up every word from the kitchen.
Finally, Uncle Patrick took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “There’s no way around this, Margaret. It’s not workin’ out to have yer family here. I’ll find another place for ye to stay. I can pay yer expenses until Michael gets back and settled with a job.”
This was more than we could have hoped for. Uncle Patrick would take care of us until Da came back, but we wouldn’t be stuck with his awful family. For once, I was grateful for Maureen’s temper. She had brought everything to a head.
But then Ma ruined everything with one sentence. “That’s very kind of ye, Patrick, but I’ve had enough of this country. I miss my husband and my baby somethin’ terrible. We’re like fish floppin’ on a beach here. If we stay any longer, we’ll perish for sure.”
I jumped out of my chair. “But, Ma! We’ve just barely got here. Surely we should stay until Da comes back.”
“And for what?” Ma asked. “Just so’s he can put his heels on American soil and get right on the ship again?”
“Da wouldn’t want to leave America,” Maureen said. “All he could talk about was comin’ here.”
“And he isn’t the one who has seen what it’s like, now, is he? He never got beyond Ellis Island, so I guess I’m the one who knows what America is all about.”
“But, Margaret,” Uncle Patrick said, “ye haven’t given this country a chance.”
Ma stood up. “Ye’re a fine one to talk about givin’ chances, Patrick Nolan. Ye think yer lovely wife and daughters cared a fig about givin’ us a chance, do ye?”
Uncle Patrick raised his hands as if in surrender. “Now, don’t get goin’ on that again, Margaret. If leavin’ is what ye want, I’ll go right now and make arrangements. I don’t want it said that I held ye here against yer will.” He grabbed his coat and hat and was gone.
After the door slammed, the house was like two armed camps in an uneasy cease-fire. We could hear low murmurs from the bedroom, but Elsa and the girls stayed inside. Maureen and I pleaded with Ma to come to her senses, whisperin’ in the far corner of the parlor. Ma suddenly put her head down on her arms and started to cry. I had to lean close to make out her muffled words. “I just can’t take any more of this. I want my husband. And who knows what’s become of poor Joseph? The family should be together. We had a good life in Limerick. We never should have left.”
This frightened me. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Ma cry in Ireland, even when her mother died, and then her father a year later. Through all that she had been strong as a ship’s mast, but now she was weak and broken and cryin’ at the drop of a hat. It didn’t seem fair to argue with her, so I just rubbed her back and told her everything would be all right.
Uncle Patrick was back in less than an hour with tickets for a ship t
hat would sail early the next mornin’. I could see that in America a politician could make things happen quickly. He said he had sent a telegram to Da in care of Grandma Nolan, tellin’ them we were comin’ home to Ireland. After that, we all had a sleepless night.
I tried to remember back when Da first started talkin’ about comin’ to America. It was mostly about the work. Da was a good provider and always managed to find jobs, even when some of the other men couldn’t. Da was a coal man, fillin’ his bags at Sutton’s coal yard on the docks and deliverin’ them to his customers by horse cart. It was hard work, and he was so covered with coal dust when he got home, Ma made him wash his head under the pump in the yard before he came into the house.
Ma and Da had both grown up in the Island Parish and had settled there after they were married. It wasn’t really an island—just a neighborhood cut off from the rest of Limerick by a loop of the River Shannon. We never had a day of hunger or lacked for the simple comforts of life, but there was no money for extras, like a roast once in a while for Sunday dinner, or nicer clothes. Da thought he could make a better life for us in America, where his brother had arrived with twenty dollars and had climbed his way up from a dockworker to a politician.
I hadn’t wanted to leave at first, but then I looked around at the girls who were a few years older than me. Most of them left school by the time they were my age, and after that there was nothin’ for them but to marry. Bridey O’Flynn lived in the house across the street. She was four years older than me and already had two babies, with another on the way. She had been the most beautiful girl in the Parish when we were growin’ up, but now she looked tired and old enough to be my mother.
I figured I had a lot of years to be raisin’ babies and I wasn’t in any great hurry to be gettin’ started with it. And the worst of it was, even if I had a mind to be marryin’ at a young age, most of the boys in Limerick didn’t have the brains God gave a turnip, except for Dennis O’Reilly, who always knew the answers to the nuns’ questions in school. There was only one small thing wrong with Dennis O’Reilly. He blossomed out with boils and carbuncles so often, I thought his insides must be packed full of pus just lookin’ for a way to get out of him.
No, I wasn’t goin’ to settle for that. Da had said there were more Irishmen in New York than in Limerick and Dublin put together. And from what I had seen, they were doin’ pretty well for themselves here, with their jobs as policemen and politicians. When the time came, I’d have my pick of an Irish husband, but for now, I had better things planned for myself. The more I thought about the boys and girls my age who were left at home, the more I resolved to talk Ma into stayin’ here. I tried to keep awake to figure out a plan, but I must have fallen asleep, because I had a dream that I was in a room full of squallin’ babies. And they all looked like Dennis O’Reilly, each with a little red boil set like a jewel right in the middle of its forehead.
* * *
Saturday mornin’, Uncle Patrick offered to take us to the ship, but Ma wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m sure we’ve been far too much trouble already,” she said.
Uncle Patrick followed us out to the street. He tried to carry the trunk for Ma, but she had a death grip on it. Elsa and the others didn’t get up to say goodbye, which was probably a good thing. When we reached the street, Uncle Patrick hailed a carriage for us. He lifted Ma and placed her in the seat, then pressed some money into the driver’s hand and told him which pier to take us to. Ma had the good sense not to argue. It was cold and not yet light.
Uncle Patrick kissed me on the cheek. “I’m sorry we got off to a bad start, Rose. If ye come back, I’ll make sure things are different.” He helped me into the seat, then lifted up Maureen and Bridget. I turned to wave as we started off. He looked so sad standin’ there. I wondered if he longed to go back to Ireland with us, or if he was sad to see us missin’ out on a chance to be Americans.
I looked around, tryin’ to take in every sight as we headed for the docks. What an amazin’ city this was—so many people all goin’ about their lives. It seemed there were more immigrants livin’ here than native-born Americans. And some of them had come over here with less than we had. I knew that for sure. I had seen them on the boat, and in the streets, and in that sweatshop where we made roses. Roses! I had forgotten to return the stems to Mr. Moscovitz. “Ma! What happened to the stems?”
“Good Lord, Rose, it makes no matter now.”
“Did we leave them at Uncle Patrick’s?”
“No, I didn’t want to leave a trace of us there for Elsa to complain about. I put them in the suitcase, not that you’ll have any use for them.”
I pulled the valise up on my lap and opened it. There, under my dress of ashes of roses, was the small paper-bound package. That made me feel better.
As soon as we could finish them, I’d take them back to Mr. Moscovitz’s shop. Even though Uncle Patrick said he’d pay our expenses, we could send any money we earned to Da to help him come back sooner. I knew we could ask Uncle Patrick for the fare, but Da was a proud man and probably wouldn’t accept it.
I looked at Ma’s face and tried to figure how hard it would be to convince her to stay. She had pulled Bridget onto her lap and was nuzzlin’ the top of her head, the way she always did with her babies. I knew she was thinkin’ about Joseph. That would be the hardest thing—convincin’ Ma that Joseph could do without her.
The carriage took us all the way across Twelfth Street. There were so many buildings here, stretchin’ as far as I could see. A carriage ride of a few minutes in Limerick would have us out into the countryside, but here the city seemed to have no end. Lights were just beginnin’ to go on as people got ready for work. We rode in silence. I wanted to plead with Ma to stay, but I thought I might have better luck if I took her by surprise at the last minute. If I started now, she’d knock down a hundred of my arguments by the time we reached the pier.
Suddenly we had reached the end of New York and saw the Hudson River spread out in front of us. Several huge oceanliners were lined up in their berths, the same as they had been when we arrived in New York. That was only two weeks ago, but it seemed like we had lived a whole lifetime since then. I realized Da’s ship must be just about arrivin’ in Cork.
We pulled up alongside a big steamer, and the driver unloaded our goods. It was now or never. I took a deep breath and blurted it out. “Ma, please, let’s stay. Let’s take up Uncle Patrick on his offer for a nice little place of our own.”
Maureen stared at me with her mouth open. Ma hiked Bridget on her hip and picked up the valise. “Nonsense, Rose. We’re not stayin’ in this terrible place, and that’s the end of it.”
I took hold of Ma’s arm to stop her. “Then let me stay. You take the girls and go back, but let me have the money from my ticket and I’ll make my own way until you and Da come back. Uncle Patrick doesn’t have to know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Ye’re a child. Surely ye don’t think I’ll let ye stay here by yerself.”
“I’m not a child, Ma. Back home, some of my friends are married women already.”
“With husbands to take care of them, I’ll remind ye.” Ma shook loose from my grip. “Not wanderin’ around in a strange city by themselves.”
I stood my ground. “I won’t be alone. I’ll find a job and a place to stay. I’ll either go back to the rose-makin’ shop, or I’ll find another job where I can use my sewin’ skills.”
“You heard what Elsa said about the sweatshops. That’s no place for a decent girl to work.” Ma had to move out of the way for a porter pushin’ a wagon of luggage. More and more carriages were pullin’ up now, and a large crane was swingin’ pallets of cargo on board.
Maureen jumped in. “Oh, Ma, Elsa doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about. Rose can take care of herself.”
Ma jutted out her chin. “So ye think she’ll make her way with her fists, like you, Maureen? The answer is still no.”
I had never openly defied my parents before, unlike Maureen
, who had some objection to every rule they laid down. But now I had no choice. I couldn’t make myself go back to Ireland.
Ma picked up the feather bed. “You and Maureen take the trunk. I need to hold Bridget. Lord knows there’s enough places a child can get lost here.”
I pulled on her sleeve again. “Ma, please! Don’t ye remember how awful it was comin’ over in steerage? I’ve just barely got the stink of it out of my nose. I can’t do that again.”
“Ye can stop yer complaints right now, Rose. Patrick got us accommodations in second-class. It’ll be a far cry from the trip over here. Ye’re lucky yer uncle can pull a few strings with the Democratic Party.”
The crowd was beginnin’ to get thick as more carriages discharged their passengers on the pier. The gangplank to the huge steamer was now a solid mass of movin’ bodies.
“Ma!” I pleaded one more time. “Please let me stay. The money for a second-class ticket will give me a good start. I can get a nice place to stay while I look for a job.”
Ma’s face was red with anger. “I’ll not argue with ye. If yer father were here, ye wouldn’t be standin’ up to him like this.”
“Yes, I would, Ma. This means a lot to me, and I’m not arguin’, either. I’m just stayin’. And that’s final.” I couldn’t stop myself now. The words poured out of me as if somebody else were doin’ the talkin’. “If ye won’t give me back my ticket, then I’ll manage anyway. I’ll live on the streets if I have to until I get a job. Now I’ll help ye get our goods onto the boat, but then I’m gettin’ off.”
“Look what this place has done to ye already,” Ma shouted over the din of the crowd. “I don’t even know ye anymore. My own daughter has turned against me.”
Seein’ her tears again shook my resolve, but I stood firm. I held out my hand. “Give me the ticket, Ma.”
She glared at me with that look that always made me give in. I lifted my chin and returned the stare. We kept our eyes locked even when the crowd jostled us. Then, unbelievably, Ma blinked and looked away. Never in my whole life had I ever been able to stare down my mother. She pulled out a ticket and handed it to me. “I don’t have the strength to wrestle ye onto the boat, Rose. Open the suitcase and take out Maureen’s extra dress and shawl. The rest of it is yours.”
Ashes of Roses Page 8
