Ashes of Roses

by Mary Jane Auch

  Maureen moved to my side. “If Rose stays, then I’m staying, too.”

  Why did she have to speak up now and ruin everything? “I can’t be havin’ ye with me, Maureen. It’ll be enough for me to take care of myself.”

  Maureen looked up at me, and I could see in her face the same desperation I felt in not wantin’ to go back. “But I’ll be company for ye, Rose. And I can work at home makin’ those stems, so it won’t cost ye anything to have me here. I’ll earn my own way.”

  Ma grabbed her arm. “Don’t be foolish, Maureen. A child yer age needs to be in school.”

  “Then I’ll work after school.”

  Ma let go of Maureen and shouted at the sky. “Ye see what ye’ve done to me, America? Ye’ve taken my two sweet daughters and turned them into headstrong fools. What will ye do to me next?” Bridget, who had been lookin’ back and forth at us, started to wail.

  A man next to Ma put his arm around his wife as if to protect her from the crazy woman with the bawlin’ child. Could I leave Ma like this? Would she be all right? The great ship blew its horn, which almost made me jump out of my skin. It seemed to snap Ma back to her senses. She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a second ticket. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, but ye’re both so stubborn, I’m washin’ my hands of the both of ye.” She slapped the second ticket into my hand. “Who knows? Maybe ye’ll be better off with the two of ye here than with Rose by herself.”

  I couldn’t utter a word, afraid that anything I might say could cause Ma to snatch back the tickets and make an even bigger scene to embarrass us into goin’ with her.

  Suddenly fear gripped me. It was one thing to stand up on my hind legs and demand to stay here, but now it was really happenin’, and Ma was lettin’ Maureen stay, too. Did I know how to take care of us?

  Ma gave me a hug, then held me at arm’s length to look at me, tears streamin’ down her cheeks. “Promise me this. Ye’ll go back to yer Uncle Patrick’s and stay with them. I’ll not have ye livin’ on yer own.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “And ye’ll write me a letter every day. Every single day without fail.”

  “We will, Ma,” Maureen said. “We’ll write all the time.”

  Ma wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “And ye’ll get yerselves into school. Both of ye.”

  “Yes, Ma,” I said. We carried the trunk and feather bed over to the gangplank. She gave the man her tickets, and a crewman hoisted the trunk to his shoulders and started to pick up the feather bed.

  Ma stopped him. “Wait! Give the feather bed to my girls.”

  I knew how much that bed meant to Ma. “No, Ma. It’s all right. Take it for yerself.”

  She pushed it into my arms. “If I’m leavin’ ye alone in this country, I want the comfort of knowin’ ye’re not sleepin’ on a cold, hard floor. I doubt those girls would share the beds in their room with ye.”

  She started toward the gangplank with Bridget, then stopped and ran back to us, Bridget bouncin’ on her hip like a rag doll. Holy Mother of God! Had she changed her mind?

  I braced myself for the worst, but she only said, “Ye must turn in yer tickets right away, so ye can give the money back to Uncle Patrick. They may not give ye a refund if ye wait till we’ve sailed.”

  I nodded. “All right, Ma.”

  She wiped a tear from my cheek. “Ye may be Rose in America, but to me ye’ll always be Margaret Rose.” She gave Maureen a quick hug, then before I could say anything else she disappeared into the crush of people.

  Another blast from the steamer’s horn made me jump, and I heard a man on board shout, “All ashore who’s going ashore.” Two tugboats had moved into position by the huge steamer. People were comin’ down the gangplank now, and those who were sailin’ found places along the rail. I looked for Ma, but couldn’t see her.

  Then I remembered the tickets. “Hurry up, Maureen.” I saw the ticket booth and started runnin’ for it, the feather bed thuddin’ against my knees. I reached the window just as the ticket seller was ready to close. “Please, sir,” I gasped. “We’ve decided not to sail.”

  He scowled at me. “I could have sold these just two minutes ago.”

  He took the tickets, opened a metal box, counted out some bills and coins, and shoved them under the metal grate. I opened the valise and tucked the money into a corner.

  Maureen tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s go wave to Ma and Bridget.”

  As we pushed our way through the crowd, the ship gave three more blasts, and the tugs added their horns to the commotion. “It’s movin’,” Maureen cried. “Where’s Ma?”

  “I don’t know. We’re too far back to see the faces.”

  Maureen ducked her head and pushed through the crowd like a billy goat, draggin’ me along, bowlin’ people over with the feather bed. We finally arrived at the front, leavin’ a path of irate people in our wake.

  I searched along the ship’s rail until I saw Ma. “There!” I pointed.

  We waved frantically, but Ma didn’t see us. She had that same sad expression I had seen years ago on Thomond Bridge. Was she mournin’ her lost daughters this time?

  Maureen’s next words gave me a chill. “Do ye think Ma is plannin’ to come back to America?”

  I couldn’t give her an answer.

  “Maybe Da won’t come back, either.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I could barely speak over the sob that was lodged in my throat. The fishy smell of the water reminded me of the Limerick docks. I saw a rope danglin’ down the side of the ship, and for one frantic moment I considered jumpin’ for it and climbin’ up to the safety of my mother’s arms. But then I remembered I’d be headin’ for a future with Dennis O’Reilly and a houseful of ugly babies.

  Maureen looked up at the ship. “Do ye think we’ll be all right?”

  I turned and hugged her so she couldn’t see my face. I couldn’t say for sure that we’d be all right, but I knew one thing. I had absolutely no intention of goin’ back to Uncle Patrick’s.

  17

  With the money from our tickets, Maureen and I set off to find a place to stay. I knew better than to inquire in the fancy areas. We could probably get more money from Uncle Patrick if we had to, but I didn’t want to give Elsa and her daughters the satisfaction of seein’ us beg.

  The street sign across from the pier said West Tenth Street. I grabbed Maureen’s hand and started off.

  “Are we walkin’ all the way back to Uncle Patrick’s?” Maureen asked.

  “We’re not goin’ to Uncle Patrick’s.”

  Maureen smiled. “I was hopin’ ye’d say that.”

  I was tryin’ to get my bearings. I knew that the Hudson River was on the West Side of the city, and we needed to be on the East Side, near the East River. I also knew we had to head down through the streets with lower numbers, and that the street numbers got lower as they went south. I turned right at the next corner.

  “Do ye know where ye’re goin’?” Maureen asked.

  “Of course. The next street will be Ninth Street,” I said, feelin’ smug.

  When we reached the corner, Maureen said, “That’s a funny way to spell ‘Ninth.’” It was Christopher Street.

  “It’s all right,” I said. The next street was Barrow, then Morton. I decided to start walkin’ across town and got us into a maze of narrow streets, not a numbered one among ’em. Maureen was keepin’ up a steady stream of questions, such as how did I know we were goin’ the right way, and where were we goin’ anyway? I was just about to admit we were lost when we stumbled upon West Houston Street. I knew that name. I had crossed East Houston on the way to Mr. Moscovitz’s shop. It was the first street below the numbered streets on the East Side. Now all I needed to do was follow it until I came to something I recognized. I stepped out with confidence at last.

  “This looks like a nice neighborhood,” Maureen said. “Why don’t we find a place to stay here?”

  “I want to be close to the place where the
y make roses. We’ll look on Broome Street. We can afford the rent there.”

  “Are we both goin’ to work now?” Maureen asked. “I’m not afraid, ye know. I’m not a ninny like Hildegarde and Trudy.”

  “No. I promised Ma ye’d stay in school.”

  “Ye promised her we’d go to Uncle Patrick’s, too. I don’t see that happenin’.”

  “All right. Maybe ye can work on the flowers at night at home.”

  “Maybe I could work durin’ the day and do my studies at night at home.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. I knew it was senseless to argue with her. Better to humor her until I couldn’t hide the truth any longer. She was goin’ to school if I had to drag her there every mornin’ and chain her to a school desk. I’d not have her growin’ up ignorant. I knew one thing. To make yer way in this country, ye needed to be smart.

  Just as I was startin’ to worry about gettin’ lost again, we came to the Bowery. “We’re almost there,” I said, turnin’ the corner and walkin’ faster. Maureen was enchanted by it all. “So many people. Did ye ever see so many people in one place?” The usual crush of pushcarts and peddler wagons was startin’ to clog up the street.

  When we turned onto Broome Street, I spotted a “room for rent” sign about halfway down the first block. We went inside and inquired, but the owner said he wanted to rent to a man, not two girls. I thought that was odd, but after three more landlords tellin’ us the same thing, I was beginnin’ to get discouraged.

  “Maybe we should start askin’ people in the street if they want to rent out their closet,” Maureen said. “I’m tired and hungry, Rose. Can’t we stop to eat?”

  There were some peddlers’ wagons on West Broadway, so we stopped to buy a loaf of black bread. Maureen ripped herself off a huge hunk, but I took the piece from her and broke it in two. “Don’t be greedy,” I said, keepin’ half for myself. “This has to last us a while.”

  After walkin’ two more blocks, Maureen spotted a sign on a side street named Sullivan, but we couldn’t read it until we got up close. “Room for rent. See Garoff, second floor, rear.”

  “Let me do the talkin’,” I said as we ran up the stairs. There were only two apartments on the second floor.

  An odd-lookin’ man opened the rear door when I knocked. He reminded me of the immigrants at Ellis Island, with his black hat and threadbare black suit. He gave me a puzzled look. “You want something?”

  “You have a room to rent?” I asked.

  The man said nothin’—just looked at me in an odd way.

  “There was a sign outside,” I said. “Room to rent. Are you Mr. Garoff?”

  “I was looking for a young man. Jewish.”

  “We wouldn’t be any trouble,” I said. “We’re quiet, and we can take care of ourselves.”

  Mr. Garoff shook his head. “I already have my daughter to look after. I don’t need more girls.”

  Maureen pushed in front of me. “My sister told ye, we don’t need lookin’ after. We’re perfectly able to fend for ourselves. We just need a place to stay.”

  Mr. Garoff sighed. “Already I have one girl with a big mouth, and now this.”

  I heard Maureen take in a breath as if she were about to say somethin’ else, so I pulled her behind me before she could open her mouth.

  I gave Mr. Garoff my most charmin’ smile. “My sister didn’t mean anything, sir. Could we perhaps meet yer daughter?” I thought if she were our age, she might be on our side.

  “She won’t be home until after seven. You come back then and we talk about this.”

  Seven. It would be dark by then, and the little warmth the sun was givin’ us now would be gone. If he decided then that we couldn’t stay, we’d be out in the cold for the night. I had to convince him. “Please, Mr. Garoff. We need a place to stay tonight. We’ll pay for the one night, and if ye want us to leave tomorrow, we’ll go. Just, please, let us sleep here tonight. It’s freezin’ outside.”

  He rubbed his beard and scowled at Maureen.

  “I apologize for my outburst, sir,” Maureen said, knowin’ she had put us in this predicament. “I’m mostly very quiet.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughin’. Maureen wasn’t accustomed to apologies.

  Mr. Garoff sighed. “All right. Come. I show you the room. You pay just for one night. Then we see if you stay after that. Maybe, maybe not.” He raised his eyebrows at Maureen, who ducked her head meekly and followed us into the apartment.

  “We have one extra room. And when my wife and other daughters come from Russia, you leave … if you are still here then.”

  There was one square room, with a woodstove and a table. The room itself was the same shape as the main room in Uncle Patrick’s, only much smaller, and there was no parlor leadin’ into it. I could see a dark bedroom off the back of the room, and a cot in the main room looked like someone slept there, too. Mr. Garoff pulled back a curtain that led into a tiny room with no furniture. Maureen had joked about livin’ in a closet, but it appeared that was exactly the space Mr. Garoff had for rent. “It’s not large,” he said, as if we were blind.

  I countered with, “It’s fine,” before Maureen could put in her two cents’ worth.

  Mr. Garoff nodded. “Make yourselves comfortable. Tonight, after you meet my daughter Gussela, we’ll see.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Oh, and one other thing. No food.”

  “No food?” Maureen cried. “We can’t eat in our own room?”

  Mr. Garoff scowled. “You eat your own food. You don’t eat mine. No food goes with price of room.”

  “Oh,” Maureen said. “That’s fine. We’ll buy our own food.”

  Mr. Garoff shrugged. “Just so we understand each other.”

  I closed our curtain and plumped the feather bed against the wall to give us a place to sit. We wouldn’t need chairs, even if there was room for them, which there wasn’t. The stove in the next room sent its warmth directly into our room, and the one tiny window seemed to be sealed tight so there were no drafts on the floor. Maureen and I sat next to each other on the bed.

  “We have our own place in America,” she whispered. “It’s not much, but it’s ours.”

  “For tonight,” I reminded her. “And now we have to work on our stems. Mr. Moscovitz will be angry at me for not bringin’ them back today. I need to take them back finished, tomorrow.”

  We bent our heads close to the fading light from the window. “It gets dark too early now. Tomorrow I’ll buy a candle.”

  Mr. Garoff must have heard us, for he knocked on the frame of the door. “If you need light, I have extra oil lamp. It could be part of the rent.”

  I pulled back the curtain and took the lighted lamp. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t burn midnight oil,” he said. “I’m not a wealthy man.”

  I set the lamp on the floor, and its light filled the whole room. Now it was much easier to see what we were doin’. We took a short break to have a little more bread for our supper, then went back to work.

  It wasn’t long before we had quite a pile of finished stems between us. I started out checkin’ every one that Maureen made, but when I found that hers were every bit as good as mine, I stopped checkin’ and just kept workin’.

  “What are ye goin’ to tell Ma, Rose?”

  “Why should I tell her anything?”

  “Ye have to. When ye write to her.”

  “I’m not goin’ to write until I have somethin’ good to say.”

  “But havin’ a place is good,” Maureen protested. “Besides, ye promised to write every day.”

  “Just like I promised to go to Uncle Patrick’s,” I said, makin’ a joke of it. But deep inside it hurt me to be breakin’ a promise to my own mother.

  We heard someone come in, and a young woman’s voice joined Mr. Garoff’s low grumbly one.

  “That must be his daughter,” Maureen whispered. “Should we go out and meet her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe w
e should wait till we’re invited.” I’d never lived in another person’s house, except for Uncle Patrick’s, and that didn’t count because it was family. If we hadn’t been welcome with our own relatives, how would it be with strangers? I wondered why Mr. Garoff wanted to talk over our staying here with his daughter. Surely he would be the one to make the decision.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Gussela callin’ out near our door curtain. “Hello! Would you like to join us for some tea?”

  Maureen and I scrambled to our feet. I smoothed down my hair before we went out.

  Gussela was pourin’ tea into a glass. “Glezel tai, Papa?”

  He nodded, and she placed the glass in front of him, then poured some for us. She had strong features, with beautiful large, brown eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back and knotted at the nape of her neck. She looked up. “Come sit. I’m Gussie. Papa has told me you want to rent our room, but he didn’t tell me your names.”

  I quickly introduced us as we took our places at the table, realizin’ that Mr. Garoff had never asked us who we were.

  “Nolan?” Gussie said. “You’re from Ireland, no?” She sounded American, with none of the heavy accent of her father.

  I nodded. “From Limerick. We’ve not been here very long.”

  “There aren’t many Irish in this neighborhood. Not more than one or two Irish girls at work that I can think of.” Gussie took a seat next to her father.

  I wasn’t goin’ to say anything about our situation, but Maureen blurted out about Da havin’ to go back with Joseph and how we stayed with Uncle Patrick but Ma didn’t like it here and went back. She talked so fast I didn’t get a chance to kick her under the table before she’d gone through our whole life story.

  “It’s brave of you to stay here on your own,” Gussie said.

  “We have work,” Maureen said. “Makin’ parts of flowers.” Before I could stop her, she jumped up and brought one of our stems from the room.