“Lily, you should see them. Almost 150 dead, of which only 14 are men. The rest are women and young girls. Those poor girls had no chance. The fire department was on the scene in minutes but they couldn't help. Their ladders weren't long enough, their nets not strong enough. Nothing was good enough. Those women didn’t know where the exits were, nobody thought to show them. They never did a fire drill. Heck, even the fire hoses in the building weren't connected to the water.”
Lily had thought she’d heard everything, but this shocked her.
He kept muttering as if to himself, “Those people had no choice but to jump. They couldn't stand the heat behind them. Nobody warned them. When the fire broke out on the eighth floor, some guy thought he could put it out. He threw water on it, something I guess we would all try, but why didn’t he send someone up to warn those girls? A few minutes and maybe they could have all got out. Or most of them. It was all over in less than thirty minutes, yet hundreds of lives are forever ruined. They came here for a new life, a chance to make something of themselves, to become an American. And what did we give them?”
“Pascal, it’s not your fault.”
But he didn’t seem to hear her. He was looking at her, but his eyes were focused on something she couldn't see. “Why didn’t we listen? When those girls were on the street back in 1909 shouting about how dangerous their working conditions were, how a fire would happen. ‘Cause they said it was a question of when not if. Why didn’t someone pay attention, Lily?” Inspector Griffin’s tear-filled eyes stared at her, but didn’t focus.
“It’s not your fault,” she repeated.
“Not my fault? It was policemen who hit those same girls when they went on strike for better conditions. You should see the lads today, Lily. Seasoned officers and they can’t look in the mirror. They recognized some girls, the ones not burned beyond recognition. Maybe they’d seen them in the strikes or in the jails after. Or maybe just in the coffee shop or walking through Washington Square gardens. I never seen so many grown men cry like babies. Lily, how can we come back from this?”
She moved closer to take his hand and rubbed it between hers.
“I feel guilty too. I kept dreaming about a fire and knew I had to get the factory finished. But I didn’t. Leonie, Maria, and other girls were going to move to work there. In safety.” Lily gulped hard. “You ask how we come back from this. Same way as we come back from any other tragedy. We learn from our mistakes and move on. You can’t fall apart; you’re one of the good guys. Remember how you helped those strikers. I know you and your wife gave out baskets of food and you paid fines on behalf of some younger girls.”
Inspector Griffin’s ears turned red as Kathleen walked back in carrying a tray of food. “Cook sends her apologies, poor woman is overcome with emotion. Found her crying in the kitchen all alone, so I sent her off to see a friend.” Kathleen couldn’t have missed the inspector’s tears but she didn't comment.
She kept talking. “Inspector, Lily has just been reading about the Mayor’s collection. Do you know where his committee is meeting? We’d like to volunteer.”
“Yes, that's the reason for coming to see you. The Metropolitan Life Insurance building has offered facilities to the Red Cross. Room 11, 1 Madison Avenue. Mr. Devine is in charge. The police will furnish him with a list of victims, we are still compiling it. Some bodies… have to be identified by other means.”
Kathleen and Lily exchanged a glance. Taking a deep breath, Lily forced the images those words formed out of her mind.
“I will speak to the women staying here. I’m sure some will be glad to offer their services. A couple will have to remain here with the children. When Cook gets back, I’ll ask her whether she wants to come, too, but I imagine she will stay with the Chivers. They aren’t allowed to go to the hospital at the moment.”
Inspector Griffin drank the soup but left the sandwiches untouched.
“The call is going out to all agencies, including The Society of St. Vincent de Paul, the Charity Organization Society, and the United Hebrew Charities. A lot of the families don’t speak English. So they need interpreters. There will also be a police presence. These sorts of tragedies bring out the best in people, but the scumbags also appear. You have no idea how many known pickpockets we’ve escorted away from the temporary morgue.”
“Imagine trying to steal from dead bodies.”
“Kathleen, unfortunately in this job I don’t need an imagination. I’ve seen it all.” Pascal Griffin stood up. “I best be getting back.”
“Sit back down and eat something.” Kathleen used her mothering voice. It seemed to work on all men. Richard said it reminded them of their mothers chivvying them along as children. It didn't fail this time. Inspector Griffin sat and ate under Kathleen’s watchful eye. What he didn’t finish, he took away with him wrapped up in a napkin.
“Thank you for listening and for the food.”
“Inspector Griffin, Pascal,” Lily moved to his side, “you are one of the good guys. Always remember that.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek, his gaze catching hers before his eyes filled up once more. He turned and left without looking back.
Only once the front door closed did Kathleen let her tears fall. Lily couldn't cry as she had no tears left. She held Kathleen while her friend sobbed her heart out. Lily’s heart felt like stone. Her dreams had foretold this tragedy and despite everything, she hadn't been able to stop it happening or save one of their own. Losing 145 people with more lives hanging in the balance was horrendous, but Leonie made it even more personal.
Chapter 39
“Maria, where are you going?”
Maria sighed. Her mother wouldn’t let her leave the house without subjecting her to an interrogation.
“Mama, I have to go collect my pay.” Rosa’s too, but she didn’t mention her sister. “The Triangle held back a week’s wages for everyone.”
“Do you have to go now?”
Maria glanced at her mother who was a shadow of the strong woman who’d held the family together after Papa died. The black shadows under her red eyes spoke of long nights crying herself to sleep. She had lost weight too, her skirt hanging off her hips.
“Mama, we need the money. We have bills to pay. I won’t be long. I promise.”
“Maria, I just want to keep you and my girls near me. I want you safe. I don’t trust America anymore. I want to go back to Sicily.” Mama brushed the tears from her eyes. “I want to keep my family safe. This is no life.”
Tears choking her throat, Maria moved to hug her mother, but Mama turned her back. Maria didn’t argue. It was pointless trying to explain, yet again, that she couldn’t have saved Rosa. Mama had no idea of the confusion and panic that had occurred last Saturday. Was it only a few days previously? It seemed like a lifetime.
She pulled the door of the apartment behind her, and walked down the steps onto the sidewalk. About five minutes later, she heard running steps behind her. Turning, she recognized Amita Ableson, another survivor of the fire.
“Morning, Maria. You going to collect your pay? Can I walk with you?”
“Yes of course.” Maria didn’t know the Jewish girl very well, not that it mattered now. The shared experience of the fire broke down any barriers that might have lay between them.
“Do you think they will give it to us, Maria? I mean it’s ours, but you know what the bosses are like.”
“They have to. Mama and my sisters need to eat. We have to bury Rosa. We need the money.”
Amita squeezed Maria’s hand. “I heard about your sister. I’m sorry. I don’t know what Italians do with their dead, but in the Jewish faith, our dead should be buried within twenty-four hours of dying. Only in this case, it hasn’t been possible.”
Maria glanced at Amita, she wasn’t sure if the girl had lost someone close and didn’t know how to ask. They walked toward the University Place shop, meeting some more workers on their way. Maria was thrilled to see some old friends, but there were far too many missi
ng faces. Bettina and Frances Miale, Jennie Poliny, Catherine Maltese and her two daughters, Rosaria and Lucia. Maria choked back tears as she remembered the Maltese girls teasing their mother about their new American names. Rosaria wanted to be called Sara and Lucia decided on Lucy.
Instead of young girls queuing for pay packets, mothers, fathers, or siblings took their place. Maria looked for Conrad, but he wasn’t to be found. She assumed he was still down at the morgue where he’d been working as a volunteer.
“Your Conrad survived, didn’t he?” Amita asked.
“Yes, he saved my life. He’s volunteering at the mortuary.”
Amita pulled a face.
“I know, I couldn’t do it,” Maria shuddered. “But he felt he had to. So many people were trying to get in just to gawp at the bodies. Some even stole from the dead.”
Amita put a hand to her face. “Why would anyone do that? People can be so heartless.”
“Amita, you should hear the stories. Some are heartbreaking as family members desperately try to identify the dead. But some people acted like it was a day outing. Conrad says he enjoys throwing them out.”
They moved forward in the queue.
“Did you hear the bosses put in a claim to their insurance?”
Maria stopped moving, convinced she had misheard.
“I’m not joking Maria. They have already filed a claim for fire damage. My father said he wouldn’t be surprised if they made a profit on this. He says that pair would make money from a dead donkey.”
Maria couldn’t think straight. How could anyone file a claim when the bodies hadn’t been identified, nevermind given a respectable burial. She clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms as waves of anger overtook her. It was so unfair.
“There is going to be a trial. The city will charge Harris and Blanck. They have to.” Maria hoped she sounded confident. She had to believe in justice otherwise what was the point in living.
“Josephine Nicolosi, you know her? I think she is Italian?” Amita asked.
Maria shook her head.
“She worked on the eight floor. She said when she came to collect her pay, Blank offered her $1000 to testify the doors weren’t locked. Can you imagine what I could buy with $1000?” Amita’s wistful expression worried Maria for a moment until the girl’s face changed. “I hope he rots in hell, trying to make us tell lies like that. Josephine, she told the police what he was doing. She said she wasn’t going to cheat her friends.”
Maria’s neck muscles loosened. For a moment she’d been worried. The bosses had plenty of money, and many of the survivors and the families of those who hadn’t survived had next to nothing. Who knew who might be tempted to change their stories?
She shuffled forward as the queue moved, trying to close her ears to the tales she heard from the people around her. So much suffering. A man cried, asking who was going to bring his family over from Russia now. He’d lost his child and his job because of the fire. A boy came forward who’d lost his mother. His father had died some years previous.
“Do you know where I could get a job? I know I’m small, but I can be a good worker.”
Maria bent down to his level. “How old are you?”
“Nine.”
She stared at him, and he couldn’t hold her gaze. “Six but I’m nearly seven. I have a sister at home. She’s crying ‘cause she misses Mutti but also ‘cause she’s hungry. We haven’t eaten since Monday.”
That was days ago.
“Here.” Maria felt in her pocket for a coin. She handed it to the boy. “Go over there and buy something. I will hold your place in the queue.”
His eyes lit up as he pocketed the coin.
“Will they give me a job?”
“No, we are here to collect our pay. Your mother would have been due money, too. What was her name?”
He listed out her name as if reading a grocery list. Then he ran to the nearest stall and bought two rolls, one he put straight in his pocket. The other didn’t last long. He came back to stand beside her.
“Where do you live?” Maria asked him. Recognizing the street name, she made an impulsive decision.
“I will help you collect your mother’s wages, and then we will go see a friend of mine. She looks after orphans like you and your sister.”
The boy backed away a little.
“Please don’t be scared,” Maria reassured him, “Lily looks after lots of children and is very nice. Her cook makes the best cakes and cookies.”
The boy’s eyes widened, although he still looked suspicious.
“What’s your name?” Maria asked.
“Max.”
“Max, I’m Maria Mezza. Now, you need to tell the boss what your mother’s name is and what floor she worked on.” Maria paused for a second. Did the boy know his mother was actually dead? Who had identified the body? How could she ask him?
The queue moved forward and it was Max’s turn. The boss showed no hesitation in asking questions.
“How do you know your mother was in the factory on Saturday? Maybe she just took off.”
Maria wanted to slap the man in charge of the pay, but Max looked him in the eye. “I ran to the factory when I heard about the fire. A policeman let me look at some of the bodies.”
Maria nearly fainted. What sights had this boy seen?
“I recognized Mutti from her necklace. I was able to tell the cop, there was a picture inside. Of Papa, me, and Nettie.” Max’s voice crumbled as he said his sister’s name. Maria put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
“Your mama would be very proud of you, Max. Hand over his mother’s pay or I will call in the officer standing outside keeping the queue in order.” She ordered the pay clerk as Max confidently reeled off his mother’s address. She felt Max stick his hand in her coat pocket, assuming he was cold or maybe just wanting the touch of another human being.
Maria collected her and Rosa’s pay without argument from the pay clerk, then turned to escort Max to Lily’s house. But Max had disappeared. She looked all around but she couldn’t find him. In her pocket was a dime, the same amount she had given him a few minutes earlier.
Maria smiled through her tears at the boy’s honesty. She’d give his details to Lily, sure her friend would check up on Max and his little sister. Meanwhile, she had to return to her family.
Frieda pulled the sheet over the face of Sarah Cooper, the young sixteen-year-old from the Bronx who hadn’t recovered consciousness after the fire. Her family members were led away by one of the nurses. Frieda couldn’t speak to them. For once, she couldn’t find the words to offer her condolences. She wasn’t sorry, she was angry. Why hadn’t the child lived after being brave enough to jump from the building and surviving for almost five days? Frieda covered her face with her hands and wept.
She nearly jumped out of her own skin when Patrick put his arm around her shoulders. She hadn’t heard him come in.
“Frieda, darling. I know. I know.”
He held her as she sobbed, the tears just kept coming. It took a while for her shuddering sobs to reduce to ordinary tears.
“Why Patrick? Why? It’s so unfair. Her family were so hopeful she’d make it. She shouldn’t be dead. None of them should be.”
He drew her closer to the door before hugging her to his chest. Nobody could come in and disturb them. Even now, he was protecting her, her reputation. She leaned against him, grateful to be held. Thankful for not having to pretend she was coping because she wasn’t.
They stood like that for a while. Patrick, perhaps sensing the worst of the storm was over, gently pushed her back from him. Holding her face gently in his hand, he forced her to look up at him.
“Frieda, you did everything you could. Nobody would even try to do anything for Sarah, she was too badly injured. It’s testament to her strength she lingered so long.”
“I just feel so helpless. Leonie isn’t getting any better either. Every time I see Carrie, she asks me when Leonie’s coming ho
me. I have to tell her I don’t know. Some doctor I’m going to be.”
“Stop that now. You are going to be amazing. Frieda, you are already better than many qualified doctors. This, this…tragedy has tested us all. As you said to me a long time ago, we aren’t God, just doctors. We try our best but sometimes that just isn’t good enough.”
Frieda blinked. “I was horrible to you over Johanna. I’m so sorry.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be. You lashed out in your grief, and I behaved like a sulky child. Mother would say it’s because we are still learning how to be adults.” He looked at her, his gaze flickering to her lips. She inched closer, lifting her face to his. His lips touched hers as he pulled her to him. The fleeting touch of his lips on hers was a comfort.
“Frieda, Sarah would thank you for your devotion to her care, if she could. Now, we must leave her to the nurses.”
Frieda glanced back at the bed. She wanted to say something but what. Patrick spoke instead.
“Sarah would tell you to fight for her friends and her family, and make sure this doesn’t happen again. That’s her legacy.”
Frieda nodded. He took her hand and led her out of the room.
Chapter 40
Frieda pushed Leonie’s hair back a little as she washed her friend’s face. Usually a nurse would do this job, but Frieda wanted to do it. Leonie had yet to regain consciousness. Richard and Patrick had a nurse sitting by her bedside twenty-four hours a day. Patrick had confided, the longer Leonie stayed asleep, the less chance of her making a full recovery.
“A friend of yours?” the nurse asked as she straightened up the bed.
“Yes.” Frieda didn’t mean to be short, but she couldn’t get the words out. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Leonie had lost so much already and now this.
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