Orphan Train Disaster

by Rachel Wesson

  “She’s so young, isn’t she? I think that’s what gets me. What age is she? Thirteen?”

  “Fifteen going on sixteen.” Frieda couldn’t chat.

  The nurse looked at Frieda as her voice broke. “Can I get you something? A cup of coffee?”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.” Frieda finished washing Leonie’s face. Now she had to dress the stitches. The gash would leave an ugly scar across her forehead, but Leonie’s hair would cover most of it. Given the extent of her injuries, Frieda doubted the girl would worry about her face.

  “Nurse, do you want to get yourself a coffee? I can stay with Leonie for a while. I’d like to chat to her. I know it sounds silly, but it makes me feel a bit better.”

  The nurse nodded. “I do that, too. I chat about this and that. I can’t bear just looking at her in the bed. She should be out dancing and making plans to meet her young man, not lying here.”

  Frieda closed her eyes seeing Leonie and Deleo dancing at Susie’s party. Was it only a week ago?

  “You can’t give up hope, Dr. Klunsberg. You and the other doctors will make her better. Just believe you can do it.” The nurse squeezed Frieda’s arm in a rare gesture of support before leaving carrying a load of dirty bed linen.

  “Leonie, can you hear me? Please squeeze my hand if you can. You have to wake up and get better. Carrie gave me this for you.” Frieda reached into her pocket and took out a small drawing of two girls. “I’ll leave it here, on the locker. It’s a picture of you holding Carrie’s hand. She wanted to come and see you, but it’s not allowed. We don’t want you getting an infection on top of everything else.”

  Frieda swallowed hard. She couldn’t dissolve into tears no matter how much she wanted to. She placed the picture up against a glass by Leonie’s bed side.

  “Morris, Sam, and Alfred always want me to tell you they miss you. They said they wouldn’t fight if it meant you got home to them quicker.”

  At a sound behind her, Frieda turned to see Kathleen standing there with tears running down her cheeks. Kathleen took a step forward and enveloped Frieda in a hug. It was her gentle touch that broke through the barrier Frieda had tried to erect.

  “Why, Kathleen? Hasn’t she gone through enough already?”

  “Frieda, she’s alive. We have to focus on that.”

  Kathleen walked over to kiss Leonie on the forehead. “Leonie, we are all here praying for you. You rest now, and take your time to get better. Carrie and the boys are fine; Cook is feeding them every five minutes. You won’t recognize them when you get home. We are all planning the biggest party for when that day comes.”

  Kathleen squeezed Leonie’s good hand before rearranging the plants and flowers on the table near the window. She adjusted the drapes, too, to allow a little sunlight to hit Leonie’s face. “It’s a beautiful day outside, although not as warm as it looks. Do you mind if I take Frieda home now? She finished her shift hours ago. I want to get her something to eat and some rest. She will be back tomorrow.”

  “Kathleen?”

  “No, Frieda, you can’t make yourself sick. Leonie needs you, as do all of us. Let the nurses do their job. They are excellent at looking after patients.”

  Frieda saw the glint in Kathleen’s eyes and knew it was pointless protesting. And it was true, she was tired, and that could be dangerous. She could make a mistake and maybe a patient would suffer.

  “Just let me say goodbye to Celia Walker.” Frieda turned toward the door.

  “Who?”

  “Another girl from the factory who jumped into the elevator shaft.”

  “I’ll go with you. Maybe she has a family we can help.”

  Frieda knew that was an excuse. Kathleen was going to shadow her now until she left the hospital.

  Celia was sitting up in bed trying to read, but her bandaged hands made holding the book difficult.

  “Celia, this is my friend Kathleen Green.”

  “Green?” Celia queried.

  “Yes, she’s Patrick’s mother and Richard’s wife.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Green, for what your husband and son did for me. I don’t think I would be in such good shape without their help.”

  Kathleen’s eyes glistened as she took a seat beside Celia’s bed. “I know it’s not visiting time, but I don’t think Matron will mind. Can I wait here with you while Frieda goes to get her stuff? I came to take her home.”

  “I thought she lived here,” Celia said with a wink at Frieda.

  “Celia, how are you faring?” Kathleen asked, pulling the seat closer to the bed. “Do you have everything you need? I can bring you in some books or some clothes, maybe a nightgown or something.”

  Frieda left as Kathleen fussed over Celia. She smiled as she heard the young girl tell Kathleen the story of the fur muff. No matter what these women had been through, they always found strength to laugh. That was how New Yorkers dealt with tragedy. She hoped Maria was able to find something to smile about after the devastating loss of her sister.

  Chapter 41

  April 2nd , 1911

  A small crowd had already gathered outside the Metropolitan Opera House. Maria recognized a few of the faces from her days during the strike. It was odd seeing her factory friends mixing with the fur and feathers brigade as they had once laughingly described the wealthy. She’d never been inside the Opera house and wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Maria had accepted Frieda’s invitation with no hesitation. She hadn’t seen Lily or Kathleen since before March 25th. After the tragedy, Conrad had visited the Sanctuary and returned to Maria’s apartment with a basket full of food and clothing. Maria had been thankful for Lily and Kathleen’s generosity, but she hadn’t been able to go visit them. Mama had forbidden Maria’s friends from visiting her home.

  Lily gave her a hug and murmured her condolences. Closing her eyes, Maria remembered the time she’d asked Mama and Papa if she could go work in the Sanctuary. The thought had horrified Rosa, almost more than their mother. Oh Rosa, why did you have to leave me?

  Maria stumbled and would have fallen if not for Conrad’s firm grip on her arm. Self-conscious, she couldn’t believe she’d embarrassed herself, but Frieda’s friends didn’t seem to notice.

  Kathleen moved closer. “Maria, I’m so sorry for your loss. How is your mother?”

  She wanted to tell the truth. Tell Kathleen that Mama was furious with her for surviving. Instead, she heard herself say, “She’s not doing too well.”

  “Would she like visitors? I thought maybe Richard and I could visit. Or would that bring back memories of your father?”

  Papa! How she wished he was still alive. He’d know how to handle Mama. “Thank you, Kathleen, maybe some other time.”

  “You just tell us when, Maria. Have you been here before? It can be a little confusing to find your way around. The organizers are expecting about two thousand people so I suggest we find our box.”

  “A box?” Maria didn’t know what that meant.

  “A private seating area for each wealthy group. It usually has a good view of the stage,” Conrad whispered as they followed Kathleen inside.

  Maria looked around in awe. What would it be like to come here to see an opera? She’s seen a few open air operas when she was young and living back in Italy, but not in New York. She spotted her fellow East Siders filing into the upper galleries. Conrad pointed out the seats in front of the orchestra area, which seemed to be full of fur coats.

  Everywhere was a sea of red and gold. Her shoes sank into the luxurious carpets as the glass lights draped everyone in a flattering light. Lights on the wall and along the seats shimmered like stars in a velvet night sky. She followed the others as they climbed up the stairs toward the private boxes.

  “Someone said the Morgans have owned this box since the Met opened back in 1883,” Conrad whispered. “Not sure that’s true though, as the original opera house burned down, was taken over, and renovated. It reopened in 1903.”

  Maria wasn’t interested in
when it opened or who owned what. She was too warm, there were too many people around, and she felt out of place. She wasn’t born to sit in the private boxes. Not when the other boxes were occupied by grand society dames wearing diamonds and other jewels.

  Kathleen glanced around her. “If you take that seat, Conrad, and put Maria on your right. Frieda and Patrick can sit behind you when they turn up. Honestly, are doctors ever on time? I’ll sit here.”

  Maria sat where she was told, staring around her. She picked at her dress. Conrad grasped her hand, “You look more beautiful than anyone here.”

  He’d mistaken her agitation for worrying about her dress. She didn’t care about looking beautiful. She was out of place, sitting up here with the rich folk. She should be with her own people.

  At her continued silence, he asked, “What’s wrong, Maria?”

  “I should be up there with the rest of the people from the East Side. With Sarah and her friends. I don’t belong up here. My people are there,” she pointed to the galleries filled with factory workers and their families.

  Kathleen leaned forward. “Maria, if you wish to stand with your friends, please feel free. We want you to be comfortable. Or at least as much as possible.”

  Conrad stood up and offered her his arm. “Come on, before it gets too crowded.”

  They made their way toward the hordes of factory workers and their families. They found themselves swept up in the crowds. There were so many people, Maria almost regretted leaving the box. But this was where she belonged, with people who spoke her language. Not just Italian, but those who knew what it was like to work in a factory. Conrad held her hand tightly, protecting her as always. She spotted Sarah and pulled Conrad in her friend’s direction.

  “Sarah, this is Conrad Schneider. You met briefly when we left the hospital, after the fire.” Turning to Conrad, she said. “Do you remember Sarah Adler? We met briefly outside the hospital on the day of the fire.”

  “Yes, you ladies walked the same picket lines.” Conrad smiled as he held out his hand to Sarah.

  Sarah shook Conrad’s hand while saying, “Much good we did. Didn’t save those girls, did it?”

  Maria blinked back tears. Sarah gave her a hug.

  “Sorry Maria, for a second I forgot. Me and my big mouth. How is your mother?”

  Maria shrugged. Mama hadn’t stopped crying. She blamed Maria for leaving the favorite daughter behind. She’d told Maria, more than once, she wished it was Rosa who’d survived. Maria remained silent. She’d not tell anyone what her mother had said.

  The crowd fell silent as Anne Morgan, Alva Belmont, and other rich sponsors filed in. Then it seemed everyone started talking at once. The angry crowd demanded change. Maria heard the Bishop of New York comment, “This calamity causes racial lines to be forgotten, for a little while at least, and the whole community rises to one common brotherhood.”

  The crowd was muttering ominously until Rose Schneiderman stepped forward on the stage and started speaking.

  Maria could barely hear her at first. She leaned forward to hear the soft spoken woman. Rose seemed to find her confidence as her voice grew stronger. The crowd fell silent as they got caught up in her message.

  Tears fell down Maria’s cheeks as Rose spoke of the issues facing the working classes.

  Rose shouted, “This is not the first time girls have burned alive in this city.”

  Conrad grasped Maria’s hand. She squeezed his back, but didn’t take her eyes from Rose. When Rose finished speaking, silence filled the opera house. It took several seconds for people to realize she had finished, then they burst out in applause, cheering and roaring their approval. Maria glanced toward the private boxes and saw even there the people were clapping, although maybe slightly less enthusiastically than the people surrounding Maria.

  “There must be thirty-five hundred people here,” Conrad murmured as he continued to clap. The crowds filed out of the Opera House, the atmosphere brighter than before. People were still grieving, but maybe there was some hope things would change.

  Chapter 42

  Conrad and Maria met up with Sarah as they pushed their way out in silence. On reaching the sidewalk, Sarah broke the silence, “Did you know there was a meeting in the Broadway Central Hotel when we were on strike back in 1909?”

  Maria shook her head. Glancing at Conrad, she saw he didn’t know what Sarah was talking about either.

  “There were about twenty or more factory owners there, including Blanck and Harris. They were discussing ways of breaking the strike. They even talked about taking on black workers, but someone had an issue about that.”

  Maria could imagine. There were always problems between the Italians, Germans, and the Jews without adding in the Blacks. She couldn’t understand why. Weren’t they all the same people?

  Sarah continued. “When one man protested ‘he wasn’t having blacks working in his factory,’ someone else argued, ‘Why not? They can work, can’t they? They probably picked the very cotton you are using. They will work for lower wages than the white girls, even the new arrivals from Ellis Island. Who cares who does the work so long as we have garments to sell? The stores will not wait forever. They will buy shirtwaists from whoever produces them.’”

  Maria exchanged glances with Conrad. What was the point in going over old ground? They knew what factory owners were like.

  Sarah must have interpreted her expression as she pulled at Maria’s arm.

  “Don’t you see? They really don’t care. They don’t see us as human beings. As one of them said, ‘Workers are expendable, plenty more where they came from,’ they said. Every day another ship or two arrive. Ellis Island can’t keep up with the traffic.”

  Maria sucked in her breath. Nobody could be that heartless, but Sarah hadn’t finished.

  “You watch, Maria. There will be a huge funeral, plenty of people making a lot of noise about the changes they will make, and then what will happen? Nothing. Everything will go back to the same way it was. Nobody will remember all our friends. Just like they don’t remember those who died in the Slocum. Why? Because we’re all poor immigrants. We just don’t matter.”

  Tears wet Maria’s cheeks. She didn’t want to believe what Sarah said; it made things worse. Conrad took her gently by the elbow.

  “With respect, Miss Adler, I believe you are wrong. My father came to this country with only the suit he was wearing. He was lucky to escape Germany with his life. Mam came here from Ireland where her ancestors starved to death in a famine barely seventy years ago. Things are changing. The tragedy at the Triangle, losing our friends, family, our sisters,” Conrad glanced at Maria, “will and do mean something. Things will change, but only if both sides work together. We must bury the dead and the hate with them. Only then we will make changes, but they start with ourselves.”

  Sarah looked as if she was about to argue, but Conrad cut her off.

  “Maria, I think we should find our other friends. It was nice to meet you, Miss Adler. Take care of yourself.”

  Without another word, Conrad led Maria away from the stunned looking Sarah.

  “Thank you,” Maria said. “I like Sarah, but sometimes she is too…” Maria couldn’t find the right word.

  “Zealous? I admire people for standing up for what they believe in, but there is a time and a place for all that. We will bury our family and friends with respect and only then will we start rebuilding our lives.”

  They hadn’t seen Kathleen walk up behind them.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing Conrad. I totally agree. Would you and Maria care to join us at the Sanctuary for tea?”

  “Thank you, Kathleen, but I have to get home to Mama.”

  Kathleen tried to reply, but Anne Morgan interrupted by claiming her attention. At least, Maria thought it was the daughter of the banker as she’d seen her likeness in the newspapers. She let out a sigh of relief; she hadn’t wanted to go anywhere but home.

  Conrad escorted her home in silence.
>
  “Will you come in?” Maria asked as they reached her tenement block.

  “Better not. I don’t want to anger your mother.”

  Maria didn’t bother trying to persuade him. Mama seemed to blame everyone who’d survived for not saving Rosa.

  Conrad kissed her, his lips grazing hers. “I would like to walk with you for the funeral march if it doesn’t upset your family.”

  “I’d like that. Conrad, I’m scared. What if Mama never recovers?”

  “She will, Maria, in time. She won’t get over losing your sister, but she will learn to live with the pain. For now, we just have to be patient.”

  She leaned into him, raising her mouth for his kiss. Maria wanted this gentle, kind man at her side. Her family would just have to get used to him being around. She wasn’t losing him.

  Chapter 43

  Frieda arrived back from the hospital to find Lily, Kathleen, and some of their friends sitting around the table discussing the meeting.

  “Frieda, how’s Leonie?” Lily asked.

  “The same.” Frieda hated seeing the light of hope die in Lily’s eyes, but she couldn’t pretend Leonie was improving. “How did the meeting go?”

  “You should have seen it, Frieda. Over thirty-five hundred people turned up. It didn’t start so well, there was so much arguing on stage, but then a young woman, Rose Schneider, started talking. You could have heard a pin drop as everyone listened to her. She had some harsh things to say, but they were the truth.”

  “Do you think anything will change?” Frieda asked as she reached for a cookie. Lily moved over and directed her to sit down beside her before answering, “Frieda, things are already changing. There were three women on the safety committee. You already know Anne Morgan and Mary Dreier. Frances Perkins is the third.”