Ashes of Roses Read online

  But when we got home, we found nobody there. Luckily, Uncle Patrick had given Ma an extra key to the apartment, or we would have been stuck outside.

  There was a note on the table.

  Margaret—

  I’ve left breakfast in the pan for you to heat up. We will be back after church service.

  —Elsa

  I looked into the pan. The fat from the sausage had congealed over the eggs, makin’ the whole mess look like it was encased in wax. My stomach almost turned over. “Let’s just eat our cake. This looks terrible.”

  “We don’t waste food,” Ma said. “Elsa made this for us, and it would be an insult to her not to eat it.”

  “Who cares if it’s an insult to Elsa?” Maureen said. “She’s been insultin’ us since we arrived.”

  “All right, then,” Ma said. “Wastin’ this food would be an insult to all the poor Irish who starved durin’ the famine.”

  I was goin’ to point out that all those people were dead and wouldn’t care one way or t’other if we lapped up this greasy mess, but I thought better of it. Ma was in somewhat happier spirits since Mass, and I didn’t want to spoil her mood. So we ate the eggs and sausage and saved the cake for the rest of the family. Once Ma heated the pan to melt the grease, it wasn’t so bad after all, except that the egg yolks were all hard and I preferred them runny.

  Still, I was grateful for a full stomach. This was certainly much better than what passed for food on the ship. When we had boarded, we were each given a cheap tin dish and cup and served ourselves from a huge kettle. Since we washed our own dishes with nothin’ but saltwater to do it in, the dishes and cups soon rusted out, givin’ a tinny taste to everything we ate or drank. I figured, no matter what we got at Uncle Patrick’s, it had to be better than that.

  We had just finished our meal and cleared up when the family returned. Though everyone was pretendin’ things were fine, there was no doubt that tension hung over us like a swingin’ sword.

  Ma showed Elsa the cake. “We picked this up for ye. Thought ye might like a bite after church.”

  “That’s very nice, but we’ll be having dinner now,” Elsa said.

  Uncle Patrick stepped in and took the cake from Ma. “Now, isn’t that a pretty thing? I think I’ll have a piece of that right now. Who’ll join me?”

  “You’ll spoil your appetite for dinner,” Elsa said.

  Uncle Patrick laughed. “I’ll worry about me own appetite, Elsa.” He brought plates to the table and started slicin’ the cake. Little Friedrich crowded in to get a piece.

  “Friedrich,” Elsa called from the kitchen. “Come here. You’re not allowed to have dessert before your dinner.”

  Uncle Patrick’s face got red, but I noticed he didn’t contradict his wife. He only laughed again and said, “That’s all the more for us, right?”

  Ma, Maureen, Bridget, and I sat with Uncle Patrick while his American family stayed in the kitchen, preparin’ dinner. I was already full from the sausages and eggs, but I knew I had to have a piece of cake anyway. A contest was goin’ on here, with one team sittin’ at the table and the other standin’ at the stove. We would vote by eatin’ or not eatin’ the cake.

  Poor Friedrich hung in the doorway, watchin’. I had the urge to call him over like a puppy and slip him a morsel under the table. He was such a quiet child, with sad eyes. I didn’t envy him his life, with a harsh mother and two bossy older sisters.

  “Did ye find a Catholic church?” Uncle Patrick asked.

  “We did,” Ma said. I thought this would start up the argument all over again, but Ma appeared to have softened. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Patrick. It’s none of my business where ye go to church. It just came as a shock to me, is all.”

  Uncle Patrick patted her hand. “Don’t give it another thought, Margaret.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Uncle Patrick started tellin’ about how it was when he first came to America, twelve years ago. He began by workin’ on the docks. Then he worked his way into politics, as did many Irishmen, apparently. “I’ll be able to get a good job for Michael when he arrives,” he said. “I may not be very far up in the party yet, but there are those who owe me favors.”

  I thought at first that Uncle Patrick was tellin’ us about himself to help Ma see why he had left the Church, but there wasn’t a mention of religion. I noticed he also forgot to mention how he met and married Elsa.

  10

  Things seemed strained in Uncle Patrick’s house over the next week. Ma, Maureen, and I kept tryin’ to help Elsa with the household chores, but she always said we were her guests and shouldn’t have to work. Even though her words were delivered with a smile, there was somethin’ in her manner that made me feel she wanted us to appear lazy. I made a special point of offerin’ to help in front of Uncle Patrick so he’d know we were tryin’ to do our part around the house.

  As for Hildegarde and Trudy, we barely saw them. They left for school first thing in the mornin’ and came home just before supper. Neither of them had much to say to Maureen and me, other than askin’ us to pass things to them at the table. I once inquired about us goin’ to school, too, but Elsa said it wouldn’t be a good idea to start in the middle of the school year. Then, later, I found out that both Trudy and Hildegarde went to a fancy private school for girls over on Fifth Avenue. I couldn’t tell whether the girls just didn’t want their poor cousins taggin’ along or if they thought we’d expect Uncle Patrick to pay our way. Ma told me she was sure there was a public school we could go to, or maybe a school connected to the parish church.

  Tuesday night the next week, I was in the bathroom when I overheard a conversation between Uncle Patrick and Elsa. I sat on the rim of the tub and pressed my ear to the wall. I knew it wasn’t right to listen, but sometimes a person just needs to know what’s goin’ on. The head of their bed must have been against the wall, because it was easy to make out what they were sayin’.

  “How long do you plan to let this go on, Patrick?”

  “What are ye talkin’ about?”

  “Your relatives. How long do you plan to let them stay?”

  “As long as they be needin’ a roof over their heads. Ye don’t expect me to put them out on the street in the middle of winter, do ye?”

  There was a pause here, and I could imagine that Elsa was plannin’ another approach. Finally, she spoke. “It’s a lovely family, and of course I enjoy having them here, but wouldn’t they be happier in a place of their own?”

  “And what would they use to pay for that, I ask ye?”

  “Didn’t Margaret give you some money the first night they arrived? Why don’t you give it back to her so they can use it for rent and food for themselves?”

  “The money she gave me would barely pay for a few weeks on Broome Street, with not much left over for food. I’m savin’ that for Michael. He had planned to get a job as soon as he got here. The money was just enough to hold them over until he got a week’s pay.”

  “But they must be so uncomfortable.”

  “Have ye heard them complain?”

  Elsa cleared her throat or coughed, I couldn’t tell which. “They haven’t complained in so many words, but I can tell they feel crowded. After all, they have no privacy.”

  “Well, until they say somethin’ to me, they stay right here. This city isn’t a good place for a woman to be on her own. If the oldest was a boy, that might help. At least Margaret would have a man to protect her. But not a woman with three girls. They’d be fair game for every con man in New York.”

  That made me angry. We’d be perfectly able to manage for ourselves. We might be new in the country, but we weren’t stupid. The problem was that we had no money to rent a place of our own.

  “I wasn’t going to mention it,” Elsa continued, “but this has created a painful situation for Trudy. She has no place to see Walter. He was courting her in our parlor. Now it’s filled with sleeping relatives.”

  “Well, they have no b
usiness courtin’ after the family has gone to sleep anyway,” Uncle Patrick said. “Let them do their talkin’ at Walter’s house. It’s not far from here, and he can walk her home. Now, that’s the end of it.”

  There was silence after this. Either Elsa had given up, or she knew better than to push Uncle Patrick any further. I wondered how they had come to marry. She seemed so cold, not at all like my other aunts at home. As a matter of fact, the thought that Elsa was my aunt startled me. No one had suggested we call her that, and I knew the name “Aunt Elsa” would stick in my throat if I tried.

  So the real reason Trudy didn’t like us was that we were crampin’ her style with her beau. That was a useful bit of news. It was also good to know that Ma had given Uncle Patrick enough money to pay for a few weeks on a place called Broome Street. Maybe, if I could find a job the way Da had planned to, I could bring in enough money to rent a place on this Broome Street, at least until Da got back. I decided not to mention anything to Ma. I didn’t want her to know that Elsa was tryin’ to get rid of us, although she had probably figured that out on her own. But if I could find some work, we could leave here with our dignity intact. I decided to look for a job first thing in the mornin’.

  Wednesday, at breakfast, I made a point of eatin’ very little. I didn’t want Elsa complainin’ about how much it cost to feed us. When I had earned a day’s pay, we wouldn’t have to rely on charity anymore. Ma raised her eyebrows in a question when she saw how little I had taken on my plate. I just shrugged and smiled. Then, as soon as the girls left for school and Uncle Patrick went to work, I pulled my coat around me.

  Ma was sittin’ in the parlor with Bridget on her lap. “Where are ye goin’, Margaret Rose?”

  “It’s Rose,” I said.

  Ma rolled her eyes. “All right. Where are ye goin’, Rose. And I’m only callin’ ye that because it’s yer legal American name and I don’t want to break the law.”

  I looked to make sure Elsa was out of earshot, then told Ma about my plan to find work so we could move out.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Yer father said we should stay here until he got back.”

  “But, Ma, even if they sent him and Joseph back right away, they wouldn’t reach Ireland until Saturday. Then he has to work at least a month to earn his passage, and it will take another two weeks for the ship to get him back here.”

  Maureen was countin’ on her fingers. “That’s over six weeks. It’ll be the middle of April before he gets back. I’ll never last that long without gettin’ into a fight with Trudy or Hildegarde.”

  Tears came to Ma’s eyes. “Six weeks? I miss yer father so much. And poor Joseph. How I long to see my baby.”

  When she started to cry, Bridget turned in Ma’s lap and patted her cheek. “Don’t be sad, Ma. Da and Joseph will come soon.”

  This only made Ma cry harder. I was gettin’ worried about Ma. At home she was always so sure of herself, but here she seemed afraid. She’d hardly left the house except for when we went to Mass. That’s why I was surprised when she wiped her eyes and said, “It should be me gettin’ the job. You can stay here and take care of Bridget and Maureen.”

  “No, Ma. Let me try to find work first. I don’t want to be left alone with Elsa. I’ll lose my temper for sure and get us all into trouble.”

  Elsa came into the room and discovered us whisperin’ together. “Is something wrong?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, smilin’ sweetly and lyin’ through my teeth.

  11

  I couldn’t believe Ma had agreed to let me go out and look for work, but then it occurred to me that she didn’t think I’d find anything. If I came back without a job, then she could have me stay home tomorrow watchin’ the children, and she’d go find a position as a seamstress. It was certain that Ma had more skills than me, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d make more money as a seamstress than I would as a … I couldn’t finish that thought, because I hadn’t any idea what kind of work I might find.

  I decided to head in the same direction we had gone to church, drawn by the fact that it had felt familiar, and maybe hopin’ that there would be a shop nearby that would remind me of Limerick, too. But this time I crossed over to Second Avenue right away. I stopped in a small shoe shop on the corner of Tenth Street. I was bein’ very careful to notice the streets so I could find my way home later. The cobbler looked up when I came in, but didn’t say anything and went back to his work. I suppose he could tell I wasn’t rich enough to buy a pair of shoes.

  I cleared my throat, but he ignored me. “Excuse me, sir. I was wonderin’ if ye might have some work I could do.”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Work? Do you know how to cut leather?”

  “No, but I…”

  He interrupted me with rapid-fire questions. “Can you put in eyelets? Nail a sole? Place a heel?”

  “I’m a fast learner,” I said. “Ye’d only need to show me once.”

  He stood and came over to the counter. “Learn this, then, fast learner. It took me five years as an apprentice to learn this skill. There’s a boatload of you greenhorns landing every day, and you all think you’re going to make a fortune in America. Well, don’t hold your breath, girlie, because it’s not going to happen.” Then he laughed, showin’ a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth.

  I ran from the shop and kept runnin’, tears stingin’ my eyes. So Elsa and her daughters weren’t the only ones who wouldn’t welcome us with open arms. They even had a name for newcomers here—“greenhorns.”

  I finally stopped and leaned against a lamppost to catch my breath. I wouldn’t let one nasty man keep me from gettin’ a job. Maybe makin’ shoes was too hard a job to start with. I needed somethin’ simple, like being a shop girl. I could help people find what they were lookin’ for. It might even be fun.

  When I looked up at the street sign, I realized I had gotten myself turned around and had run along Tenth Street. But as long as the streets were numbered, I couldn’t get lost.

  I stopped in several more shops—all small family stores, each run by a shopkeeper and his wife, and they couldn’t afford to hire an extra worker. Then I saw the biggest store I had ever laid eyes on. It took up the entire block. Surely it would take dozens of shop girls to make this store run.

  I went through the front entrance and walked around the ground floor, lookin’ over the cases filled with purses, gloves, and scarves. There were both men and women workin’ here. The women dressed in the same white bodice favored by Hildegarde and Trudy, with sleeves that pouffed out at the shoulder, then fit tight from elbow to wrist. There were lots of little tucks in the bodice that made the waist small, and a collar snug around the neck. It seemed since Mr. Gibson had painted his famous beauty, every girl in New York wanted to look exactly like her. I couldn’t help but think how I might look in a blouse like that, with my hair fluffed up and knotted on top in the Gibson Girl style. As soon as I had a job, I’d use some of the money to get a nice shirtwaist.

  I climbed the grand staircase to where I could look over the railing and see most of the ground floor. Ladies in fine coats and hats moved through the rows of tables and counters, some accompanied by their maids. On the next floor, there was an elegant salon where ladies could find dresses and gowns. A lovely woman about Ma’s age was showin’ a black satin gown with bugle beads to a wealthy-lookin’ woman. I could just imagine the feel of that slippery satin. I watched the woman wave away the black dress. As the saleswoman started off to find another selection, she noticed me. “I don’t think you’ll find anything suitable for yourself here,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m not lookin’ for a dress, ma’am, but I’d like to work here, doin’ just what you do.”

  The saleswoman lifted her chin. “Well, since I’m doing what I do, there’s really no need for you to be doing what I do, now, is there?”

  She looked with disdain at my homespun dress, even though it was clean and freshly ironed. I wished she could see the dresses my mother made for the
fancy dress shop in Limerick. They were every bit as beautiful as the garments here. It seemed to me that the person who could make a fine dress was just as good if not better than the person who merely sold it. After all, if the dress was poorly made, the saleswoman would be hard-pressed to convince anyone to buy it.

  I ran back to the ground floor and out the door. I wouldn’t want to work in such a snooty place anyway.

  I was almost ready to give up when I noticed the lovely fragrance of bakin’ bread. It reminded me of the bread Ma baked at home. I followed my nose to a small shop. Now I was on a street called Bowery. What happened to the numbers? I decided not to worry about directions and went inside. Workin’ in a place that smelled like this would be heaven.

  There was a pleasant woman behind the counter. “What can I be gettin’ for ye?” she asked in an Irish accent that sounded so much like my Aunt Mary Clare, I almost burst into tears from joy.

  “I’m lookin’ for work,” I said. “Do ye have somethin’ I could do? I’m a hard worker.”

  The woman smiled. “Ah, it’s from Limerick ye’ve come? And not long ago, either, is it? Ye’re a greenhorn?”

  The word comin’ from her lips didn’t seem a criticism.

  “Yes, we’ve just arrived, only the week before last. Are ye from Limerick, too?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m from Cork, and it’s been a good many years since I’ve seen the old sod, but I can still tell where an Irish person comes from, even if they’ve been here for a while.”

  “So do ye think ye might have work for me?” I asked, trying to get her back on the subject.

  “I’m sorry, dear. My husband does the bakin’ and I do the sellin’. We only take in enough to support the two of us.”

  She must have seen the disappointment on my face, because she wiped her hands on her apron and wrote somethin’ on a piece of paper for me.

  “Go to this man and tell ’im that Colleen Murphy sent ye.”

  “What kind of place is this?” I asked.