by Jay Barnson
She waited hours in a long immigration line until a chubby man with a dirty uniform handed her papers that seemed too fragile and all too precious. “Now, you make sure you don't lose these,” he warned her. “If you do, you are stuck going through the waiting period again. Don't want that to happen to a pretty girl like you.” He winked at her. Ada's first desire was to gag, but she smiled and found a spot in line.
That night, she kept a small blade within the confines of her bodice. She knew what kind of going-ons happened in places like these, especially to a woman who was traveling alone. She heard the occasional cry of a victim, drunken brawls, and fits of frustration by people who were disgruntled at how they were being treated. For the true poor, though, they, like Ada, were used to such and far worse. They knew better than to complain.
She was not surprised when one drunken man who decided to spit at the immigration officers was hauled away. She had no idea what they did to him, but she never saw him again.
At the end of the week, it was her time to go. She presented her papers to a young man in a uniform who seemed to care more about his appearance than her first encounter.
“Is there anything you wish to declare, miss?” he asked her.
“Only that I can't remember the last time I slept in such luxurious surroundings.” She smiled at him wryly.
He had the good grace to blush. “I'm sorry about that, miss. We do the best we can but there are so many who come through here, we just don't have enough beds.”
She reached over and patted his hand. “Believe me, I've had far worse.”
He smiled at her. “I hope you come to find this new land to be a better place than this island.”
“Please! I just need to get a doctor for my boy!” a voice called out from behind her. “Please let me through!”
She took her papers from the young man and turned. A middle-aged man with a tired, dirty-looking face was being restrained by two immigration officers.
“Now sir, if your boy is ill, we can't let you through! He has to stay for the full quarantine period.”
“But you don't have a doctor!” the man protested.
Ada almost turned to leave, but then she saw Agnes holding a wrapped form in her arms with one of the brothers clinging to her skirt, whimpering. Ada looked closer and could see that the form was the boy in question. His face looked ashen and damp.
“Sir, we told you that we already had a surgeon look at him and—”
“That man was drunk! He tried to cut my son's arm off when he is only ill with a fever.” The father looked angry and afraid.
“If it's just a fever like you say, he'll be fine in a few days.”
“No! We've already been waiting three days with him sick. This morning he wouldn't even open his eyes. It's too cold and damp here. I've got to get him to a doctor!”
The officers continued to restrain him. “Sir, there is nothing we can do. You'll have to wait.”
The man looked helplessly on. His eyes met Ada's for a brief moment before he looked away, desperate for a miracle to save his son. Ada turned to go, but at that moment she thought of her brother. She had held him in her arms as he died as people walked around them, ignoring her pleas for help. How she had wished someone, anyone would stop. But no one did.
“Excuse me,” she said, walking over to the officers who turned at her voice. “Is there nothing that could be done?”
The officers glanced her over, wary of her finer clothing. “Unless he can pay an expediency fee, he has to wait like the others. We can't let some plague run loose.”
“What would it take to get them through?”
“Twenty dollars for the family,” one officer said gruffly.
She stared at him. That was a small fortune and far more than the cost of traveling in the ship. “How could they have that much in American dollars if they haven't set foot on US soil!”
“We can take the equivalent in gold,” the other officer said.
Ada bit her lip. “I'm sure . . .” She turned to Agnes. “How is he?”
Agnes shook her head, tears dripping down her cheeks. “If he doesn't get any medicine soon, I don't think he'll last the night.” Ada looked back at the officers. The eyes of one of the officers were cold, dead to sympathy. But the other looked uncomfortable and pained. He's the one.
She hesitated, wondering again if she should simply turn and walk away. She was about to, even if it did damn her soul. This had nothing to do with her. It was just life. Cold, cruel, but life. That's the same mindset of the people who had walked by her brother when they were kids.
But she put her hand into her pocket and withdrew the watch. She glanced at it before she held it out to the guard with the eyes that still showed some sliver of humanity. “Will this do? I know it's not a gold coin, but it's made out of gold and it works. It's worth at least what you are asking.”
The guard with the cold eyes scoffed. “If it's not a gold coin, it's worthless. Just a piece of immigrant trash.”
But Ada paid him no heed. She met her eyes with those of the other guard. She held his gaze, imploring him. “Please. Just look the other way and let them go.”
The guard glanced at her and then the watch before looking over at the family. “I can't just let them go.”
“He'll die. And unlike your friend I don't think you want that on your conscience.”
Still, he hesitated, and started to look away from her to the other guard for direction.
She knew she had to get him now or it would be too late. “Someone didn't care enough to help my brother,” she continued. “He died in my arms because no one cared enough to keep us warm. Everyone kept looking the other way. Don't make that little boy grow up without his brother.”
It was the truth. Ada and her younger brother had been in a similar situation when they were children. Winters in London were the worst. Ada and her brother used to peer through windows and imagine themselves next to the warm fires, laughing with families or working alongside bakers or butchers. Anything to drive away the cold. But the daydreams ended when a shop owner or constable would chase them away, back to the dark where not even their imaginations could protect them.
That was always the heart of the matter. The people who should have been protecting them had long disappeared. All that remained were empty stomachs and small, frozen hands clinging to each other for warm. They had promised each other that one day they would have their own fire.
Then Robert fell ill. If no one had helped them before, she knew no one would help a sick child. Still she tried. She begged, she sobbed, even considered selling herself to help him. But he died in her arms, going to sleep shivering one last time while she watched, her tears frozen to her face.
When she couldn't wake him, she ran to the first constable she could find. But by the time she had convinced someone to listen and return with her, his body was already gone. For a moment, she had foolishly hoped his body being gone meant he was alive and searching for her, but a world filled with the cold of winter, in season and heart, had taught her better. Not even the dead were safe.
It took her years to change her life and many difficult choices. She had given up far more than her pride to survive. There had been no one to rely on but herself. Now she was here, half a world away, seeing history repeat itself.
There was no way in hell she’d let it.
His gaze met hers, searching to see if she was lying. But there was no lie. She had lost him. Failed him. She would not fail this family. Slowly, he took the watch from her and nodded. “All right, they can go.”
“Here now!” the other guard exclaimed, but the younger guard held up his hand.
“Let them go, Liam. We both know that boy won't make it through the night if we don't. I don't want to live with that. We've watched enough good folks die here. Just let them go.”
The other guard glared at Ada but sighed and finally relented. “They won't get past the guard tower without stamped papers. They'll have to go through
the tear in the fence.”
The younger guard nodded. “Thanks, Liam. I'll take them there. “
Liam grunted. “You get caught and it's your neck in the noose, boy.” Then he turned and walked away, shaking his head.
“Get your things, but travel light. Blend in with another group as soon as you are passed the fence. They don't bother to check the papers before you get on the boat for the mainland.”
The father looked at him, tears on his worn but proud face. “Thank you.”
The mother looked with gratitude at Ada. “Thank you. Bless you, Ada!”
Ada smiled at her. She pressed a few coins into the other woman's hand. “For the doctor.”
The mother looked ready to argue but Ada shook her head. “You'll need it for the medicine. If you can't find work, I'm heading north in a few days after I secure my claim. Find me.” Ada turned to the young guard. “You're doing a good thing.”
He sighed. “I just hope we don't get caught.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You're a good man.”
He blushed slightly and shook his head. “I'm a fool, but thank you, miss.”
Ada watched the guard lead the family away. She hoped the boy would be all right. She sighed and touched the money she had left. Oddly enough, she didn't regret the loss of the watch. She felt a strange feeling of fulfillment, that she had finally been able to keep her promise, if not to her own brother, then to this boy, a stranger, that reminded her so much of her brother.
The watch had reminded her that the world was not all winter, even if it would only be so for one small boy and his family. The watch would have been a nice touch on the bargaining table. She wasn't sure now if she could afford all of the land she wanted. But she would survive. She always did. She hadn't looked away, and this time a young child’s brother would live on.
The young guard, Mathew O’Donnell, put the last of his gear away and changed into his civilian clothes. He hoped the family made it. He hadn't dared ask them for their names. If anyone caught them trying to flee quarantine, they would be shot on sight. If they were smart and quick, they stood a chance. Otherwise, it was best not to be too close. He had watched too many people die on that accursed island.
Mathew boarded the ferry with his pass and returned to the mainland. It had been a long day. He glanced at the pocket watch and noticed it was clicking, telling him it was a little after nine. He felt a bit guilty taking the watch from the young woman, but if he told himself that it was for trade and not his heart getting the better of him, he could distance himself. It was necessary to do that to survive the job. There was no room for compassion. But for one simple day, he had said ‘to hell with the rules,’ and it had felt good.
When the ferry arrived at the mainland, he joined the throngs of other working-class men and women looking forward to returning to a warm hearth after a long day of trials and labor. Life was hard, but it came with the promise of a tomorrow. For now, that was enough.
His feet took him home along the northern river bank. The moon was out and shone on the dirty water below him. Suddenly, he heard a woman cry out. He looked up and saw a group of men circling a couple. “What is going on here?” he yelled as he ran towards them.
He struggled with one of the men. The man pulled a blade. “You have no business here.”
“I won't let you hurt them!” He wasn't sure if it was the fire of helping that boy and his family or merely what the young woman had said to him, but he knew in his heart he couldn't let anything happen to the couple.
He grabbed for the knife and the other man struck out, stabbing him in the heart and killing him. Mathew's final thoughts as he fell to the ground were of the family and the young woman. How ironic that she had made him remember why he had come to that land with his own family. They would never know about the first day he was proud to wear his uniform. But his conscience was clear, his heart unburdened.
The leader of the men watched as the young guard fell to the ground. He grimaced; no one was supposed to get hurt.
“What are you doing? We are here to get the boss' money back, not kill a random passerby.”
“It's not my fault,” the first man protested. “That fellow jumped for my blade. What was I supposed to do?”
“Fool!” The leader heard the shouts and whistles of a constable. “Quick, grab the bag and let's go!”
The man stared at him dumbly for a moment and the leader spat at him. “I said grab the bag!” The other man complied and ran with the others. They disappeared into the evening mist, leaving the dead guard and the couple behind.
“You all right, George?” the woman asked, leaning down to check the cut on his cheek.
He knocked her hand away. “Stupid woman! They got the bag. Now what are we going to do?”
“You still have your bag of tricks,” she said. “We can go back to doing shows.”
He shook his head, bemoaning their plight. “It would take us years to earn back what's in those bags, and I can't do anymore work here. Those Irish bastards own this whole area. They'll never let me into another hall.”
“Well, you shouldn't have stolen what he owed us,” she admonished. “We could have survived without it.”
“Stupid! He didn't pay us for the two shows we did. We have nothing. Nothing!” He got up and stamped his feet angrily, wanting nothing more than to hit something right then. He was tempted to hit her, but he knew that if he raised a hand to her again, she would leave him once and for all.
He glanced down at the dead man who had come to their rescue. What a fool. It wasn't surprising he had gotten himself killed charging in like that. He heard the whistle of the constable getting closer.
“We've got to run, woman,” he snapped. “Let's go!”
“But why? They’ve got the bag now. They won’t care about us anymore now that they have the money back.”
“Stupid! Most of the constables are Irish! They'll be on that bulldog's payroll! They'll lock us up and throw away the key, if we live long enough to get to prison. Now come on!”
He grabbed her wrist to run, when he saw something sparkling on the ground in the nearby lamplight. Thinking it was perhaps a coin that had been dropped from the money bag, he leaned down and scooped it up.
They darted around the corner leaving the body lying on the ground, fleeing the footfalls and whistles of the constables that faded into the distance. Despite being winded, George and his assistant ran, his sides hurting from where that bloody Irishman had kicked him. They finally paused to catch their breath. Josie leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe through her corset. Perspiration dotted her young, attractive face.
It was moments like these as he watched her that reminded him of years ago when he was in demand. He had entreated her to join his act, promising her excitement, magic, and wealth.
All George had been able to do after four years was struggle to find any show, drink most of the profits away if he managed to find work, and shout his disappointment with life at her and his stagehands. It had left him with nothing in the end except her. He couldn't let her go.
In his fear of losing her, he had taken a gig for a local shark. He had watched carefully for a week, noting how the money was moved, and then he struck, switching the money bag for one filled with his props. Then he made a run for it with Josie.
“George, why were those men after us?” she said, turning frightened eyes at him, hoping to see the man that she once thought she could trust. “All you did was take what he owed you for the show, right?”
“I stole that bastard's money,” he confessed. “Everything that was in his office.”
Her eyes widened. “Why would you do such a daft thing!”
“Because he owed me! They all owed me!” She shrank back at his raised voice and he tried to quiet and calm himself. “We needed it, Josie. This was our chance. We could have made it with that, just like I promised we would!”
She eyed him dubiously. “What you've done . . . Ev
en if they got the money back, he won't forget. We can't stay in the city.”
“No, no we can't.” Absently, he reached into his pocket and remembered what he had seen on the ground. He pulled it out and noticed the round objected still covered in the blood of the man who had intervened and saved them. He wiped away the drying blood away with his dirty sleeve. His eyes widened when he saw the yellow gleam. So the night wasn't a total loss. The watch wasn't much, but if it was still ticking . . .
He opened the watch compartment and noted with satisfaction that the hands were still moving. It was enough to get them passage out of the city. But it wouldn't be easy. He knew the coppers would be hunting for him. The fat Irish bulldog would see to that.
But they wouldn't be looking for Josie in plain clothes. He could send her with the watch to buy a ticket out. Even if it wasn’t enough for the both of them, he could tell her he would use the ticket, do some shows, and then send for her. If she was smart, she could avoid the men.
“Use the watch and buy us train tickets out of this cursed city,” George commanded. “We'll head west. I'll rebuild my show, and everything I promised you will come true. It will be like the old days again.”
Josie eyed him warily, all faith in his words gone. She couldn't trust him, but what else was she to do? If she tried to run with the watch, he would follow her for sure. All she could do was what he asked.
She took the watch and headed into the city. It was a long walk, but she had no money for a cab. He told her he would meet her in the morning, and that the men would be after him and not her. But she didn’t really believe him. Rather, he was waiting to see the coast was clear before he ventured out. Fine, let the coward hide behind her skirts.