Sarah stiffened and instinctively drew back as she recognized Maryk’s nemesis, Johnson.
His face took on an ugly little smirk. “Well, look what we have here.”
Jail
“SHE SAYS SHE WANTS TO TALK to a reporter,” the younger guard said.
“Who do you think you are?” Johnson said. “The mayor?”
“You know her?”
Sarah turned away and looked out to sea.
“She’s part of that slave ring that Maryk’s mixed up in,” Johnson said.
“Maryk didn’t do anything wrong,” she said defiantly.
“Tell it to the judge,” Johnson said. “All right, little lady, let’s move it.”
“I said I’m not going. . . .”
He reached out to grab Sarah’s arm and she jerked back, eluding his grasp. Johnson lost his footing.
He scowled. “You want to do this the hard way?”
The younger man stepped forward.
“Please, miss,” he said. “There are no reporters out here anyway. Don’t make this harder on yourself.”
He offered Sarah his hand. She hesitated for a moment, but then put Tommy’s cap back on and accepted the man’s help. With Johnson positioned in front of her and the younger man behind, they made their way to the door that led from the torch back into the statue. Sarah glanced over her shoulder one more time, saying good-bye to the beautiful view forever, and then ducked inside.
Johnson and his partner led her toward the guardhouse by the dock. The last ferry was moored nearby. Most of the tourists watched from the upper deck, pointing and talking about Sarah.
“There she is,” one of them said.
“I heard she wouldn’t come down from the torch and they had to drag her out.”
“Are they arresting her?”
“What was she doing up there anyway?”
“Where are her parents?”
Sarah was satisfied to see that she had gotten their attention. Now, the word needed to spread. New York city was crawling with reporters looking for stories; she just had to hope word of her arrest would reach some of them.
The two men escorted Sarah into the guardhouse and sat her down at the small wooden table where she had told Maryk her story and eaten the dinner that Mrs. Lee had prepared.
“We’ve told the ferry captain to send back a special boat for you,” Johnson said.
The other guard stepped outside. Johnson crossed his arms and leaned against the door, watching her, as if expecting that she might try to flee. But she had no escape plans.
They waited for over an hour until the police arrived in a small boat. A policeman led Sarah back to the dock.
“Be sure to tell your ‘uncle’ that I send my regards,” Johnson called after her.
Sarah didn’t turn to look his way. In fact, she didn’t turn to look back at the Lady or the island the entire ride back to Manhattan. She had already said good-bye.
Nearly two hours had passed since Sarah was brought down from the Lady when she got off at the dock in New York. She craned her neck as they approached, hoping to see a crowd waiting for her, but the dock was empty.
Her heart sank as she disembarked and two policemen led her toward a wagon parked on the street nearby.
They were just a few feet away when a round little man wearing a bowler hat ran toward them, carrying a small pad and pen. Another man, thin with a mustache, followed a few paces behind carrying a notebook of his own.
“Miss! Miss! I’m from the New York World. I got a tip that you wouldn’t come down from the statue. Is that true?”
“No questions, boys,” one of the policemen said.
The other reporter stepped in front of them.
“Harry Pinson from the Times. Can you tell me what you were doing up in the torch?”
“What are they arresting you for?”
“All right, move along,” one of the policemen said, brushing the reporters aside.
The police led Sarah to a horse-drawn wagon just like the one that had hauled off Maryk and Mrs. Lee. Although they didn’t put her in handcuffs or chains, Sarah knew she was a prisoner. The men loaded her into the back of the wagon and locked her inside. She could still hear the reporters shouting questions at her through the bars of the wagon as the horses clattered away. She leaned back against the hard wooden wall as they rumbled forward.
At the police station, Sarah told the officer in charge her story. A ruddy-faced man with a shiny bald head, he listened to her intently and made a few notes in a bound book as she talked.
She didn’t mention the stolen egg. She felt bad about lying but didn’t want to risk getting into deeper trouble.
“What will happen to me?” she asked as she finished.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Trespassing isn’t a serious crime. But you’re not really a United States citizen, so you’re going to have to go before a judge. He’ll figure out what to do with you in the morning.”
“The morning?” she said with disappointment. She had hoped to be able to explain things right away and help her friends.
“Courts are closed at this hour,” he explained. “You’ll have to spend the night here.”
They gave her a meal of corned beef and boiled potatoes and then locked her in a small holding cell. She lay on the hard bed, staring up into the darkness and wondering what would become of her. She heard the strange sounds of the building’s creaks and groans. A drunken man chattered to himself in the cell next to hers. She tried her best to block out the noise.
For most of her life she had slept in her one-room house in her village, on a mat next to her parents, where she knew every single noise and shadow. In the past several weeks, she had slept in the hull of a ship, a dormitory on Ellis Island, the crown of the Statue of Liberty, a rooming house in Chinatown, and even a box in an alley in the pouring rain. And now here she was expected to find comfort enough to sleep in a jail cell.
Gray streaks of moonlight fell through the bars of a small window near the ceiling, and Sarah wondered if this was the view she would have from now on. She thought of her parents. So much had happened since they both had left her. She felt as if her outer shell had hardened and that she must look very different from when she left her village. She had departed as a girl, a daughter, who was completely tied to her parents’ ways. Now, although she was alone, she knew she had become something different, an independent young woman. She was also a prisoner and some sort of criminal, two things she had never imagined she would be. She wondered if her parents would be able to recognize her in heaven if she even got there.
The Girl in the Torch
THE NEXT MORNING SARAH was put in a police wagon and taken to a courthouse a few blocks away. As she emerged from the back of the wagon, a small group of reporters waited for her and shouted questions as she was led up the wide stone stairs to the entrance of the building, which was flanked by a row of massive stone pillars.
Newsboys hawking various morning papers called out their lead stories, most of them having to do with Sarah.
“Extra, extra! Read all about the Statue of Liberty mystery girl!”
“Girl linked to Chinatown slave ring!”
“Girl busted at Statue has her day in court!”
“Get the whole Lady Liberty story here!”
“Sarah!” a familiar voice called.
Sarah scanned the crowd and saw Tommy pushing his way toward her, wearing his full bag of papers slung over his back. He looked strange, and then she realized that it was because he wasn’t wearing his cap, which was still on her head.
“Look,” he said. “You’re famous.”
He held up a paper and showed her the front page, which featured the headline THE GIRL IN THE TORCH, accompanied by an illustration of her standing on the torch platform, her long hair blowing in the breeze coming off the ocean.
She stared at the image of herself. Her plan had worked. Now she had everyone’s attention.
“Are you all right
?” Tommy said. “The paper says you spent the night in jail.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” she said. “And I got a hot meal.”
She took off the cap and handed it to him. “Sorry, I forgot to give this back to you.”
Tommy took the cap in his hands.
“All right,” one of the policemen said. “Move along.”
“Good luck in there,” Tommy said, adjusting the cap back onto his head.
The policeman gave Sarah a nudge and whisked her inside.
Judge Conklin
THE QUIET IN THE COURTHOUSE surprised Sarah after the noisy bustle in front of the building. She could hear her own footsteps echo against the shiny marble floor as her escorts led her up a grand staircase to a small chamber on the second level.
The police sat her behind a table in a richly appointed office that was lined with dark wood paneling and bookshelves reaching up to the ceiling. A judge sat at the front of the room behind an imposing oak desk covered with books and papers. An American flag hung from the wall behind him, as well as several oil paintings of older men with serious expressions.
The judge had a round red face, white hair, and long bushy sideburns that ran down his cheeks almost to the tip of his chin. Sarah knew he was the one who would hear her story and decide what would happen to her. As soon as the door to the chamber was closed, the judge turned to Sarah.
“My name is Judge Ernest Conklin. Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Because I can get a translator to assist you if necessary.”
“No,” she said with a trace of pride. “I am fluent.”
“All right. Do you understand why you are here?”
“You work for the government,” she said.
“I am a judge, and it is my job to decide what to do with you. At this point the court is unsure of what criminal laws you may or may not have broken. But we are certain that you are not supposed to be in this country.”
Sarah nodded.
“Now, I need to determine the exact nature of your circumstances. And you must tell the whole truth. Lying about anything will only get you in much deeper trouble. So please tell me your story from the beginning.”
“The beginning?” she asked. There were so many places to begin.
“How did you get here?” he asked impatiently.
Sarah felt herself freeze up and start to bite her bottom lip in a nervous pulse. But she immediately stopped herself. You are not a little girl anymore, she told herself. Just tell the truth. You have nothing left to lose.
“I come from a small village,” she began.
And then she told him the whole story. She spared no details as she described the massacre in her village, her voyage to America, her mother’s death, living in the statue, the kindness of Maryk and Mrs. Lee, and some of the details of her harrowing night on the Bowery. She even confessed to stealing the egg from the tavern.
The only thing she didn’t mention was Tommy Grogan. She couldn’t risk getting him into trouble.
She finished her story and stood in silence, hoping that the judge would believe her and be understanding.
“Is that all you have to say?” he asked.
Sarah wanted to say more about why she and her mother had come to this country and the promise of America, but she couldn’t find the words. The lines of the poem about the Lady echoed in her head and, for the briefest instant, she thought about reciting it. “Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.” Didn’t that one sentence explain everything? But she didn’t.
“What will happen to me doesn’t matter,” she said. “But you must believe that Mr. Maryk and Mrs. Lee did nothing but give their kindness to me. And the girls from China, they did nothing wrong either. They work in a factory. They should not be punished because of me. Please.”
The judge stared at her for a long moment, rubbing his fingers through his thick sideburns.
“Quite a story,” he finally said.
Just then the door to the judge’s chamber opened and two guards led in Mrs. Lee and Maryk. His eyes were ringed with deep red bags and it looked like he had not slept. His clothes were creased and dirty and his shirt untucked. Yet as soon as Sarah saw him, her heart rose up in her chest. She wanted to run to him, to see if he was okay, but she knew she had to hold back.
Maryk glanced at Sarah. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, and she could not read his expression. He was probably furious at her for getting him into so much trouble. His entire face sagged in a defeated frown. She knew that her best friend in America was lost to her.
The Decision
“THIS GIRL IS GOOD GIRL. She did nothing wrong!” Mrs. Lee blurted. “I tell the truth.”
“All right, quiet down,” the judge said.
“She works in kitchen.”
“I said quiet down.” The judge banged his gavel on the desk.
Mrs. Lee was about to say more, but the judge pointed his gavel at her and she clamped her mouth shut. Maryk silently stared at the judge.
“Now, I’ve heard the girl’s story,” the judge said. “It matches both of yours, so I’m inclined to believe it. Since we confirmed that all the Chinese girls living in your building are employed by the textile firm, you two are free to go.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Mrs. Lee said with a slight bow.
Maryk didn’t move or say anything.
“That still doesn’t answer the question of what to do with you,” the judge said, turning to Sarah. “While I appreciate the difficulty you’ve been through, the United States can’t let just anybody who suffers an unfortunate circumstance in their own country come live here. Do you understand?”
Sarah nodded.
“You have no blood relatives we could find to sponsor you here. And you do have a living relative in your home country. So I’m afraid I’m going to have to abide by the original ruling of the board at Ellis Island and have you returned to your country to live with your uncle.”
Sarah felt her eyes mist over, but she fought back her tears. She didn’t want anyone to think of her as a hysterical child. A hollow feeling filled her chest and stomach.
For the first time in days, her mind focused on what life would be like in her home country with her uncle, and every thought made her shudder. She stared down at her feet and nodded.
“I understand,” she said.
“Excuse me, your honor.” Maryk spoke for the first time.
“Mr. Maryk?”
“What if she had a sponsor?”
Sarah raised her eyes to Maryk.
“The immigration department already tried to find her relations. . . .”
“I know,” Maryk said. “That’s not what I mean. What if there was someone who was willing to become a guardian for her?”
“And who would that be?”
Maryk hesitated before answering.
“Well . . . me.”
Sarah felt her breath catch in her throat as he continued.
“Me and Mrs. Lee, of course. She could live in the building and work for Mrs. Lee at night to earn her keep and then go to school during the day.”
“She a good worker.” Mrs. Lee nodded.
“I have money saved,” Maryk said. “I could pay for whatever sponsorship fees there are.”
Overcome, Sarah looked at Maryk. She wanted to run up and give him a hug. But she knew she had to stand where she was. And Maryk wouldn’t meet her glance. He kept his eyes on the judge. Sarah turned back to the judge and held her breath. The judge stroked his sideburns thoughtfully.
“Mr. Maryk, I know your intentions are probably good,” the judge said. “But you can’t expect this court to give custody of a young girl to a middle-aged man with a drinking problem. You are not a blood relative and, frankly, you are not the type of person that we would consider a proper custodian for a child.”
“What about me?” Mrs. Lee added.
“Look, this is not how our system works.
I would be removed from the bench if I allowed anything like that. And besides, she admitted to stealing. If she were to stay, I would have to have her locked away. This country does not welcome criminals. I’m sorry. My decision is final.”
He banged the gavel on his desk.
Deportation Day
FOR TWO DAYS AND NIGHTS SARAH was locked in a damp holding cell in downtown Manhattan, waiting for a ship that was bound to set sail for her old country. Because of her criminal status, she was kept apart from others and was let outside only once a day to stretch her legs in the courtyard of the building. No one was allowed to visit, so she spent her time in silence, counting down the hours until her forced departure and worrying about what life would be like living with Uncle Jossel.
Finally she was transferred by wagon to the New York piers. From there, a ferry would take her back to Ellis Island where the outbound ship would be departing. The sky was heavy and gray, and thick fog rose off the water. A sharp ocean wind blew in from the East River, and the people gathered on the dock to depart or say farewell pulled their hats, scarves, and jackets tighter around themselves and blew into their hands to keep warm.
Sarah was dropped off near the bottom of the gangplank, joining a larger group of ordinary passengers. She moved slowly, her limbs numb and lifeless, knowing there was no way out now. A police officer led her over to another man, who checked her name off a list and then left her to wait with the others. The policeman returned to the wagon and stood talking with two other officers.
The ferryboat was moored in the misty water. The vessel’s engine roared to life and the crew prepared to take on passengers and depart. Tommy, Miss Jean, Mrs. Lee, and Maryk stood in a sad clump on the pier, waiting to say their good-byes.
Sarah was cold and tired, but she was glad to see her friends after being alone for two days.
Miss Jean handed her a suitcase made of red-and-black-checkered cloth.
“These are just some of my old things,” Miss Jean said. “Most of them should fit, and those that don’t right now will after you finish filling out.”
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