Rebekah noticed that the girl the children had called Rosie looked as if she were close to her own age. Rosie certainly was not old enough to be the children’s mother. Rebekah thought what it would be like to be leaving Sofia. Her vision blurred, and she quickly wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.
The small band of emigrants disappeared into the hold, the human barricades moved away, and some of the passengers drifted back from the railing.
In German Rebekah asked one of the deckhands who was passing by, “When will the ship leave?”
“Very early tomorrow morning,” he answered with a smile. “Two weeks, and you will be in the United States.”
Rebekah turned to Kristin. “Two weeks!” she cried in English, and her heart began to beat faster.
“There’ll be partying on deck tonight,” the sailor added. “There often is the last night before sailing.”
“A party? Who’s having a party?”
“You’ll see,” he answered, and strode on down the deck.
Someone brushed against Rebekah, and she jumped out of the way only to turn and see the red-haired girl. Rosie was at the rail, her hand half-raised in a wave as she leaned over, staring across the pier into the distance. A strangled sob escaped her, and she slumped, her shoulders trembling as she began to cry.
Rebekah looked at the rope, which was still stretched across the deck, and saw that the woman and two children had gone. Impulsively, she put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Rosie,” she said.
The girl jerked with surprise, but she managed with great effort to gain control of her feelings. She mopped at her reddened, swollen eyes with an already soggy handkerchief. “How do you know my name?”
“I overheard your sisters crying,” Rebekah replied.
“I’d hoped to get a last look at my mother and my sisters,” Rosie said in an accent Rebekah had never heard before. “They came over with us on a friend’s fishing boat, and now, they’re on their way back to Drogheda. I’ll see them in two years, the good Lord willing.” She gave a last shuddering, dry sob and added, “Ma said it’s pure foolishness to waste time with tears.”
“Foolish or not, sometimes you can’t help crying,” Rebekah said. “My family is with me, but I still cried at leaving my home and my friends. Even the adults sometimes cry,” she said, remembering her mother’s sadness.
“I cried buckets and buckets of tears when I had to leave my grandmother,” Kristin volunteered. “I wanted so badly to stay in Sweden.”
“So, we are all in this together.” The girl sighed and brushed a strand of gleaming red hair back from her cheek. “My full name is Rose Carney,” she said.
“I’m Rebekah Levinsky.”
“And I’m Kristin Swensen.” Kristin motioned toward a vacant spot on one of the hatch covers. “Let’s all sit down,” she said to Rose. “Rebekah and I stay out of that awful hold as much as possible. Your father can take care of putting your things away for you.”
“That’s my uncle Jimmy, not my father,” Rose said as she perched between Rebekah and Kristin. “Jimmy had to travel with me, because my father can’t come from Chicago to meet me at Ellis Island. My father went to live in the United States four years ago, before my little sister Meggie was born. He sent home money to bring over my two older brothers, one at a time. Now it’s my turn to go. With all of us working hard and saving our money, soon Ma, Bridget, and Meggie will be able to come over together. Then we’ll be a family again.”
“What do you mean, your uncle had to travel with you?” Kristin asked.
“Uncle Jimmy has wanted to go to the United States for a long time, so I was his excuse. You see, the people at Ellis Island have a rule that any female traveling alone has to be met by a male member of her family. If my father planned to meet me and he was late, they’d keep me there until he showed up, but only for two weeks. If he didn’t show up by then, they’d send me back.”
“Like a spoiled fish!” Kristin said indignantly.
Rose smiled. “Since I’m not a spoiled fish, it’s easier to have my Uncle Jimmy come along. He’ll escort me on the train to Chicago.” She paused and looked thoughtful. “Do you know, I had just reached my twelfth birthday when my father left Ireland, and sometimes I have a hard time remembering what he looks like.”
Rebekah, who thought how much she would hate having her family separated, didn’t know what to say, so she was relieved when Kristin changed the subject. “We were told there’s going to be a party tonight.”
“A party? What kind of party?”
“We don’t know.”
“In a group this size, there should be many musicians,” Rose answered, and her eyes shone. “If there’ll be music, then it follows there’ll be dancing.”
Kristin frowned. “Our pastor was very strict. He didn’t approve of social dancing.”
Rose looked surprised and said, “There never was a stricter man than our pastor, Father O’Brien, but not a word has he ever said against dancing. It’s a wholesome enough way to enjoy an evening.”
“Pastor Larsen says it’s a tool of the devil.” Kristin turned to Rebekah. “Do you dance, Rebekah?”
“Oh, no!” Rebekah said. “At least not in public. We had music for special occasions, like weddings, but the men danced together, and some of the women danced with each other behind a partition.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “The men and women didn’t dance with each other?”
“You mean they do in Ireland?”
“Of course,” she said.
Rebekah was shocked. She had never heard of men and women dancing together and could imagine what her mother would say about such scandalous behavior. But Kristin looked impressed as she asked, “Rose, do you dance?”
Rose smiled and her eyes sparkled. “I love to dance—especially a jig.”
Kristin beamed at Rose with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone dance a jig,” she said. “This is going to be a very interesting party.”
Although no one actually planned a party, there was a strange spirit that crackled through the ship, an electric excitement overriding exhaustion, worry, and fear. A few of the women had exchanged their drab kerchiefs and dresses for festive ones, and children’s faces had been scrubbed. There was music, and there was dancing; and when Rose’s Uncle Jimmy jumped to the top of one of the hatches with a fiddle, he called to his niece to perform.
It was a strange kind of dance, Rebekah thought. Rose’s feet flashed in a pattern of steps so intricate that some of the watchers murmured in appreciation, but she kept her shoulders and upper body rigid, and her hands remained at her sides. Rebekah, who would have been mortified to be the center of attention, was astonished to see the smile on Rose’s lips and the sparkle in her eyes. Rebekah wondered what her mother was thinking, but realized she almost didn’t care.
When the entertainment ended, Rebekah, Kristin, and Rose collected their shawls and blankets and found a place to sleep on deck along with Jacob. Jacob was asleep in a moment; Kristin and Rose stirred around like kittens arranging their nest, then settled down and soon followed.
Rebekah remained awake. With a pang she realized that she was watching and waiting for the boy with the flute. She was hoping he’d return with his haunting music and, as scandalous as she knew it was, his arm around her. Rebekah wondered how she could feel so different in just a short time. She’d never had any adventure in her life, and now it was making her feel so many new things.
Sleep finally crept over Rebekah, and she dreamed that near her a soft flute was playing. The notes were low and soothing, brushing her cheek and tickling her earlobe.
Early in the morning, when the eastern sky had barely lightened to gray, Rebekah was jolted from sleep as deckhands began to make the ship ready for departure. “You’ll all have to move,” one of them ordered, and the steerage passengers scrambled to their feet, pulling their shawls and blankets more tightly around their necks and shoulders as they made their
way to the open hatch.
“The air’s cold enough to wake the dead,” Rose complained.
“But you slept well, didn’t you?” Kristin asked.
“Better than I would have down below,” Rose answered, then stopped, frowning as she thought. “Did I hear someone playing a flute during the night?”
Rebekah started, but one corner of Kristin’s mouth twitched into a mischievous smile, and she said, “I woke just enough to see him sitting with his back against the funnel. He was playing his flute, never for a moment taking his eyes off our own Rebekah’s face.”
Rebekah blushed a hot red as Rose looked at her. “Who is Kristin talking about?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know,” Rebekah answered. “He’s a boy who plays his flute, then disappears. He’s never told us his name.”
Where had he come from? And why was he being so mysterious? It would not be proper for a young woman to ask a stranger his name, but being proper seemed less and less important in changing times like these.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN the morning, Rebekah’s parents did not complain. They seemed satisfied that Jacob was sleeping again and that he was with Rebekah through the night.
For breakfast, the steerage passengers were fed chunks of bread and a lumpy, hot gruel. Even before they ate they were urged to hurry.
No one had to urge Rebekah. She was eager for the ship to put out to sea.
She had cleaned her dishes and was halfway up the stairs to the main deck when a blast of the ship’s horn shuddered throughout the ship. She scrambled and tripped as the large screws under the hold turned with a great creaking and thumping, and the ship rocked as it was pushed away from the pier. On deck, Rebekah staggered to grip the railing. She watched the dock recede into the distance, then lifted her face to catch the cold salt breeze and to watch the seagulls cry and swoop as they followed the ship, hoping for food.
“Good morning, Rebekah.” A voice spoke in Yiddish close to her right ear, and Rebekah turned sharply, looking up into the face of the mysterious boy.
“Oh!” was all she could think of to reply.
He waited for her to speak, then shrugged and turned as if he were leaving.
No! He couldn’t! Rebekah wanted to know so much about him. She reached out and clasped his wrist. “Please don’t leave,” she said. “I … I want to thank you for your beautiful music.”
He smiled and somehow slid her hand down from his wrist so that his fingers were firmly entwined with her own. Holding hands in public! Rebekah never would have dreamed of doing such a thing back home, but she left her hand in his and felt the warmth of his fingers spread up her arm and into her face.
“You and your family come from a town not far from mine,” he told her.
Rebekah was puzzled. “How do you know me?”
“I noticed you with your family and your friends. You have a wonderful smile, Rebekah. It shines in your eyes and makes everyone around you want to smile, too. I asked your brother Nessin to tell me your name. I also know that you are two and a half years younger than I am and that you and your family are going to live in New York City, as I am when I join my father and four older brothers.”
Rebekah smiled self-consciously, embarrassed by his praise. “I don’t know your name.”
He hesitated, then said, “Aaron. Aaron Mirsch.”
Aaron was a strong name, and he was obviously a nice person. Very nice. In spite of the chill air, Rebekah’s hand—the one Aaron was still holding—began to perspire.
“Why didn’t you tell me your name before this?” Rebekah asked. “Why were you so … mysterious?”
“I … For a while I believed there were reasons we’d never meet again, but things are different in the United States, so I told myself that maybe …”
“What reasons?”
“I’ll tell you someday,” he said and leaned on the rail, watching the progress of the ship.
As the tugs backed the ship far from land and turned it to face the open sea, many of the passengers began to come up on deck.
Rebekah heard her mother calling her from across the deck, and she quickly pulled her hand from Aaron’s as she twisted around, searching the crowd that was pressing toward the rail. “Here I am, Mama!” Rebekah called.
“I’d like you to meet my mother,” she said to Aaron, but he had disappeared. Rebekah stared at her hand, still warm and pink from having been held, as though Aaron were somehow hiding within her palm.
Leah elbowed toward Rebekah, pushing Sofia ahead of her all the way. They reminded Rebekah of the steamship and one of its little tugs in reverse positions, and she laughed.
Leah was in no mood for laughter. “Already Jacob is seasick again,” she said.
“I’ll help you, Mama,” Rebekah told her and took a step toward her, but her mother impatiently waved her back.
“That’s not the help I need right now,” she announced as she thrust her youngest daughter forward. “Just keep an eye on Sofia.” Head down, Leah created a return path through the crowd.
“That ocean looks just like the other one,” Sofia said as she perched on tiptoe, her nose against the rail.
“It’s the same ocean we were on when we arrived in Liverpool,” Rebekah told her. “It’s called the Irish Sea.”
“When do we get to the real ocean—the big one?”
“Very soon,” Rebekah promised. “By tomorrow you’ll be able to look all around and not see any land at all.”
The tugs backed away from the ship, and it changed direction, moving forward. The sea was choppy, and as the prow dipped, waves splashed against it, shooting sprays of icy water high into the air. Rebekah smiled as a droplet stung her cheek.
“This is fun,” Sofia said. She smiled up at her sister. “Will it be like this all the way to the United States?”
“As long as we have good weather,” Rebekah said.
“Then I’m glad now that we’re going to the United States.”
Rebekah looked at Sofia. “Weren’t you always glad?”
“No,” she said, “because Mama cried, and sometimes you cried, and I didn’t want to leave our warm feather bed.”
“I’m sorry, Sofia,” Rebekah said, suddenly repentant for having thought only of her own unhappiness at leaving and not of how her little sister might feel.
“When we get to the United States, will we have our own house? And will we have a feather bed to share again?”
Rebekah bent to hug Sofia. “Uncle Avir promised Papa he would find us a new home, and I know that Mama will make sure we have a very comfortable bed.”
The ship lurched against a high wave, and spray shot over the crowd. Some ran for cover, and others followed them into the hold, but Rebekah and Sofia stayed at the rail, bracing their feet against the pitching of the ship and laughing at the spray.
Someone thudded against the railing, rudely jostling Rebekah, and she turned indignantly to see Nessin laughing at her. “Do you like this up and down and up and down?” he asked. “Or are you going to be like Jacob and get all green-faced and sick?” He pretended to gag, making a horrible retching sound.
“You’re sickening, Nessin!” Sofia shouted, but she broke into giggles.
Rebekah ignored Nessin’s attempt at humor and asked, “So tell me, who is Aaron Mirsch?”
Nessin’s grin faded. “Don’t be mad, Rebekah. You don’t need to tell … anybody … about it.”
Anybody meant their parents. “Why shouldn’t I tell them?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”
Nessin shrugged. “Don’t get all excited. It was just a prank. Aaron Mirsch asked me about you, and I answered his questions. I thought it was funny.”
“Why should it be funny?”
He threw a quick glance at her from the corners of his eyes. “Because a boy shouldn’t ask about a girl, you know that. He doesn’t have a chance with you, that’s why, too. He knows it. All his questions about you and his wanting to meet you are useless.”
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br /> Nessin shifted uncomfortably and turned to leave, but Rebekah caught his arm.
Nessin sighed. “Look, Rebekah,” he said. “In the first place, you’ve got a couple of years before a marriage is arranged for you, and when it is it won’t be with him. Parents look for someone from a family with a good background, especially our parents.”
“Like a rabbi’s son,” she said with a trace of bitterness. One of her friends—two years older—had been wed to the son of a rabbi. The young man was so unpleasant and mean-spirited that Rebekah knew her friend was miserable now.
Nessin caught her tone of voice, but simply agreed enthusiastically. “That’s what every parent hopes for,” he said, “although they’d accept the son of a successful merchant.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Say! Having a brother for a rabbi might be in my favor. When Jacob finishes his studies and becomes a rabbi, then maybe I’ll start to look around for a wife.”
Another sheet of spray slapped the deck, and Sofia jumped and screeched with delight.
“You didn’t finish telling me about Aaron,” Rebekah said.
“I know a fellow who knows his family,” Nessin said. “The Mirsch family was very poor, but somehow his father and older brothers left for America. A few months ago Aaron’s mother died, so now he is going to join his father.” Nessin paused and added quietly, “I have heard a rumor that the Mirschs don’t observe kashruth or keep Shabbas now that the mother is dead.”
So that’s why Aaron had been so mysterious about himself. What Nessin was saying was very serious, and Rebekah shuddered.
Nessin, whose shoulder was pressed against Rebekah’s, felt her reaction and looked at her with surprise. “What is this?” he asked. “Surely, you weren’t thinking that …”
Ellis Island: Three Novels Page 5