Ashes of Roses

by MJ Auch

  I held my breath as Ma said, “There is no job waitin’ for me, but I have the skills to find work.”

  It was my turn to be questioned next. The examiner seemed impatient, ready to be done with us. “Name?”

  “Rose Nolan,” I said.

  “It’s Margaret Rose,” Ma corrected.

  The man didn’t look up. “Rose or Margaret Rose? Which is it?”

  “Rose,” I repeated, assertin’ my new American independence. I didn’t like havin’ to share the name Margaret with Ma, and “Rose” suited me. I wanted a more unusual name. In Ireland, half the girls I knew had double names that started with Margaret or Mary.

  The man asked me the same questions he had asked Ma. When he got to the part about my occupation, I remembered to say I was a seamstress, even though the words almost stuck in my throat.

  America didn’t care if Bridget and Maureen were anarchists or criminals or seamstresses. Only their names and birthplaces were important.

  “All right, I have one more name here. Son, Joseph Nolan. Is that the child who was unfit?”

  Ma nodded, unable to speak. I bristled at the word “unfit,” but a sudden thought hit me. If this man still had Da’s and Joseph’s names on the list, we might have been able to sneak Joseph through. We could have rubbed the chalkmarks from his jacket, left the holdin’ room, and just brazened it out. With so many people comin’ through here, who would have known? It was a good thing the examiner couldn’t read my mind, or he would have marked me down as a criminal—another Nolan unfit to enter the country.

  The examiner stamped a paper and handed it to Ma. “Take your things down the center flight of stairs and out to the pier to the place called ‘the kissing post.’ Your family should be waiting for you there. The ferry will take you into the city.”

  Maureen grabbed one trunk handle and I took the other. I was still in charge of the feather bed, which seemed to be gettin’ heavier by the minute. We had to pass through a small metal wicket to leave the room. I had thought the gateway to America would be more grand than this, with trumpets and fireworks to usher us in. Instead, nobody bothered to look up and take notice as the Nolan women passed though the gate to a new life. But it didn’t matter to me. We were in America at last, and I could hear the trumpets in my own head.

  5

  As we descended the staircase, I noticed that all of the people to our left had chalkmarks on their coats. The people in our line were goin’ straight out onto the pier, but those to the right were bein’ sent through another door that led back into the building.

  Maureen and I struggled to carry the trunk between us. “I can hardly remember what Uncle Patrick looks like,” I said.

  “Ye weren’t much older than Bridget when we last saw him,” Ma said. “I think I’ll know him, though.”

  “What does his wife look like?”

  “That I couldn’t tell ye. He never wrote much about her. She has two daughters somewhere near your age, I’d guess.”

  When we got out on the pier, we set down the trunk so we could look around for a couple with two grown daughters. There was such a swarm of people, all embracin’ and kissin’. As soon as people greeted their relatives, they went to stand in line for the ferry that was headed back to New York.

  There was a sudden ruckus near us, between a guard and a young mother with a babe in arms and a toddler clingin’ to her skirts. “Madam, I told you before, you’re not allowed to go into the city until your relatives come get you.”

  “But they maybe not know we here,” the woman pleaded. “I go meet them in New York.”

  The guard took her arm. “We sent a telegram telling them to come here to pick you up. You must wait for them. An unescorted woman is not allowed to leave Ellis Island unless her relatives come for her.”

  “But if they no come?”

  “Then you’ll have to go back where you came from. I’m sorry. It’s the law.”

  Ma grabbed Bridget and picked up the suitcase. “Come, children.” She headed for the middle of the biggest crowd.

  Maureen and I struggled to keep up with her. When we got in the midst of all the people, she smiled at a man next to her, then turned to hug me. “It’s so good to see you again. My, how ye’ve grown.”

  “But, Ma, where is Uncle—”

  She cut me off with a laugh. “Ah, ’tis kind of ye to say so.”

  “He’s not here, is he?” I whispered into her ear. “We’re goin’ to sneak off Ellis Island and into New York, aren’t we?”

  Ma threw back her head and laughed again. “That’s exactly right! I knew ye’d understand.”

  She smiled again at the man next to her and walked close behind as he and his relatives headed toward the ferry.

  Maureen tugged on my coat sleeve. “Is that Uncle Patrick? Don’t I get to meet him?”

  I grabbed her elbow. “Keep yer mouth shut,” I whispered. “Just follow us and look happy to be in America.”

  By some miracle, Maureen understood somethin’ was wrong and did as she was told.

  Ma and I stayed close to the man and his family, noddin’ and smilin’ when one of them looked at us. The line moved quickly, and we soon reached the gangplank. Just as we got there, one of the men loadin’ the ferry pulled the rope across, blockin’ us from gettin’ on. Our pretend family had made it on board.

  “Please, sir,” I said, pointin’ toward the ferry. “Our dear uncle … We mustn’t be separated.”

  The man pulled back the rope. “Oh, sorry. Go ahead.”

  As soon as we made our way onto the crowded lower deck, the men pulled up the gangplank. The one who had let us through unwound the heavy rope from its mooring and threw it to his partner on board. The engine rumbled, and we moved away from the pier. We had escaped Ellis Island!

  Ma found a spot for us on the outside deck, near the front of the boat. It was one of the few empty places, because there was no protection from the wind there. We put the feather bed on top of our luggage, then sat snuggled together.

  “What we just did was not right,” Ma said.

  Maureen looked puzzled. “What did we do?”

  Bridget started to whimper. Ma pulled her shawl around her. “We were supposed to wait for Uncle Patrick to come get us before we left Ellis Island.”

  “Why didn’t he come?” Maureen asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ma said. “Maybe he just doesn’t know we’re here. But I have his address. We’ll find him instead.”

  “Then we haven’t done anythin’ wrong,” Maureen said. “It’s a silly rule to have to wait for your relatives.”

  “We’re new in this country,” Ma snapped. “We will obey all the rules here, even the silly ones. It’s just that I was afraid if we didn’t leave right away…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Ma was afraid we would be sent back,” I said. “We heard a guard talkin’ to a woman with two small children. Nobody had come for her.”

  “But what if she had no money?” Maureen asked. “Who would pay for her ticket?”

  “I don’t know,” Ma said. “If America wants to get rid of ye bad enough, I suppose the government would pay yer way back.”

  “Then we all could have gone home with Da and Joseph?” Maureen persisted. “The government would have paid for us?”

  Ma was silent, but from the expression on her face, I knew she was thinkin’ we might have lost an opportunity to be together as a family. That meant more to Ma than bein’ in America. Wherever her husband and children were, that was home to Ma. I was grateful the subject hadn’t come up before now. I didn’t like havin’ the family split up, but I had waited a long time to get to America, and I was goin’ to be an American no matter what.

  Ma was so lost in thought, I was afraid she was plannin’ to remain on the ferry for its return trip to Ellis Island in the hopes of findin’ Da and gettin’ us all shipped off to Ireland.

  “I think they’d only do that for criminals and such,” I said.

  “Do what?” Ma
ureen asked.

  “Pay to send ye back where ye came from,” I said, watchin’ Ma’s face. “They know we’re harmless. They wouldn’t put out good money to be rid of the likes of us.”

  Ma considered this for a moment, then nodded. “This is the last we will speak of the matter. We’ll find yer uncle and be welcomed into his home. And that’s the end of it.”

  I looked over Maureen’s head at the city that loomed ahead of us. I’d never seen buildings this tall. It was hard to picture how people could have cozy homes in such a place. Did they all live stacked on top of each other like logs in a woodpile? I wondered if Uncle Patrick and his wife would be glad to see us. Was it possible that he knew we were here and didn’t come on purpose? I shook the thought from my mind.

  And poor Da. Had he already started back to Ireland? I wished I had said a better goodbye. I squinted, searchin’ along the rails of the ferries, tugboats, and steamers in the harbor. I was hopin’ to see Da’s face so I could wave goodbye to him, but they were all strangers.

  It was a short trip to New York. Before we had time to think about what was happenin’ to us, the ferry landed and we were spewed down the gangplank with the other passengers. We searched the crowd for Uncle Patrick, but he wasn’t there.

  Suddenly two men with a handcart came runnin’ over to us. “You want help with your luggage?” the tall one asked. Without waitin’ for an answer, he wrenched the trunk away from Ma and me.

  “No!” I shouted. “Give it back.” Da had told us we were never to let our luggage out of our sight. He wouldn’t even leave anythin’ in the luggage room at Ellis Island, because he’d been told things were stolen from there.

  The short man wrestled with Maureen for the suitcase, but she kicked him in the shins.

  “Brat!” he yelled.

  By now a crowd was gatherin’ around us. “The ladies told you they didn’t need yer help,” a voice said with what I could swear was an Irish accent. Then we saw him—a policeman who could have come straight from the streets of Limerick. The men dropped our luggage and ran.

  The policeman tipped his hat. “Officer Jack Connelly at yer service, ladies. Ye were wise not to go with them thugs. They work for the boardin’ houses around here. Once they have yer luggage, they’ll charge ye a big fee for storage even if ye don’t want to stay in their filthy houses. Where would ye be goin’?”

  “My husband’s brother.” Ma took out the paper and handed it to him.

  “Twelfth Street near Third Avenue. Easiest way to get there is on the Third Avenue el. Ye’ll need to buy…” He looked at Bridget and smiled, then pulled some coins out of his pocket and handed them to Ma. “I don’t usually do this, but she looks just like my youngest. Put these coins into the turnstile. Then ye’ll take the uptown train and get off at the…” He counted on his fingers, mumblin’ the names of the stations. “It’s the ninth stop, I think. The Ninth Street station. It’ll be a short walk from there.”

  “That’s easy to remember,” Maureen said. “Ninth Street, ninth stop.”

  Officer Connelly laughed. “That it is.” He pointed to a train track that appeared for all the world to be hangin’ from the sky. “Good luck to ye,” he said, “and welcome to these United States.”

  I couldn’t believe it. We’d been in New York for only a few minutes and already we’d been given some money. The stories we’d heard back in Ireland were true. The streets in America were indeed paved with gold.

  6

  We weren’t the only ones draggin’ luggage up the stairs to the elevated railroad. There seemed to be a steady stream of people comin’ from the Ellis Island ferries. We waited by the tracks, wonderin’ what manner of train would be ridin’ on rails so high up. We heard it before we saw it come thunderin’ into the station. Bridget started to wail, so Ma picked her up and had Maureen and me carry the feather bed and trunk. A man stopped to help us get all our luggage on the train. I could tell he wasn’t the sort to run off with our goods, but Ma made sure he didn’t touch a thing.

  We stayed close to the door. Ma didn’t let us get settled in on the seats that ran along both sides of the car, because she was afraid we wouldn’t be able to get up and out when our stop came. This meant we were jostled by people both gettin’ on and gettin’ off for the eight stops before ours.

  Ma kept shoutin’ orders at us. “Girls, hold on to those trunk handles so ye don’t get separated. And, Margaret Rose, make sure to keep the feather bed in yer other hand. I’ll carry Bridget and the suitcase. And, Margaret Rose, when we get off, grab on to my skirt so we stay together.”

  “I’ve only got two hands, Ma,” I said. I wanted to remind her about my new name, but I knew this wasn’t the time.

  “Stop number nine. This is us!” Ma shouted. I’m sure she would have leapt to the platform before the train came to a stop if the doors hadn’t held her back. As soon as the doors slid open, we all tumbled out. Then we found our way down to the street.

  At the bottom of the stairs we looked around, not sure of which way to go. We’d only been standin’ there for a few seconds when a policeman approached us. “Would ye be needin’ some help?” he asked. Were all the policemen in America from Ireland?

  Ma seemed to calm at the sound of his voice. She pulled out the slip of paper. “Yes, Officer. We’re lookin’ for this address, if ye’d be so kind.”

  The policeman pointed out the direction we should go, only three blocks away. Ma thanked him, and we gathered up our luggage for the last time.

  When we reached the stoop in front of the building, Ma lined us up and began pokin’ and primpin’ us, straightenin’ out collars and smoothin’ down stray locks of hair with spit. “Now, mind ye behave yerselves. We’ll be the guests of Uncle Patrick until yer father returns. There’ll be no need of commentin’ on things that might not be exactly to yer likin’. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Ma,” we all mumbled, even Bridget.

  “And ye’ll stand up straight like proper ladies, use yer napkins instead of yer sleeves to wipe yer mouths at meals, and don’t ye be sayin’ a word unless somebody speaks to ye first.”

  “Yes, Ma,” we chorused again.

  “And I’ll beat the stuffin’ out of…”

  “Ma, please!” I said. “It’s cold. We’ll all be good. Ye don’t have to mention every possible way we might get into trouble.”

  Ma gave me a sharp look, then laughed. I wondered if her lecture to us was as much a way to postpone havin’ to go in as anything. She almost seemed nervous at the prospect of meetin’ Uncle Patrick’s family, which seemed odd, because she and Da had always spoken of him with such fondness. “All right,” she said, lookin’ over the names on the mailboxes. “Here ’tis. Nolan. Number seven. Look at that, will ye? Our name written out plain as day all the way over here in America.”

  I saw her hand shake as she pushed open the inner door. There was a small foyer with little black and white tiles on the floor, washed so clean the white ones almost sparkled. The stairway had a polished wooden banister that wound its way up as far as we could see. “I hope we don’t have to climb seven floors,” I said.

  “Why don’t we leave the trunk here and let Uncle Patrick come down for it?” Maureen offered.

  Ma picked up one end of the trunk and motioned for me to do the same. “Nonsense. If he’s kind enough to share his home with us, the very least we can do is carry our own goods to his door.”

  There were three apartments on each floor, so we only had to climb two flights of stairs to reach number seven. Ma gave us each another goin’ over before she knocked.

  A tall blond woman opened the door just a few inches. There was a small crease between her eyebrows, and she did not smile. “Yah?” she said.

  “Are you Mrs. Nolan?” Ma asked.

  The woman nodded suspiciously. A small towheaded boy squeezed in front of her and peered at us.

  “I’m Margaret,” Ma said. “And these are me children.”

  “I’m sorry,” the wom
an said, and would have closed the door right in our faces if Uncle Patrick hadn’t come up behind her and stopped the door with his hand. “Who is it, Elsa?”

  “It’s nobody. It’s just…”

  “Patrick!” Ma called out. “It’s Margaret. Michael’s wife.”

  He opened the door all the way, stared at us for a second, then let out a whoop and swept Ma into his arms.

  “Margaret! I can’t believe ye’re here! Where’s Michael?”

  “He had to go back with the baby,” Ma said. “The dear child had the trachoma, the infection of the eyes.”

  The small boy had started to edge his way toward us, but Elsa pulled him back when she heard the mention of trachoma, knowin’, no doubt, how contagious it was.

  Uncle Patrick picked up the trunk. “Well, don’t be standin’ in the hall. We were right in the middle of dinner. Come set down yer things and join us.”

  Uncle Patrick led us through a small parlor and into the next room, which held a table, buffet, and china closet. Two young women sat at the table and got up when we entered the room.

  “Ye’ve already met me wife, Elsa, and these are her two daughters, Trudy and Hildegarde, and our son, Friedrich.”

  Friedrich Nolan, I thought. Some good old Irish name that is!

  When Ma introduced us, I had to correct her on my name. She just smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes. Rose. Her new American name.”

  Trudy looked older than me, with blond hair wrapped in a braid around her head and a mouth pursed up like she was holdin’ sewin’ pins in it. Hildegarde was somewhere between Maureen’s age and mine, a younger, softer version of her sister. Though the expression on her face wasn’t exactly friendly, she at least looked at us with interest. Both girls wore the fashionable new Gibson Girl shirtwaists that we had seen in a magazine at home. The delicate white fabric made my brown homespun dress look like a burlap feed-sack.

  Ma was so happy to be among family again, she went around the room huggin’ them one by one. Everybody was smilin’, but I noticed that Elsa and each of her daughters pulled back a bit just before Ma grabbed them.