by MJ Auch
“He runs a shop that makes paper flowers. My niece worked for ’im for a while. When she learned how to do it, he let her take the work home so her mother and sisters could do it, too. He’s not Irish, but he was fair with the money.”
“Oh, thank ye,” I said. I started to leave, but Mrs. Murphy called me back. She wrapped a muffin in paper and handed it to me. “It’s a long walk, dear. Ye’ll be needin’ this for lunch.” Then she took me out on the sidewalk and pointed in the direction I should go. “Follow the Bowery all the way to Hester Street. His shop is on Chrystie Street, one block over. It’s in the back.”
I thanked her again and was on my way. This could be the answer to our problems. If I could get work to bring back to Ma and even Maureen, we could earn money three times as fast as one person workin’ alone. My feet fairly flew over the sidewalks as I rushed to find the address written on the slip of paper. It was easy until I reached Houston Street. There the numbers stopped and the streets all had names instead. I tried to memorize the streets as I passed them—Stanton, Rivington, Delancey, Broome. Broome! So this was the place we could afford to live? It was crowded and run-down, with a mixture of old brick buildings and wooden ones. Most of the people in the street looked strange to me, with odd clothing. Still, I’d sooner live on the outskirts of hell than with Elsa and her girls.
I kept goin’ until I found Hester Street. It was jammed with people sellin’ everything from fruit to underdrawers from pushcarts. I’d never seen so many people in one place. There were awnings hangin’ out into the street, and horse-drawn carriages tryin’ to make their way through the mess.
I went one block over to Chrystie Street, and finally I found number twenty-eight, Mr. Moscovitz’s building. It had no sign showin’ there was a business inside. Nobody came to answer when I knocked. I began to feel afraid. What if Mr. Moscovitz turned out to be as mean as the man in the shoe shop? Then I decided if he could give me a job I could put up with any harsh words he could speak.
I took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked. I looked again on the slip of paper and saw that there was an apartment number listed—number four. I moved through the dark hall, watchin’ to make sure nobody jumped out at me from the shadows. Mean words were hurtful, but there were worse things that could happen to a girl. I wished I had brought one of Ma’s long hairpins with me to protect myself. I had the feelin’ Ma would be none too pleased if she could see where I was now.
I got to the end of the hall and found apartment number three. But Mrs. Murphy had said it was in the back. I noticed in the shadows that there was a door with no number at the end of the hall. I knocked, and when nobody answered, I opened it. Bright sunlight and a blast of cold air hit me. It was the end of the building, but there was a smaller building behind it. And I could see that the sign on the front door said four. When I knocked on that door, a man’s voice said, “Come in.”
I found a room crammed with two long tables, a group of women and young girls sittin’ around each one. The tables were heaped with piles of flower parts—stems, leaves, and bright paper petals. Bunches of paper roses hung from a wire. The room hummed with low conversation, none of it in a language I could understand.
A man stepped out of the back corner by the woodstove. “What do you want?”
I went over and handed him the slip of paper. “Colleen Murphy said ye might have work for me.”
He looked at the paper and handed it back to me. I realized it only had his name and address, no proof that it came from her. “And how do you know Mrs. Murphy?”
“We’re both from Ireland.” I knew this didn’t answer his question, but it wasn’t a lie. I thought he might not want to hire me if he knew I’d just met her today, and only for a few minutes at that.
The man smiled. “Ireland, eh? I’d never have guessed.”
There was some quiet tittering from the two tables. I heard a nearby girl say to another, “Greenie,” and they laughed again.
Could everyone in New York tell that I had just stepped off the boat from Ireland? And why was that something to be ashamed of?
Mr. Moscovitz looked me over from head to toe. “So—you know how to make paper roses?”
I glanced quickly at the table. It didn’t seem too hard. I could simply follow what the person next to me was doin’. I had learned from the shoemaker that it didn’t pay to tell someone ye could learn fast. If ye wanted a job, ye had to know how to do it. I couldn’t make myself come right out and say yes, so I only nodded. I had the feelin’ I’d still have to mention this at confession Saturday night. A lie is a lie, whether you speak it or not.
Mr. Moscovitz rocked back on his heels. “An experienced rose-maker. This is my lucky day. What’s your name, girl?”
“Rose,” I said.
Mr. Moscovitz turned toward the girls. He was obviously playin’ to them now. “A rose-maker named Rose.”
There were many comments flyin’ around the room. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew their intent was to mock me. I bit my tongue to keep from cryin’. I came here to make money, not friends, but I missed my chums from home. I had always been popular, and now I was the outsider. I didn’t like the way it felt.
Mr. Moscovitz pulled out a chair, made a big show of dustin’ it off with his handkerchief. “Come, Miss Rose the rose-maker. I give you the best job in the shop. You’re a peddler, no?”
I didn’t know what to say. First he was talkin’ about makin’ roses and now he wanted me to sell them? Would I have to push a cart through the streets? Then Mr. Moscovitz put a wired stem with leaves and a pile of red petals in front of me, and I realized he meant for me to be a “petaler,” not a peddler. I was glad I hadn’t opened my mouth and made a fool of myself.
Mr. Moscovitz stood watchin’ over me, his arms folded and his toe tappin’ impatiently.
The girls were silent now, but two dozen pairs of dark eyes watched me from under thick lashes. I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t pass up a job. I was the only blue-eyed person in the room, the only greenie, and the only one who had not an idea in the world how to make roses.
12
I picked up a stem and stole a quick glance at the girl next to me. As she twirled the stem she kept pickin’ up petals, which seemed to attach themselves magically, one after another, until she had a perfect rose in full bloom. She daintily dropped her rose into a pile and started on the next.
I fingered the pile of petals, tryin’ to get hold of a single piece, but my hands were sweaty, stickin’ several petals together. The dye made the tips of my fingers look bloodstained. I dropped the ruined petals and wiped my hand on my skirt. I could hear giggles all around me. I started again. By this time the girl next to me had finished her second rose and started a third.
I wrapped a petal around the stem, then grabbed another. When I had six petals clumped on the end of the stem, I noticed that the girl next to me was twistin’ a thin wire over every petal as she put it on. I reached for the wire, but I was too late. All of my petals fell in a heap. There was the burst of laughter I had learned to expect. Mr. Moscovitz shushed the girls and I tried again. I managed to wire nine petals to the stem, but the end result was all misshapen.
Mr. Moscovitz took it from me and held it up. “Girls, girls, look what we have here. It’s a Wild Irish Rose.”
This time the laughter sounded like an explosion.
“I’m glad I can be such greenie entertainment for ye,” I said. “If someone will show me how to do this, I can learn.”
“But you said you knew how.” Mr. Moscovitz’s voice was all sweet and oily. “You lied to me?”
“I didn’t think ye’d give me a job if I said I didn’t know how to do it.”
He shook his head. “Not necessarily. I can always use a worker who’s willing to learn.”
I pushed back my chair. “Then I was wrong to lie. I’m sorry I wasted yer time.”
He let me get as far as the door, then said, “Make room for Rose at the e
nd of the stem table. That is your name, isn’t it? You didn’t lie about that?”
“Yes, Rose is my real name.”
Mr. Moscovitz pretended to wipe his forehead. “Such a relief. Otherwise we’d have to call you Peony when we make peonies and Sweet Pea when we make sweet peas.”
This time I laughed with the rest of the girls. How silly I must have looked, comin’ in pretendin’ I was a rose-maker. Mr. Moscovitz seemed genuinely fond of the girls in his shop. Maybe he made jokes just to pass the time. After all, it must get tedious doin’ the same thing over and over.
A pretty young girl got up from the end of the other table, moved her chair, and dragged another one over next to it.
“Thank you, Tessa,” Mr. Moscovitz said. “You can show Rose the first step of making the stems.”
Tessa smiled at me. “It’s not hard. You just take a piece of wire and twist the paper around it like this.” She held the roll of green paper in her left hand and spun the wire in the fingers of her right hand. The paper strip spiraled evenly down the wire, and she ripped it off at the end.
My first attempt was clumsy, but Tessa adjusted the position of the strip for me, and soon I was pickin’ up speed.
Mr. Moscovitz came around the table and put his hand on my shoulder. “That’s better, Rose. You’ll work your way up to petaler yet.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze as he moved on.
“You mustn’t let him do that,” Tessa whispered when he was out of earshot.
“Do what?” I asked.
“You mustn’t let him touch you.”
“He didn’t hurt me.”
Tessa leaned closer, pretendin’ to help me with my stem. “Listen, every girl in this room was once a greenhorn like you. Most of us didn’t speak English when we arrived, and some of them still don’t. But there’s one sentence every girl learned to speak before anything else.”
“What’s that?”
“‘Keep your hands to yourself, please.’”
I stifled a laugh.
Tessa shot me a sharp look. “I’m serious, Rose. Mr. Moscovitz was testing you to see how far he could go.”
I watched him as he moved around the room. He was older than Da and looked harmless, but I’d keep Tessa’s words in mind.
We worked in silence for the next hour. My hands were beginnin’ to stiffen up from the cold when Mr. Moscovitz said it was time for lunch. Tessa showed me where the outside privy was. It was vile-smellin’, but I needed to use it anyway. The sooner I learned to make roses well enough to take work home, the better off I’d be.
When we went back in, the girls had all gathered around the stove. Tessa poured a cup of hot water from the kettle that had been sittin’ on the heat all mornin’. “We all bring cups from home. I’ll share mine if you’d like.”
I offered her part of my muffin, and we ended up sharin’ her black bread and cheese, too. We sat on a pile of cartons in the corner and talked while we ate. I learned that her last name was Carlisi, and she and her family came over from Italy less than a year ago.
“How did ye learn English so quickly?” I asked.
“We learned before we came. My father was a professor at the university. He thought it was important to know other languages. That’s why I can understand what the other girls are saying here. Most of the Jewish girls are from Russia or Poland, so they speak either their native language or Yiddish or a combination.”
“Where does yer father teach here in America?” I thought it odd that the daughter of such a learned man would be workin’ in a shop like this.
“He doesn’t teach.” Tessa rolled her eyes. “Here he sweeps up scraps in a clothing factory. He is skilled with books but not with his hands. He would have been better off with a trade.”
“But why?”
Tessa shrugged. “Because Italians are not respected here. But it will change. They say there was a time when everyone looked down on the Irish. Now they run the whole city.”
I wanted to ask more, but Mr. Moscovitz called everyone back to work. My hands had already learned how to make stems without my mind havin’ to help them, so I could concentrate on what was goin’ on around me. I could hear the differences in the languages being spoken and saw that the girls had divided themselves into groups from their own countries. I thought it odd, but, then, if another Irish girl walked into the room at that moment, I knew I’d greet her like a long-lost sister.
What Tessa said puzzled me, though. If the Irish ran the city, why did people treat me with so little respect when they found out I was from Ireland?
The afternoon went much more slowly than the mornin’. My neck began to ache, and the seat of the chair felt hard. Once I stood up, and everybody looked at me as if I had committed a crime. I quickly stretched my back and sat down again. I thought I had been workin’ quickly, but was surprised to see that my pile of stems wasn’t even half as large as Tessa’s.
The next time I looked up from my work, I could see through the one tiny window that it was gettin’ dark. “What time do we stop workin’?” I whispered to Tessa.
“We finish at eight o’clock.”
“I can’t stay that long today,” I said.
“You didn’t even get here until ten o’clock. That’s three hours after the rest of us started. You’ll be paid little for the day if you leave early.”
Mr. Moscovitz must have heard that, because he came over to us. “Is there a problem, Rose the rose-maker?”
It was an old joke now, and nobody bothered to laugh at it. Besides, I seemed to be more accepted by the others since Tessa had taken me under her wing.
“I have to leave, Mr. Moscovitz. My mother will worry if I’m not home for dinner.”
Mr. Moscovitz rubbed his beard. “I see. And will she expect you home for dinner every night?”
“I think it will be all right if she knows where I am.”
“You think it will be all right.”
“It will be fine,” I mumbled, wonderin’ how on earth I could convince Ma to let me come back to this place.
13
Everything looked so different when I got outside. The pushcart peddlers had gone home, leavin’ the street more open. I had a false start, headin’ in the wrong direction on the Bowery until I got my bearings. Finally, I was passin’ the streets with familiar names again, but I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t know how late it was, but everything was in total darkness except for the pools of light under the street lamps. Every now and then I thought I saw a shadowy figure in a doorway, which set me off runnin’. Finally, I crossed Houston and was on Second Avenue again. I ran most of the twelve blocks back to Uncle Patrick’s, slowin’ down only to catch my breath. It was freezin’ cold, and I almost slipped on a patch of ice at one of the corners. At last, I arrived at the apartment and took the stairs three at a time.
When I went in, everyone but Uncle Patrick was sittin’ at the table havin’ dinner. Ma and Elsa shoved back their chairs at the same time and came toward me.
“Where have you been?” Elsa shouted. “We’ve all been frantic. We thought something terrible had happened to you. Your mother says you went out to find work? Why would you do such a foolish thing when you don’t know anything about the city? Why didn’t you ask my advice?”
I turned to Ma. She looked stricken. “It’s not Rose’s fault. I gave her my permission to go.”
“What kind of work could a child find?” Elsa shrieked. “Especially a girl. You have no sense, Margaret. No sense at all.”
“I have enough sense to know my own child. She has a good head on her shoulders.”
Trudy had been watchin’ this whole scene with a smug little smile on her face. “Where could you possibly find work? Was it a sweatshop?”
“No,” I said. “It’s a place where they make flowers.”
Elsa’s eyes narrowed. “Where is it?”
“Not far.”
Trudy echoed her mother. “Where is it?”
“Chrystie Street.”
&nbs
p; Trudy grabbed her mother’s arm. “I knew it! She was working at a filthy sweatshop!”
Elsa looked at me with contempt. “This is unacceptable. Patrick will be terribly upset when he hears about this. As councilman of the Seventeenth Ward, he has a reputation to uphold.”
“How does my makin’ flowers damage his reputation?”
“Don’t you be smart with me, young lady. You must promise me you won’t work there anymore. I can’t imagine why you would do such a thing.”
I wanted to shout, “We need the money so we can get away from you and yer dreadful daughters,” but I held back. I knew that Uncle Patrick had been a great help to Ma and Da back in Ireland. He had given them money and a place to stay when they were first married. I didn’t want to do anything to hurt him, even though I despised his family.
Elsa was still rantin’. “Patrick will put an end to this when he gets home. If Rose’s father is not here, then Patrick will decide what’s best for her.”
“With her father not here, I will make the decisions,” Ma said.
Now Ma and Elsa were goin’ at it head to head. This wasn’t about me anymore. I figured for Ma it had more to do with Elsa takin’ Uncle Patrick away from the family and the Catholic Church.
Maureen was standin’ behind Elsa and Trudy. She had one hand on her hip, makin’ stabbin’ motions in the air with the pointer finger of her other hand—a perfect imitation of Elsa.
“You’re ignorant about America,” Elsa shouted at Ma. “The neighborhood Rose was in isn’t safe, especially after dark. The pittance she might earn there isn’t worth the risk.”
“All right,” Ma conceded at last. “If the place isn’t safe, then she won’t go back.”
“But, Ma…”
“That’s the end of it,” Ma said. “Elsa knows this city. We don’t.” Ma had given in, but the look on her face made me think she was still stingin’ over Elsa’s use of the word “ignorant.”
“All right, then.” Elsa pulled out her chair and sat down. “Our meal is getting cold. Sit. Eat.”
As hungry as I was, I couldn’t swallow a bite. Our situation had become intolerable. We couldn’t possibly stay here until Da got back. But how could we get out of here if I wasn’t allowed to earn some money? I was startled to realize that I had never asked how much I would be paid for my work. All I knew was that Mrs. Murphy said Moscovitz was fair with the money.