Setting aside the stinging comment about his comforts, James was determined to make his point. “Father, just hear what I have to say. These are problems that affect the whole city. Winnipeg has a very serious health problem because of the lack of a proper supply of good water.”
“Ah! A variation on the theme. Today it is the water supply. Well, James, allow me to enlighten you. That is a very old problem and it is now solved. You really need to update your knowledge.”
“Solved? How is it solved if there is not an adequate supply of water to go to all homes in the city?”
“It is solved, my dear son, because the city has a new artesian well in operation which is feeding top quality water into the water mains, and as we are discussing this, new water mains are being dug as fast as we can put them in. In time, we will have all the water we need. I am quite surprised you don’t know this. Do you not read the newspapers anymore?”
“I was going to ask you the same question, Father. Water is going only to the better neighborhoods. What about north of the tracks? I read that not one of those water mains is scheduled to connect to homes in the foreign quarter.”
“Patience! In time, the North End will have water and sewers, too. Council is talking about it, but there just is not enough money in the budget to serve every need all at once. There are priorities and money is limited.”
“People are dying in astounding numbers, Father. Tuberculosis, scarlet fever, diphtheria, and not to mention typhoid rates in this city are astronomical. How is it not a priority of council to address this problem?”
“Understand, James, that every growing city has this problem, and the thing of it is that Winnipeg is growing the fastest, which is bloody fantastic, don’t you agree? So, of course we have a problem. It is because of progress and these are just ordinary growing pains, I’d say. It will all come out right in the end. You just wait and see. Let’s end this discussion, shall we? Now, come on then, a little canter will brighten your mood.”
“Father, please do listen. I really do not wish to be disrespectful, but I do feel very strongly about this, and you are, after all, an alderman. You can make a difference with your leadership on this issue.”
Rupert pulled his horse to a halt and James, who took this as a sign he was getting through, looked expectantly into his father’s face.
Rupert laughed. “Really, James, I don’t know what has happened to you since you got into this dreary pursuit of becoming a doctor. You’ll never make any decent money at it, you know. I do wish you would just chuck the whole thing and come to work with me. The company is called Willows and Sons, you remember, and only Alfred is working with the firm. Elliot is still years off.”
“Thank you, no, Father. I really don’t believe I have the instinct for it.”
The two rode on in silence for a time, Rupert frustrated that his morning was being spoiled by this unpleasant confrontation, and James seething at his father’s adamant refusal to see the seriousness of the city’s health problems.
“Father, this is a crisis and I cannot understand how city council can turn its back on thousands of people this way.”
“Because, my son, this is not a crisis!” Rupert had now lost his patience and was shouting. “This is a way of life for them. Don’t you see? They are immigrants! They are accustomed to living in filth, like swine. They are accustomed to starving in their old country. These people are Hebrews, and Slavs from Russia and Poland and Galicia and Hungary and so many other unpronounceable countries where the life they left was worse. They did not have to come here. They chose to come. Don’t you see how much better life is for them being here instead of having their skulls crushed and their women raped in Eastern Europe? Their conditions here are not perfect, I grant you, but they are fine for the time being.”
“Rampant disease and babies dying? No water or sewage connections to the majority of their homes? That is fine to a city alderman?”
“James, you are missing the larger picture. Why are you so resistant to understanding that for them, the privilege of living in this city is a gift?”
“Father, but you’ve been on city council for a number of years, and now that you are also on the Board of Trade, you have the power to change the way things are done.”
“Change? And what would you have me change? Has it not occurred to you that if we give the lower classes too much comfort that they will stop working and just expect to be looked after? Think about it. Your beloved foreigners aren’t used to the finer things in life, so why should we spoil them? They are here to work. There are plenty of jobs for them digging sewers, building roads, working in manufacturing, farming. Why, even the foreign women are finding that work for them is highly available. They are in the sewing factories and even working as servants in those homes where the employers don’t mind the Slav or Hebrew. God help them.
“Now if there is a crisis at all concerned with the water supply, you will find it in the area of fire insurance. That is a crisis.”
“Fire insurance? I’m not following,” James said.
“Winnipeg does not have enough fire hydrants, and perhaps not even the volume of water needed to feed the hydrants that do exist in the case of a major fire. Thus, the insurance companies charge exorbitant prices, and this is a tremendous hardship to the business community.”
“How is it possible that the fastest growing city in the country did not plan to have enough fire hydrants? It is not as if Winnipeg suddenly started growing. This has been a boomtown for years. Everyone knows that, why didn’t the city look after the hydrants years ago?”
“Because more than twenty years ago, Winnipeg City Council signed an idiotic agreement with the hopeless Winnipeg Water Works Company, and we had our hands tied right up until that agreement finally expired a couple of years ago. The company was supposed to build a certain number of water mains, provide a certain volume of water – all from the Assiniboine River, mind you, and provide hydrants. They fell terribly short on their commitment and therefore the hydrants, even today, are almost non-existent.”
“Why didn’t the city buy out the contract?”
“It was a question of price. The Water Works Company wanted a king’s ransom. Council refused to pay it. Council then decided to wait it out and then, of course as the end of the contract was approaching, the Water Works people wised up to the fact their holdings would be worthless. They finally sold the mains and the equipment to the city for a reasonable price. Now that the city is in control of the water resources, we can move ahead, but as we have been discussing, it will take time. So, the insurance industry has us over a barrel and we have no choice but to watch them continue to charge higher and higher premiums. Now, that is a very serious problem. It hurts business, and it could hurt the continued growth of the city. And the truth is that until we are sure there is water for fire control in the business district and, of course, to protect the homes of the better citizens, then there really is no point in taking the limited resources we have and putting money into the foreign quarter.”
“Father, it is shameful and despicable that a city would not provide basic services for all of its citizens.”
“Despicable? Have you not heard a word that I’ve said? That is about as thorough an explanation as I can give you, and quite frankly, the whole issue bores me to tears. Why are you worrying so about immigrants? They are foreigners. They don’t speak English. These impoverished city dwellers you care so much about are a tremendous blight on Winnipeg and other cities, and we never should have allowed them in. They belong out on the land as farmers, not sucking up sympathy in the city. This miserable lot is only here because of the good graces of the Dominion government and their value to our country is yet to be determined!”
James raised his hand to calm his father, but as he opened his mouth to make a follow up point, Rupert cut him off.
“James, could we please leave this subject? I’ve really had quite enough of it, and it is ruining my day. Let’s move on, shall we? W
e are to have drinks with Robert Fortune at the club later. He and some other chaps including Roderick Ballantyne want to get a proper country club established and we are among the few who have been invited to lead the development of this venture. It is to be called the St. Charles Country Club. Rather exciting, isn’t it? The early talk is to have a polo field, a hunt club complete with facilities for the hounds and a full-time hounds master, and, of course, there would be a top man brought in to design the golf course.
“I’m not sure you are aware that Fortune truly has a passion for golf. His whole family plays. Even his young sister Alice is catching the attention of the professionals, and she is not yet sixteen years of age. She will be playing at Pinehurst in North Carolina this summer. Now, mark my words, that young lady would be quite a trophy, herself, one day for a man of your background. I say, now, there’s a peach of a girl.”
With that, Rupert cantered off, signaling an official end to the conversation. James needed some time alone and held his horse back. He returned to his own thoughts, not the least of which was the question of where and how Maisie had come by her medical knowledge.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Strangers within our Gates
April 18, 1902
Ziporah stood with a potato and a knife in her hands and appeared momentarily paralyzed as she listened in wide-eyed wonder to the story Maisie had to tell.
“You didn’t!”
“I most certainly did,” answered Maisie. “There I was, flat on top of Mr. Willows, both of us writhing in the throes of imminent death and suddenly, as if God’s hand had come from above to my rescue, Mr. Chadwick, who is quite strong, had me and Mr. Willows, on our feet in just one second.”
“And you still have your job!”
“I do! Oh, Ziporah, I really did think I was going to die. Right there on the spot! I thought my heart would explode and it would be the end of me; that it would ‘finish me up’, as Mrs. Bachynsky says.”
Both girls howled with laughter. Ziporah took a quick look at the clock and gasped.
“Mama will be here any minute. We have to get these potatoes cooking or we will both be “finished up”. But, truly, Maisie, how do you expect to explain how you know so much about treating illnesses? Are you going to tell them the truth?”
“Oh, goodness, no! The truth would never do.”
Ziporah viewed her cousin as a hero. In another time she would have been the leader of a revolution or saved an entire village from a pogrom. She was the embodiment of greatness. “Well, what are you going to tell them?”
“Why should I tell them anything?” came the quick response.
“Have you lost your mind, Maisie? Do you think you can just recite medical information that the family’s student doctor doesn’t even know and expect to not be questioned?”
Ziporah’s practicality always got to Maisie. There was no point in pretending she could just ignore the problem.
“All right. It will have to be something that at least has some link to the truth or I will foul it up entirely.”
Maisie dropped the remaining potatoes into the water and slid the heavy pot to the front of the cast iron stove while she contemplated her dilemma.
“So?” Ziporah couldn’t hide her impatience as she shook out the tablecloth and smoothed it onto the table.
“Well, this is only if I have to say something, you understand,” Maisie answered slowly. “Then I think I should tell them that I am the daughter of a physician and that he died in some terrible way, perhaps from an accident, leaving me to fend for myself in coming to Canada. What do you think?”
“Oy. What do they know now?”
“What did I tell them? Only that I grew up in England and that family circumstances required me to work, and that I was an eager learner and had some experience in the kitchen.”
“So they really know nothing of your life?”
“Ziporah, that is the truth. Well, mostly. Besides, this summer I will have been there for two full years. No one in the Willows family has the time or the interest to worry so much about what happens in the lives of the servants. They just truly don’t care. So I don’t see how this will ever be a problem.”
“What about the other servants? Don’t they wonder where you go on weekends?”
“Not really. Everyone goes somewhere. I told them I have an elderly Aunt Rose I see on weekends and no one cares to know more.”
“But what if they press for more? The Willows family might be more curious now that you have revealed your interest in medicine.”
“Well, then I’ll tell them this yarn about being the daughter of a doctor. It’s not all that far-fetched. Dr. Babcock was so much nicer to me than an employer would be expected to be. He was a wonderful doctor, and no doubt his passion for medicine sparked something in me. Don’t worry, Ziporah. I’m a very believable liar. Trust me.”
The Zigman table was filled with large bowls of simple foods. The rich beet soup called borscht, boiled potatoes, a buckwheat dish called kasha varnischke, and freshly baked bread were mainstays at their supper table. Tonight there was also a platter of roasted chicken to round out the menu.
Maisie breathed in deeply, filling herself with the comfort of family and traditions. Hannah took great pride in her big new house on Selkirk Avenue and the table was always beautifully set for the Friday night welcoming of Shabbat. The candles were lit, the prayers and blessings were sung, and the challah was passed around with a deep and loving sense of home. The family conversation rose through the house as bowls were passed and news shared.
It was here that Maisie was most troubled by the reality of her double life. Ziporah’s questions had gotten to her. Her deep affection for the traditions of Judaism and the warmth of family both nourished and pained her as she confronted the lies she had spun to make a life for herself in Canada.
Baruch had been watching his granddaughter and saw that she was unusually uncomfortable this evening.
“You have something to say, Malka. Don’t be shy. If we don’t talk, we don’t learn.”
“It’s a little complicated. Oh dear, I don’t want to sound like I am complaining, Zaida. I am just so grateful to have found my way to you, to have a future here. I suppose my trouble is that because I live one way during the week and another when I am here in your house, I don’t really know who I truly am. I know you always talk about how our family’s history in Russia is the foundation on which we are shaping our future, but what shape must that be now that we are in a new country?”
Baruch sipped his tea and considered the delicate question before he answered.
“We have new responsibilities both to our heritage as Jews, and to our survival,” he said at last. “Each of us must find our own path. I cannot tell you how you must live your life. You are young, and there are many years ahead for you and no doubt many choices as well. All of you at this table must choose, as I have, where you wish to be. To decide is a gift, and to make a decision comes also with obligation. For me, it is easy to find guidance. I look first to God and my duty as a Jew.”
There was a long pause. Hannah looked at her brood with a worried face, but caught a subtle sign to wait from her mother-in-law, Bayla.
Maisie was the first to speak. “Zaida, I think that is both helpful and true. I think my struggle is with how to be what I am meant to be. Perhaps there is value in being a Canadian first. I don’t mean to not be a Jew, but to be assimilated.” She chose her words carefully, not wanting to upset her grandfather. “Zaida, to be a Canadian first and then everything else—Jewish, Ukrainian, Polish, or Mennonite—would that be so terrible?”
Baruch considered these questions, then nodded to Isaac, who was burning to speak.
“The people from England, Scotland, the United States, Ontario, and anyplace where English is their language do better than everyone else,” Isaac said. “No one but a Jew will hire a Jew first if there are other people to hire. All of the leftovers get the worst jobs. Look at us here in the N
orth End. Look at the ditch diggers, the railroad workers and even more, the sewing factories. Jews and Ukrainians are working those machines all day long. What great benefit is there in fighting to maintain an old country identity that so many people hate? Isn’t it better to create a new direction? To be Canadian, like our cousin says?”
Listening carefully to the words of his eldest grandchildren, Baruch reluctantly acknowledged that his world was changing. “And what would you have us do, Malka?”
“Well, for me, I want to be Canadian.”
“You do, hmm?” Baruch peered from under hooded brows. “And what might that be? What is it to you to be Canadian?”
“I want to be seen for the person I am, not that which I represent. I want to go to school. I want to be a doctor.”
“A doctor? Whoa!” shouted Aaron. “Women can’t be doctors. They can be nurses and teachers. They can make clothes and cook, but they can’t be doctors!”
“Shut up, Aaron. You don’t know anything.” Ziporah smacked her little brother.
“Stop it! Both of you!” Hannah scolded. “This is no way to behave at the table. Aaron, you must never underestimate what a woman can do. I am surprised at you.”
“Sorry, Cousin Malka,” he said sheepishly.
Maisie returned to Ravenscraig the following evening and slipped in through the kitchen door, as was her habit on Saturdays. She was happy to see that the only note that had been left to her attention was that Mr. and Mrs. Willows were out for the evening and that Miss Emma was in the care of her governess at a music concert but would require hot milk and cookies upon her return. Mr. Chadwick was the wild card. Although he was not required to work on Saturday nights, he frequently stayed in and could be found snooping about the hallways searching for the tidbits of information that made him seem all-knowing. The man needed a new hobby, was Maisie’s thought. In any case she got on well with the butler despite her wariness of his probing personality.
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