Aunt Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re a good boy, Joseph. A blessing to your poor aunt after such a terrible day,” she said softly. “You and Anna are like my children. You are like the children my poor Herschel and I never had. How proud Herschel would have been of you today. ‘That boy is a real American’ he would have said.”
There was such warmth and pride in Aunt Sophie’s voice that Joe knew that despite Aunt Sophie’s complaints and worries, she was happy to have them with her.
“Maybe no chicken tomorrow,” said Aunt Sophie, ruffling Joe’s hair, “but thank God, there’s a little strudel left for a celebration. How about a piece with some tea?”
“Thanks,” said Joe, suddenly ravenous.
As Joe hungrily bit into the strudel, he felt a surge of hope about school, about New York, about everything. Then he remembered Anna and the letter. Had she mailed it already? Was it already on its way to Russia telling their parents not to come to America?
If only he could convince her to give New York another chance. Even cities deserved another chance. Maybe New York wasn’t paved with gold, but it had Central Park, the subway, beautiful bridges and no threatening Cossacks hiding in the woods. Best of all, New York was full of new chances, new possibilities.
“Anna! Anna!” he called as soon as she walked through the door later that evening. Then he blurted out all the things that had happened to him at school that day.
“Well,” said Anna smiling. “That’s wonderful.”
“And I’m going to find a job and help pay for food and rent. You’ll see Anna, things will get better for us in New York.”
To Joe’s surprise, instead of an argument, Anna gave him a hug. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “After last night, I too have hope.”
“Last night?” said Joseph, astounded at the sudden confidence in Anna’s voice and face.
“I went to a meeting with Rose Finkel,” she explained, kicking off her shoes. “The room was filled with people just like me who work day and night for low wages in miserable conditions. There were girls at that meeting who spoke in Yiddish in front of the whole crowd. And would you believe it, people listened to those girls. I learned that people are striking to get paid more, work less and be treated with more respect. I am so happy that I am not alone any more.”
“Then you’re not writing Mama and Papa to stay in Russia?” Joe blurted out.
Anna stared sternly at Joseph. “Did you read my letter?” she asked.
“Well, I saw it on your bed when I went for Aunt Sophie’s shawl. I couldn’t help it. I know I shouldn’t have but . . .”
“That letter is gone,” said Anna.
“You mailed it?” asked Joe.
“No, I ripped it up,” said Anna, laughing suddenly. “I was feeling so good when I came home from the meeting, I changed my mind about sending it. You see, I didn’t just listen to speeches last night. I spoke up at that meeting.”
Joe stared at Anna in disbelief. His shy, timid sister spoke up in a room full of strangers?
“My knees shook like laundry on a line,” said Anna, “but I stood up and told everyone in that hall in Yiddish about Lucy and conditions in my factory. I told them how the bosses treat us. I told them that with such low pay and terrible conditions, we are left with little hope for our future. And hope is what we need. Otherwise, what is it all worth?”
“And they listened?” asked Joe.
“To every word,” said Anna.
Anna’s face glowed as she spoke. Joe had not seen her this happy since they arrived in New York.
“So how about teaching me some English now, Joe?” she asked.
“Joe? You’re calling me Joe?”
“Why not?” said Anna. “Joe or Joseph, you’re still my brother. Of course, I don’t know how Mama and Papa will feel about your new name. Perhaps we should wait and tell them in person when they come to New York. What do you think?” said Anna smiling.
“Yes! Let’s wait,” said Joe, returning her smile. “And when they come to New York, we’ll show them all the wonderful places there are to visit and by then, you will speak English like an American, Anna. And I’ll get a job and soon we’ll all be together. Imagine Anna! Mama, Papa, Aunt Sophie, you and me. We’ll be a family in America.”
Born in Germany, Frieda Wishinsky was raised and educated in New York City. Her thorough knowledge of the city shows in Just Call Me Joe. She knows what it feels like to be an immigrant kid and she loves how New York has taken in people from so many places, how they’ve become part of a vibrant ever-changing landscape.
She is the author of many other books, including Each One Special (Orca, 1998) and So Long Stinky Queen (Fitzhenry). Frieda lives in Toronto with her husband, her sixteen-year-old daughter and her twenty-two-
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