by Debby Lee
“Give the cloth to Mildred.” He swatted at the determined aide. “She has to learn, doesn’t she?”
The aide clicked her tongue then passed Millie the cloth. “You just need to scrub his feet and back, miss. He can handle the rest.”
Millie closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer. She trembled as she rolled up the sleeves of her shirtwaist, dipped the cloth into the basin of tepid water, and added a few drops of liquid soap from the dispenser. Gaze averted, she leaned over her father and scrubbed one of his feet.
Suddenly her father let out a loud grunt. “You and that hat.” He slapped it off her head. “I don’t know why you insist on wearing that thing.”
Startled, she wiped her hands on her skirt and knelt to retrieve her beloved mother’s hat from the floor.
“Leave it,” her father commanded. “Finish my bath before the water cools.”
Head down and battling tears, she scrubbed his other foot. Through the threadbare fabric of the washcloth, Millie felt the edges of the gypsum plaster cast—a physical reminder of the broken bones Father sustained after the dilapidated fire escape at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory collapsed.
Millie remembered her vow for compassion and softened her tone. “Shall I wash your back now?”
“When we get home. Take me out of here.”
Father’s voice twisted up her nerves. Where was Nathan?
“Now, Mildred.” He slammed his fists on the bedcovers. “I said take me home. I want to see my son.”
She flinched. Poor Celia. For reasons Millie didn’t understand, Father favored Paul and paid little attention to Celia except to scold her. “Nathan is coming with the car momentarily.”
“Nathan? A good man, your fiancé. Better than you deserve.”
Perhaps. Nathan was a good Christian man and maybe she didn’t deserve him, but he’d agreed to the marriage pact their mothers made eleven years ago on the voyage to New York. And even if Millie did not love him, she hoped love would come with time.
“Good morning, Mr. Pulnik,” Nathan called from the edge of the privacy drape. “Millie.”
Thank the Lord, Nathan was here to help her.
He shook Father’s hand. “How are you, Mr. Pulnik?”
“Better now that I’m going home.”
Nathan frowned. “Millie, why is your hat on the floor?”
“It fell off. I was just retrieving it when you arrived.” Her face flushed as she picked it up and settled it back on her head.
The nurse’s aide appeared. “Did you bring clothes?”
Millie reached into her satchel and produced a folded bundle of clothes, a pair of black leather boots, and a shabby leather belt.
“He won’t be needin’ the shoes,” the nurse’s aide barked. “You two, come closer so I can show you the easiest way to dress him.”
Nathan waved his arms in the air. “I don’t need a lesson, miss. I won’t be the one dressing him.”
“I don’t blame you, son,” Father said. “Go on to the hallway. This is a job for the women.” With a whisk of his fingers, he sent Nathan away.
Dressing her father was akin to wrangling a wee child into a too-small suit of clothes. Maybe after she and Nathan married, he’d offer the resources to hire a caregiver. After all, his family had been one of the few Czech families who had made their fortune in the new country.
“Okay, you old fool,” the nurse’s aide declared, “the doctor will come shortly to sign your release papers.” She gestured for Millie to follow her.
In the hallway, the aide motioned for Nathan to join them. “He’s full of the devil, and I don’t envy you. Until his bones heal, he will need assistance with bathing, dressing, and toileting.” She jammed her finger into Nathan’s chest. “Are you the son-in-law?”
Nathan grimaced. “No.”
Millie’s cheeks burned.
“Well, this young woman will need assistance to lift him,” the nurse’s aide continued. “Is there someone else at home who can assist?”
Nathan answered, “Her grandmother and sister.”
Millie clutched her stomach. Would the woman stop with her incessant questions?
Finally, the aide skittered down the hallway and left Millie alone with Nathan.
Millie glanced up at his face. “Thank you for coming.”
“I said I would come to drive your father, and here I am.” He smiled weakly but looked away.
“Here you are,” Millie repeated. “You mentioned you wanted to speak to Father today.”
She reached for his elbow, but he backed away from her, just out of reach.
“Nathan? What is happening? Why won’t you look at me?”
“We should talk. You and I.”
There. He’s simply nervous. Certain Nathan had reached the same conclusion that marrying sooner was the best solution for her situation, she offered, “Don’t worry, Nathan. Father will agree we should marry long before we planned.”
The muscles in his neck tightened, and he turned his head away. “You misunderstand.”
She touched her throat. “Why else would you want to speak to Father?”
“To explain why I cannot marry you,” he said.
She braced herself against the wall. Millie had seen Nathan’s mouth move, but surely, she’d heard the words wrong. “But what of our mothers’ agreement?”
“My father considers that agreement buried with our mothers.”
Millie turned away and struggled for composure. “How could you desert me, given my circumstances?”
Nathan scoffed. “Because my feelings for you do not extend past friendship, and I wish to marry another.”
“Please help us, Nathan,” she begged. “I can’t do this alone. I thought you’d appreciate the position I find myself in. What will we tell Father?”
“Under the circumstances, you can tell your father whatever you like. Goodbye, Millie.”
Without a flicker of either compassion or regret, he turned his back on her, strode down the corridor, and left her alone.
Bile rose in the back of her throat as tears inundated her cheeks.
Coward. And he calls himself a Christian? How stupid of me to count on his allegiance. What do I do now? I can’t go to work in another factory. Does God have no mercy for me?
She’d foolishly counted on Nathan supporting her family once they married and even imagined him financing the start-up costs for her millinery business. Her family wouldn’t manage for long without the proper resources, and she refused to see them split apart like so many of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory families. She vowed to keep the twins from the orphanage and Rose from the hazardous factories.
Unsure whether she could steady herself enough to thread a needle, Millie knew she had to earn money by working in the only profession for which she had experience.
First thing Monday morning, she needed to secure another garment factory job.
Holding his brown felt bowler hat against the misty gusts of wind, Abe made his way to the bread truck he’d borrowed to transport the wheelchair to the hospital. If he hurried, he could return the truck and still make it back to the union hall in time for the noon meeting.
He drove up a steep incline toward Greenwich Village. Just ahead on the cobblestone sidewalk, a woman strained to push a large man in a wheelchair. Was that the Pulniks? Hadn’t Millie told him her fiancé was bringing a car to drive them home?
Abe stopped the truck adjacent to her and jumped out. “Miss Pulnik?”
She stopped pushing and strained against the weight of the wheelchair that appeared destined to roll back down the hill.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pulnik.” Abe offered a handshake. “May I offer you transport home?”
Mr. Pulnik scowled at him. “Aren’t you the rabble-rouser from the union?”
“Well, I suppose you could call me that. I do work for the union.” He offered his hand again. “I’m Abraham Skala.”
Mr. Pulnik eyed him suspiciously and made no effort t
o accept his greeting. “How do you know my daughter?”
“We met at church, sir.”
Abe held the conveyance and addressed Miss Pulnik. “I thought you had transport arranged?”
“She had,” Mr. Pulnik barked, “but it seems Mildred has managed to chase away her fiancé.”
Abe set the brakes on the wheelchair. “Let me drive you.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with so much sorrow, surely his heart would break.
Her father turned his head and stared at them. “Stop standin’ around and get me home.”
All through the ordeal of lifting and settling her father in the truck, Miss Pulnik remained silent. Would she ever speak again? He’d talked her through every move—how to stand on one side and make a cradle under her father’s backside to lift him and how to bend at the knees to protect her own back. When Abe opened the rear door of the bread truck and offered to help her step up, his concern for her deepened. She seemed disoriented, and when she finally sat on an upturned wooden crate, she wrapped her arms around her middle and hung her head.
Abe lifted the cumbersome chair into the truck then settled into the driver’s seat. “Where do you live?”
“Blanch Tenements on 56th Street. Fourth floor,” Mr. Pulnik growled. “I hope you have a strong back.”
“Strong enough,” Abe answered.
“Mildred’s fiancé, or should I say her former fiancé, is a strong young man. Shoulders like an ox.”
Abe clenched his jaw. But he’s not here to help, is he?
Mr. Pulnik turned his head toward the cargo area and roared, “What did you do to make Nathan break off your engagement?”
Silence.
He continued his tirade. “Do you think you can find someone better? Your mother chose him for you. A fine young man—showy, but from good, solid stock.”
What would Mr. Pulnik think of him if he found out his father was a con man? But that was unlikely, since he had taken his mother’s maiden name years ago.
“Well?” Mr. Pulnik bellowed at her. When she offered no response, he turned his attention to Abe. “Did you have something to do with this? Have you compromised my daughter’s engagement?”
“No, sir. I’ve assisted only when your daughter asked it of me.”
Mr. Pulnik stared out the front window, jaw and fists clenched.
Abe held his tongue. He wanted to lash out at the old man, tell him he should be grateful he lived through the fire and had his children to go home to. That the union was not the enemy. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he prayed God’s grace would shine on the old man and Miss Pulnik would find peace.
Outside the tenement building, Abe unloaded the wheelchair and helped Miss Pulnik step down. He tried to catch her eye, but she looked away and maintained her silence.
Again, in the gentlest voice possible, he instructed her what to do. He’d take the wheelchair to the fourth floor, and then they’d carry her father up the stairs together.
Her whole body trembled as she poked the key into the lock. In contrast to the stale onion odor of the stairwell, the tenement smelled of vanilla cake. Miss Pulnik’s grandmother acknowledged him and her granddaughter then welcomed her injured son-in-law home. Abe recognized the young woman sewing at the kitchen table. Rose, wasn’t it? She set her sewing down and greeted her father while casting a questioning glance toward her sister. Relieved no one asked questions about why he was there, Abe stood off to one side.
The two small children gawked at their father’s legs.
“Come here, Son.” Mr. Pulnik lifted the boy to his lap and pushed one rubber wheel. The chair spun in a circle.
“My turn, my turn,” called the little girl.
“Celia, hush,” her grandmother scolded.
“Millie’s engagement is off,” Mr. Pulnik announced. “Maybe she’ll tell you why.”
“Oh Millie.” Rose crossed the small room to take her sister in her arms. “I’m so sorry.”
Miss Pulnik bit her fingernail, and Abe sent up another prayer.
“Come.” Rose wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist and led her toward a door. “You should freshen yourself.”
Miss Pulnik’s grandmother glanced at him. “We have nothing to give you for your trouble.”
“I’m glad to assist your family.” Abe dug in his pockets and produced four peppermint candies. “For the little ones.”
As soon as Miss Pulnik returned to the room, Abe asked to speak to her in the hallway. “I have a proposition for you.”
She folded her arms across her chest and lowered her chin.
Abe realized his blunder. “I’ve said it wrong. Allow me to begin again.”
She nodded.
“You need a job. I know of a seamstress position in a men’s sack suit factory that pays union scale. It’s across town, but on the bus route.”
“A garment factory?” She’d found her voice but seemed to have precious little control over it.
“If you like, I could drive you there today, and you can apply for the position. The truth is Mr. Berg claims to run a union shop, but we suspect otherwise. So far, we’ve been unsuccessful in identifying anyone who will bear witness to the unsafe conditions. If you’re on the inside, you could gather information for us, perhaps persuade others to testify against Mr. Berg if conditions are as bad as we think.”
She lifted her chin and tilted her head. “Act as a snitch?”
“I’d rather think of it as working to improve conditions for factory workers to ensure people never again lose their lives because safety is ignored. We can keep your involvement quiet, especially since your father is so opposed to the union.”
After several moments, she took a deep breath. “I do need a job. Thank you, Mr. Skala.”
“Abe,” he said, hoping to ease the tension.
She finally met his gaze. “Abe.”
Chapter 3
Millie boarded the bus that would take her within blocks of her new job at Berg’s Garment Emporium and passed the driver the ten-cent fare. Relieved to be out of the rain, she settled on a wooden bench close to the front and confirmed that one more coin rested deep in her skirt pocket for the fare home.
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. I should’ve listened to Babi’s advice to save some coins from Mother’s tin, but I counted on Nathan’s support and I trusted he’d honor our agreement to marry.
The bus screeched to a halt and spewed noxious fumes into the air, then lurched forward three more times before Millie reached her destination. Each start and stop jolted her insides and strengthened her opinion that if God genuinely cared about her, He would have made sure Nathan kept his promise.
Millie jerked her head in disgust, then pinned a few loose strands of hair back into her chignon. Despite the quiver in her stomach every time she imagined entering a garment factory, she needed this job for the money it would provide. More importantly, on behalf of Mother and all the other fire victims, she wanted to do her part to ensure safe working conditions.
She patted the piece of paper and nub of a pencil in her pocket. She wouldn’t draw attention to herself but would keep her eyes and ears attuned to the safety irregularities and record them on her way home.
Rain pelted Millie’s face as she stepped off the bus and scurried the four blocks to the garment factory. She tugged her rain-soaked shawl around her middle and glanced up at the ten-story wooden building.
Millie gaped at the metal fire escape hanging on the front of the building. Was it secure, or would it break in an emergency like the one that injured her father?
Her body quaked as she followed a group of women through the massive metal door. On Saturday, her new boss, Mr. Berg, had instructed her to report directly to him upon her arrival at the factory. Millie smoothed the front of her skirt then knocked on his office door.
A gruff voice beckoned her to enter.
“I’m reporting to work, sir.”
He looked up from the mass of
papers scattered across his desk, his bushy eyebrows furrowed as he exhaled foul-smelling smoke from his cigar. “Which girl are you?”
“Mildred Pulnik, sir.”
Mr. Berg grunted as he pushed his chair away from his desk, the buttons of his dark satin vest straining across his stout belly, then swaggered through the doorway. “Come.”
Millie followed the pompous little man, who led her to an elevator where a group of women fell silent in his presence. Millie chewed her bottom lip. The elevator dial went all the way to floor ten. How could she work on an upper level where escape from fire was slim?
She took a step backward and covered her mouth. One of the women nudged her into the elevator and offered a thin smile. Millie’s chest heaved. The last time someone pushed her into an elevator was the day of the fire. She couldn’t breathe then, and she couldn’t breathe now.
On the third floor, the elevator shuddered to a stop.
“Get to work, straightaway,” Mr. Berg barked.
The women bumped into her as they fled the elevator and spread across the crowded sewing room.
Mr. Berg caught Millie’s eye then tipped his head toward the middle of the room. Was she assigned to this department? Her gaze darted wildly about until she located the door to the fire escape. Later, she’d check to see if the door was locked as it had been at the shirtwaist factory.
Millie followed her boss past rows and rows of tables where immigrant women like herself sat in front of electric sewing machines, bare lightbulbs strung above them, and great piles of black and gray linen by their sides.
He pointed to an empty stool—nothing more than a metal disk on rollers. “Sit here.”
Millie sat on the cold, unyielding seat.
“You,” he commanded the girl at the next sewing machine, “show her.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl answered.
He walked away, but the lingering smell of cigar smoke settled in Millie’s throat as if it were a cautionary tale.
The girl’s greasy hair fell in her face, and her shapeless muslin dress revealed the developing figure of a girl around Rose’s age. Without a word, the girl demonstrated how to sew the trouser pieces together and where to stack the completed product.