For the Love of Mike Page 16

  It was very exciting. I found myself swept up in their enthusiasm.

  “Not a word until he hands us the new designs, eh? We don’t want him getting a whiff of what we’ve planned for him,” I cautioned.

  On the way back across the street Rose joined me. “What do you think, Molly? Isn’t it wonderful? They’re all with us. We might even get them to cough up the money for union dues.”

  “I just hope one of them isn’t a traitor,” I whispered.

  “There’s not much we can do about it, is there?” Rose glanced around at the girls hurrying back through the rain, their shawls over their heads. “We can’t sit back and do nothing, in case we might be betrayed.”

  As we crossed the street, a fancy carriage clattered away, drawn by a fine matched pair of black horses.

  “That looks like old Lowenstein,” Rose said. “Trust him to pay a visit when none of us are there. He probably feels too guilty when he sees what we have to go through for him. But we’ll show him, won’t we, Molly!”

  We came into the workroom, shaking the raindrops from our shawls.

  “Careful of getting drops on that fabric!” Mr. Katz yelled.

  “Yeah, it might melt if it gets wet,” Rose commented and got a laugh.

  “That will cost you, Rose Levy,” Katz said. “You would do well to remember where you are and who is in charge.”

  “As if I could ever forget where I am,” Rose said. “I’m certainly not in our nice big living room back home in Poland with the porcelain stove in the corner and the grand piano.”

  “Then go back, if you don’t like it here,” Katz said. “In fact, maybe you’ll like to be one of my first volunteers.”

  “Volunteers to do what?”

  “Mr. Lowenstein was just here,” Katz said. “He’s got some bad news.”

  “They didn’t have the right brand of caviar for his lunch today,” Rose whispered to me.

  “The new designs won’t be ready as soon as he expected and you girls have worked so well that the orders are up to date. So there’s nothing much to do until we start work on the new line—maybe next week, who knows. Until then it’s half time for everybody. Come in at seven, home at noon. He’ll pay you two dollars a week, which is very generous when there’s not enough work.”

  “Very generous!” one of the girl blurted out. “Does he pay us extra when there’s too much work and you keep rushing us to get it finished?”

  “You can’t put everyone on half time,” Rose said. “These girls have families who rely on their wages.”

  “Like I said, Rose Levy, you could volunteer,” Katz said, giving her his sneering grin. “Half the girls could volunteer to stay home until the new work comes, and then the other half would get full wages. It’s up to you how you handle it.”

  “I tell you how we handle it,” Rose said, sticking out her chin and putting her hands on her hips as she faced him. “We don’t accept his measly offer. We walk out. We shut down this crummy sweatshop and we keep it shut until Mr. Lowenstein listens to us and treats us like human beings. Come on, everyone. Get your things. We’re leaving now.”

  It was fantastic. Every girl followed Rose to the door.

  “If you go, don’t think you’ll be coming back,” Katz screamed. “We’ll get new girls to replace you.”

  Rose turned and looked back at him. “Even if you can get them to cross our picket line, do you think you can train them in time for the new line and the rush job? We’re going to show you who has power around here. In the end you’re going to wish you were nicer to us.”

  Then she turned again and ran up the flight of steps, out to the street. We all followed her.

  “Come on, everyone, let’s go to Samuel’s to plan,” she said.

  We crossed the street to the deli.

  “I thought we weren’t going to walk out until he got the new designs,” Golda said. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

  “I know it’s taking a big gamble,” Rose said, “but he was going to put us all on half time anyway. Lowenstein won’t want to pay any scabs to work this week because there is no work and our picket line is going to keep new girls away. We must all show up tomorrow prepared to stand our ground around the shop and not let anyone inside.”

  “How can we do that?” a small, frail-looking girl asked. “Look at us. If Katz tried to knock us out of his way, he could.”

  “Then we need reinforcements,” Rose said. “Let’s go to the United Hebrew Trades and see if they can get us some male volunteers to help our cause.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I’m sure that Jacob will want to help.”

  “Jacob?” she asked. “You mean Mr. Singer?”

  I blushed. “Yes, Mr. Singer,” I said.

  She looked at me curiously. “And how come you’re on first-name terms with Mr. Singer when you only met him last week?”

  “He’s a friend of my friends,” I said and hoped she wouldn’t push me further.

  Someone was sent to Jacob’s house, and soon the word got around so that the Hebrew Trades headquarters on Essex Street was jam-packed when we met there later that day.

  “They did it. The girls walked out of Lowenstein’s.” The word went around quickly. Jacob arrived, so did some of the other men I had met the previous Wednesday night.

  “Where is Miss Blankenship? She’d want to be here,” someone suggested.

  “Should someone take a cab to fetch her?” I asked.

  Heads turned in my direction.

  “Take a cab? Listen to Miss Rockerfeller here,” the girl beside me said, rolling her eyes. “And where should you find the money for a cab? Not in this week’s pay packet.”

  “I only meant because it’s so important and she’d want to be here,” I said quickly. “And she has money to pay for cabs, doesn’t she?”

  “She has a telephone at her house,” Jacob said. “The University Settlement a couple of blocks away has a telephone that they let us use. Do you know how to use a phone, Molly?”

  “No, but I expect they’ll show me.”

  He took out a matchbook and scribbled on the back. “Here is her number. You turn the handle and when the operator comes on the line, you ask for the number. Got it?”

  “I think so.” I shoved the matchbook into my pocket.

  “And I usually give them a dime for the privilege,” Jacob said, fishing in his pocket and handing me a coin.

  I ran up the stairs from the basement, my heart beating fast. I was so annoyed at myself for making that slip. Of course these girls would never have taken a cab in their lives. Paddy Riley would never have slipped out of character so easily.

  I reached the austere building of the University Settlement and went inside. It reminded me of the time I had lived in the hostel run by a bible society. Strict and cold. Not the kind of place you’d want to stay longer than necessary. A distinguished-looking woman took me into a cluttered little office and pointed at the telephone on the wall. “Do you know how to use this contraption?”

  “I’ll manage, thank you.”

  She stood behind me, her hands on her hips, watching. It was with some trepidation that I cranked the handle and then heard a voice in my ear. “Number please?” I gave it to her and almost immediately a voice answered. “Miss Blankenship’s residence.”

  “Is Miss Blankenship at home, please?”

  “I’m afraid she’s not. This is her maid speaking.” A slow voice with an unfamiliar drawl to it.

  “When are you expecting her back?”

  “We was expectin’ her back by now. Would you care to leave a message for her?”

  I dictated my message, suggesting that she might want to join us as soon as possible. When I returned to the headquarters, fifty picketers had been assigned to the morning shift, with the rest ready and waiting to take the places of those who felt faint from standing too long. The meeting concluded in great high spirits but Nell Blankenship didn’t put in an appearance.

  Seventeen<
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  It was dark when we finally came out into the evening rain. I hurried home and not even the downpour was able to dampen my spirits. I was bursting with excitement that things were about to happen and that change was in the air. I was so caught up in the momentous things about to happen that I truly believed I was one of them, not just a girl from comfortable surroundings, playing at being a garment worker. This hit me, of course, when I crossed Washington Square and saw the lights from the elegant homes on the north side reflected in the wet pavement, and then Patchin Place with its own quiet serenity.

  I came into my living room to find Shamey and Bridie sitting with their cousin Malachy.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked coldly. “I thought I made it very clear to your mother that you were not to come to this house.”

  “Got a message for ya, don’t I,” he answered, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before holding out an envelope to me. “The lady asked if anyone could take a message to a Miss Molly Murphy at Patchin Place and I said I knew ya on account of my cousins lived at your house. So I got the job. And she said she’d pay me ten cents and I told her the Eastmans always paid us twenty-five. Then she said, ‘Likely enough, but I don’t have illicit funds at my disposal.’ Regular old tartar, she was. Real snooty like. She looks down her nose at me and says, ‘So do you want the job, or shall I ask one of these other boys instead?’ so of course I took it.”

  He handed me the envelope, now somewhat grimy and creased. I tore it open.

  The letter had been written in obvious haste and uneven penmanship, which must have meant that she had scribbled the note while still out and about. It also meant, I realized with a slight pang of jealousy, that she must have one of those new fountain pens that didn’t leave blots all over the place.

  Molly—I have had a successful day. Kathy was employed by Mostel’s on Canal Street and I’ve just been given some startling information that I have to check out. Can you meet me at Ormond’s Café at Canal and Broadway? I’ll wait for you.

  —N.

  I looked up to see three little faces watching me.

  “How long ago did she give you this note, Malachy?”

  “Not that long ago. Maybe an hour.”

  “Then I must go out again at once. Come on, you and I can walk together.”

  He glanced longingly and pointedly at the kitchen. I laughed. “All right. I’ll make us both some bread and dripping to keep us going. And you two—“I turned to Bridie and Shamey ”—had better have some too. Who knows how late I’ll be home.”

  Thus fortified, I grabbed an umbrella and we set off down Broadway. This time we rode the trolley. Malachy was entranced. I don’t think he had ever ridden an electric trolley before. When we got off at the Canal Street stop, I glanced around and spotted the lighted windows of Ormond’s Café.

  “Where was the lady when she gave you this letter? Was it around here?”

  “No. Down there a ways.” He nodded in the direction of the East River. “Down on Canal, not far from Orchard Street and the Walla Walla.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Now you hurry off home before it gets too late and your family starts to worry about you.”

  “They don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” he said with a swagger. Then he grabbed at the dime I offered him and took off down Canal at a lively trot. I crossed the street, successfully dodging hansom cabs, trolley cars, and even the occasional automobile, to reach the café. It was a large, opulent type of place, like a smaller Delmonico’s, with lots of red plush and potted palms and chandeliers. A piano was playing a lively waltz. I went in and stood in the foyer, looking around. Several tables were occupied, but I didn’t spot any familiar faces.

  “Can I help you, miss?” A waiter appeared at my side.

  “I was to meet someone here. A young lady. Tall, slim, dark haired. Well dressed.”

  “There has been no unescorted lady here this evening,” he said. “Do you have a table reserved?”

  “If we did, it would be in the name of Miss Nell Blankenship.”

  He shook his head. “Then perhaps you would care to sit there and wait.” He indicated a red velvet sofa between two potted palms.

  “Thank you.” I took the seat he indicated. The clock on the wall said seven thirty. Nell would have expected me to be working until seven, so she hadn’t hurried. Maybe she was on the trail of more interesting facts. I wondered what she might have unearthed that was important enough to have summoned me here and couldn’t wait. It was amazing enough that Katherine had worked for Mostel’s. Amazing, but annoying too. All the time I had worked there, not realizing! If only I had asked the right questions, I might have found out what happened to her myself. This thought made me stop and reconsider. Nell had leaped to the conclusion that Kathy’s workplace might have had something to do with her disappearance. Could Mr. Mostel or Seedy Sam have possibly been responsible for what happened to her? I shook my head in disbelief. They were not the most pleasant of men—hard-hearted, greedy, but it was a big leap from treating girls badly to disposing of one of them in the East River.

  I heard the clock on a nearby church chime eight and still Nell didn’t come.

  “Do you think your friend mistook the date?” the waiter asked. “Is there something I can bring to you?”

  I ordered a cup of coffee and sat sipping it as long minutes ticked by. I was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy. Why was she so late? And what had she been doing in the vicinity of the Walhalla Hall? It might not have been dark when she found Malachy to deliver the letter, but it was certainly dark enough now—and raining hard again. Not the sort of weather you would choose to dawdle outside, especially not in that neighborhood.

  At last I could wait there no longer. I was as tense as a wound watch spring. Something had detained Nell Blankenship and something had prevented her from sending me a second message, letting me know that she had been detained. I wasn’t sure what to do. It was now raining cats and dogs out there, the fat, heavy drops bouncing off the sidewalk and forming pools in the gutters. Miserable horses plodded past and cabbies sat, equally miserable with their derby hats jammed down on their heads and collars turned up against the rain. I stood outside the café and stared down Canal Street. I was not foolhardy enough to go snooping down there alone at this time of night. Once bitten, twice shy as they say. Should I just go home and wait for Nell to contact me in the morning? It was, of course, possible that she had had enough of the rain and had gone home herself. If I could find a telephone, I could call her. I still had her number on the match-book in my pocket.

  After some trial and error I located a theater on lower Broadway with a telephone. It was a Yiddish theater and I hoped that the owner would speak English. He did and insisted on making the call for me, not out of kindness, I fear, but rather not trusting me with his contraption. Nell’s maid answered again.

  “Has your mistress not come home yet?” I asked.

  “No, miss, and I’m real worried about her. She never comes home this late without getting word to me. She’s always real considerate that way.”

  “I’m sure she’s just been detained somewhere,” I said, trying to sound more reassuring than I felt. “Please let her know that I waited at the café for an hour, then I felt I couldn’t wait any longer. She knows where she can reach me.”

  “Very good, miss. I’ll tell her, just as soon as she comes home.” The poor girl’s voice shook. I knew how she felt. I should go home and wait for Nell to contact me, but I couldn’t. Suddenly I made a decision. I would go to Jacob. He would know what to do. I made my way up rainswept Broadway and turned onto Rivington Street. I just prayed he’d be home by now and was not still involved in strike planning at the Hebrew Trades headquarters. The door to the building opened easily. I climbed the dark stairway and tapped hesitantly on his door. I had a sudden, absurd hope that Jacob would answer and Nell would be inside with him.

  He opened the door. “Molly!” He looked pleased but war
y. “To what do I owe this honor so late at night? I thought you’d gone home hours ago. I’m not sure I should invite you in without damaging your reputation.” He grinned to let me know that this was a joke.

  “It’s Nell. I was supposed to meet her and she hasn’t turned up. I’m worried about her, Jacob.” The words came out in a rush. Quickly I told him what had happened and showed him Nell’s note. “I waited in the café for over an hour,” I said, “and the boy who delivered the note told me that Nell had been near the Walhalla Hall when she gave it to him. The Walhalla Hall is frequented by the Eastmans gang, Jacob.”

  Jacob gave a deep sigh. “I’ve been afraid something like this would happen. She takes the most appalling risks without a second thought. Do you know what she was doing in that part of town?”

  “She had discovered that Kathy worked for Mostel’s. They are on Canal Street, not too far away, so it could be that she was pursuing some connection there.”

  “I must go and find her,” Jacob said. “You have already done enough for one night. You should go home and rest.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “I’ll come with you. There’s safety in numbers.”

  He smiled. “Although two isn’t a very big number.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “But it’s very companionable.” His hand remained there until we started down the stairs.

  As we came out into the night the rain had stopped and a damp mist clung around the lampposts and area railings. The mist seemed to muffle all sound so that it felt as if we were alone in a dark world. Only the mournful tooting of ships out in the mist on the river told us that the city was still alive and awake. We cut down Chrystie Street. I kept an eye open all the way for any sign of a building that might be the Eastmans headquarters, but of course they’d hardly be likely to advertise the fact. The street was quiet, respectable, and in darkness. We came out onto Canal, not far from Orchard Street and the Walhalla. The area was dimly lit by the occasional gas lamp and the mist swirled in from the East River so that we moved like two ghosts.