Ashes of Roses, Page 2

  “Arrangements? Arrangements for what?”

  I couldn’t help but notice the way the Americans talked. They spoke the English language, but it was hard to understand, and even harder on the ears. The man’s “r”s sounded like a dog’s growl, instead of Da’s, which were soft like a purrin’ cat.

  The man led us into a side room. There were other families there, all lookin’ as confused as we were. “Sit here and wait.”

  We all sat without protest, but as soon as the man left, Da gripped Ma’s arm. “What the devil’s goin’ on?”

  Ma’s eyes were huge with fright. “It’s Joseph. They won’t let the poor babe into the country.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Da said. “Why would they keep out a baby? What harm could he do to anyone?”

  Ma cuddled Joseph to her shoulder and stroked his head, but he was havin’ none of it. “It’s his eyes. They’re sayin’ he has some sort of infection. They told me the name. Nobody with this disease is allowed in the country.”

  “He’s never had any trouble with his eyes. Let me see him.” Da reached over and took Joseph into his lap.

  “What’s Joseph got writ on him?” Bridget asked. “Read me what it says.”

  Someone had chalked the letters “E C” on his little wool jacket. “It’s not a word,” I whispered in her ear. “It’s just letters.” I noticed several other people in the room with the same chalkmarks on their clothes. They all looked perfectly normal to me.

  Bridget’s voice got higher. “What’s happened to Joseph’s eyes? They’re all squinty.”

  “She’s right,” I said. “He wasn’t like that before. What did they do to him?”

  Ma’s hand trembled as she reached over and smoothed back Joseph’s hair. “It’s the drops. They pried his eyes wide open and squeezed somethin’ in from a bottle. Must have stung like the very devil.”

  “I’ll see about this.” Da handed Joseph back to Ma. “There wasn’t a thing wrong with the boy’s eyes till they messed with him. Tried to blind the poor babe, they did.”

  He started out of the room.

  “Michael, please don’t go. They told us to stay here and wait.”

  Da didn’t listen to her. I followed him as far as the door and watched as he marched directly to the head of the eye-examination line. The examiner pointed to the end of the line. They argued for a few minutes, with Da wavin’ his arms, gesturin’ toward us. I didn’t need to hear the words to know that Da wasn’t winnin’ the argument. Then he went over to the next examiner, and the hand-wavin’ started anew. I leaned out of the doorway so I could see him talkin’ to three more people at desks, gettin’ more agitated with each one. Finally, a man took him by the elbow and brought him over to our room. I ducked back to the bench so Da wouldn’t know I’d been spyin’ on him.

  “What did they say, Michael?” Ma asked. “Is it all settled, then?”

  Da didn’t have to answer. From the look on his face, I knew that little Joseph Nolan was not about to become an American. And if he couldn’t, I had a gnawin’ fear that none of us could.

  3

  “It’s no use,” Da said. “They say anybody who’s got the trachoma doesn’t get into America. That’s the law.”

  “Is it catchin’?” I edged away from Joseph, thinkin’ of the many times I had held him. “He seemed fine before.” Of course, he’d been bawlin’ his way clear across the ocean, but that was just Joseph.

  Da rubbed his forehead. “The man said most people come in here not knowin’ they have it.”

  “Can they make him better?” I asked. “Can we…”

  Da didn’t let me finish. “Stop with yer questions, girl. How’s a man to think?”

  I watched as the people who were behind us in line moved ahead to the next holdin’ pen. I could hear a ferry blast its horn.

  “So we all return now?” Ma asked. “After everything it took to get here, now they ship all of us back?”

  Da shook his head. “Not all of us. Joseph’s the only one. The rest of us checked out fine.”

  Ma pulled Joseph close to her. “Have ye lost yer mind, Michael? I’m not givin’ up my baby. If Joseph goes back, we all go back.”

  Da’s head snapped up. “And use what to pay for the passage?”

  Ma clutched at Da’s sleeve. “But we had some money left after we paid for the tickets.”

  “Not enough.”

  “Surely there’s a less expensive ship. One we could all afford to take.”

  “Good Lord, Margaret, if we had any cheaper quarters they’d be draggin’ us across the sea at the end of a tow rope.”

  Ma was sobbin’ now, her face buried in Joseph’s shoulder. I patted her back, makin’ sure not to get too close to Joseph. Then I saw Maureen standin’ in the registry room, lookin’ around with a panicked expression on her face. In all the fuss about Joseph we’d forgotten her. I ran out to get her.

  Maureen looked relieved when she saw me. “Where did everybody go?”

  I pointed to our family sittin’ in the side room.

  “Why’s Joseph takin’ on so?”

  “They put somethin’ in his eyes. He’s got the trachoma.”

  “What’s that?” Maureen looked past me. “What’s got Ma so upset?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s bad enough to keep Joseph out of America. He has to go back.”

  Maureen just stared at me for a few seconds; then her eyes narrowed. I knew that look. Maureen’s temper was worse than Da’s. “Oh, no, they don’t. Nobody can make me go back. I passed the examination. I’m goin’ to be an American and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Don’t get so worked up. Joseph’s the only one they’re holdin’ back. Da says there’s not enough money to send us all back to Ireland.”

  “Well, a baby can’t cross the ocean by himself. Did ye think of that? Somebody will have to go with him.”

  Maureen was right. Da had to be here to support us with his wages, and Ma would need to care for Bridget and bring in some extra money with her sewin’. Maureen was too young to care for Joseph all the way back over the ocean. So there was only one logical person. Me. But they couldn’t make me do it. I’d dive off Ellis Island and swim for New York before I’d get on a boat bound for Ireland. We had nothin’ back in Ireland but cranky old Grandma Nolan. And there wasn’t a boy in Limerick I’d want for a husband. I ran back to the family just in time to hear the plan Da had come up with.

  “I’ll take the boy back to my mother,” he said. “She’ll be happy to care for him.”

  Da was goin’? I didn’t have to go back? And Grandma Nolan would be happy to get Joseph? Not likely. As far as I’d seen, she was never happy about anything.

  “I’ll have to work a while to get the money to book my passage back to America,” Da continued. “If the boy’s eyes are clear by then, I’ll bring him. If not, he can stay with my mother. Lord knows, she’s raised enough Nolan boys to make a good job of it.”

  “Joseph is not one of yer mother’s Nolan boys,” Ma sobbed. “He’s my son, not hers.” But Da wasn’t listenin’. He was busy countin’ out the money he had.

  I once heard Grandma Nolan say that children should be raised like cabbages—they’d do just fine if ye kept pullin’ out the weeds. Poor Joseph was spoiled, bein’ the youngest, and headstrong. Grandma would have a good deal of weed-pullin’ to do on him, I suspected.

  There was another blast from the ferry whistle. An old woman sat on the bench across from us with her belongin’s, cryin’ as her family kissed her goodbye and left her. There was an “H” chalked on her coat. Did that stand for a broken heart? What kind of country would break up families this way?

  Ma was near hysterical now. “I can’t abandon my baby. He’s barely weaned.”

  “He’s weaned almost six months now, Margaret.” Da jutted out his chin, but his eyes had the shimmer of tears in them. “I’ve reasoned this out, and there’s no other way. Think of yer daughters. There’s no life for them in Ireland.”
>
  “They’ll marry and have children,” Ma said. “It was good enough for me.”

  “But not for me,” I whispered, not quite brave enough to say the words for all to hear.

  Ma rose from the bench. “What about yer dreams for yer only son in America? Ye’re givin’ up on him?”

  “Joseph will come to America one day, but this isn’t his time.” He stood up. “Now, take the girls and get in line.”

  Ma clutched at Da’s lapels. “I don’t know how to make my way here alone, Michael.”

  “Ye’ll not be alone. Ye’ll be with my brother and his family. And Margaret Rose is almost full-grown. She’ll be a help to ye.” He pushed some money and a folded piece of paper into her hand. “I’m leavin’ myself just enough money for the return trip. Give the rest to Patrick. Here’s his address. I’ll send ye a letter as soon as I get there. And be sure to write and let me know how ye’re doin’.”

  Da unstrapped the trunk, pulled out a few things for himself and Joseph, and packed them in the smaller suitcase.

  The examiner came into the room. “We’ll have to separate you now. Who is going back with the child?”

  “I’ll be takin’ him,” Da said.

  “All right, then, follow me.”

  Da kissed us each in turn. “Be strong,” he whispered to me. “Yer ma needs ye now.”

  “Maybe Ma should be the one to take Joseph,” I whispered back.

  Da shook his head. “Leave it be, Margaret Rose. Yer ma wasn’t so keen on comin’ here in the first place. If she goes back…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  Da tried to pull the squallin’ Joseph from Ma’s arms, but Joseph hung on like a burdock. The poor babe was tired and sick. All he wanted was his ma, and I couldn’t stand to watch the struggle. I stepped behind Ma and pried Joseph’s little fists away from the collar of her coat.

  As Da wrenched Joseph away, Ma followed him out into the registry room, but I caught her around her waist and held tight. “Don’t take my baby!” Ma wailed. “Please, Michael, he needs me.”

  The examiner cleared his throat and looked away. He had a sad expression on his face, as if he’d watched this scene play out a hundred times before.

  “Margaret Rose,” Da said, his voice hoarse. “Help yer mother.” He had tears rollin’ down his cheeks.

  I knew he was askin’ for help for himself, not Ma. “Please, Ma,” I said, pressin’ my cheek against hers. “Nothin’ can be done. Ye’re only makin’ it worse fer all of us.” I knew I was doin’ the right thing, but it felt as if I was breakin’ apart all the links that held our family together.

  I don’t know if it was my words or my holdin’ her back that got through to Ma. All of a sudden she stopped strugglin’ and sagged against me. Then her piercin’ scream echoed at me from all corners of the huge room, like arrows goin’ through my body.

  The last thing I saw was Joseph reachin’ his little arms over Da’s shoulder, his eyes wide with the shock of betrayal. I hadn’t even kissed my poor brother goodbye.

  4

  We huddled together in the registry room, tryin’ to comfort Ma, though she was near inconsolable. People walked around us, as if we were just a pile of luggage. It seemed forever before Ma quieted down enough to be reasoned with.

  “Joseph will be fine,” I said. “He’ll probably be comin’ back with Da in just a few weeks.”

  “Two weeks each way for the passage,” Ma said, sniffling. “In between, another month or two earnin’ the fare. Babies forget. My own son won’t know me when we meet again.”

  Ma pulled out her handkerchief and sobbed into it until a woman in uniform tapped her gently on the shoulder. “You must move on now. Follow me, please.” She took us across the registry room and pointed to a long bench surrounded by high railings and a chain fence. “Wait here until your name is called.”

  We settled ourselves and our goods and looked up to find ourselves facin’ a bench full of people on the other side of our pen. Behind them was another pen, and another, stretchin’ as far as we could see, all crammed with people.

  Maureen folded her arms and slid down in the seat. “We’ve done enough waitin’. I want to see New York.”

  “Hush,” Ma said. “We might miss hearin’ our name.”

  So we sat in silence, jumpin’ every time a person came by callin’ out names. They were speakin’ in all kinds of languages, recitin’ names unlike any I’d ever heard. It wasn’t long before the words melted into each other, and I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize our name even if I heard it loud and clear.

  The people around us looked foreign. Not Irish, for sure. Most had brown or black hair, dark skin, and odd clothing. The women wore full, printed skirts with shawls and kerchiefs. Even the tiniest of the girls were bundled up like little old ladies. Some of the men wore strange fur hats that looked like overturned flowerpots. I tried to eavesdrop on their conversations, but the words made no sense. The only thing we all had in common was the fear on our faces.

  I stood up and looked around. Though there had been two thousand of us on the boat from Ireland, I didn’t see a familiar face now, or even the pale skin and blue eyes of an Irishman. In the time we’d lost with the business over Joseph, it seemed our whole ship had been passed through Ellis Island.

  My heart felt like a fist in my chest. Poor little Joseph. Would Da be able to comfort him? I felt guiltily grateful that Ma had stayed with us. Though Da was the head of the family, it was Ma who could make me feel better when I was sick or frightened. I had the feelin’ I’d be needin’ that comfort in the comin’ weeks. As much as I wanted the adventure of comin’ to America, I could already feel myself longin’ for the familiar streets of Limerick and the sight of Thomond Bridge over the River Shannon.

  Ma jumped suddenly to her feet. “Nolan! That’s us.” We hastily gathered up our goods and half carried, half dragged them over to the registration desk. Ma had to carry Bridget, because she’d fallen asleep.

  We arrived at the desk at the same time as another family.

  “It was our name they called,” Ma said. “Just now. Nolan.”

  The man looked up from his book. “They called Cohen,” he said. “Go back and wait your turn. And listen more carefully this time.”

  Ma’s face flushed red. “Come, children.” When we got back to our seats, another family had taken them.

  Ma wanted to stand there, but a guard made us move along. “Find seats. Everyone must be seated,” he said. “We can’t have people milling around.”

  “We’re not millin’, we’re standin’ still,” Maureen snapped.

  “Take those seats over there.” The guard pointed way back in the room.

  “But here are some closer,” Ma offered.

  The guard pointed again. “Over there, and be quick about it.”

  We dragged our luggage back to where the guard told us to go. “That’s the kind of trouble yer smart mouth is goin’ to get us in America,” Ma said to Maureen. “I don’t want to hear any of yer sass when we meet yer Uncle Patrick. Is that understood?”

  Maureen sat down with a thud, refusin’ to look at Ma. Now we were farther from where the names were bein’ called out, so we had to strain our ears to hear. When we finally heard “Nolan,” we all jumped off the bench as if shot from a cannon.

  We went to a different desk this time. A man with glasses on the end of his nose looked up. “The family of Michael Nolan?”

  “Yes,” Ma said.

  “Where’s the husband? Michael Nolan? Are you here?” His voice rose. “Michael Nolan!”

  “He’s gone back with our little brother, Joseph,” I said. “He had the trachoma.”

  Ma gave me a look that said I had revealed too much of our business. Da had told us to answer the questions and not volunteer anything extra.

  The examiner fixed his sharp gaze on me. “There’s no man of the family?”

  “There was a man of the family,” Maureen said. She was about to say more, but Ma stuck her in
the ribs with her elbow.

  “I can’t let you in the country with no means to support yourselves.”

  “I can sew,” Ma blurted out. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m a seamstress. A good one.”

  The man shook his head. “You can’t support a family on the pittance one woman can bring in with her sewing.”

  “My oldest daughter is a seamstress, too.”

  Ma’s elbow wiped the surprised look from my face. Though I’d done a bit of mendin’ for the family, I couldn’t be called a seamstress by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I knew better than to give myself away.

  The man leaned back and studied us for a second. “All right. That’s better. Let’s get on with the questions. Your name?”

  “Margaret Nolan.”

  “Your birthplace?”

  Ma hesitated, not understandin’ his accent.

  “Where were you born?”

  “Oh. Ireland. Limerick.”

  “Your destination?”

  “New York City.”

  “Where will you be staying? Do you have any family here?”

  “Yes.” Ma pulled a wrinkled piece of paper with Uncle Patrick’s address from her pocket and smoothed it out on the desk.

  “Have they been notified of your arrival?”

  “Yes,” Ma said. “My husband’s brother is expectin’ us. He’ll see to us until my husband comes back.”

  The man shook his head and mumbled, “They always think the husbands are coming back.”

  Ma’s face went red from anger this time.

  The examiner carried on with the questions, spittin’ them out in rapid fire like bullets. He wanted to know Ma’s occupation, if she’d ever been in jail, and if she was an anarchist, whatever that was. Then he asked how much money she had.

  “I don’t know … My husband gave me … I haven’t counted it.” She pulled out the mess of bills and coins and started to hand it to him, but he just waved it away and wrote somethin’ down.

  “Do you have a job waiting for you in this country?” We all knew this was a trick question. The law didn’t allow a person to have a job lined up before comin’ here. But they didn’t want immigrants who could become a burden on the state, so, if they thought it unlikely that ye’d get a job, they’d ship ye back. That didn’t make any sense to me. A person could lose either way.