Eastland Page 12

  “Farewell my beautiful, beautiful girl.” Tears streamed down Mr. Koznecki’s face as he tossed the rose onto the casket. A chorus of sobs erupted from the family.

  Despite my vow to stay strong, I panicked. Before I could think another thought, I was sprinting away from the gravesite and down the gravel path. I heard Mama call to me, but I didn’t stop. I ran ‘til I couldn’t breathe anymore.

  I had crumpled forward, gasping for air, when I saw a bellbottom cuff peeking out from behind an elm tree. I straightened, still panting, as Lars Nielsen stepped into view.

  “Miss Pageau! Please, come. Sit.” He wiped rain from a nearby bench with his cap. We sat together.

  “You …? How …?” My broken heart throbbed with a buoyant excitement.

  “I had to see you today to be sure you were all right. I wanted to come to the church.” He paused. “But I thought, well, seeing me might disturb Karel. This day would be hard enough for him and his parents, so I kept my distance.” Lars motioned to the elm he’d been hiding behind. “Out of respect for you and for Mae’s family.”

  Why had I ever doubted him? I fought back a smile, but it found a way to escape.

  “It’s good to see you smile, Miss Pageau.” Lars gingerly pointed a finger at my watch. “So, what’s that?”

  I put my hand over my heart. “Mae gave me this.”

  “A ribbon?”

  “No, the watch. I’m wearing the ribbon because …” But I couldn’t go on.

  “You don’t have to explain. I understand. Purple was Mae’s favorite color.”

  I looked at those big-boned cheeks, that sensitive smile. Mae would have loved that face if only the two had had a chance to meet. Then again, maybe they had met! Not in any earthly way. But maybe, somehow, Mae had compelled Lars to find me.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Pageau, that you had to lose her.”

  “Me too. Thank you for understanding, Mr. Nielsen.”

  “Lars. Please.”

  “Lars,” I said out loud for the very first time.

  “So, can I call you by your given name?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He squeezed his wet cap. Water dripped onto his shoes.

  “You may call me by my nickname.”

  “But isn’t that only for family or your close friends?”

  “It is.”

  It took a second, but then Lars smiled. “De-e-e,” he said, drawing out my name so sweetly.

  “You!” someone shouted.

  I twisted around on the bench.

  Karel stood a few feet away, his sallow face now flushed with anger.

  “What makes you think you can call Miss Pageau by her first name? You’ve only known her for five days.”

  I got up and walked to him. “It feels like we’ve lived a whole lifetime in these past five days.”

  Karel was silent for a moment. “That might be true, but these unusual circumstances don’t give sailor-boy any special privileges.”

  “I won’t take any.” Lars stood. “I swear.”

  I was staring between Lars and Karel, when I was struck by the promise I’d made only this morning. This day should have been all about Karel. It wasn’t about me or my conflicted feelings for these two men.

  “Karel needs me today.” I took hold of his arm. “Thank you, Lars, for coming. But we really must be getting back to his family.”

  Karel turned his back on Lars. I glanced over my shoulder.

  “Saturday,” Lars mouthed. He held up five fingers. “Five o’clock.”

  22

  Black Wednesday’s downpours had turned to random sprinkles by Thursday morning, but the damage had already been done. Sewers overflowed, leaving ankle-deep streams running along every curb. Lawns were drenched; the sidewalks caked with slippery muck. It had been hard enough this morning to ready myself to return to work, but to wade through such a sloshy world seemed excessively cruel.

  To add to my distress, I knew I’d have to pass all the same places and people Mae and I used to see each day. What I needed to do was take the direct route to and from work. No more dilly-dallying past the shops on Twenty-Second Street. I’d go straight up my block to the north gate on Cicero Avenue and Twenty-Third Street. The shorter walk would save me time and effort. And any possibility of fun.

  I scooped up my lunch basket and put the sign in the parlor window for the iceman. We needed twenty pounds of ice to get us through the next three days until he made his neighborhood rounds again. I grabbed my umbrella from the wicker stand, in case the weather turned nasty, and then opened the front door. I paused and placed my hand on my heart. My watch was still there, dangling so daintily from its golden bow.

  Relieved, I headed outside. Mrs. Mulligan had already put her placard in her parlor window. She needed only fifteen pounds of ice. I knew she could use more, but that was probably all she could afford this week. No matter how hard life got for her and her seven scrawny children, she never complained. I would try to remember that next time I felt sorry for myself.

  Even though I’d taken the direct route, the walk to Western Electric seemed longer, somehow, on my own. Time must pass quicker when you were talking to a friend. I inhaled a sigh of self-pity, then thought of the Mulligan gang, and blew it out.

  At the corner, I stopped a few feet back from the street and waited for a Chicago Daily News delivery truck and the milkman’s wagon to splash by. I hiked up the hem of my skirt, hopped over the garbage-strewn puddle near the curb, and crossed the muddy street. Someone shouted an obscenity. I looked around, but hardly anyone was about.

  Normally, the sidewalks would be crowded with other Western Electric employees heading off to work. But people still needed time to grieve. Plus, a full staff wasn’t expected back until the following Monday.

  In the last couple of years, the outer yards and the streets around the company had become like parking lots for all the newly acquired employee motorcars. Streetcars would run on a constant schedule up and down Twenty-Second Street and Cicero Avenue, dropping off and picking up thousands of workers. Bakeries would open early for breakfast, treating everyone to the delicious aromas of fresh-from-the-oven breads and pastries. Corner stores would be packed with shoppers buying Camels and Coca-Cola.

  But this morning, there weren’t any Model T’s parked along the curbs. Symansky’s Bakery was dark, a crepe of flowers hanging on the locked door. It should have been relatively quiet outside, but for some odd reason, it wasn’t.

  An angry hum had invaded the calm.

  I hastened on, the heated shouts getting louder with each step. What was going on? Was there an accident? Had someone been murdered?

  A police paddy wagon sped up the street. Two men I recognized from the telephone apparatus department passed me at a fast clip. Someone must have been murdered! And then I remembered what Dolly O’Brien had told me on Tuesday. Western Electric was under siege.

  My heart pounded as I ran the rest of the way to work.

  A mob of hundreds swarmed the wrought iron gates in an apparent frenzy for jobs made available by victims who’d been buried only yesterday.

  Couldn’t this agitated crowd see the large, black wreaths on the brick towers on either side of the gates? Didn’t they notice the black-and-white bunting draped across the entrance?

  Cautiously, I approached the outer yard, watching with a handful of other horrified employees as company security guards and Cicero police battled to keep peace.

  Two guards propped a paint-stained ladder up against one of the brick towers. One guard held the ladder in place, while the other climbed up a few rungs until he was visible above the crowd. Someone threw him a megaphone.

  “Employees must proceed to the south gate,” the guard blared through the bullhorn. “Be prepared to show your identification badge. No badge, no entrance.”

  I was digging through my basket for my identification, when someone tugged at me, ripping the cuff of my sleeve.

  “Yo
u work here!” screamed a woman with silvery hair. “Help me! Please! I need a job.”

  I stared at this woman, frightened by her desperation, yet at the same time pitying her.

  “I have no authority. I can’t help you.”

  “But you work here.” She pointed to the badge in my hand. “You must be able to do something. I lost my husband and now, my only son. My boy worked here.” Her bony shoulders drooped. “And now, he’s dead. Drowned in that damn river.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you.” I turned to escape.

  She snagged my dress again, this time ripping my torn sleeve up to the elbow.

  “Leave her be!” a gruff voice thundered.

  I looked back into the bulldog face of one of our security guards.

  “Get back now!” The bulldog smacked a billy club against his open palm. “You don’t want any trouble from me now, missus.” He gave his club another hard thwak.

  The silver-haired woman hesitated a moment and then dropped my arm before skulking away.

  “Thank you, Mr. …”

  “Bruno.”

  “I’m grateful for your help, Mr. Bruno.” I shook my head. “That poor woman.”

  “What? Her? She ruined your dress!”

  “I can mend my sleeve.” But what about her life? Who’d mend those shredded pieces?

  “Don’t give her another thought. Riffraff, every one of them.” Mr. Bruno waved good-bye with his billy club and strutted back to his patrol.

  Despite his advice, I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman and her sad situation. But by the grace of God, Mama could have been out there today. What would she have done if I had died? Would she have been forced to take on extra work? Or worse yet, work in some sweatshop? Would she have been evicted?

  All that pitiful, sonless woman wanted was a chance to work for her food. That didn’t seem too much to ask, yet she almost got a billy club to the skull for all her efforts.

  I fell into step with the small band of employees scurrying down the block toward the south gates. Once inside the inner yard, I slowed, trying to gather the remnants of my sleeve. I could still hear the cries of the crowd, but I felt safer here on the other side of those wrought iron bars. I was breathing a sigh of relief, when Officer Kennelly came up beside me. He had an arm protectively around the shoulders of Dolly O’Brien.

  “Why thank you, officer,” she said coquettishly, “for escorting me through that hostile gang. How can I ever repay you?”

  “I’m only doing my job.” The beat cop blushed.

  Dolly set her hand on his uniformed chest. “There must be something I can do for you? If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can think of something.”

  Officer Kennelly peered at me over the top of Dolly’s red head. He looked forlorn, like a puppy begging to be picked up.

  Nothing I could do, I shrugged, about Dolly, or the unemployed, or that woman with the silver hair. Kennelly was on his own. He looked down at Dolly.

  “Like I said, ma’am. Doing what needs to be done.”

  “Ma’am? I’m a ‘miss,’” Dolly screeched as Kennelly made a speedy getaway. “Well, don’t that beat all?” Dolly grumbled and turned around. “Delia! I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Can’t fault a girl for trying.” Dolly fluffed her unruly curls. “I was so looking forward to our employee picnic. Best place to meet single men, you know. And now.” She let out a whiny sigh. “Have to wait a whole year for another picnic.”

  “If we have another one.”

  “What? Why wouldn’t we?”

  I glared at her, dumbfounded.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you. Honestly, Dee. Sometimes I spill at the mouth.”

  “Yeah, well, I know what you mean about the picnic. I was hoping I might get the chance to know someone, too.” I sighed. “Can’t believe I was worried about dating when my best friend was about to die.”

  We crossed the expansive inner yard toward the Central Office buildings.

  “Wasn’t Mae dancing with Johnny Volo?”

  “Yes, so?”

  “You shouldn’t feel bad about anything. Mae went on that picnic hoping to meet up with some fella and have a gay old time. And she did. She was. Right up to …” Dolly paused. “Well, you know. Anyway, every available female at Western Electric had her sights set on Johnny. But apparently, he was only interested in Mae.”

  As we neared the entrance of my building, my feet dragged. “Wonder what we’ll find in there?”

  “Place was empty earlier this week. S’pose the same will be true today.”

  I took a fortifying breath and headed into building TwentyFive. We walked the length of the long corridor toward the north stairway, our heels clicking on the hardwood floor. At the base of the stairs, I hesitated.

  “I can walk you up to coiling, Dee. It’s really no problem. No one would mind if I was a little late, considering all the hours I’ve put in this past week.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I … I can do this.”

  At least that was what I’d told myself.

  The morning whistle blew one long blast. “Five-minute warning.” Dolly seized my elbow and held me in place. “Sure you want to go alone?”

  “I’ll be okay.” I forced a smile.

  “All right. But how’s about we meet up for lunch?”

  Lunch. Something I had always shared with Mae. Tears stung my eyes as I shrugged.

  “See you later, then.” Dolly let go of my arm. “Take care of yourself, Dee.” She dashed off toward the switchboard, two buildings away.

  23

  I dragged myself up two flights of stairs to the time clock on the third floor. I found my time card on the rack for the coiling department and placed the cream-colored card into the pocketshaped slot on the front of the wooden clock. I pulled the lever below the slot, and the clock punched me in at seven-twentyseven. I dropped my card back into the rack and turned toward my department.

  Who would be there? How many women had survived? How many would be fit enough to come back to work today? My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. Why not sneak off and go home? There was no one around to tattle on me.

  Take a chance. Just this once.

  I marched down the hall.

  As I neared department 2322, I paused for a second to peer

  through the glass in the top half of the wooden door. In a room normally occupied by thirty women, I counted only eleven. I continued down the empty corridor, pausing to peek through each windowed door.

  In department 2323, I found four women.

  In department 2326, nine.

  Department 2327, the coiling department, my coiling department, had how many? I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt and peered inside.

  All thirty workstations were deserted. Maybe the gals weren’t up to coming back? It was probably too soon. It couldn’t be anything else? Could it?

  I couldn’t be the only survivor?

  The whistle blew two long blasts, jarring me. I choked back a sob as I opened the door and plodded toward workbench seven, the station I’d shared with Mae only last week.

  “Delia!” someone called from behind. I spun around.

  Maria Tomaso, workbench four, waddled through the door. She was alive and here and still quite pregnant. “Oh, Dee! I’m so relieved to see you!” Maria stopped and clutched her stomach.

  I dropped my lunch basket and umbrella on the hardwood floor and rushed to her side.

  “The calls from the families came in drips and dribbles all week.” She leaned on me as we hobbled toward her bench. “Mr. Hofstedder and I could not believe that girl after girl had died. And then we heard about you!” She looked at me, her dark eyes brimming with tears. “We were both so thankful.”

  I eased her onto her bench, and then I sat beside her.

  “I still can’t believe they’re all gone.” Maria trembled, her body wracked with sobs. “Eleanor, Rose,
Helena, Frances, Louise. Gone! All gone!”

  I remembered the group of gals I’d seen in the Promenade salon, chatting and laughing.

  “My friend Jennie!” Maria went on. “Her younger sister, Anna! Only sixteen!”

  The two sisters had been dressed in similar white-eyelet dresses like twins. Now, sweet, sweet Anna would remain sixteen forever, frozen in time like Mae. Tears streamed down my cheeks and dripped onto my lap.

  “We heard bell divers had found Lillian. She’d been buried beneath a china hutch.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. I struggled not to scream.

  “Funny little Elizabeth. She could always make me laugh. Barbara, Julia, Fannie! I loved Fannie. She made the best strudel. And Mae!” Maria seized my hands. “Oh, Dee! Your friend. I’m so sorry.”

  She wailed hysterically now. I wept with her.

  And so we sat, the last two remaining coilers in department 2327, and mourned all the women who’d once shared this room with us. They’d been our friends, our confidantes, our support in times of need. I thought about the sweat we’d lost on those unbearably hot, humid August days. How we’d sat so close together in the lunchroom on chilly January afternoons.

  “Miss Pageau,” a familiar voice called. “May I have a word?”

  Mr. Hofstedder stood in the doorway, waggling a fat finger at me.

  “Please.” His voice squeaked with strain. “I need to speak with you.”

  I pulled a hankie from my pocket, wiped my tear-streaked face, and blew my nose. “I’ll be right back, Maria.” She whimpered and nodded as I followed Mr. Hofstedder into the hallway.

  “We have a predicament here,” he said, without so much as a hail or hello or a breath. “A whole department and no workers.”

  “I noticed, sir.” A blind man would have noticed the emptiness in that room.

  “Oh, my. I’m terribly sorry. What must you think of me, Miss Pageau? It’s only that I’m so overwhelmed. Everyone’s gone. What to do? What to do?” He expelled a heavy sigh. “You were on that boat? Right? You survived. But of course, you survived. You’re standing here, aren’t you?” He whipped out the striped handkerchief protruding from his waistcoat pocket and wiped the sweat from his hairy upper lip. “Forgive me, Miss Pageau. I’m not making any sense today. Nothing makes any sense today.”