Eastland Page 2

  Today should have been my day to live.

  I stared at the flaking, yellow paint on our front door, wondering what to do. Should I follow Mae and Karel? Did I have the nerve to disobey Mama for the very first time? But what about her premonition? How could a picnic be dangerous? Yet Mama had never been wrong before, except maybe the time when she’d predicted that Mrs. Mulligan would die a tragic death. Our neighbor was still very much alive, but her twin sister had been killed the next day. She’d slipped off an icy curb right in front of the coal man’s wagon and had been trampled by his two horses.

  The very idea of opposing Mama …

  Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about Karel and Mae. Soon they’d be boarding the Eastland, and Mae would search out our pals. Where did that leave Karel? Without me, he wouldn’t know a soul. If only I were there to help him pass the time.

  And what if Mama was right? Wouldn’t Mae and Karel need my help?

  I sprang to my feet, my heart thundering, and dashed down the street.

  3

  Mae and Karel had a ten-minute head start over me. It would take more than a little hustling to catch up with them. But with hundreds of picnic-goers swarming the narrow sidewalks, I could barely walk, let alone run, the four blocks to the nearest Chicago-bound streetcar. As if I didn’t have enough trouble, the sprinkles I’d hoped would let up today seemed to be worsening. I sidestepped a muddy puddle and turned onto Twenty-Second Street, the paved boulevard that Mae and I took to work each day.

  It was the wrong way to go.

  People poured in from every side street like water through a funnel. I found myself pressed up against the plate-glass window fronts of the neighborhood stores. I slithered past the butcher shop with the sides of beef dangling from hooks in the window. On days when the wind blew in from the east, Cicero was near enough to the Union stockyards to catch the stench of slaughter. But now, the rain and this great surge of picnickers masked any hint of dung or urine. I’d slipped around the red-and-white-striped barber pole in front of Giuseppe’s Barber Emporium when someone called to me.

  “Delia! What’s the rush?”

  Mr. Mazurski, the greengrocer, was filling an outside stand with potatoes beneath the bright orange canvas awning of his shop. He waved a spud at me.

  “You’ve maybe somewhere special to go today?”

  “Now, Stosh. Don’t tease the girl.” Mrs. Mazurski scuttled out from behind her cash register. “And Delia, tell Mae thanks again for the tickets.”

  “Yes, please,” said Mr. Mazurski. “We’re taking the last steamer. We’ll see you in Indiana this afternoon.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  I lurched forward, but not before smacking into the woman in front of me and knocking her feathery, aqua hat off her head. I caught it before it hit the wet sidewalk. The woman turned, revealing a tangle of red curls and a pair of fiery, emerald eyes.

  “Dolly! I’m so sorry.” I handed back her hat.

  Dolly O’Brien, switchboard operator at Western Electric, smiled at me with her heart-shaped lips. “Don’t bother yourself. This mob is madness. How’re we ever gonna catch a streetcar?”

  “I don’t know.” But I had to try. I elbowed my way through the crowd.

  “See you at Washington Park, Dee?”

  “Mm, yeah, sure.” Although I really didn’t know Dolly O’Brien all that well.

  “Love your dress,” she shouted after me. “And that watch!”

  I gave a wave of thanks over my shoulder and darted away.

  A block later, I reached the Western Electric trolley stop at the corner of Twenty-Second Street and Cicero Avenue. I searched for Mae and Karel, but they weren’t in line.

  Had I already missed them?

  When the next crimson streetcar arrived, the crowd clambered aboard. In the stampede, I found myself cast aside and left to wait with a dozen others for the next car. But that just wouldn’t do. If I didn’t catch up with Mae and Karel before they reached the docks, I’d lose them amid the seven thousand Western Electric employees, families, and friends boarding the six steamers.

  I burst from the line and scrambled through the opened doors at the rear of the streetcar, seconds before it rumbled away. I steadied myself on the steps and glanced down at my new watch. It was six-ten. The Eastland would begin boarding in twenty minutes, though the ship wasn’t scheduled to depart until seven-thirty. That gave me at least an hour to make it aboard. I squeezed past the elderly couple on the top step and burst into the center aisle. The packed trolley stank of damp woolen clothing and picnic baskets brimming with cabbage golabki and Italian salami. I was inching toward the fare box at the front of the car, past chatty passengers squished side by side on the bench seats, when it dawned on me that I’d left my handbag back home on my abandoned picnic basket. I didn’t have any money!

  Should I turn around and pretend I’d already paid my way? But what if the motorman saw me? He’d put me off at the next stop. This was a real …

  “Emergency. You need this in case of trouble,” Mama had advised after I’d measured the material for my new picnic outfit. “For when you need extra money.”

  I thrust my hand into the secret pocket hidden in the lining of my dress and fished out a coin. And to think I’d argued with Mama about the extra sewing time.

  When I reached the front of the trolley, I plunked my nickel into the fare box mounted on the ceiling beside the motorman and then made my way onto the steps of the opened front doors. I inhaled a lungful of fresh air. Overhead, the electric streetcar lines crackled and sizzled with each herky-jerky start and stop. I loved the bumpy ride, but many people did not. Smart motormen kept a bucket of straw handy to cover vomit left behind by nauseous passengers. I was leaning against the wooden banister, listening to the squeaky rattle of the mesh screens on the windows, when the truth of my situation flared like fireworks.

  I had disrespected Mama. Outright defied her. I’d never done that before. Despite her explicit command to stay home today, I’d left. No two ways about it, I was in deep trouble. But what could Mama do to me? I already had enough chores to fill every spare hour of my life. I was too old for the strap. She couldn’t keep me from my social life because I didn’t have one to surrender.

  I would have to make this up to her. I just prayed that she would even let me.

  At Clark Street, I transferred northbound and exited at the Chicago River near the Clark Street Bridge. As usual, on a Saturday morning, the downtown streets were congested with cars, delivery trucks, and horse-drawn cabs. Add to that a horde of picnickers plus the thunderous clatter of the green “L” passing overhead on the elevated tracks, and the noise was deafening. But what about that awful odor? The air above the wharf reeked like nothing I’d ever encountered before. I tried not to gag as I stood with a flock of other pedestrians waiting to cross Clark Street.

  The policeman directing traffic on this end of the bridge blew his whistle. Vehicles in both lanes slowed to a stop. The crowd surrounding me sprinted across the street, carrying me in the flow. Before I could say my name, I was standing at the top of a rickety, wooden staircase peering down at the markets that lined the dock. Crates of fruits and vegetables had been stored alongside cages of live chickens, but the produce and poultry weren’t the only stinky things around.

  The main source of that horrible stench was the Chicago River.

  Horse manure dumped into the water by street sweepers, rotten vegetables, chicken heads, broken crates, and just about every other imaginable sort of garbage floated on the greasy, black surface.

  The Eastland, her two outside decks already teeming with passengers, sat anchored on the west side of the Clark Street Bridge. The ship was majestic with her red namesake flag, her towering twin smokestacks, and her sleek, white-steel hull. She wasn’t as large as the pictures I’d seen of the oceangoing Titanic. But this Great Lakes steamer still looked mighty impressive with a length that stretched from the Clark Street Bridge to the LaSalle Street Tunn
el a block away. She appeared to be about as wide as a pair of two-flats set side by side. I judged from the buildings behind her that she loomed around four stories high.

  The Eastland leaned toward the dock as picnickers boarded the two gangplanks at the rear of the ship. But now, the boarding had slowed and the ship drifted into an upright position. I scoured the wharf for signs of Mae or Karel, but it was impossible to see anything through the black mass of opened umbrellas. My only chance of finding my friends would be to board that ship. I checked my watch again. It was six-fifty-three.

  I was hurrying down the wharf steps, when the ship tipped the other way—toward the river.

  On board, children raced toward the riverside railings, screaming in glee with each roll of the ship. And then, as quickly as she had listed, the Eastland righted herself yet again. I made my way toward the gangplanks, but it seemed that everyone around me had that very same idea. The thought made me laugh out loud. Didn’t all these anxious hopefuls know I had one huge advantage over them? While they were hindered by lumbering husbands or slowed by toddlers tugging on skirts, I was alone. I had no one to worry about but myself. Lucky me. Yet even without any burdens, it took me more than ten minutes to reach the two customs agents admitting passengers on either side of an opened gangway.

  “Two thousand, four hundred, ninety-five,” the older agent announced. He clicked a counter in his hand as he guided a portly gentleman aboard. “Five more passengers and we’ve reached capacity.”

  A startled roar went up from the people on the dock. Someone thumped me square in the back in apparent eagerness to be one of those last five passengers.

  But I hadn’t defied Mama, destroyed her trust in me, not to make this ship.

  “Twenty-four, ninety-seven.” The younger agent clicked off his counter.

  Only three more passengers!

  I elbowed people left and right and seized the sleeve of the young agent’s uniform.

  “Please, sir.” I gave him my best smile, despite the fact that I was being jabbed mercilessly in the ribs, arms, and head by the overwrought mob behind me. “I must make this ship.”

  The young agent glared at me. “Oh, really? It’s that important?”

  “Life or death.” Or so Mama thought.

  He studied me for another moment. “Well, if it means that much to you.” He extended his hand. “Ticket?”

  Drat! I’d left that behind along with my umbrella and the money in my purse. I cranked up my smile. “Please, mister. I have a ticket but I forgot—”

  “Ain’t got time for sob stories.” He took my elbow. “You can board.” I almost screamed with relief as he aided me across the wobbly, wooden gangplank.

  4

  I’d taken about a dozen steps onto the Eastland when the boat made a second roll toward the river. I grabbed hold of the chair rail on the wall and crept along the slanting, hardwood floor, as the last two passengers scrambled across the gangplank behind me. I could hear the two customs agents informing the people on the wharf that they had to board the next ship, the Theodore Roosevelt, or the Petoskey, scheduled to depart at eight-thirty. But I didn’t have to worry about such things.

  I’d made it onboard! All I had to do was find Mae and Karel, and together we’d enjoy the cruise. I headed toward a wooden staircase, pausing at a diagram of the ship to shake off the rain.

  According to the drawing, the Eastland had four passenger decks. I had boarded at the aft—or rear—of the lowest deck called the Main, near the bar. The air down here near the opened gangway was stuffy-warm and loud with the bawdy sounds of people drinking and carousing. At the other end of the ship, toward the front—or fore—there was supposed to be a food counter, but all I saw was a mass of people, pressing and pushing against each other. I could hear peddlers, hawking enticements of taffies and chocolates. My stomach growled in response. I ignored the tempting sweets and pressed onward toward the stairs, but not before checking the bar for Karel.

  The tavern was dark, with mahogany-paneled walls and hardwood floors, and only the faint light of a rainy dawn filtering through the glass portholes. Two brawny bartenders stood behind the chest-high bar serving bottles of Schlitz and Coca-Cola from an enormous electric refrigerator. I squinted through the fog of cigarette smoke, scanning the flushed faces of the patrons for any sign of Karel. But he wasn’t there, and for the first time ever, I was thrilled not to see him. Perhaps he’d turn out to be a teetotaler like me. Encouraged, I sailed upstairs to continue my search.

  The Cabin Deck was fully enclosed and housed a children’s nursery, two luxury suites with private baths, dozens of ordinary cabins, and a formal dining room. Cool, dry air streamed in from overhead, making this second deck much more tolerable than the Main downstairs. I stood under a blowing vent, happy to be free of the dampness, and looked about. Children of every age raced back and forth across the floral-print carpeting, while their mothers struggled to remain seated on the red velvet divans.

  Near the nursery I saw my neighbor, Mrs. VandeKipp, feeding her baby with a bottle. Mr. VandeKipp stood over them, his eyes darting about as he tried to keep track of his three other children. I’d come say hello to the family later, after I’d found my two friends. Mae and Karel could never tolerate all these boisterous children. Mae would want to be near the music and the fun. What would Karel want? I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

  The Cabin Deck was connected to the Promenade above by a grand, mahogany staircase. I was walking toward those stairs, marveling at the intricately carved banisters, when a ship’s officer climbed onto the landing. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

  “We need everyone to move starboard.” He indicated the dockside of the ship. “Please proceed up these stairs to the outside railings on the Promenade.” I waited for the passengers to move, but no one seemed to be paying him any attention. “Please!” the officer begged. “For your safety. Make your way starboard.”

  Still, no one budged. The officer circulated through the cabin trying to persuade passengers one by one to go above.

  “For your own safety,” he kept repeating.

  But why? Was the steamer unstable?

  “Mort!” I heard Mama whisper. I pushed the unsettling thought from my mind. There couldn’t possibly be any danger, any death on a ship as lovely as this. Besides, weren’t we still tied to the dock? The officer must be issuing a precaution. Distribute the weight of the passengers evenly on both sides of the ship and keep the steamer balanced. Sounded like a simple enough request.

  So why wasn’t anyone listening?

  I didn’t have time to stand and wonder. I flew up the grand staircase.

  The Promenade was considered an open-air deck. The center housed an indoor salon enclosed by an outdoor balcony that encircled the entire ship. Hundreds of passengers relaxed on wicker deck chairs or the wooden benches that lined the Promenade or simply strolled along the mahogany railings, protected from the stormy weather by the overhang of the Hurricane Deck above. Mae, dolled up in all her finery, wouldn’t want to spend any more time in the elements than she had to, but I did one complete lap around the ship to be absolutely sure. Breathless and sweaty, and convinced Mae wasn’t out here, I slipped inside.

  The elegant salon was a hive of merrymakers, the majority of them young, single females in search of a beau. A five-piece orchestra played a raucous ragtime beat. People swayed their hips or tapped their toes to the Scott Joplin hit, but there wasn’t enough room in the overcrowded room to really dance. I was searching through and around the passengers, when I spied half a dozen gals from my department, chatting and giggling in a tight circle. I waved to them. Farther on, I found sisters, Jenny and Anna, who looked like twins in their similar white-eyelet dresses, and said a quick hello. So many coilers were here, but where was Mae?

  Then I saw a swish of lilac linen.

  My ingenious friend had carved out a space near the dance floor large enough for her to foxtrot. Despite the uneasy slant of the ship,
Mae and Johnny Volo were entertaining their audience with a lively two-step. Mae had taken dance lessons offered by Western Electric’s night school. After only a few weeks, Mae had become so accomplished, she’d been promoted to instructor. I’d never seen Mae dance before, but I only needed a moment to understand why she alone had been chosen. Mae dazzled. Johnny wasn’t half bad himself.

  “Mae!” I waved to her over the heads of the people in front of me. “I’m here!”

  Mae stopped in mid-whirl and looked around. “Dee? Is that you?”

  “It’s me!” I nudged forward through the crowd. “I made it!”

  Mae let out a squeal. “Sorry, Johnny.” She dropped his hand. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” She rushed toward me and threw her arms about my waist, nearly squishing me to bits. “I can’t believe you’re really here. What made your mother change her mind?”

  “She didn’t.”

  Mae leaned back, appraising me. “She didn’t change her mind? You mean you …”

  “Snuck away?” I nodded. “Yep.”

  “Good for you! Not that I want you to disobey your mother, but you are an adult. You should be allowed to make your own decisions.”

  “Tell Mama that.”

  Mae laughed. “I would, but I’m too afraid.”

  “Exactly.” I glanced around. “So, ah, where’s Karel?”

  “Upstairs. Probably standing out in the rain like a chump.”

  “He’s not dancing?”

  “Doesn’t like it. Says dancing is vulgar.”

  Double drat! Oh, well. I wasn’t very good at it anyway.

  A new tune started up. Johnny waved to Mae. “‘Oh, You Beautiful Doll.’ It’s one of our favorites. Come on, Mae.”

  She gave me a forlorn look. “I really do love this song. Mind?”

  “No, go. By all means.”

  Mae’s expression brightened. “I’ll get you a partner so you can join us.” She tugged me toward her little corner of the ship. I yanked back.