Threads and Flames (22 page)

“If Glukel was a second mother to you, like you say, I bet she'd
talk
like she was scared, but in her heart she'd be so proud of you, she could burst,” Gavrel replied.

“I can't wait to write to her about this,” Raisa said, then paused and corrected herself. “I mean, when you have the chance to write to her for me, Gavrel.”

“No you don't,” Gavrel said, wagging a finger in her face. “You're going to write your own letters soon. Why else did you sign up for that night course?”

“It's an
English
course,” Raisa reminded him. “Glukel can't read English.”

“Well, there's still no excuse for you not learning how to write your own letters. What am I, your servant?” he teased. “Lincoln freed the slaves.”

“So did Moses,” Raisa countered. “So you've got
two
excuses for not helping me: one American, one Jewish.”

“Why should there be a difference?” Fruma said.

They entered the building together and joined the crowd waiting to take the small elevators reserved for employees. Raisa got separated from Fruma and Gavrel in the crush of bodies, but wasn't concerned. The three of them didn't work on the same floor anyway, and they'd already made plans for where to meet when the workday was over, before they headed home.

The Triangle factory occupied the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors of the Asch Building. The only thing higher was the roof. When Raisa was hired, she was assigned to a ninth-floor workstation. Though she'd seen her new workplace when she came to apply for the job, she was still impressed by the size of the shop.

Her eyes traveled over the eight wood tables that ran almost the entire length of the factory floor. Each four-foot-wide table actually consisted of two smaller ones, each with fifteen sewing machine operators facing one another over a central gutter to hold finished pieces for pickup. The aisles between the workers in their rows of wooden chairs were narrow and crowded even before all of the girls were at their places for the day.

This is incredible. And to think all this belongs to two men who came here through Ellis Island, just like me! They call Mr. Blanck and Mr. Harris the shirtwaist kings, but I didn't know they had a real kingdom!
She looked at the arrangement of tables more closely and a practical thought pushed aside all the rest:
I hope they put me at a machine on the end of the row, or else I'd better start praying I don't have to get up and use the toilet too much.
Then, remembering something Fruma had mentioned about working conditions before the big shirtwaist makers' strike:
If they let us use the toilet as much as we need it, that is.

Raisa was still standing near the elevator, gawking, when a girl who looked only a bit younger than Fruma came up to her and said, “You're a new face. Can I help you?”

Raisa beamed at the familiar sound of Yiddish words. “Yes, yes, please. I'm new. I start today, but I don't see the man who hired me.”

“Oh, don't bother looking for a man. On this floor, we work for a forelady.”

“A fore
lady
?” Raisa's eyes widened in surprise.

The young woman grinned and shrugged. “America, right? Come on, I'll take you to her. By the way, my name is Gussie.”

“Raisa. Thank you.”

Gussie presented Raisa to the ninth-floor forelady, a competent, courteous woman who introduced herself as Miss Gullo. “You'll want to hang up your hat in the cloakroom before you begin work,” she said kindly. “I'll show you where that is.”

“And I'll get to work!” Gussie said cheerfully. “See you later, Raisa.”

On the way to the cloakroom, Raisa and Miss Gullo passed workers seated in front of a row of shuttered windows. Their tables were piled high with finished garments that they were inspecting for mistakes. When Raisa wondered aloud why the shutters weren't open to provide additional light, she was told that it wouldn't make much difference. Those windows only looked out over a nine-story drop into a small, bleak inner courtyard, although Miss Gullo added that they also opened onto the fire escape.

After Raisa hung up her hat, Miss Gullo assigned her to her machine. While it wasn't on the end of a row, as she'd hoped, at least it wasn't all the way down where the tables butted up so close to the Washington Place side of the building that they might as well have grown out of it. Instead, it was halfway to the aisle in a row that was closer to the toilets and cloakroom.

Raisa sat down and examined her new surroundings. She was seated between a serious-faced young brunette who spared her a quick, mechanical smile and a motherly woman whose whispered “Welcome, how are you?” was warm and sincere. Raisa checked her machine and was pleased to see that it was well maintained and properly lubricated for problem-free operation. A small wooden container just under the table kept her skirt safe from any oil that might drip down. A wicker basket filled with cut pattern pieces rested on the floor beside her. Miss Gullo had told her she was going to start out by sewing shirtwaist bodices, and perhaps later move on to more complicated assignments. She hoped the change would come soon. The most repetitive task in the world wasn't quite so boring if it challenged her sewing skills.

The whole table hummed. The motor that provided power for all 240 sewing machines on the ninth floor sent its power coursing down the whirring axle under the long tables as the workers bent to their tasks. Raisa took the first pieces of light, flimsy material from her wicker basket, pressed her foot down on the treadle, and got to work.

 

 

“To Raisa!” Gavrel raised his glass of water over the empty plates still on the dinner table. “May tonight be the first step on the road to greater and greater knowledge!”

“You're making a big fuss over nothing.” Raisa looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. There were times she couldn't tell whether Gavrel's elaborate way of speaking was sincere or if he was making fun of her. “It's just a basic English class. It started a week ago, and everyone else is probably so far ahead of me that I don't know if I'll be able to catch up.”

“Then why did you sign up for it if you think you're going to fail?” Mrs. Kamensky got right to the point.

“Because—because the woman I spoke to at the Educational Alliance said that they go slowly at the beginning, and if I didn't join this class, I'd have to wait
weeks
for the next one to start.”

“And who says she thinks she's going to fail?” Fruma cut in.

“Why look at me? Did
I
say such a thing?” Mrs. Kamensky got up and went into the kitchen. She came back bearing a small, flowered plate with slices of apple drizzled with honey and placed it in front of Raisa. Brina made a grab for the sweet treat and was dumbfounded when Mrs. Kamensky intercepted her hand. “When
you
start school, I'll give you apples and honey, maybe even cake. Tonight, this is all for Raisa, so that she will always remember learning is sweet.”

“Then I want to go to school now, too!” Brina said.

“In a year or two, God willing.”

“Mama, why can't Brina go now?” Gavrel asked. “You sent me to the
melamed
on Eldridge Street for Hebrew lessons before I started elementary school. What was I, three, four years old?”

“You find me the money for lessons and a
melamed
willing to teach a little girl Hebrew and you can go ahead and send her, Mr. Wise Guy,” his mother retorted.

Gavrel leaned closer to Brina and said in a stage whisper, “It's all right, princess. I'll teach you Hebrew, if you like.”

“You will?” Brina's eyes widened. She turned to Raisa and proudly declared, “Gavrel wouldn't teach
you
English, but he's going to teach
me
Hebrew. That means he likes
me
best!”

“What can I say?” Gavrel raised his hands to show he was powerless in the face of such perfect logic. “It was a horribly difficult decision to make, a problem worthy of King Solomon, but I stand by my choice.”

“And how will you break the news of your decision to Rachel, O mighty Solomon?” Raisa seized the chance to tease Gavrel, for a change. “Since you're setting your heart in order, where does
she
rank?”

“Who's Rachel?” Brina demanded.

“Rachel is a girl from Gavrel's old shop,” Raisa answered. “A very
beautiful
girl. Gavrel told her so himself.”

Brina stabbed Gavrel with an accusing look. “Are you going to marry her?”

“How did we get from compliments to marriage so fast?” Gavrel appealed to everyone at the table for a little help out of his predicament.

“You're not answering the question,” Fruma said, getting into the spirit of things.

“Very well.” Gavrel stood up, hooked his thumbs behind his suspenders, and struck a pose worthy of a Tammany Hall politician about to give an electioneering speech. “In that case, allow me to state for the record and before witnesses that it is my sincere and honorable intention to ask Rachel for her hand in marriage—”

Raisa froze where she sat. Not even Mrs. Kamensky's flabbergasted cry of “
What?
” could reach her.

“—just as soon as her fiancé, Mr. Joseph Mayer, asks me to take over for him.”

Mrs. Kamensky clapped one hand to her bosom. “Don't you
ever
frighten me like that again!”

Gavrel feigned innocence. “Well, if the idea of my getting married is so hard for you to take, Mama, then I swear I'll never ask any girl to—”

“Enough!” Mrs. Kamensky decreed. “No more foolishness, Gavrel. God knows I want nothing better than to see you happily married, but when that day comes, I want you to
tell
me, not turn the news into a—a—a jack-in-the-box!”

“All right, Mama, I promise.” Gavrel went around the table to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Now, enough jokes. Raisa has to go to her first English class, and look! She still hasn't tasted a bite of sweetness.”

Able to breathe again, Raisa said the proper blessings over the sliced apple and honey. When she took the first bite, the Kamenskys all broke into shouts of “Mazel tov!”

Raisa saved the last slice of honey-drizzled apple for Brina. “If Gavrel is going to give you Hebrew,
I'm
going to do the same with English,” she announced.

Brina gobbled the apple, but eyed Raisa doubtfully. “You don't
know
English,” she said, mumbling the words around a mouthful.

“But I will,” Raisa said. “And when I do, I'll share my lessons with you, so that when it's finally time for you to go to school, you won't have to catch up with the other children. It will be good practice for me, repeating the lessons, and someday you'll be the smartest student in your class!”

Mrs. Kamensky snorted. “A man had no troubles, so he bought a goat,” she said, invoking an old proverb about taking on needless complications in life. “Where will you find time for all this?”

“I don't know, but I'll try. And teaching Brina won't be work; it will be a pleasure.”

Gavrel gazed at his mother with melodramatically pleading eyes. “Surely you won't deny a hardworking girl and a brand-new English scholar like Raisa one simple pleasure, Mama?”

Mrs. Kamensky appealed to heaven. “This is the thanks I get for trying to help the girl live a sensible life! Everyone turns against me.”

Gavrel hugged his mother. “If she's too sensible, she'll never enjoy her life; she'll just endure it. Why don't I get a little more honey from the kitchen so we can all remember that our days should be sweet?”

“Fine, but I'll get it,” Mrs. Kamensky said. “You'll only make a mess.” She started back for the kitchen.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kamensky, but I can't wait,” Raisa said, standing up from her seat. “If I'm going to be on time for my first class, I have to go now.”

“I'll get my hat,” Gavrel said, making for the hooks by the front door, where his straw boater hung.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I'm getting ready to walk you to school.” He dropped the hat onto his head, where it rode perfectly level atop his dark curls.

“I can go by myself.”

“I didn't say you couldn't,” Gavrel replied cheerfully.

“I did,” Mrs. Kamensky said. “It's your first time, so you've got a lot on your mind. You could get distracted, maybe even lost, God forbid! At least if Gavrel walks you there and home again, after, you'll have one less worry.”

“It's only for tonight,” Fruma said. “Once you're a part of the class, you'll meet lots of other girls, you'll make new friends, and you'll be able to walk to and from school with them.”

“What if they don't live near us?” Raisa asked.

Mrs. Kamensky pooh-poohed the idea. “In this neighborhood,
everyone
lives near us!”

 

 

There was no need for Raisa to make conversation as she and Gavrel walked through the nighttime streets. He began talking the moment they stepped onto the sidewalk and didn't give her a chance to get a word in edgewise until the Educational Alliance building was in view. At every corner, at almost every step along the way, he pointed out landmarks and offered advice for remembering them.

“Soon you'll be able to read the street signs,” he said. “But for now, maybe you could try memorizing what the letters look like without knowing what they mean.”

“You know, I'm not in diapers anymore,” Raisa said, exasperated. “I
did
find my own way here earlier today. You didn't need to come along tonight.”