Whirlwind (14 page)

“If you mean sores, he does. Especially on his tummy and back,” Miss Fairweather admitted.

Horrified by her admission, Daniel hastened to add, “But almost none on his face, and not a one on his palms or soles.” As the doctor checked for himself, Daniel added, “He’s not running a fever, either.”

Miss Fairweather flipped the edge of the gown over his son’s nose, and Arthur tugged it back down. “Boo!”

“He’s in high spirits and has a good appetite.” Miss Fairweather turned loose of the gown.

The younger man jotted down a few notes on the clipboard as the doctor carefully inspected Arthur’s arms. “I need to look in his mouth. Open up, boy.”

Arthur scowled.

Daniel rested his hand on his son’s head, fearing if Arthur didn’t cooperate, all could be lost. “He’s too young to understand.”

“Hang him upside down.” Miss Fairweather swept up Arthur and shoved him at Daniel.

He couldn’t fathom why she wanted to upend his son, but she knew more about children than he did. Daniel trusted her. “Over you go.”

“Ohh! Ohh! Wheeeee!”

“Turn him a little this way,” the doctor ordered. He stooped over and craned his neck. “That’s sufficient.” He straightened and headed toward the door.

Heart in his throat, Daniel half croaked, “Well?”

“First glance had me wary. If Mama hadn’t been so quick to show off his spots, I’d have sworn it was smallpox. Hard to tell at first, but it’s chicken pox. The sores are in all different stages of healing. Smallpox erupt at the same time. That youngster has nothing more than chicken pox. Harmless as can be.” He smiled.

“So you’re clearing the
Opportunity
.” Relief colored the captain’s voice.

“Indeed.” The inspector turned toward Miss Fairweather. “Ma’am, I’ll have to recall those tricks for dealing with fractious toddlers. They’re not standard method, but I can’t argue with success.”

The men left with the captain.

Miss Fairweather stammered, “I’m sorry, sir. I should have—Arthur’s not—We—”

“He could have thought you the king of Burma and I wouldn’t have corrected him. The important thing is, we’re cleared to enter America now.”

A smile lit her features. “Praise the Lord. I’ve been worried.”

“You never said a word.”

“I’ve said plenty while talking to God. I didn’t want to worry you by bringing up a needless concern.” She picked up her valise once again. “Isabelle, Frank, and I will meet you as arranged. Oh—and you might think to slip a biscuit into your pocket for Arthur. He’s quite fond of them.”

Mr. Tibbs appeared in the open doorway. “It’s highly irregular, but we’ve received an order for everyone to go through Ellis Island—even the first-class passengers. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” The steward glanced about meaningfully. “I’ve arranged for Miss Fairweather’s sister and brother-in-law to board the barge with you and the other first-class passengers, sir.”

Daniel handed him an envelope containing a very generous tip. “You’ve rendered exemplary service, Tibbs.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Feeling relieved that Arthur was declared okay and Miss Fairweather would remain with them, Daniel lifted the biscuit tin and repeated exactly what she’d said just a moment before. “Miss Fairweather, you might think to slip a biscuit into your pocket for Arthur. He’s quite fond of them.”

Equipped with biscuits and nappies, Miss Fairweather held Arthur’s hand. Wearing Buddy wrapped around his neck in capelike fashion, Arthur pulled his little boat down the companionway and onto the barge.

Mrs. Haxton let out a squawk upon spying Arthur. “You simply cannot think to expose us all to that!”

“The physician has cleared him.” Daniel swept Arthur into his arms. “If you’re worried, wait for the next barge.”

“With steerage?!”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Paper tags were pinned to their lapels. Once on shore, the prospective immigrants carried their small bags, but the heaviest were left to be reclaimed later with a receipt tag. “Women and children this way,” a loud voice called out.

“My son . . .”

“I don’t mind.” Miss Fairweather claimed Arthur and headed the opposite direction.

Never had Daniel seen anything like it. Much like cattle, they were directed into lines. No allowance was made for first class any longer. Walking a mere two feet behind a complete stranger, Daniel entered a huge pine building and mounted the stairs. Men in starched shirts and jackets keenly observed those going up the stairs. One hustled down and reached for an older man’s suitcase. “Here. Let me carry this for you.”

“Mark my word,” the man behind Daniel murmured.

“They’ll check him for heart and lung trouble. It wasn’t help that youngster offered; it was a way of taking away the old man’s excuse that the weight of his suitcase winded him. They’re serious about only admitting the healthy ones.”

At the top of the stairs, two physicians checked the men for a variety of problems. One marked the old man’s coat with chalked letters
H
and
P
. In the pink of health, Daniel moved on through. The only portion of the process that bothered him was when a man pressed a buttonhook to his eyelid and flipped it upward. “Just a quick check for trachoma, sir. You’re clear.”

Eyes stinging from the crude examination, Daniel looked down at the buttonhook. “You won’t do that to a baby, will you?”

“We have to do it to everyone. It’s the law.”

Daniel loathed the notion that they’d do anything so painful to his tiny son. Objecting would only serve to make the officers angry at him. They held the power to admit or reject him, so Daniel sat and prayed that whoever examined Arthur would be far more gentle.

And Miss Fairweather. No one ought to be treated roughly, and most certainly never a woman—but when someone was as compassionate as she, surely she deserved to be handled with special care.

The test for mental defect was laughably easy. While the man at the next table was copying geometric shapes, a man slid a book into Daniel’s hand. “Read aloud.”

“As you wish. ‘
Je voudrais réserver une place pour le train—
’ ”

“Whoops.” The man snatched it back. “That’s French. No mental problems for you. Go on ahead and wait for the next segment, sir.”

When called to the next station, Daniel provided his papers. “I’ve purchased a mercantile in Gooding, Texas.”

A few simple questions, and he expected to hear what he’d overheard many times by now—only it didn’t come. Instead of the stamp of “Admitted” and a cheerful, “Welcome to America,” he was directed, “You need to step to the far wall, sir.”

“Why?”

“You’re to be detained.”

Eleven

W
here do you imagine they are?” Isabelle stood on tiptoe and craned her neck.

“More men are immigrating than women. It’s probably taking them longer.”

“You said that at least an hour ago. I don’t believe it now any more than I did then. All of the children are with the women. If anything, I’d expect the men to be waiting for us!”Isabelle sat back down on the hard wooden bench.

All around them, women waited. They’d been grouped by country, but no one seemed to comprehend that Ireland and Scotland weren’t England. The fact that they all spoke English was all that mattered. A segment of women nearby spoke in a Slavic tongue while German, French, Italian, and Greek also created pockets of noise. Over all of it, babies’ cries and children’s impatient whines added to the chaos.

Even though they’d been found healthy and mentally competent, one last condition had to be met. Deemed “likely to become a public charge” if they had no male relative to provide for them, women could not immigrate alone. They had to await their husbands, fathers, or brothers. Once the processed men claimed their women and children, they then left Ellis Island. A handful of single women waited for their fiancés to arrive. It wasn’t enough to have a man send for them; that man had to appear at Ellis Island and marry them then and there.

Off to the side, one girl—built tall and solid like the Swedes—chewed her fingernails as she spoke to a matron.

Millicent busied herself keeping Arthur happy. A short while later, the woman next to her gasped. “I didn’t think it was true, but it is!”

“What?” Isabelle leaned forward.

“See that blond woman? The matron took her over to that knot of men just fifteen minutes ago. Now she’s going to the office with one of them. She’s marrying a complete stranger, just to get into America!”

Millicent and her sister exchanged a disbelieving look.

“I would’ve picked a handsome one,” an Irish lass said from beside Isabelle.

“She probably chose him because they speak the same language,” someone else surmised. “It’s a sad reason to marry.”

The Irish lass mused, “Do you think God will honor the vow they’ll make to love one another when they don’t even know each other?”

Isabelle twisted her own wedding band. “God will honor the union—the question is whether they’ll do their part.”

Millicent took off her bracelet and recalled the first wedding gift mentioned in the Bible was when Jacob gave Rachel a bracelet. Arthur stuck his hand in and out of the silver bangle as Millicent said, “In Bible times, men and women married and love came later. Maybe it’ll be that way for them.”

Isabelle shook her head. “Frank and I love each other so very deeply. It breaks my heart to think that girl might never experience the joy of having a husband who cherishes her above all else.”

A freckled young woman entered the room. “Attention! May I have your attention, please. I’ll be calling names. If you are traveling with anyone whose name I call, you’re to follow me. Roy Adams. George Ardell. Reggie Blackwell. Daniel Clark.”

“Mr. Clark.” Millicent turned to her sister. “Since I have Arthur, I suppose that means they expect me to go—but I can’t leave you!”

“Just a minute. They might still call Frank’s name.”

“Steven Oates,” the woman continued.

She was going alphabetically. Quinsby would come soon—if at all.

Isabelle reached over and held Millicent’s hand.

“Frank Quinsby.”

Air gusted from their lungs. Reassured that they’d be kept together, Millicent tugged the bracelet from Arthur and slipped it back onto her wrist. Walking in a trail like ducklings, the women and children associated with the listed men followed the speaker.

“You’ll be staying in the dormitories.”

A chorus of reaction swelled.

She stopped at the head of some stairs. “Your men are being temporarily detained. If any of you has another male relative who’s been accepted or if you’re here to meet with a family member who’s come to claim you, you may go on ahead and enter the United States. Simply go down these stairs here.” A smile tilted her mouth. “The foot of the stairs has been dubbed ‘the kissing post’ because of the understandable affection shared upon a reunion.”

Once those women left, she looked at those remaining. Her smile melted. “You’ll follow me down the center flight of stairs to detention. You must remain here until the status of your party is established.”

“Detention!” and “Remain here!” sprang from the lips of many of the women. “My husband’s healthy as a horse,” one woman protested. “Why are you holding him back?”

“I don’t have the particulars. These matters usually take just a few days to resolve.”

“Likely as not, it’s paper work,” a woman said in French to the older woman with her. “If they’re being detained, they passed the doctor’s tests.”

Isabelle was just as fluent in French as Millicent. She whispered, “But Frank had all the necessary papers. I’m sure of it.”

“Something might have been misplaced. Don’t worry. I’m sure the lady is right—that it’s just something minor that won’t take long to clear up.”

The guide continued on. “The dining hall serves hot, nutritious meals thrice daily.”

“How much does the food cost?” Isabelle’s face creased with worry.

“There’s no charge. While on Ellis Island, you’ll not pay to eat.”

Men and children played sports in the yard. Women congregated around the edge, many of them knitting or sewing. “It looks pretty nice, Isabelle. I’m sure it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience. At least we weren’t separated.”

“But we
are
separated. I don’t know where Frank is!”

Shouting made them all turn around. Some of the men who’d been playing ball started fighting. Others dragged them apart.

“Probably Albanians.” Wagging her head from side to side, the guide tacked on, “They fight at the drop of a hat.” Their guide stopped at the bathhouse. “You’re free to do as you will until supper.” She cupped a little girl’s cheek, and her voice softened. “We serve milk to all children and women in the dining hall, and there will be milk and crackers at night in the women’s dormitory, as well.”

Most of the women from steerage thronged to make use of the bathhouse. Hiking Arthur up on one hip, Millicent juggled her portmanteau in the other hand. “Let’s go outside. Maybe the men will find us.”

Daniel and Frank scanned the open field, searching for Millicent and Isabelle. When he spotted the sisters and his son, Daniel was thankful the women had decided to dress with more flair than the average traveler. Miss Fairweather’s traveling suit was quite stunning, and Mrs. Quinsby stood out in a striking burnt orange garment.

Nothing had ever felt as good as the light, solid warmth of his son’s little body as Daniel took him in his arms.

“Frank, what happened? Why are you and Mr. Clark being detained?” Wrapped in a tight embrace, Isabelle’s words were muffled against Frank’s suit coat.

“We don’t know yet.” Nodding at Frank, Daniel suggested, “Why don’t the two of you see if you can find out?” Setting Arthur down for a moment, he took off his jacket and spread it on the grass for Miss Fairweather. “We’ll wait here.”

Once Miss Fairweather sat down, she pulled a sock ball out of her valise. “Mr. Clark, Arthur’s balance is quite good. After being carried about all day, he might enjoy having you teach him how to kick.”

Accepting the ball, Daniel smiled. “This sounds like fun.” Indeed, Arthur’s idea of kicking proved to be entertaining. He was just as likely to catch the ball on the backswing as the kick, so the ball wobbled all around them. Miss Fairweather picked up her crochet and kept her hands busy, yet she watched them. “Excellent, Arthur!”