Eastland (11 page)

Given the fragile condition of his parents, Karel had been left
on his own to make all the necessary funeral arrangements,
beginning with the dozen miscellaneous vehicles hired for the
procession from St. Mary’s to the Bohemian National Cemetery
in Chicago. Salvatore had offered his services—free of charge
today—to the Koznecki family. Mama and I had been assigned
to his carriage. Gracie would ride with the family in one of the
motorcars, but she seemed to have something else in mind.

“Please,” Gracie asked of Karel, “may I ride with Dee?” Karel
turned to Mama for help.
“
Oui
. But of course.”
Gracie pecked Karel on the cheek and hopped into the nowfamiliar hackney cab and out of the rain. I held back, urging
Mama inside ahead of me.
“I want to thank you, Sal, for the other night at the
Armory. I don’t remember much after I saw Mae…” A shiver
pulsed through me. “Anyway, Mama told me that you and
Lucille had seen me home.” I moved closer to the chestnut
mare. Lengths of Lucille’s reddish-brown mane had been
braided with white satin ribbons. I stroked her long neck
and whispered, “I can’t forget you, girl. Thanks for everything.” Her left ear twitched. She turned a huge, brown eye
on me. I knew she’d understood.
“It was an honor to escort you.” Salvatore held the door for
me. “You’ve been very brave through all of this.”
“But I fainted.” I stepped up.
“So did dozens of grown men.”
I sighed and climbed inside. I settled myself between Mama
and Gracie as our cab fell third in line behind the hearse. Karel
had ordered an ornate, white, covered wagon with two pure
white horses, and a driver in tails and top hat. White hearses
were usually reserved for children’s funerals, but Karel must
have known that Mae would have gotten a tickle out of the whole
fairy-tale-like scene.
On the streets, all the normal Sunday morning traffic seemed
to have eerily disappeared. The only vehicles in sight were from
the cavalcade of Cicero funerals. Thousands of spectators had
assembled along the main thoroughfares to wave and wish well,
as though these processions were holiday parades instead of
death marches. Gracie seemed entertained, though, smiling and
waving back. Even I had to admit that after only a few blocks, I
found myself peering out the carriage, once again in search of a
certain mariner.
But Lars Nielsen did not appear along our eleven-mile
course, any more than he had shown up at Mass this morning.
By the time we passed under the arched, brick entrance gate at
the Bohemian National two hours later, I’d resolved not to give
Lars another thought.
Around a hundred and thirty caskets were scheduled for
burial in the newly opened Section Sixteen of the cemetery.
Though there appeared to be plenty of busy gravediggers, we
still had to wait our turn for a gravesite. Karel seemed to have
anticipated this problem. He had brought a catered picnic luncheon for each vehicle, plus extra for the drivers.
We dined on smoked sausages, pork-filled pierogi, potato
pancakes, and mizeria cucumber salad. For dessert, we had kolaczki cookies with apricot, prune, and raspberry fillings. I’d
eaten with Mae countless times and had tasted all these delicious dishes before. But this was Mama’s first experience with
Polish food. She seemed quite smitten with the unusual and
exotic flavors. She had seconds and then thirds, but I had no appetite today and only pushed the food around my plate, making
it appear to Mama and Gracie that I’d eaten my fill.
“May I be excused, Mrs. Pageau?” Gracie asked, after helping
to clear the service.
“
Oui
.” Mama’s eyes drooped. Gracie hopped down from the
carriage and disappeared into Mr. Koznecki’s green coupe. I saw
a chance to stretch my legs.
“And me, Mama?”
Mama managed a sleepy nod before her head dropped back
against the soft, leather seat. I covered her with a blanket and
grabbed an umbrella. By the time I’d closed the carriage door,
Mama was snoring.
I wandered along the gravelly lanes, trying to read the headstones in the grim light of this devilish rain. From what I could
make out, many of the dead had been buried during the last
century. But as the dates became more and more recent, I noticed something new. Black and white ceramic portraitures had
been attached to the gravestones, giving visitors a photographic
remembrance of the deceased.
I thought about Papa’s funeral.
Mama had not been able to afford such a luxury for Papa’s
gravestone. In fact, Mama had taken in extra mending that winter,
trying to save enough money to even buy a headstone. I made a
second resolution of the day. Besides not thinking of Lars, I would
earn enough of my own money to have a photograph of Papa made
into a ceramic impression for his headstone. The idea brought me
comfort. I hastened back to the cab relieved and recharged.
Our turn finally came around six in the evening. The storms
had dwindled to a mist as the Koznecki family staggered, drained
and wrinkled, from the vehicles. Pallbearers removed Mae’s
white casket from her “Cinderella” hearse and then carried the
coffin toward the empty grave. The mourners shuffled behind
the pallbearers. I took one step and froze.
Tomorrow I would return to work and begin life without
Mae.
Can’t you this once be brave, Dee?
I forced down my fear and fell in line.
A weary-looking Father Raczynski came over from a nearby
gravesite and said a blessing over the casket. Two gravediggers,
looking even more worn out than our priest, eased the white casket
into the ground and shoveled mud back into the hole they’d just
dug. Mr. Koznecki picked up a purple, long-stemmed rose from the
arrangement left near the gravesite and was starting toward the
coffin, when he wobbled and collapsed to his knees. Karel rushed
to his side. He wrapped a supportive arm around his father’s trim
waist, and together they hobbled to the side of the open grave.
“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.”

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.
“You 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.