Threads and Flames (20 page)

“
Stop
it, Gavrel.” Raisa's hands were fists at her sides. “I don't need to be reminded of all the things I
haven't
done to find Henda. I'm surprised you don't write all of my shortcomings into the letters I send home. While you're at it, you could tell Glukel and Reb Avner and everyone else that I'm still so ignorant that I need someone to write letters for me, and sometimes to read the ones they send back!”

Gavrel's face fell. “I'm not your enemy, Raisa. I
want
you to learn to read, to write, to speak English, to run a sewing machine like an expert so you can get a good job when the slow season's over. I think you could learn anything you wanted to, if you weren't so exhausted all the time. I watched you help Mama with the household budget. You can make numbers dance. You're a very smart girl, Raisa.”

“Don't you mean I'm smart
for
a girl?” she retorted.

The old grin came back. “Well, it sounds like you're not too exhausted to be a bigger wisenheimer than me. Where did all your tiredness vanish to? I should argue with you more often; it livens you up.”

“If I felt any livelier, I'd be dead,” Raisa said. But she returned his smile. “We should go back downstairs. Your parents will think one of us fell off the roof.”

“Or was pushed.” Gavrel started back for the rooftop door. “Promise me you'll think about what I said, Raisa. I know we need to have a paying boarder in the house, but I'll bet Mama would let you go one week on trust, maybe two, if it meant you could better your situation. And Fruma and I have been keeping our ears open at work, ready to jump the minute we hear about a job for you.”

“No big garment factory's going to hire someone who can't use a sewing machine,” Raisa said.

“What, you can't use one at all?” Gavrel was astonished at the news. “I thought you had some practice. Didn't you tell us that Madame promised to teach you?”

“She promised to pay me a fair wage, too.” Raisa gave a short, humorless laugh. It was do that or burst into frustrated tears.

“That does it!” Gavrel slammed his fist into his other palm. “That is the last straw. Hear me, Raisa: this Sunday you are going to come with me to my friend Rachel's house and we are going to teach you everything you need to know about running a sewing machine so that when the time comes, you can thumb your nose in
Madame
's ugly face and walk away to a good job!”

“Your friend, she's got a sewing machine she'll let me use?”

“Her father had a little dressmaking business when he first came over, but last April he died of tuberculosis. Luckily all five kids already had factory jobs to keep the family going. Some of the girls still use their father's machine to do a little piecework on the side, so it's in perfect condition. If I ask Rachel to let us use it, I'm sure she won't tell me no.”

“I'm sure she won't tell you no, either,” Raisa muttered as they headed back to the apartment and dessert.

NEW PATHS AND OLD

R
achel and her family lived in the cleanest tenement Raisa had seen. The Kamenskys' apartment was spotless, and so were the homes of most of the other tenants in their building, but the building itself had its seedy corners and neglected areas. The six-story brick structure where Rachel lived was spick-and-span, from the well-swept sidewalk out front all the way up to the door of Rachel's apartment.

A tall, willowy girl with golden brown hair and amazing blue eyes opened the door at Gavrel's knock. “Rachel, good morning!” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, I should have brought you some flowers. After all, a man shouldn't come empty-handed when he wants to ask a beautiful woman for a favor.”

“Gavrel, you know you can ask me anything,” she replied, her smile setting off the dimples in her cheeks. “Where have you been hiding? Ever since you got that new job at Triangle, I don't see you anymore.”

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his head, tilting his derby hat forward at an awkward angle. “Well, everyone keeps telling me how lucky I was to
get
a job in the slow season, so it must be true. That means I'd better stay busy where the boss can see, or else ...” He slashed a finger across his throat. “You know how it is.”

“I believe I do.” Rachel's eyes rested on Raisa. “And who is this?”

“This,” Gavrel said, “is the favor.”

What did he call me?!
Raisa bit her lips to contain the resentment rising in her throat. When Rachel invited them into the apartment, Raisa trailed after Gavrel like a little storm cloud and mumbled her way through the introductions. She responded to Rachel's small talk with one-word answers until she overheard the girl whisper to Gavrel, “If she doesn't even speak Yiddish, how
do
you manage to talk to her?”

“I'm sorry,” Raisa said. “I'm being rude. It's just that I'm a little nervous. I haven't seen such a lovely home since I came to this country.” Rachel gracefully accepted both the apology and the compliment, and the conversation between the two girls became more natural.

She's going to help me,
Raisa thought.
Gavrel's the one who called me a “favor,” not her.

Rachel served her guests tea in pretty china cups with worn gold rims. There were also fancy almond cookies, but Raisa was so eager to start learning how to use a sewing machine that she couldn't think about food or anything else. When it was finally time to begin her lessons, everything went as Gavrel had predicted. She learned the basics quickly and was sewing real pattern pieces together in less than three hours.

“Are you sure you've never done this before?” Rachel asked, holding up the body of a shirtwaist that Raisa had just stitched together. “Look at this! She even set in the sleeves perfectly!”

“I'm not so sure.” Gavrel stroked his chin. “The left one looks a little off-kilter.”

Rachel rolled her eyes at Raisa. “I forgot what a joker he is. Does he
ever
say a single serious word to you?”

“Once.” Raisa smiled inside.

 

 

Two weeks later, as the sun was beginning to set, Raisa ran along one of the paths through Washington Square Park, her heart racing faster than her feet. She didn't give a second glance at the monumental marble arch that dominated the north side of the park. Even though her time in the city often left her starved for the sight of the green fields and forests of home, she was too distracted to appreciate the grand trees that loomed over the paved pathways.

Earlier that day, as Raisa was leaving the Kamenskys' building to trudge her way to Madame's shop, she was startled to find Rachel waiting for her. The pretty girl linked arms with Raisa and swept her down the street. “I have the most wonderful news for you, Raisa,” she said. “But if this turns out the way I hope it will, I don't want Gavrel grabbing the credit for it.”

“Gavrel wouldn't do something like that,” Raisa protested.

“Oh, I'm only teasing. And why are you his big defender, hmm?” Rachel gave her an arch look. “Forget Gavrel—listen. My cousin Marjorie's going to have a baby!”

“Mazel tov.” Raisa congratulated Rachel's family even though she felt entirely bewildered. “But how does this—”

“Affect you?” Rachel finished for her. She gave a delighted laugh. “Because Marjorie's a sewing machine girl, but now that a baby's on the way, her husband
insists
she quit her job, and where do you think she works?” She didn't wait for Raisa to make a guess. “Triangle Waists! Just like Gavrel and Fruma and—God willing—you, soon. We just heard the news from Marjorie and her husband last night. She's telling her foreman
today.
If you show up right away to fill the vacancy, he'll hire you at once; I
know
it. You're an excellent seamstress, and you learn quickly. This is your chance!”

“Thank you,” Raisa whispered back. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, but—”

“But what?”

“I can't miss a day of work. Madame will fire me, and I need the money.”

“So don't miss a day! Just miss an hour. All you need to do is get to Triangle before Marjorie's foreman goes home. You could tell your boss you're sick, or you're needed at home, or—or—”

“I'll find a way to get away from Madame,” Raisa said decisively. “You tell me how to find your cousin's foreman.”

Rachel gave Raisa the information she needed and left her on the next corner, hurrying off to her own job. Raisa went to the basement shop on Delancey Street and worked hard all day, her fingers doing the dull, thankless piecework, her mind spinning with possibilities and plans.

The hardest part was calculating the hour. Madame kept no clock in her shop. Quitting time was when she decided it should be, and that was usually later than factories such as Triangle. Raisa couldn't know what time it was, but she had a rough idea of how long it took her to finish each piece of sewing, and so she did her best to estimate the passing hours by the number of items she completed. When she figured the moment was right, she got up and approached her employer with downcast eyes.

“Madame, I need to use the toilet.” There was none in the basement shop. Raisa and the other girls had to use the facilities in the building above.

“No, you don't,” Madame snapped. “Go use toilet at home when work is done.”

“Madame,
please,
” Raisa insisted. “It is . . .
that
time for me, but it came early. I was not expecting ...”

“Oh.” Madame's hard eyes narrowed, but Raisa's excuse was inarguable. “Fine. Go upstairs. Here.” She picked up a piece of scrap material and shoved it at Raisa. “You can use this. It comes out of your pay. Hurry back.”

“Yes, Madame,” Raisa said meekly. “Thank you, Madame.” She scurried out of the basement and onto the bustling street, with a very convincing look of distress and embarrassment on her face. The instant she was out of sight of the dressmaker's shop, a miracle occurred: her bowed shoulders straightened, her miserable expression became a wide grin, and her feet became wings that carried her like the wind from Madame's shop to a chance at a better future.

Now Raisa dashed out of Washington Square Park on the east side and looked around frantically for the landmarks Rachel had told her to seek if she was going to find the Triangle Waist Company. “Asch, Asch, Asch,” she muttered to herself, repeating the name of the building that housed the garment factory as if it were a magic charm. Since she couldn't read the signs, she counted the streets, the way Rachel had suggested, until she reached the spot where Washington Place met Greene Street.

Then she saw it. There was no mistaking it. Rachel's words echoed through her mind:
The Asch Building's one of the tallest in that neighborhood, though there are a couple next to it that are even taller. Still, ten stories is nothing to sneeze at! Don't worry, you won't have to count the floors. The sign will tell you you've found it.

But won't the sign be in English?
Raisa had whispered back.

Rachel smiled.
You'll see.

And she did. Raisa's gaze traveled up the gray facade with its touches of ornamental stonework. At the top of a column of signs for other clothing makers that hung on the corner of the building, she saw one that displayed the image of a triangle in a circle. Rachel was right; she didn't need to be able to read the English words on that sign to know that she'd found the Triangle Waist factory.

Raisa had seen her share of tall buildings since coming to New York, but the sight of each new one never failed to fill her with awe.
Gavrel and Fruma work all the way up there? They must be able to see the whole city! I wonder if I'll run into them? Oh, I hope not! If I don't get this job, I don't want them to know I failed.

She noted the door that opened onto Washington Place; she started toward it. Just then, a trio of well-dressed men came ambling out of the building. Their suits, hats, and shoes were far too elegant and costly looking for shop employees.

That's not the door the workers use,
Raisa thought, and walked briskly around the corner onto Greene Street. Here she saw another entrance to the building.
This must be it,
she thought.
If it's not . . .
She hesitated.

Somewhere, a church bell rang. A few people began to emerge from the Greene Street door, and in that instant all of Raisa's second thoughts vanished.
Quitting time! I have to find Marjorie's foreman before he leaves!
She ran down Greene Street and through the doorway, outracing every thought except
I have to get this job!