Heather Wardell - Fiery Girls

FIERY GIRLS

A Novel of the 1911 Triangle Waist Company Fire

Heather Wardell

Copyright 2021 by Heather Wardell

Fiery Girls is a work of historical fiction, using real-world events presented as accurately as possible including what might now be outdated or offensive terminology. Its main characters are products of the author's imagination; when actual people from history do appear, their dialogue and situations are based in reality but created by the author. Any other resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

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Book Layout 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

Cover Design 2020 Scarlett Rugers

Fiery Girls/ Heather Wardell. 1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-988016-09-2 paperback

ISBN 978-1-988016-08-5 ebook

http://www.heatherwardell.com/

Part One

CHAPTER ONE

Rosie

August 22, 1909

"Rosie Lehrer!"

Fear holds me still for a moment, then I realize that if I take too long, I might lose my chance. If I even have a chance.

My legs shaking so much I feel almost as though I'm still on the ship, I manage to walk forward to the girl, a little older than me, who called my name.

"I'm Cecilia Greenstone, Rosie, and this man here is your inspector," she says in Yiddish, gesturing to the stern-faced man in a black suit who sits, perched on a high stool, with one hand resting atop a messy stack of papers on a small desk before him. "I will be your interpreter. Unless you speak English?"

"Not well enough I mean, I did try to learn, but" I bite my lip. "Yiddish, please." Not that it'll matter what language we use, once she learns the truth about me.

She nods. "Yiddish is fine. Please do speak as loudly as you can."

I already was.

"Have you any relatives here already?"

"No," I admit, trying to hide the trembling of my hands in the folds of my skirt. "No, I do not."

Should I keep my eyes on Cecilia? It would ordinarily be polite, since she's the one speaking. But I know that the questions she asks aren't hers, they're the inspector's. He's the one who matters. But he terrifies me.

Cecilia moves a little closer, cupping her hand around her ear. "Will your husbandno, you're only sixteen. Your father, then? Will he arrive soon? Or perhaps a brother?"

I shake my head, misery sweeping over me.

She moves closer still and lays her hand on my shoulder. "Rosie, it's all right. Answer the questions and I'll be able to help you."

"You won't," I say, fighting back a sob. "I'm not allowed."

"Not... what do you mean?"

"I am alone," I admit. "I came here alone. My parents didn't know... we thought I could... but... on the ship..." I stop, unable to find words to describe the horror I felt when, on the very day my ship departed, I learned that a girl alone would not be permitted into America.

Cecilia squeezes my shoulder. "It is all right, Rosie. No, you can't leave Ellis Island alone, but you won't have to. If you do well, if you answer my questions carefully, I have people who can help you."

I want to believe this. I need to. But I've only just met her.

"Trust me," she says, looking into my eyes and nodding as if she can see what I'm thinking. "Trust me, Rosie. I promise you. I work with the National Council of Jewish Women, and we can find you a room and a job and"

The inspector barks a few words, which I can't quite hear, and Cecilia turns back and answers him. He pulls his mouth to one side as if he doesn't like what she said, but he gives a sharp nod.

"We must go through the questions quickly, Rosie. Do your best."

My father would call me foolish, but I find myself trusting her. "All right."

"And be loud!"

I've been raised to be a quiet girl, a good girl. But here, I must be different. With so many potential immigrants in this huge high-ceilinged hall, each with an interpreter helping an inspector decide whether they should be allowed to enter America, everyone's almost shouting to be heard over everyone else, and I need to make myself do the same. I need to take a deep breath and shout my answers, though the air stinks of the fear of people who haven't bathed for weeks.

But how, when I'm so scared I can hardly speak at all?

Cecilia nods encouragingly and gives me a small smile, barely a twitch of her lips, and I try to calm myself by looking only at her gentle face below her thick brown hair swept up beneath a pretty gray hat.

I think she cares about me.

I think the inspector does not.

Men in uniform never care about Jews, it seems to me, unless they're deciding how to get rid of us, and his cold eyes and set jaw frighten me.

"Rosie, tell me, why have you come here?"

I take such a deep breath that my corset creaks then push out my words as loudly as I can. "I am here to earn the money to bring my family to America. My parents, my brother, my two young sisters."

She raises her eyebrows and I know she's thinking the same thing I am: it will take me years to earn passage for five people.

She doesn't say it, though. Instead, she asks a few more questions, about my background and what I know about America, then gives me a smile that reminds me of how my mother can tell me I have managed to impress her without speaking a word.

As my heart begins to fill with hope, she turns and says something to the inspector.

Though I can't hear her, he obviously can, because he answers her then waves his hand toward the staircases behind him as if shooing away a fly.

"You passed," Cecilia says to me, still in Yiddish. "Welcome to America, Rosie."

To my shame, my eyes fill with tears and I barely manage to hold back a sob.

I have spent nearly two weeks worrying in every waking moment. Though I tried to be optimistic, I couldn't. I was certain that once we reached New York I'd be put right back on the stinking horrible ship and forced to return to Belostok, to Russia. To the Pale of Settlement, where we Jews are forced to live. I've had nightmares every night about it.

But Cecilia told me I would be allowed in, and she was right.

I trusted her, and I was right to do so, and the relief is almost too much to bear.

The inspector looks unimpressed at my reaction, so I swipe at my eyes and find a few English words. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."

He nods and again waves me away, and Cecilia takes my arm so she can guide me past the inspector who is now calling another hopeful immigrant from the endless lines.

Once we reach the head of the stairs, she says, "I know it's frightening being an immigrant, Rosie, I am one myself, but you are a heldish maydl. You will do well here."

Nobody has ever called me a brave girl before, and it fills my heart with sunshine. "I want to. I..." I have so many questions swirling in my mind. When my parents told me I would be moving to America, I somehow never thought about how it would all work. They told me to go, so I went. Now that I'm here, though, everything I don't know overwhelms me. How am I to do this alone?

"So, let me tell you how I can help you," Cecilia says, leading me toward the staircase. "I know a house for immigrant girls, with good food and clean rooms for a fair price. The workers there will help you find a job, and they also have classes to teach you English and other things about America."