“There’s no one to account for her?” Sister Claretta asked. “No family?”
Alma moved aside to make way for a group of bedraggled immigrants making their way to the front door. Several were so thin, their cheekbones protruded grotesquely, sending a ripple of pity through her. She couldn’t get used to the sight of misery and starvation. Day after day, they came from afar where it appeared no one was content or well fed. The longer she worked at Ellis Island, the more she understood why her neighborhood was filled to bursting—who could blame these people for not wanting something more, a better life here in America?
“Miss Ricci has no one. No family,” Alma said, dragging her gaze away from the crowd entering the building. Soon, Mrs. Keller would be looking for her.
Sister Claretta’s dark eyes hardened. “Then there’s nothing we can do.”
“Please,” Alma said. “There must be something. She was abused horribly at home. I can’t bear to see her sent back to Italy.”
Sister Elena’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Our housing is full for at least six to eight weeks or more, but we can try to help her find a space at a boardinghouse. First you’ll have to find a way to get her through inspections.”
“How will I do that?”
“You’ll have to be inventive,” Sister Claretta said, looking past Alma at a group of men working their way toward the nuns.
Alma’s shoulders slumped. Short of talking Francesca into marrying a stranger, Alma had no ideas. The only other option was an employment waiver, and Francesca should have had it secured before she set sail. Alma would have to tell her the truth about her very limited options—tomorrow. For now, Alma couldn’t bear to see the despair on the young woman’s face again.
She thanked the nuns and dashed indoors. She tried to hurry, winding through the people flooding inside the building, but she was forced to slow. Her height offered her an advantage, and she peered over the heads of many in the crowd, looking for a place she might squeeze through more easily. She was going to be late to morning lineup, and Mrs. Keller wouldn’t hesitate to let her have it. Sighing, she decided to take a different hallway, though it was in the wrong direction from the matron’s office. She could circle back around outside through the side door to avoid the cramped corridors.
She’d made a good choice. This section of the building was empty. As she reached the end of the corridor, she saw two gentlemen in a corner outside of the commissioner’s office, deep in conversation. She recognized Commissioner Fitchie’s squat frame leaning against the door, but she didn’t know the other gentleman, who was tall and wore a nice suit. He clearly wasn’t a part of the staff at Ellis Island. She tried not to eavesdrop as she approached, but their voices carried and it was impossible not to hear.
“He’s on my back, Tom,” the unknown man said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
Fitchie frowned, and his whole demeanor changed. “They don’t need to know, is all I’m saying,” he said, tone clipped. “There’s a whole lot of meddling in Washington right now, and it’s none of their damned business. Roosevelt doesn’t know the first thing about what goes on here, and he couldn’t possibly understand what we’re dealing with.”
Alma’s ears perked up at the mention of their new president. She’d heard rumors President Roosevelt was displeased with how immigration operations were running, in particular at Ellis Island.
“I know, but you can’t carry on as you have, or it will be your neck,” the man said, just as Alma passed them in the hall.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, pretending not to have heard anything.
“Young lady, good morning,” the commissioner said. “Wait a minute.”
“Yes, sir?” She paused, trying to keep her face neutral. She could feel the other man’s eyes on her.
“I need you to run an errand for me.” Commissioner Fitchie disappeared into his office and returned with a sealed envelope. “See to it that Inspector Lambert receives this, would you? And don’t open it.”
“Of course. Yes, sir.”
She hurried away, envelope in hand, wondering what she was delivering to John Lambert. And what in the world did the mystery man mean by “you can’t carry on as you have, or it will be your neck”?
Mind whirring, she set out to find John Lambert.
Missing paper trail points to undocumented immigrants, fraud James Mackle reports. Manhattan Chronicle.
March 25, 1902—Many counts of fraud have been uncovered at Ellis Island, according to a report by special investigator Inspector Peter Thompson. The inspector discovered last week the ledger used to track citizenship is missing large numbers of certificates, believed to have been sold to passengers that were unlikely to be admitted into the country. The ledger works on a two-part system in which the certificate is torn from a stub where details about the newly arrived immigrant are documented. Months’ worth of stubs appear blank.
Though supervising staff allegedly monitors the daily inspection of immigrants, it is now believed there is collusion at the highest level. Commissioner Thomas Fitchie, upon returning from his vacation, demanded his employees not share information with Inspector Thompson or his staff.
12
Alma hardly acknowledged Fritz beside her on the train ride home. She thought of Francesca’s dark eyes, the hunger there, and an air of courage about her that Alma had never seen in anyone before, much less felt herself. She had always dreamed of another life, beyond the walls of the bierhaus, beyond the banality of becoming a wife to a man who found her merely acceptable. She dreamed of something that felt less like being dutiful and more like living: visiting Germany one day to see her parents’ homeland and meet her cousins and aunts they’d left behind, studying to her heart’s content, and perhaps working away from the home doing something she chose that excited her. But she had so few choices of her own, so little control over her own life, even now.
And if she had dreams in her small life, she couldn’t deny others had dreams, too. Francesca’s struggle had made that clear. The young woman deserved a chance at truly living, not just surviving.
The train whistle sounded, and a great whoosh of steam filled the air. Alma followed Fritz to the platform and down the steps to Chatham Square.
“What’s got you so preoccupied?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know.” She hiked her skirts and stepped over a pile of gray snow.