“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Mr. Lancaster said. “Let me just call for tea.” He reached for a bell.
“Don’t get anything dirty,” Fritz whispered in Alma’s ear, gingerly sitting on a settee that didn’t look sturdy enough to hold his weight.
Alma assumed it was a settee anyway. She’d never seen one before. Neither had she seen so many gleaming brass candelabras. She sat on the edge next to her brother, not allowing herself to sink into the cushions.
The maid scuttled across the room, rolling a silver tea tray into the parlor loaded with cakes, bread and jam, and cured meats.
Alma accepted a plate and steaming cup of tea. She tried not to fidget and to eat carefully, but as she took a bite of the sponge cake with raspberry jam, she forgot her nerves for an instant and sank into the cake’s fluffy yet moist texture. With the tart raspberries, the cake was even better than Mama’s strudel. She gulped it down more quickly than she should and reached for a wedge of bread and butter. As she brought it to her mouth, she fumbled it in her clumsy fingers, catching it just before it landed face-side down in her lap.
Fritz swallowed a laugh as she wiped away the slick of butter from her hands.
Mr. Lancaster noticed the near-miss but was too polite to acknowledge it. Instead, he broke the silence. “How do you know Miss Ricci?”
Alma dabbed at her mouth awkwardly with a napkin. “I met Miss Ricci and her sister at Ellis Island. I’m a matron there.”
He nodded. “She was a lovely young woman, disadvantaged to be sure, but lovely just the same. How is her sister? I hope she has recovered.”
Alma placed her teacup in its saucer. “I’m sorry to say her sister, Maria, has passed away in the hospital on the island.”
His eyes filled with contrition. “Oh, how terribly sad for her. Please give Miss Ricci my condolences.”
“I will, thank you.” Trying to work up the courage to ask him the dreaded question, she glanced down at the tips of her boots where the leather had begun to wear thin. “You must be wondering why we’ve come.”
Mr. Lancaster gripped the delicate porcelain cup with thick fingers and sipped the milky brew. “I’ll admit, I am a little confused.”
With a deep breath, she filled the gentleman in on the Riccis’ humble beginnings. Lancaster remained silent, watching her closely through her explanation.
“She’s been through quite a lot, you see,” Alma continued.
“And where do I come in, Miss Brauer?”
“I was hoping you might consider… What I mean is, would you happen to have any work Francesca might be able to do for you? If you signed her employment waiver, she could complete the routine inspections at Ellis Island and be in the city by tomorrow evening.”
“I see.” He stood, walked to the bar, and poured himself a scotch. “Care for a scotch?”
“Please,” Fritz said through a mouthful of jam cake.
Lancaster splashed a finger of scotch into a glass and handed the delicate crystal to Fritz. “It’s Lagavulin.”
Fritz grinned and accepted the scotch. “Thank you, sir. I can’t say I’m all that familiar with scotch, but I’m open to suggestion.” They clinked glasses. “Cheers.” When he sipped the liquid, a range of expressions crossed his face.
Lancaster chuckled. “It takes some getting used to. It’s smoky and earthy, but that’s what I like about it.”
“It puts hair on your chest for sure,” Fritz said.
Lancaster laughed heartily. “I suppose it does.”
“Sir,” Fritz began. “My sister here is the smartest person I know. She’s diligent, hard-working, and trustworthy. The best kind of person. She wouldn’t risk embarrassment and possible unemployment unless this young woman was worth it. I’m not sure what you can do for this Miss Ricci, but I hope you will consider my sister’s request.”
Alma held her breath, watching Mr. Lancaster swirl the scotch in his glass. She leaned forward on the settee. Waiting, hoping, inwardly imploring Mr. Lancaster to agree. She had only one more move she could play to persuade him, but she didn’t want to violate Francesca’s privacy and the trust she’d placed in Alma.
Mr. Lancaster swallowed the rest of his scotch in one gulp. He glanced first at Fritz and then at Alma. “I know this isn’t what you were hoping to hear, but I’m not certain I can make this work. Mother actively dislikes Italians, truth be told. I’m sorry Miss Ricci is in trouble, but she’s lucky to have an advocate in you both.”
Alma set down her cup on the mahogany table polished to a shine and met the man’s eye. She’d have to do it, to share Francesca’s secret. She hoped it would be enough. She took a deep breath and laid her last card on the table.
“Perhaps, sir, there’s one more thing you should know.”
16
Francesca sorted blindly through her small travel case, repacking her meager belongings inside it. Her mind had traveled over a well-worn path of fears: the journey home, where she might live, her father seeking answers from Sister Alberta and what that might mean for her beloved friend. And then she thought of Alma Brauer, and her heart flooded with a fierce hope that Alma had been successful last night. Francesca paused to finger the embroidered collar of Maria’s dress. At least her sister couldn’t see her suffer, though it was little consolation. Francesca would suffer a thousand times for only one more day with Maria—even a few more hours where they could talk or laugh or face what came next together, no matter how difficult it might be.
“Sempre sorelle,” she whispered, willing the swell of sadness to subside. Maria would want her to be brave.
She joined the line for the communal shower, and when her turn came, she accepted the cake of soap they offered and scrubbed herself clean. Detainees had to wash daily if they stayed on the premises as well as wash their clothing; it was a mandatory rule at Ellis Island. She was thankful she had more than one dress as she watched those without shiver in the temporary robe the matrons had provided for them while they waited for their turn in the showers. After a quick wash, she cleaned her teeth.
Soon after, everyone began to file into the hallway to make their way to breakfast in the cafeteria.