As Francesca brushed her hair and pinned it in place, she noticed a woman at her cot, counting a roll of dollar bills and folding them into a pouch in her change purse. The woman looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her. With most of the crowd gone, her eyes landed on Francesca. Francesca glanced quickly at the floor, pretending she hadn’t seen what the woman was doing, and busied herself towel-drying her hair. Satisfied no one had seen her, the woman rolled her purse inside a piece of cloth and stuffed the bundle at the foot of her cot beneath a blanket. She glanced around quickly again and joined the others headed to the cafeteria.
Francesca felt the itch in her fingers to lift the blanket and seek out the bills. Spirit them away in her skirts. Exchanged to lira, the money would support her for weeks in Napoli, or at least until she found a more permanent situation. But it would be wrong to rob the woman. She’d likely saved for a long time to make her way in America.
Francesca stared at the woman’s cot. If she took the money, could she live with herself? But could she survive in Napoli—or New York, for that matter—without it? Survival seemed more urgent than a nagging conscience.
She dashed to the cot. Glancing over her shoulder just as the woman had done, she confirmed she was the only person in the room. A matron stood at the door, waiting for the rest of the detainees to vacate so she could lock it, but her attention was diverted by someone else in the hallway. No one would ever know.
Hands trembling, Francesca lifted the blanket.
As she unrolled the fabric and pulled out the purse, she wrestled with her conscience. What if the woman reported the money missing and a search was initiated?
Many of the immigrants had American money on them, she reasoned, and the inspectors didn’t know how much each person carried with them until final inspections. Besides, she would be gone by tomorrow. Stowed away in the bottom of an ocean liner before the money would be found missing. She hesitated an instant, touched la Madonna at her neck. Sister Alberta would be so disappointed in her if she could see Francesca, but she couldn’t and Francesca needed the money as desperately as the other woman. Perhaps more.
Pulse thundering in her ears, she pulled out the bills, peeled off three, and stuffed them inside the sleeve of her dress. The rest she left in the purse. This way, they could both have what they needed. She shoved the remaining money back into the handbag and rolled it up exactly as she’d found it.
“Are you finished yet?” The matron at the door, by the name of Helene, poked her head inside the room. “You’re going to miss breakfast.”
“Yes. I am finished,” Francesca said.
She left, stomach still clenched with nerves. At the end of the hallway, she veered left, went down the stairs, and rather than going to the cafeteria, stepped outside for a walk. She wasn’t likely to see Alma until the midday meal anyway, and until then, she’d bide her time in the fresh air.
Once outdoors, she inhaled a deep breath and her pulse began to slow. The sun heated the brisk morning air, a whisper of warmer temperatures to come. It was a nice day at last—in time for her to leave, she thought bitterly. The weeks she’d been stranded on the island were the final days of winter, and she would miss the beauty of the spring. Sighing, she avoided the crowded front walk, where a ferry had just docked and the missionaries had begun to descend, and walked across the sprawling lawn on the western part of the island past a row of benches. A group of men kicked a ball; several clusters of children devised their own games, chasing each other, laughing. It seemed others had the same idea as her, to enjoy the fresh air while they waited. She continued to a relatively secluded spot where the lawn ended at the farthest edge of the island. From there, she could see clearly across the bay to the majestic city beyond it.
Her throat thickened as she looked at the vast expanse of buildings and a city she might never know. A dream just within her grasp.
“Francesca!”
She turned to see Alma bounding across the lawn. She must have news. Francesca’s heart leaped into her throat, but she put on a brave face and waved at the matron.
“There you are!” Alma panted. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. A matron spotted you leaving the building, or I would have never found you.” She caught her breath, turning her face to the sun a moment. “It’s turning out to be a lovely day, isn’t it?” She smiled and laid a hand on Francesca’s shoulder. “And nicer still when you hear my news.”
Her lungs tightened, but she carefully kept her voice steady. “What is it?”
“I met Mr. Lancaster.” A generous smile spread across the young woman’s face. “He agreed to sign an employment waiver for you! And he didn’t just sign it. He’s offered you a job! You don’t have to leave!”
Francesca cried out and threw her arms around the matron’s neck and promptly burst into tears. She was free to begin another life! And she’d live it for herself, and for Maria. Her sister hadn’t died in vain.
Alma patted her back awkwardly. “I know, it’s surprising. I thought he’d turn me away because of his mother, but I convinced him otherwise. In the end, he said he would enjoy watching Mrs. Lancaster ‘learn about the modern world,’ I think was how he put it.”
Francesca wiped her eyes and laughed at her sudden change of fortune. “I’m—mi dispiace—I am sorry. I’m just so happy!”
As relief crashed over her, her mind raced with what was next. Inspection, finding a place to live, warmer clothes. Unable to control her excitement, she embraced Alma again, the awkwardness of not knowing each other well falling away like autumn leaves.
“What did Mr. Lancaster say? What is the job?” she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Their cook was fired recently for burning too many roast chickens, so he’d like to hire you to take her place.”
A cook. Speechless with joy and gratitude, she wiped at another flood of relieved tears.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you,” Francesca said at last.
“Sometimes we need a little help. Someone very wise told me that.” Alma smiled widely.
Francesca returned the smile.
“The other news,” Alma continued, “is that I took the liberty of speaking to the nuns from the mission on your behalf, and also the Christian society, but their beds are full right now. There have been so many ships lately. So I thought…I thought you might stay with us, at my family’s apartment? If you’d prefer to find a place on your own, I understand.”
Francesca grinned, this time, as a wave of joy washed over her. The thought of facing the enormity of New York for the first time on her own had made her a little queasy, but now, she wouldn’t be scrambling to find a place to sleep for the night. “Yes, grazie mille. Oh, Alma. Grazie.”
“Good, that’s settled,” Alma said. “If you like, you can go through inspections and then wait here at Ellis Island until the end of my workday and we’ll travel together. Or you can take the next ferry and meet me later at Battery Park. I understand if you’d rather leave as soon as possible.”
“I wait,” Francesca replied in English. She couldn’t believe her sudden change of fortune.
“All right,” Alma said. “My brother will meet us at the dock to escort us home.”
Francesca touched Alma’s shoulder. “This means much to me.”