Alma’s stomach rumbled. Speaking of lunch, she’d missed it and her energy was starting to flag. Glancing at the clock, she made a quick decision to stop by one of the snack stands. She had enough time to make it there and back if she rushed and the line wasn’t too long. She wound down the steps to the baggage room on the bottom floor, past a crowd purchasing train tickets. On the far eastern end of the building, vendors advertised a selection of sandwiches and snacks, small personal items forgotten or lost in the voyage, and the odd shoe shine. She scanned the signs and jumped into line to buy a pastrami sandwich. Suddenly ravenous, she tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the customers in front of her to move along, until one person remained.
“No English,” the man said to the vendor and pointed to a boxed lunch someone else had tucked under their arm.
“You want a boxed lunch?” the vendor said gruffly. “Pastrami, ham, or liverwurst? I’ve got beef tongue, too, and sardines.” He pointed to a series of signs above his head in at least eight languages.
Instead of replying, the immigrant held out a five-dollar bill.
The vendor snapped it up, took a box from the stack on the table behind him, and handed it to the immigrant. He counted out two dollars in change and poured the coins into the immigrant’s outstretched hand.
The man nodded his thanks and put the coins in his change purse.
Alma watched the exchange in surprise. The vendor had definitely miscounted the change. And clearly, the immigrant couldn’t read.
“Excuse me,” she said, “you’ve shortchanged that man. I saw you count the coins, and you didn’t give him enough.” She placed a hand on the immigrant’s shoulder to stop him before he disappeared in the crowd.
The immigrant looked confused, so she tried several phrases in different languages to no avail. She pointed to her money and, enunciating slowly, said, “Money. More money.”
“What are you, a nun?” the vendor grumbled, tossing the remaining change on the counter, all the while glaring at Alma.
The immigrant bowed his head at Alma to indicate his thanks and scooped the money into his palm.
“What do you want?” the vendor sneered at her.
Her cheeks flamed with indignation. She’d thought she was helping them both, but given the vendor’s response, he’d clearly meant to shortchange the immigrant. The thief!
“Never mind,” she said, furious, unwilling to give him her business. She started in the other direction. She couldn’t believe the nerve of that man, stealing from someone, especially when that someone didn’t understand English or know how to read. She’d assumed the rumors about swindling and extortion at Ellis Island had been just that—rumors. How wrong she’d been.
Flustered, she headed to the second floor. She’d never buy anything from that vendor again.
“Hiya, Miss Brauer.”
Startled from her thoughts, she looked over her shoulder at a smiling Jeremy Kerrigan.
“Oh, Jeremy. Hello.” His morning suit was a deep green today. She noticed the way the color accented his eyes.
“Have you turned twenty-two then?” he asked. “You look a wee bit older than the last time I saw you.”
At the welcome and unexpected distraction, she laughed, recalling their first conversation about how terribly “old” she was. “I’m not twenty-two yet, but my back has been going out on me from time to time.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Having a nice day, I hope?”
“Nice enough, thank you.”
“I’ve saved something for you,” he said. “It’s in my office, if you can spare a quick minute.”
“Just a quick minute. I’m coming back from lunch.”
“Sure, sure.”
Curious about what he wanted to show her, she followed him to his office.
He fished inside the top drawer of his desk and produced a small children’s book. “One of the best ways to improve language skills is to translate books,” he said. “Start with the basics. I’ve read this so many times I have it memorized.” He placed it gently in her hands.
She turned it over. A drawing of a pear tree had been painted on the cover and, beneath the image, the title. “It’s in Russian?” she asked.
He nodded. “I hope it isn’t presumptuous. I—”
“No… I… It’s wonderful, thank you. I’ll work on translating it tonight.”
He rewarded her with a crooked smile. “I’m not insulting you by giving you some kid’s rubbish, then?”
She smiled warmly, so very pleased by the gift. “It’s perfect, really. Thank you.”
He flushed a little. “Right. I suppose we should get to work.”
“We should.” On her way to the door, her stomach rumbled again, a reminder of her abandoned meal and the dishonest vendor. She paused in the doorway. Though she hardly knew Jeremy, he seemed the trustworthy type.
“I saw something today,” she said. “It was a vendor. He gave an immigrant the incorrect change, and I believe he did it on purpose because when I pointed it out to him, he swore at me. I wasn’t sure if I should report him or who to tell, or… I don’t know. I was so mad, I left without even buying the sandwich I’d gone there for in the first place.”
The laugh lines around Jeremy’s mouth smoothed and his eyes became guarded. “A lot happens around here that would surprise you. But I’d suggest you steer clear of the trouble.”
“Shouldn’t I tell someone?”
He looked pensive. “That depends on who you tell. Since you’re still a relatively new employee, I’d say it’s best not to meddle, if you know what I mean.”
She nodded, but she didn’t know what he meant.
When he saw her expression he added, “Listen, there have been some rumors about the commissioner going around. Just stay out of sight until things settle down. It’s unclear who is on his side and who isn’t. Best protect yourself for now.”
She remembered what she’d overheard in the hallway between Commissioner Fitchie and the unknown gentleman. The reports of Roosevelt’s displeasure over the immigration center’s policies. If something was going on behind the scenes, she didn’t want to unwittingly find herself in the middle of it.
She nodded. “Thanks for the warning. And for the book.” She hugged it to her chest and ducked out of his office, mind racing. She wondered what Jeremy had meant by “steer clear of the trouble.” What kind of trouble could there possibly be in reporting a thief? And what was happening with the commissioner?
Suddenly the end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.
18
At a quarter to twelve, Francesca stood outside the clerk’s office watching members of the staff and immigrants wander past to the cafeteria. By ten past the hour, almost everyone had gone to lunch and she resorted to wringing her hands. Perhaps the inspector had decided the form from Mr. Lancaster wasn’t enough, and he had changed his mind about their transaction. What would she do then? Francesca had a feeling Alma couldn’t do much for her if an inspector had made a decision.
At that moment, the inspector appeared and without slowing his pace said, “Follow me.”
Heart pounding in her ears, she followed him down the corridor and into another room. As she entered, she took in the nondescript desk and chairs, filing cabinets, and several empty coffee mugs in need of washing. When he closed the door and the lock clicked, they were completely out of sight of any passersby.