A red-haired man threw down his fork. “Those damned Russians have no shame. Why are they working for pennies? They make it worse for everyone.”
“The Greeks and Italians are the same,” another man grunted.
“Hell, I can’t go back to working at the millinery. That’s women’s work these days, and they’re paid less, too.”
The conversation devolved, and soon they shouted over each other to be heard.
Alma listened while doling out second helpings. Fritz must have some words of wisdom for his vocal friends. She glanced at him, her worries flaring again. What lengths would they go to, to protect their jobs and homes from the immigrants? She thought of Francesca, how silly it seemed to “protect themselves” from her. She worked as hard as anyone else, needed to survive, same as them. Alma wondered how they’d lost sight of the fact that many of the men at this very table were immigrants once, too. Her stepfather and John included.
“Everyone, calm down.” Fritz lifted his hands, palms out in a defensive stance. “It doesn’t help if we shout at each other. We’ve got to remain organized and focused, calm. Our people are working hard to influence the dealmakers in the city. And, more importantly, the labor unions. We’re making progress; it just takes time.”
“We’re losing influence, not gaining it,” one man argued. “Thanks to that crazy bastard who took out McKinley. And the riots those damned Italians seem intent on starting. Puts the rest of us on a wanted list.”
“We aren’t where we want to be yet,” Fritz said, his blue eyes blazing. “But we will be. Don’t do anything rash. We improve our situation if we remain calm and stand together. If you hear of others preparing for aggressive action, try to persuade them otherwise, or stay out of it. Violence will only make more trouble for us.”
John Lambert frowned, and Alma found herself wondering if he saw the danger in associating with the anarchists.
“Emma Goldman is back in town,” said Paul, Fritz’s closest friend.
“She’s a hell of a speaker,” another man said, motioning to Greta for a beer. “She has a few screws loose, but at least she fights for our rights.”
“Don’t be seen with her lot,” Fritz warned. “We may agree with her, but she attracts trouble. There’s a meeting in two weeks at Webster’s. We’ll convene then and talk about the next steps to unionize.”
Silence settled over the men as they finished their food.
Alma sat on a barrel in the corner at last, but her appetite had waned, her head filled with all they’d said. She’d seen articles in the newspaper about the anarchists and the unions lately. None of them had been positive. At the very least, Fritz should consider meeting elsewhere, permanently. The bierhaus didn’t need to attract negative publicity, or they might drive away customers, never mind potentially bring the police to their door.
“We’re turning away anarchists at Ellis Island,” John Lambert said, breaking the silence. “It isn’t official yet, but we’ve been doing it for the last few months.”
Several of the men eyed him warily, as if he were a spy among their cozy group.
“I know,” Fritz replied. “Alma told me, and that’s fine. We’ll stand our ground. This isn’t really about anarchism itself anymore, at least not for most of us. It’s about earning what we deserve. About not being at the mercy of a corrupt system.”
The men grunted and hunched over their plates.
“It’s also about limiting the number of those damned indigents entering the country. It’s shocking to see so many at once, isn’t it, Alma?” Lambert cast her a sidelong glance as he sopped up the last of his mushroom gravy with a piece of bread. “Even with the new inquiries from Williams, I think we’re going too easy on them.”
“The number of immigrants is shocking,” she replied carefully, not wanting to betray her true feelings.
“I’ll say. If you ever need anything, I hope you come to me,” he said. “I’d be more than happy to be of assistance.” He winked at her and reached for his stein.
Alma shifted on her stool and glanced at Fritz. Amusement danced in his eyes. If the others weren’t there, she knew her brother would tease her. She hadn’t understood why Lambert made her uncomfortable, but the look on Fritz’s face said it all: Lambert was flirting with her.
“Thank you, Mr. Lambert.” She stood abruptly and busied herself in the kitchen. Another hour of beer and conversation later, the men left the bierhaus, one by one. By ten o’clock, only John and two others lingered for a final stein of lager.
Alma wished they would be on their way. She was ready to call it a night. She rubbed the back of her neck, rolled her head from side to side.
“Tell me, Robert.” John ran a thick finger around the rim of his mug. “There aren’t many German families left in the area, so I’m surprised you’re still here. Have you thought about moving to Williamsburg or Hoboken?”
Silence fell over the table. Alma stared at the man in shock as he tugged his beard thoughtfully. She knew her family agreed with the inspector’s appraisal, but to say it so plainly among people he didn’t know all that well could be considered an insult to his hosts.
“We will be soon,” Fritz cut in before their stepfather could answer. “Isn’t that right, Father?”
Her stepfather ran a hand over his tired eyes. “Yes, I’m keeping my eye on a property in Yorkville.”
Eighty-five blocks north, Alma thought, where they could be as far from the poverty of the tenements as possible. This might be a good thing for the family, but it would also make her commute to Ellis Island over an hour every morning.
“You’re doing quite well,” John replied.
“We are,” Robert agreed. “Cheers to that.”
The remaining men clinked their steins together and drank.
Alma finally excused herself and went upstairs to work on her Russian. It had definitely improved, but the language was a far more difficult study for her than Italian, and she had a lot to learn.
An hour later, just as Alma was ready to drop off to sleep, Robert poked his head into the bedroom she shared with her sisters. “Alma, meet me downstairs,” he whispered. “Your mother and I have something to discuss with you. Happy news.”
She lay down her journal, slipped carefully from bed so as not to wake Greta, and stepped over a sleeping Else before tiptoeing to the door. What news could he possibly have to share at this hour? She took the stairs to the bierhaus quickly. Perhaps they were finally moving and he wanted to tell her and Fritz first. They’d have to make preparations, pack their things.
“What is it, Father?” she asked as she entered the room. “What’s the news?”
Mama sat next to Robert, her feet propped on a chair. It had been a long night for all of them.
“Sit down,” he said, pointing at the chair across from him.
What could this be about? Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but she did as she was told, and clasped her hands in her lap.
“We’ve been made a very good offer,” Mama began, and though she smiled, her eyes shone with tears.