Alma frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, liebling. I’m very happy. I think we’ve finally found the right man for you.”
Alma froze. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve received an offer of marriage for your hand,” Robert said. “And we’ve accepted it.”
Alma shot to her feet. “What—when did this happen?”
“Sit down,” her stepfather snapped. “This gentleman is the perfect choice. He’s the reason you have a job at Ellis Island.”
John Lambert? A lump of tears formed in her throat. No. They couldn’t do this to her. She’d done all they’d asked of her; she was working hard, turning her paycheck over to them so they could move. She was out of Robert’s way and mostly out of his sight. She was not going to marry her boss!
“He wants to marry a German girl,” her stepfather continued. “He said he’d like for you to continue your work at Ellis Island until you’re married later this fall. He needs a few months to wrap up some things he has to take care of, and then you can retire to your new home and begin a family. He’s an excellent match for you, Alma.”
The room began to spin as she gasped for air. “But he’s too old for me. Isn’t he more than forty?” Every time they’d presented her with a new suitor, she’d managed to scare the man off with her intelligence, or by withdrawing and putting on a bored air, but John knew her competence. He’d seen her work hard the last two months, and he knew her family, admired them even. “I hardly know him,” she said at last.
Robert threw his hands in the air. “We know him well enough. He has asked for your hand, Alma, and I’ve given my consent. That’s the end of it.”
If the floor opened up beneath her, swallowed her whole, she would slide gratefully into its oblivion. Her stepfather had wanted to be rid of her for years, and she’d been able to put off the inevitable, until now. Now she would be traded like a common farm animal.
She squeezed her eyes closed to hide the threatening tears. “But I’d like to keep working and save money to help our family.” She offered a feeble protest. When they said nothing, she added, “I want to be promoted at Ellis Island, become an interpreter. Just think of my increase in pay. I know there aren’t women doing that now, but I’m confident I can—”
He silenced her with a stern look. “There won’t be any interpreting. You’ll work until you’re married, Alma, and retire to the home. That’s final. Now, John is considering a spacious apartment in Hoboken. It’s not terribly far away. You can still visit your mother whenever you like.”
She could visit her mother? That was supposed to be some consolation? She was being forced to give up her work—her hopes of saving her own money, of translating or schooling—to become a middle-aged man’s wife.
“When?” she asked, voice hoarse.
Robert pushed up from the table. “Sometime later this autumn.”
Months away. She looked to Mama, desperately hoping for some sign of dissent. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she’d side with Alma, or at least buy her a little more time. But Johanna had tears of joy in her eyes.
Had the proposal come before Alma had spent months working away from home, on her own, learning how to assert herself with strangers, perhaps she would have bowed her head and done as they demanded. Perhaps she’d have continued to be the timid young lady who followed their orders without question. Instead, she balled her hands into fists. “And if I refuse Lambert’s offer?”
“It’s not your place to refuse, girl. Besides, it would bring shame to this house if you went back on our word. Would you do that after everything we’ve given you? Anyway, we’ve already consented. The topic is closed. Come on, Johanna. I’m tired as hell tonight.” Robert stepped down from the barstool and carried his beer upstairs.
Mama squeezed Alma’s hands. “This is a good thing, liebling. You’ll see. I know you’re afraid, but that will pass in time. Sometimes we have to make difficult decisions, but things usually work out in the end.”
Unable to move, Alma watched her mother follow Robert upstairs. Her future was not her own to decide. She knew this—had always known it—but it was no longer a distant, unpleasant idea. She climbed the stairs and sat on the sofa in the dark, panic washing over her in waves.
The future was now, ready or not, and she’d have to find a way to accept it.
Or, perhaps, she needed only to find a way out of it.
29
When Sunday arrived, the entire city hummed under a brilliant blue sky. Francesca relished the sunlight as she strolled to Tompkins Square Park, a basket of fresh bread, peach jam, and a glistening fruit tart on her arm. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the warm weather of home until the sun blazed overhead and sent a flush across her cheeks. Thankfully, Mrs. Cheedle had granted Francesca’s request to take Sunday afternoons off like the rest of the staff. It helped that the Lancasters spent each Sunday evening at a dinner party with friends. Mrs. Cheedle had even allowed her to bring the goodies in the basket in exchange for a few coins. The old woman wasn’t as stern as Francesca had once thought, and she’d taken to Francesca when she’d seen how hard her new cook worked.
Smiling, Francesca relished the beautiful spring weather. She felt a bit lighter today, as if the heavy grief that had enveloped her like thick cotton had teased apart to let a little light in. Alma had invited her to their Sunday family gathering, by mail, just as she had said she would. It was Francesca’s very first letter, addressed and written to her. She’d smiled when the invitation came, and she was proud she’d been able to read most of it with a little help from Claire. Francesca was a resident of New York City, and little by little, she was shedding her Italian skin, becoming one of them. An American.