“Good evening, Miss Brauer,” he said, approaching. “You were just the person I was looking for.”
“Hello, sir,” she said, clasping her hands together. The very sight of him put her on edge.
He removed his spectacles and began polishing them with a handkerchief. “I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on your engagement. I hear Inspector Lambert is the lucky gentleman.”
She stiffened. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” She wished everyone would stop congratulating her. It was not a happy occasion.
He peered at her intently, as if looking for something. “Do you know Mr. Lambert well? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the two of you speak.”
“Not well, sir, no. He visits our brewery from time to time. Speaks with my father.” She wanted to tell him her engagement was as much a surprise to her as to anyone else. That she abhorred the fact she had no say in the matter, and so little control over any aspect of her life, but she said nothing, knowing it wasn’t the time or place to voice her woes.
“I see.” The commissioner looked over the top of his spectacles at her.
“Is there… Did you wish to tell me something, sir? I should probably get to work.”
“I just wanted to convey my best wishes. Is everything running smoothly this evening?”
“Yes, it seems to be.”
“Very good, Miss Brauer.”
She shifted from one foot to the other under the scrutiny of his gaze.
“I don’t mean to alarm you,” he continued, “but I think it’s in your best interest that you take your job very seriously.”
Stunned, she said nothing. She always took her job seriously, and everything else she dedicated herself to as well. “I—I don’t understand, sir. I do take it seriously.”
“Yes, well. While it’s true we have too many immigrants sailing in on a weekly basis, it’s unacceptable to behave poorly toward them. They deserve common decency and respect, even if they are wretched. I won’t have the staff abusing them or taking advantage of them, not under my direction, for any reason. I have no qualms about firing anyone who does, regardless of their position. I’ve delivered this message to your husband-to-be. It’s best you both take heed.”
“Sir, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think we both know what I mean. Now, off to work with you,” he said firmly. “It won’t be long before the day shift arrives.”
She didn’t have the slightest idea what he meant, but one thing was certain: she was now linked with John Lambert, whether she liked it or not, and they’d both better be on their best behavior.
*
The following Sunday, Alma bumbled around the kitchen, trying to help her mother get ready for the Sunday picnic, but she could scarcely focus. John Lambert would be there today, and he’d made it clear he wanted to spend time with her alone. She’d thought about what the commissioner had said for days. Though he hadn’t come out and said precisely what he knew about John, she’d gotten the impression it wasn’t good—and now the commissioner suspected her, too, of whatever it was. Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the fruit basket hanging over the edge of the counter. Her shawl caught the wooden slats and tipped the basket’s contents to the floor, sending apples rolling in every direction. She swore loudly, catching Robert’s attention.
“Watch it, girl,” he snapped as he lugged several jugs of beer into the kitchen. “If you bruised them, you can pay for them. Now clean that up. It’s time to go.”
Now she was to pay for an accident? Silently, she fumed and bent to retrieve the apples, checking their skins carefully for bruises. Only one had smashed flesh beneath the skin. She placed the damaged apple on the bottom of the basket. It would be perfectly serviceable for stewed apples and cinnamon, or in sauerkraut.
When they arrived at the park, Alma noticed Francesca had decided not to join them today. Alma also noticed Fritz kept watching the entrance. He was clearly looking for her. She made a mental note to check in with Francesca when she had a chance this week after work, to make sure everything was all right.
Though the early summer day was warm, clouds blanketed the sky, and Alma found herself praying for rain. But an hour later, still no rain had come and John Lambert sauntered across the park toward them.
“Hello, Brauers,” he bellowed.
Alma nodded politely but continued her card game with Klaus.
Mama greeted John with a little more enthusiasm than she should have and nearly knocked him off his feet. He laughed and glanced at Alma again, but when she didn’t make the effort to talk to him, he joined Fritz and his friends.
Mama shot Alma a wide-eyed look and flicked her hands to shoo her in his direction.
Heart sinking, Alma handed Klaus her cards and inserted herself into John’s conversation, doing her best to be friendly and engage him. But he seemed more interested in talking with Fritz about fussball and who would play in today’s match. She couldn’t care less about soccer, but as she turned to go, John reached for her arm.
“Would you like to go for an iced cream?” he asked.
She didn’t want to go with Lambert, but she supposed it was better to get to know him now, rather than marrying a stranger. And at least she liked iced cream.
She forced a smile. “I think that sounds nice. There’s a stand on Delancey Street—”
“Actually, I think Gerald’s on Union Square is a better choice. Shall we?”
She covered her annoyance behind a forced smile. “Fine. That sounds nice.”
They said their goodbyes and walked to Union Square, making polite conversation about the weather, John’s interest in fussball, and eventually, their conversation turned to work. She was relieved to have something in common to talk about with him.
“Between us, that new commissioner is a bit of a bastard. He’s been nosing around my business, checking over my ledgers to see who I admit to the country and who I turn away. Second-guessing every call I make.”
“Isn’t that the commissioner’s job?” she asked.
His lip curled in irritation. “I’m the chief of registry. You’d think he would spend his time doing something more worthwhile. Check up on the other inspectors or the matrons. Keep the hospital staff in line.”
“You think he needs to check up on the matrons?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Alma didn’t reply. She’d seen a thing or two that hadn’t seemed “in line” with the duties and expectations at Ellis Island, but she wouldn’t say the matrons needed strict supervision. They weren’t the gatekeepers in the end, though their work with the immigrants did help keep the doctors and inspectors informed. They also did everyone’s errands and dirty work. They needed to be assisted, not to be investigated.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached Gerald’s, John purchased their iced creams and found an empty bench. Alma dipped into the cold chocolate cream and let the sweet treat melt on her tongue, momentarily forgetting her nerves.
“You like it,” John observed.
“Very much.”
“We should make a habit of this.” He took her hand briefly in his and squeezed it.