Alma stared at her in shock. She couldn’t ignore this; she’d have to report Amy to Mrs. Keller. “This is not the way to handle this,” she insisted. “You made her cry!”
Amy rolled her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re always crying. But since you have got it all figured out, you deal with her. I’m going to take a break.” She shoved a notebook into Alma’s hands and pushed past her.
Alma watched her stomp off and then turned to the immigrant, whose face was streaked with tears. “Can I help you?” Alma said in Italian. When she got a blank stare, she tried again in Russian and finally in French.
The woman’s eyes brightened. “Parlez-vous fran?ais?”
“Un petit peu,” Alma replied, holding her thumb and forefinger up to demonstrate just how little she spoke.
The two others in the woman’s party spoke a little English, and between the four of them, they managed to discern the issue. The woman didn’t understand she had to have an additional medical inspection, and once cleared, she would wait on the island for her husband to greet her before they could officially enter the United States. Alma explained they should send a letter to contact him directly.
The woman clasped Alma’s hand tightly. “Merci.”
Alma smiled, glad to have helped, but she couldn’t forget the sight of Amy slapping the immigrant. Troubled, she motioned to the next woman who needed assistance.
By lunch, Alma had changed her mind three times about telling Mrs. Keller, but she circled back to what she knew was right—coworker or no, snitch or no, she had to report Amy’s abuse. She would tell Mrs. Keller and let her tell the commissioner; it was her supervisor’s job after all.
Sighing, she joined the cafeteria line and reached for silverware. It was stew today, with white bread. Alma was always surprised by how few immigrants had eaten or even seen white bread, never mind a full dish of food.
Many hadn’t eaten a decent meal in months and, in some cases, years. Their poverty had driven so many to flee their homelands to seek the prosperity of the United States, but she knew many would never escape that poverty, even here, where jobs abounded and opportunities arose every day. It was simply the way of things. Hard work helped, but luck mattered, too—and one’s nationality. She’d come to understand that more and more.
She carried her tray to a crowded staff table. Helene had already wedged in beside a nurse, and the only space left was next to Mrs. Keller. Alma might as well get her dirty errand over with, she thought, as she slid into the seat beside her.
“How was your morning?” Alma asked to be polite.
“Terrible, since you asked. I’ve put out fires all over the building. It must be a full moon tonight. Everyone has gone mad.”
“So, it’s a normal day then?”
They both laughed.
“I suppose so,” Mrs. Keller said. “But with the hullabaloo over Williams forbidding that Lutheran scoundrel from returning to the station, it’s been crazier than usual.”
“What Lutheran?”
Mrs. Keller shrugged. “A fellow who was selling females into servitude. Might have been negotiating with a brothel as well, but that is unconfirmed.”
Alma gasped. “He was doing that here?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mrs. Keller swallowed a bite of bread. “It’s good that he was caught, of course, but Williams is out for blood. Better mind yourself.”
Alma wiped her mouth with a napkin, pondering how little the staff trusted the commissioner. No one saw him as an ally. They were all too afraid of being discharged. He’d already fired several members of the staff, including an inspector who swore too often at the immigrants and one who missed work because of his whiskey habit.
As they dug into their meals, the sounds of spoons hitting porcelain bowls and the murmur of voices filling the air, Alma sneaked a glance down the table at Amy. She stared glumly into her stew. Alma never knew whether to feel sorry for her or to count her as an enemy. If Amy changed her attitude a little, perhaps work would go a little smoother for her.
But that woman was also a witch to you for no reason, a voice in her head reminded her, and you should turn her in as she deserves.
And it was true. Amy Terrine was not at all nice. Why should Alma help her? But should she have the woman fired when she was clearly overworked and desperate to take care of her husband?
Alma pushed her tray forward, her appetite gone after a few bites of stew. Nothing ever seemed simple.
“What is it?” Mrs. Keller asked after a particularly large bite of bread. “You’re frowning.”
“I don’t know. It’s just that…” Her words trailed off as Amy got up from the table and carried her dirty dishes to the dish cart.
“I haven’t got all day. Out with it.” Mrs. Keller’s already-thin patience would soon disappear entirely.
“Something happened today.”
The supervisor groaned. “So it isn’t good news.”
“It’s Amy Terrine.”
Mrs. Keller threw her hands in the air. “Not her again.”
Alma frowned. Again? She wondered how often Amy had become physical with the immigrants. Alma imagined her slapping Francesca or her poor sister Maria, and suddenly she wasn’t sorry for turning in the matron.
“Amy lost her patience and slapped an immigrant really hard across the face,” she said. “I feel like a rat turning her in because she’s been working so hard, but she left a red welt on the woman’s cheek and made her cry. I calmed her down and helped her work things out, but good grief. Amy didn’t have to hit her.”
Mrs. Keller sighed. “This isn’t the first time with Amy, but you need to understand something. If I report the assault, I know good and well John Lambert won’t listen to a word I say. We don’t see eye to eye, in case you haven’t noticed. I steer clear of him and he stays away from me. That’s the best we can do. Avoid each other. I know he’s your fiancé, so I’ll leave it at that. And before you ask, no, I’m not going to Williams about this.”
“I see,” Alma said. But she didn’t. She hadn’t realized Mrs. Keller had to report to Lambert, but she supposed it made sense since he was a chief officer and Mrs. Keller was only a woman. In fact, all inspectors were above the female matrons and nurses in the hierarchy. Still, it didn’t matter if Keller and Lambert saw eye to eye, it was about doing the right thing. Alma had to admit, however, “the right thing” seemed to become more and more nebulous the longer she worked here. Everyone had a story, and there was always more than one side. But Amy still deserved a reprimand, at the very least, and she should issue an apology.