Claire stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. Her apron had brown smears down the front; it looked as if she’d played in mud rather than baked all afternoon. “We’ll have to be on our guard. Mrs. Cheedle probably wouldn’t tell the mistress there’s a stowaway in the house for a little while, but she might if she’s having a bad day. And we all know what Janie would do. That said, I know what to say to little Miss Rainbows to keep her quiet.”
Francesca removed her apron and sat heavily on the bed, glad to be off her feet. “It’s only for a few days while she looks for a place to live. I’ll begin looking soon, too.”
Alma’s eyes widened.
“Claire knows about the baby,” Francesca said. “I couldn’t hide my stomach from her.” She shot Claire a smile.
“They may not fire you, lamb,” Claire said. “Did you think of that? Perhaps, if you hire a nanny instead, you can still work—”
“No,” Francesca shook her head stubbornly. “I can’t afford to pay someone to watch my child, and as you know, I have no family.”
“Yes, you do,” Alma replied firmly. “We’ve been through more together than I ever have with my sisters. I may not be able to watch the child while I’m at work, but we can make some sort of plan together. Perhaps I can at least take the baby once a week.”
Francesca felt a rush of gratitude for both Alma and Claire, two women who had come into her life and become her friends.
A sharp rap came at the door, and without waiting for the signal to enter, Janie burst into the room.
“What’s everyone doing—” Janie’s eyes settled on one image: Francesca on the bed, her dress tucked neatly around her belly. There was no mistaking the bump at her middle.
Janie’s eyes widened. “Are you pregnant? You little slut! I knew it! I knew you were a whore! Who’s the father?”
“Your father,” Francesca shot back angrily.
Janie gasped at the insult. “How dare you!”
“Janie, get out of here right now!” Claire pushed the woman through the door.
“What’s going on in here?” Mrs. Cheedle swept into the room. “It’s entirely too late to be shouting, ladies.”
“I told you she was a whore!” Janie cried, pointing at Francesca. “She’s pregnant! She’s been hiding it from us.”
Alma glared at Janie. “She is not a whore! This isn’t want you think.”
“It’s all right, amica mia. I can fight my own battle,” Francesca said, but she was relieved she had Alma at her side. It gave her courage to do what she needed to do. She stood, arms crossed, ready for battle. Janie’d hated Francesca the moment she had arrived because she was prettier, true, but mostly because Mr. Lancaster had been instantly kind to Francesca and Mrs. Lancaster had warmed to her in time. Janie couldn’t stomach it.
“Is this true, Francesca?” Mrs. Cheedle demanded, eyes wide. “Are you pregnant?” She glanced at Francesca’s middle. Francesca didn’t cry or equivocate, or offer an extensive explanation. All she offered was a simple “Yes.” This was none of their business, and she didn’t have to tell them anything.
“And what on earth are you still doing here at this hour?” Mrs. Cheedle demanded, her eyes sweeping over Alma.
“She’s staying here, on the floor in our room, for a night or two.”
“This is not a boardinghouse, Francesca!” the older woman said indignantly.
“No, but I can pay you and it’s only for a couple of nights,” Alma added quickly.
Janie looked smug. “Mrs. Lancaster won’t like this.”
“She won’t like how you try on her pearls either,” Francesca replied sharply.
Janie blanched white. “How did you know that? Have you been spying on me?”
Lucky guess, Fran thought. Janie was as transparent as glass.
“Ladies, please!” Mrs. Cheedle shouted. “We’ll resolve all of this in the morning. Miss Brauer, this cannot be a habit. We aren’t in the business of charity.”
“Of course, ma’am, thank you,” Alma replied.
Mrs. Cheedle put her hands on her hips. “Francesca, it isn’t my business how this came to pass, but it will obviously change things here.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, voice soft.
“As for you, Janie”—Mrs. Cheedle swung around to the maid—“you aren’t to say a word of this for now until we decide what to do. Is that understood? This isn’t your concern.”
Janie’s lips puckered as if she’d tasted something rotton. “Fine.” She stormed from the room, throwing Francesca a hateful look as she passed. “Whore.”
“I said that’s enough!” Mrs. Cheedle followed the maid out and scolded her in the hall.
Claire sank onto the bed across from Francesca and patted her knee. “Are you all right?”
“I am. Thank you, Claire, for always being on my side. This was so unexpected”—she laid her hand on her stomach—“but I need to think about what’s next.”
“Is the father your handsome fellow who works on the subway?” Claire asked. “He’s your brother, isn’t he?”
Alma cringed visibly. “Fritz.”
Francesca grimaced. At the sound of his name, pain echoed inside her. “I wish he were.”
Claire tried to hide her surprise, but her eyes gave her away. “Well, what are you going to do, chérie?”
Francesca blinked rapidly, attempting to hold the tears at bay. She had no idea what she was going to do. She was terrified, but it wouldn’t help to admit it. It would only give more power to her fears.
“For now, I’m taking one day at a time.”
Shake-up at Ellis Island: Immigration Bureau to appear before a grand jury James Mackle reports. Manhattan Chronicle.
Sept 5, 1902—In a shocking turn of events, Commissioner William Williams submitted a report Thursday to the Department of Justice. Accusations ranging from theft to blackmail, among other misconduct, have been made against at least forty individuals, including five inspectors of Immigration, railway and steamship companies, and others in various lesser positions at the immigration center. Details surrounding the charges will be brought to the Grand Jury of New York in due course.
Tensions are running high as the staff at Ellis Island wait for the list of the accused.
47
Francesca slept deeply in spite of what the day would bring. Fatigue permeated the very marrow of her bones. The child inside her belly grew, regardless of her distress, and demanded she sleep as much as possible. For today’s errand, she didn’t take the care to bind her breasts and abdomen; the more her protruding stomach showed, the better. She imagined the commissioner’s disdain, the way the matrons would look at her with pity. But after today, she’d never have to see them again. Today, she’d get revenge on the man who’d done this to her. She’d break the chain of abuse, just as she had by leaving home. That was the right thing to do, the just thing, she chanted to herself to keep her courage high.