As the afternoon wore on I was hot, tired, and growing more despondent by the minute. My overriding impression was of an extreme distrust of the Chinese. I was warned several times about getting involved with them. One man actually said, “You haven’t gone and married one of them, have you?”
I wondered what had made him say that, until an old Russian, more astute and interested than the others had been, listened carefully to my description. “Dragon and phoenix intertwined?” he said. “That sounds like a bride-piece to me. Dragon for virility and power, and phoenix for fertility and health. I saw that kind of thing when I was in Shanghai, waiting for a ship.”
When I looked puzzled by this he added, “We fled from Vladivostok, you know. Our home was destroyed in the war with Japan, and Russia is no place to be right now.”
I had had enough for one day. The soles of my feet were throbbing from those burning sidewalks. The thin muslin of my dress was sticking to my back with sweat. I decided to call it a day and make an early start in the morning, although I was already telling myself that I was not likely to be any more successful than I had been today.
Workers were leaving sweatshops, indicating how late it had become. Those girls worked a twelve-hour day at least. I watched them walking three or four abreast, arm in arm, chatting and laughing with the relief of being in the fresh air and free after the long day of toil. The pushcarts had come out too in abundance and I had to thread my way between stalls selling roasted chickpeas, live chickens, pickles, buttons, and lace—in fact anything that could be sold to earn a few coins. Usually I savored this lively scene, but at this moment all I wanted to do was escape from it to the peace of Patchin Place, where a bath and a cool drink would await me.
I was on my way back to the Bowery and the El station when I heard the most improbable sound: someone was yelling my name. I turned around, unsure that I was actually the one being called, and saw two figures running toward me, fighting their way through the crowd. It was my long-lost Irish children, Bridie and Shamey, followed by their father.
“Molly. Look, Pa, it’s Molly!” Bridie was shrieking, not caring whom she pushed aside to reach me.
Shamey made it first with his big, almost man-sized strides. He went to hug me, then thought better of it, wiping his hands down his shirtfront instead, but smiling at me delightedly. “We thought you’d gone away,” he said.
“I thought you must have gone away,” I replied, putting my arms around both of them. “I sent you an invitation to my wedding but I got no reply.”
“We came back to the city,” Shamey said. “We’re living with Auntie Nuala for a while.”
“Goodness gracious. What on earth made you do that?” I demanded, as that lady’s abode did not hold pleasant memories for me.
Seamus had caught up to us, his round Irish face streaming with sweat. “Molly, it’s grand to see you again. We went to your old house, but there was nobody there except for a painter and he said a young couple was to be moving in. So we thought you’d gone away.”
“The young couple is Daniel and myself.” I stepped aside as there was a shout and a cart full of bolts of cloth came rumbling down the street. “I’m getting married in less than two weeks.”
He tipped his cap to me. “Lord love you. God’s blessings on you and your husband.”
I smiled. “I sent you an invitation to the wedding. Now I hope you’ll be able to make it.”
“If we’re still here in two weeks.” Seamus wrinkled his forehead. “Not exactly sure how things will be going.”
“Where do you think you might be?”
He frowned again. “I heard they were looking for men willing to take a ship down to Central America,” he said. “There’s plans to build a canal through a place called Panama, clear through the jungles. When it’s done they say that ships will be able to sail from the Atlantic to the Pacific without going ’round the Horn. So I signed on and I’m taking young Shamey with me. We want to be on the spot when the contract gets signed and get first pick of the jobs. They say the pay’s good and I reckon it will set us up for life.”
I looked from one face to the next, my unease growing. “You’re taking Shamey with you?”
“I am. He’s a good little worker and almost a man.”
“I’ll be twelve soon,” Shamey said, “and I can lift really heavy things, can’t I, Pa?”
There was such pride in his voice that I couldn’t yell out what I wanted to: Don’t let him go!
I turned to look at little Bridie. She had also grown, but she still had that frail and delicate air about her, holding on to my skirt as she looked up at me with those sweet blue eyes. “You’re never thinking of taking Bridie down to some heathen jungle?” I demanded, stroking that baby-fine hair.