ear.
She smiled winsomely and laid a hand on his arm.
He shook his head, stamped the paper, and handed it to Mrs. Melkford. “With friends like the two of you, the woman’s standing on gold.” He looked hard at Maureen. “Don’t make me live to regret this.”
“No, sir. I won’t, sir.” Maureen wasn’t certain what had just transpired, but she lifted her bag and dutifully followed the woman with her letter and papers, down the stairs and through a set of doors into another sea of humanity.
“Stay close beside me, dear,” Mrs. Melkford ordered as she wove through piles of luggage, squirming children, and tableaux of joy and misery. “This is the waiting area for immigrants to meet their families and sponsors. And that—” she pointed across the room—“is known as the kissing post.”
As if to demonstrate her meaning, a middle-aged man, dark, wiry, and heavily mustached, dashed through a gate at the end of the room, wove through a small crowd of bystanders, and whooshed into the air a woman at least his age. He twirled her twice around and kissed her lips and eyes and cheeks until Maureen thought he might eat her alive. Two children hung on to his coattails for dear life, and when he was finished kissing their mother, he tossed them high by turn. Maureen didn’t need to know their names or jabbering, lilting language to envy their reunion.
“It’s not always so happy.” Mrs. Melkford tipped her head toward a tearful young woman just meeting her husband. By the empty baby blanket the young woman held, the child’s tiny portmanteau with no child at her feet, and by her fearful looks and gesturing toward the doors through which Maureen and Mrs. Melkford had just passed, it was clear that something had gone terribly wrong.
“No.” Maureen spoke to Mrs. Melkford for the first time. “’Tisn’t always happy.” She thought again of Katie Rose. “You’ve seen my sister and Nurse Harrigan, then? Can I see her? Will they let her come with us?”
Mrs. Melkford shook her head. “Goodness, no. Nurse Harrigan said your sister has the chicken pox! She’s been quarantined. They won’t release her until she’s well. But if all goes as expected, she should be up and right as rain in a week or two at most.” Mrs. Melkford nodded to this official and that, showed them her own papers as well as Maureen’s, and waltzed the two of them through the doors into the biting wind and November dusk. “Come along,” she chirped, half-running. “We’ll want to catch that ferry!”
Maureen grabbed her arm and dragged her to a stop. “But I cannot leave this island without Katie Rose!”
“Oh, child! Have they explained nothing to you?” Mrs. Melkford wrenched her arm away.
But Maureen wasn’t a child; she was a grown woman, and she was sick to death of Americans stomping on her life. I never should have let them take Katie Rose! I’m her sister—she needs me. She dug in her heels as the final whistle blew for the ferry.
Mrs. Melkford, stronger than she looked, jerked Maureen’s bag from her grasp and headed down the planked dock. “It’s up to you now!” she called back to Maureen. “If you want to stay in America, if you hope to see your sister again, you’ll come with me!”
Maureen did not want to follow, but she didn’t want to be left behind. Mrs. Melkford, whoever she was, had her bag, her letter—her only feeble claim to being allowed in America. Just as the dockhand was pulling up the gangway, Maureen dashed aboard, nearly knocking him over.
He swore in words familiar to Maureen, but she didn’t stop. She’d heard them all in the Englishman’s house and out the back door of her uncle’s pub in the village. Even so, she felt the heat bathe her neck as she searched for Mrs. Melkford among the groups of passengers. A handkerchief and sheaf of papers waved through the air near the back of the ferry. Maureen followed their signal, hoping that Mrs. Melkford would be attached.
“I’ve
She smiled winsomely and laid a hand on his arm.
He shook his head, stamped the paper, and handed it to Mrs. Melkford. “With friends like the two of you, the woman’s standing on gold.” He looked hard at Maureen. “Don’t make me live to regret this.”
“No, sir. I won’t, sir.” Maureen wasn’t certain what had just transpired, but she lifted her bag and dutifully followed the woman with her letter and papers, down the stairs and through a set of doors into another sea of humanity.
“Stay close beside me, dear,” Mrs. Melkford ordered as she wove through piles of luggage, squirming children, and tableaux of joy and misery. “This is the waiting area for immigrants to meet their families and sponsors. And that—” she pointed across the room—“is known as the kissing post.”
As if to demonstrate her meaning, a middle-aged man, dark, wiry, and heavily mustached, dashed through a gate at the end of the room, wove through a small crowd of bystanders, and whooshed into the air a woman at least his age. He twirled her twice around and kissed her lips and eyes and cheeks until Maureen thought he might eat her alive. Two children hung on to his coattails for dear life, and when he was finished kissing their mother, he tossed them high by turn. Maureen didn’t need to know their names or jabbering, lilting language to envy their reunion.
“It’s not always so happy.” Mrs. Melkford tipped her head toward a tearful young woman just meeting her husband. By the empty baby blanket the young woman held, the child’s tiny portmanteau with no child at her feet, and by her fearful looks and gesturing toward the doors through which Maureen and Mrs. Melkford had just passed, it was clear that something had gone terribly wrong.
“No.” Maureen spoke to Mrs. Melkford for the first time. “’Tisn’t always happy.” She thought again of Katie Rose. “You’ve seen my sister and Nurse Harrigan, then? Can I see her? Will they let her come with us?”
Mrs. Melkford shook her head. “Goodness, no. Nurse Harrigan said your sister has the chicken pox! She’s been quarantined. They won’t release her until she’s well. But if all goes as expected, she should be up and right as rain in a week or two at most.” Mrs. Melkford nodded to this official and that, showed them her own papers as well as Maureen’s, and waltzed the two of them through the doors into the biting wind and November dusk. “Come along,” she chirped, half-running. “We’ll want to catch that ferry!”
Maureen grabbed her arm and dragged her to a stop. “But I cannot leave this island without Katie Rose!”
“Oh, child! Have they explained nothing to you?” Mrs. Melkford wrenched her arm away.
But Maureen wasn’t a child; she was a grown woman, and she was sick to death of Americans stomping on her life. I never should have let them take Katie Rose! I’m her sister—she needs me. She dug in her heels as the final whistle blew for the ferry.
Mrs. Melkford, stronger than she looked, jerked Maureen’s bag from her grasp and headed down the planked dock. “It’s up to you now!” she called back to Maureen. “If you want to stay in America, if you hope to see your sister again, you’ll come with me!”
Maureen did not want to follow, but she didn’t want to be left behind. Mrs. Melkford, whoever she was, had her bag, her letter—her only feeble claim to being allowed in America. Just as the dockhand was pulling up the gangway, Maureen dashed aboard, nearly knocking him over.
He swore in words familiar to Maureen, but she didn’t stop. She’d heard them all in the Englishman’s house and out the back door of her uncle’s pub in the village. Even so, she felt the heat bathe her neck as she searched for Mrs. Melkford among the groups of passengers. A handkerchief and sheaf of papers waved through the air near the back of the ferry. Maureen followed their signal, hoping that Mrs. Melkford would be attached.
“I’ve
Similar Books
