Eastland (4 page)

A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Miss! Miss! What’re
you doing?”
A husky voice. Masculine. Why was this strange man pestering me?
I shook him off and looked back at the river. A little girl’s doll
bobbed past, one porcelain arm sticking straight up, her bright
blue eyes flipped open. She stared at me, begging for help.
“Don’t worry! I’ll come for you. I’m coming for Mae too! You
won’t be alone anymore.”
I teetered further out over the edge of the hull and reached
down for the doll.
“Easy now, miss.” It was the annoying voice. “Let’s settle
ourselves.” The hand gripping my shoulder eased me back from
the edge. Thick arms enveloped me. This man, this intruder, felt
damp and cold. I wanted to be free of him.
“Leave me alone!” I struggled, but he held fast.
“There’s nothing down there for you.”
“You don’t know that! Mae might be down there. She needs
me.”
I leaned toward the water again, but he pulled me back
against him.
“You’re shivering.” He rubbed my arms with massive hands
that seemed to cover the entire lengths of my sleeves. “Probably
in shock.”
Shock? Me? I laughed at this brutish meddler and his ridiculous notions. I wasn’t in shock. I knew exactly what I wanted. I
tried to squirm free.
“Please, miss, please. It’ll be okay.”
Okay? Women had plunged to their deaths. Children had
been thrown overboard. Babies had sunk to the bottom of the
river. Didn’t he see?
Nothing was right about any of this.
So who was in shock here? Me or him? I laughed ’til my teeth
chattered. He rubbed my arms faster, but any faster, and I might
start on fire. Now, that was funny.
“You need help, help,” he kept repeating.
“Y-you need h-help,” I chittered. I needed Mae. I twisted
toward the river.
“Listen!” He shook me firmly, but gently. “You can’t go into
that river. Understand? I’m not letting go of you.”
He wrapped his powerful arms around me again. The air
went out of me. I had no strength left to resist. He rubbed my
arms more slowly now, and I knew I wouldn’t burst into flames.
I exhaled, and stopped laughing.
“That’s better. You’re safe now with me. Oh, but you really
don’t know who I am. Name’s Lars Nielsen, first assistant engineer. And you are?”
He paused, obviously waiting for an answer, and for the first
time I noticed that he was part of the
Eastland
crew.
He wore the standard white uniform. A long-sleeved
shirt with a wide, square collar that draped halfway down
his back, bell-bottomed pants, and a round cap. But this seaman was not dress-code clean. His uniform was slimy and
damp, as though he’d been rolling across the hull instead
of standing on it. His hair, white-blond like Mama’s starch,
hung down all sweaty around his ears. He looked sturdy as
a full-grown maple with a thick voice that seemed to match
his imposing size.
Yet this hulking, young seaman had a smile that radiated
warmth and the kindest eyes I’d ever seen. They were hypnotic—
a greenish-blue turquoise like Lake Michigan and nearly as
deep. I seemed to be losing myself in their depths.
I shook myself back to sanity, or at least, some measure
of it.
“Delia Pageau.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Pageau.” Lars Nielsen gave a
sprightly tip of his cap. “Wish we could have met under different circumstances.” He dropped his arms from mine. “You’ve
stopped shivering. Good. And look!” He pointed to the far end
of the steamer. “Firemen are spreading ashes on the hull. That
should make the surface a lot less slippery.”
Survivors at the other end of the hull had finally decided to
move, but Lars begged me to remain in place until the ashes had
been spread about our feet.
“Now we can leave.”
He guided me along the length of the sooty hull toward the
tugboat. We continued across the plank bridge, over the deck of
the
Kenosha
, across the other plank bridge, and onto the wharf.
“You’re back on solid ground. Now please wait here while I
go for help.”
“No! No thank you. I don’t need any more help, Mr. Nielsen.
I’m fine. See.” I pointed to my feet. “My new snakeskin shoes
don’t have a scratch on them. Mae might be dead, but I still have
pretty little slippers.” I burst into hysterical laughter.
But Lars didn’t seem to get the joke. Instead, he stood, waving feverishly at someone.
“Over here! We need one here.”
A fireman carrying an armload of blankets rushed toward
us. Lars grabbed a blanket, placed it over my shoulders, and
wrapped it about me.
“There. This should stop the shakes.”
I nestled into the itchy wool, too exhausted to argue, or to
laugh.
“Now, let’s get you home, Miss Pageau. Your family must be
worried sick.”
“Mama! Oh, but I can’t leave without Mae!”
“Tell me about her. I promise I’ll do my best to find your
friend.”
I described Mae’s one-of-a-kind couture outfit.
“Lilac. Got it. Now please tell me your address.”
I told him as we climbed the wharf steps to street level. One
glance around, and I knew we’d left the stunned quiet of the hull
behind.
Firemen yelled commands, horns blared, and thousands of
animated spectators all seemed to be talking at once. The curious crowd had grown so thick that the police had been forced
into a human barricade, lining up shoulder to shoulder on either
side of the pavement to create a passage. Rescuers carried the
wounded through the cordon and out to the waiting ambulances.
We made our way along the police passage to Clark Street
where traffic had stalled almost to a standstill. People wanted
a peek at the sight below. Heads of drivers and passengers
poked out of every car, truck, and trolley window. Workers in
surrounding buildings stood in doorways or at windows. Some
had even climbed to rooftops for a better view.
“Over here!” A woman in a stiff white cap and maroon cape
waved to us.
I recognized her as a Western Electric nurse. A first aid
pavilion, manned by company nurses, had been planned for
the picnic. All the nurses were supposed to leave on the first
steamer, so they could get the pavilion ready before the majority
of the picnickers arrived. This nurse must have been running
late.
“Where’s the girl going?” she asked Lars.
“Cicero.”
The nurse stepped into the sluggish traffic and hailed the first
car she encountered. Quicker than I could blink, she opened the
rear door, and ushered me into the backseat. The three children
inside squawked in alarm. The two adults in the front seat barely
had time to protest before the nurse slammed the rear door shut.
She banged the hood.
“Go! See her safely home.”
I peered out from the car. Lars stood on the curb, waving at
me.
“Bye, Miss Pageau. Take care of yourself.”
I was holding up my hand to wave, when the car nosed back
into traffic.
Lars Nielsen, first assistant engineer, was gone.

I had survived the morning’s devastation without a scratch, yet
I couldn’t make it back home without the help of five startled
strangers who’d been forced to share their motorcar with
some half-crazed young woman. The driver peeked over his
shoulder at me in the rear seat and then cleared his throat as if
embarrassed he’d been caught staring. He turned his attention
back to the road.

Despite the fact that it was summer, he wore a beige trench
coat, leather driving gloves, orange-tinted glass goggles, and an
aviator cap with flaps that covered his ears. He obviously had
money. How else could he afford this shiny black coupe for his
family? The woman beside him twisted fully around, got onto
her knees, and leaned over the top of her beige leather seat.

“Are you all right?” She stared at me from behind the white
netting of her bee-keeper hat. “Oh, “I’m sorry. What an absurd
question! Of course you’re not. How could you be?”

Both boys and their sister were outfitted like their father,
but in child-sized trench coats and smaller goggles. The three
had cowered together in the opposite corner of the backseat and
were staring at me as though I might want to have them as a
snack. In spite of my exhaustion and fear, I wanted to laugh.
They all looked so silly.

“Quiet!” their mother snapped. “Poor thing’s been through a
terrible ordeal. You need to let her rest.” The children grumbled
but did as they’d been told, though they still clung to each other
as if their lives were in danger. Their mother turned back around.

I checked my watch. It was eleven-fifteen. I’d been out in
the rain for hours. My short, bobbed hair was slick and wet and
stuck to my head like a brunette swimming cap. I smoothed it
back, though it really didn’t matter how I looked.

Soon I would be face-to-face with Mama, and I’d have to
explain why I had disobeyed her. There would be consequences,
but at least I had lived to see my mother. Mae might never get
that chance. I shoved the thought away.

Karel would find Mae.
I slippedoff the blanket Lars Nielsen had given me and eased
back into the springy leather. The motorcar didn’t have any glass
on the side windows, but a raised bonnet and a clear covering on
the rear window kept out at least some of the dust and noise and
rain. I bounced along for miles, my eyes drooping in the muggy
heat before it dawned on me that I’d never been in a car. Under
any other circumstance, I would have been thrilled.
“We’re in Cicero, miss.”
The father’s voice stirred me from my grogginess. I glanced
outside. We had passed Western Electric and were nearing my
block. Like earlier this morning, the whole neighborhood was
outside, but now I saw no merriment or excitement—only anxious faces and tears.
News had spread.
Did Mama think I had died? How could I have put her
through such anguish? My selfishness overwhelmed me. My
stomach lurched.
“Which way to your house?”
I gulped down my nausea and gave the man directions. As
the car approached my street, I stuck my head out the windowopening, anxious for that first glimpse of home—overgrown
bushes, ripped screen door, faded paint, and all. I longed to
see Mama. I wanted nothing more than to touch the familiar
calluses on her hands and inhale the sweet scent of her lavender
toilet water. But would she let me? Or would she be too angry?
By the time we reached our two-flat, my stomach was one big
knot of uncertainty.
The seven Mulligan kids from upstairs sat scattered about
our front porch steps. Their mother sat on the top stoop, her
plump arms wrapped around a slumped figure. I flung open the
back door. The little girl beside me screeched.
“We’re still moving!”
I held the door closed as her father steered the car to the curb.
When we finally came to a stop, I stepped onto the running board
and sprang into the street. But my eager heart must have been
more willing than my exhausted body because my legs gave way.
I leaned on the opened car door for support as the father got out.
“Easy, miss. Maybe you should slow down a bit. I know you
want to see you family, but if another car had been passing us …”
I straightened. My tremulous legs held. “I think I can manage
now.” I closed the door and extended my hand to him. “Thank you.”
“It was nothing. Stay safe.”
We shook hands, and he got back into his car and drove off.
I realized, too late, that I hadn’t even learned their names. I
groaned and turned toward home.
The whole neighborhood seemed to be watching me. Even
the unruly Mulligan brood sat silent, their eyes bulging as they
gawked my way. Then, as if a match had been struck, my speechless audience sparked to life. They rushed at me, pelting me with
questions.
“Did you see my son?”
“Do you know anything about my sister?”
“My husband! What’s become of him?” Mrs. Ivanko, our
neighbor from across the street, pinched my arm. “Tell me!
Where is he?” She pinched harder.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Ivanko!” I tried to pull away. “Really! I
don’t know anything!”
“Leave her be!” Mrs. Mulligan launched to her feet. She
bounded down, around, and over her children, and swept me
up in a choking embrace. “Saints be praised! You’re alive!”
She shook me from side to side. “Glory be to Jesus, Mary, and
Joseph.” When she finished thanking the heavens for my safe
return, she released me. “We heard about the calamity from Mr.
Drojewska. We feared for your life.”
The local undertaker, Mr. Drojewska, had spread the
news. Of course. Only a few families in this neighborhood,
the Kozneckis and Drojewskas first among them, could afford
telephones.
“But here you be, hale and hearty.” At last, Mrs. Mulligan
stepped aside.
The slumped figure on the top stoop sat upright.
“Oh, Mama!” I sprinted up the steps two at a time. “Your
premonition! You were right! Can you ever forgive me?”
Mama was reaching for me, when she went limp. Her eyes
rolled back in her head. I dropped to my knees beside her and
scooped her up in my arms.
“Look, Mama! I’m here! I’m alive.” Someone handed me a
bottle of smelling salts. I yanked off the stopper and waved the
open bottle under her nose. Mama shook her head, and then her
eyes opened. She seized my arm.
“You disobeyed me!
Paaa!
I was so angry. But then we heard
and I thought you were …”
Mama paused, seemingly unable to go on.
Unfortunately for me, our audience was more than willing to
continue. They fired questions at me again.
“Did you see my daughter?”
“Delia, what about my father?”
“My brothers. Were they on the boat with you?”
I looked into all the distraught faces and knew I’d have to
relive my nightmare. But how? I didn’t have the strength to go
through it all again.
“Please!” I helped Mama to her shaky feet. “Let me tend to
my mother. Get her inside so she can rest.”
“Non!”
Mama shouted with alarming intensity. “I am good.”
She adjusted her apron and straightened her brown skirt. “I will
stay.” She touched my cheek. “My child lives. But for them?” She
nodded toward our agitated neighbors. “Only God knows. You
must tell them what you can.”
I could never, would never, oppose Mama again. I gathered
my scattered thoughts and began by painting a picture of the
happy scene before the disaster.
“I don’t care about any of that!” howled Mrs. Ivanko. “What
about my husband?”
“Hush now!” Mrs. Mulligan thrust up a fleshy arm. “Let
Delia tell it her way.”
I went on with my story until it took that inevitable, deadly
turn. I hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “Something to drink,
please.”
“Eamon! Go!” Mrs. Mulligan cocked her thumb at her eldest
son.
Eamon disappeared through the front door. I heard him
racing barefooted up the interior staircase. A moment later, he
reappeared on the porch with a jelly jar.
“Then what?” He shoved the makeshift glass at me. “What
happened then? Huh? What?”
I downed the lukewarm water in one long gulp, surprised at
how thirsty and hungry I’d become. But I knew I couldn’t hold
everyone off long enough to eat, so I set down the jar and braved
on. By the time I got around to the doctors and their pulmotors,
the smelling salts had made the rounds. Twice.
“Should I go on?” I stared at all the beleaguered faces.
A few nodded, but the response lacked the earlier frenzy. I
explained about the aftermath, but skipped the bit about Lars
and my attempted plunge into the river, and ended with the
nameless family.
“But what about my boy?” someone yelled.
“My husband!” Mrs. Ivanko shrieked, agitated beyond reason now. She pounced on me, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “Tell
me about my husband! I need to know!”
I tried to wriggle free, but I only managed to tear my hair at
the roots.
Mrs. Mulligan jumped in between us. “Leave her be, Elena!
The poor child didn’t murder your husband.”
At that, Mrs. Ivanko deflated, collapsing into a sobbing heap
on the steps.
Mrs. Mulligan threw her arms around her. “There, there,
Eleny, my love. ’Twill be aw right.”
But I knew Mrs. Mulligan had it wrong. Nothing would ever
be all right again.
“There’s no more?” some man hollered.
“I wish I had answers for all of you. I’m truly sorry, but I’ve told
you everything I know. There’s no more.” And then I remembered.
“Mae!”
I streaked down the steps but stopped on the sidewalk and
looked back at Mama. Her black eyes were glassy with tears, her
pallid cheeks flushed with worry and grief. She needed me to
stay with her, but I couldn’t.
“I have to see Mae’s parents. She and I got separated. Karel
stayed behind to find her.”
“Must you leave so soon?”
“I made a promise.”
Mama sighed. “Then you must keep it.
Oui
. You may go.”