Nowhere to Run (26 page)

November 25

“What? Are you trying to win a medal for Martyr of the Year?” Mike had turned on the light and was sitting up in bed watching her get dressed.

Annabelle uttered a heavy sigh. “Don’t give me any grief, Mike. I’m not in the mood.”

Now that was a role reversal. These last months it had been Mike doing the snapping at her. It felt liberating to let loose with her own exasperation for a change.

Her body ached, and she winced as she pulled her panty hose over the bandage on her knee. It suddenly occurred to her that it was going to be freezing out there in the harbor today. She pulled off the stockings and rummaged through the dresser, looking for a pair of thermal leggings to wear under her slacks.

“Annabelle. It’s all right to take a day off once in a while. You slid under a bus last night, for God’s sake. If Linus Nazareth doesn’t understand that, then you should be looking for another boss.” There was anger in his voice.

She spun to face her husband. “Linus Nazareth wouldn’t care if I’d been
hit
by the bus. All he cares about is his show. And as for looking for another boss, if you hadn’t noticed, Mike, jobs are hard to come by right now. It’s brutal out there, and this family needs my job to survive.”

Annabelle regretted her words the minute she stopped speaking. The wounded expression on Mike’s face wasn’t worth her momentary release.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered, going to the bed and sitting down beside him.

“No, you’re right. I haven’t been holding up my end of things,” Mike said quietly. “I’ve let you and the kids down.”

“Oh, Mike, please don’t feel like that. You’ve been through so much, sweetheart. Because you’re such a dear and decent person, your system just couldn’t take it. And, you know, honey, you’re not the only one that’s reacted this way. Lots of people are in the same boat.”

Mike bit his lower lip and stared down at his hands. “But I am feeling better, Annabelle. Maybe I’ll be able to go back to the job soon.”

With tenderness, Annabelle kissed him on the cheek. “I know you will, Mike, when you’re ready. And if you decide that you want to change careers, leave the fire department, leave New York City, that will be fine too. I’ll support you in whatever you want to do. But, in the meantime, we have to pay our bills. Let me go do my job.”

Annabelle uttered an oath as she searched the closet.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked.

“I can’t find my black wool slacks.”

“They aren’t there, Annabelle.” He had forgotten to tell her.

“Oh, did you drop them off at the cleaners?”

“No,” he defied her. “I threw them out.”

She looked at him in puzzlement.

“I threw out the things you wore last week.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding. I wasn’t going to take any chances with anthrax.”

Annabelle had neither the time nor the inclination to get into another argument with him. Exasperated, she turned back to the closet and picked out something else to wear.

It was a cold, dark ferry ride to Ellis Island. Whipped by the damp wind, Annabelle started by standing alone on the deck outside, contemplating Lady Liberty in the quiet harbor. But after a few minutes she moved inside to watch from behind the windows. It was going to be a long day, and she knew she should conserve her energy.

The plan was for Harry Granger to report from the Statue of Liberty while Constance would be stationed at the Ellis Island Immigration Museum. Annabelle was relieved to see that Constance was already on the boat. She took a seat beside her friend, holding out her scraped palms and explaining what had happened on the way home from work the evening before.

“Mike insisted that I call the police, though I’m not even sure I was actually pushed.”

“Well, Mike was right.” Constance was adamant. “What did the police say?”

“They took down the information, but I didn’t get the impression there was anything much they could really do about it. I didn’t have a description to give them, and any eyewitnesses at the scene were long since gone. Unless somebody comes forward and says that he or she saw someone push me, the cops really don’t have anything to go on.”

The ferry let them off at the entrance to the island. As Annabelle approached the majestic Main Building, with its tiles and turrets and copper domes, she tried to imagine what it must have been like to be an immigrant here. To arrive at this place after a long ocean voyage, carrying everything you had in a battered satchel, unable to speak the language of the new country. What complex and conflicting emotions there must have been. Leaving your homeland and the people you loved behind while looking forward to a better life in an unfamiliar America.

Annabelle and Constance entered the Baggage Room, the point where the immigrants first set foot into the Main Building. Beth Terry was waiting amid the period baggage displayed around the room.

“You’ll probably want to take a walk around,” she suggested, handing Constance a packet of information, “and familiarize yourself with the place.”

“What do you need me to do?” asked Annabelle.

“We’re in good shape right now. But when the guests arrive, you’ll be in charge of escorting them.”

“Fine. That’s easy enough. In the meantime, I’ll keep Constance company. I’ve never been here myself, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing this place.” It was one of the great things about her job, being exposed to things she might not have been otherwise, while getting paid.

They walked through the now magnificently restored Registry Room, once the focal point of the immigrants’ processing, the place where newcomers underwent questioning and were either given permission to stay or denied entry into the United States. They gazed at the Wall of Honor, with 420,000 immigrant entries, the largest wall of names in the world. They couldn’t cover the thirty galleries and exhibits that Constance’s notes indicated were filled with artifacts, historic photos and posters, oral histories, and ethnic music, all telling the story of what happened at Ellis Island and to the newcomers who helped settle America. But they did make sure to look at the Hearing Room, a small courtroom of sorts where disputed cases were decided. The last stop was the Bunk Area, where many immigrants spent the night.

“Can you imagine being stacked up like that, Annabelle?”

“Horrible.” She shuddered. “But if you’re desperate enough, you can put up with a lot,” Annabelle answered.

“What’s wrong?” Constance asked, observing the pained expression on her friend’s face.

“It’s just my knee. I think I better go back and try to sit down for a while before the show.” As she walked away, gingerly putting pressure on her sore leg, Annabelle thought about how close she had come to catastrophe. If she had been killed, could Mike have raised the kids alone? Could he handle that?

For his entertainment segment, Russ had put together a montage of clips from movies about the immigrant experience. He had included
The Immigrant,
Charlie Chaplin’s chronicle of his own immigration to America in 1910; Elia Kazan’s
America, America,
presenting the dream of coming to America for nineteenth-century immigrants; Coppola’s
Godfather, Part II,
the sequel that contrasted the life of the don with the early days of his father as an immigrant to New York City; and
Far and Away,
a Ron Howard film about an Irish tenant farmer who meets the daughter of a wealthy landowner and sets sail for America and the 1893 Oklahoma land rush.

Instead of having Dominick O’Donnell screen it, as the senior producer normally would, Linus insisted on seeing the piece himself before it aired. Russ didn’t like the scrutiny one bit.

He waited tensely as the video and narration played on the monitor and was relieved when Linus announced his verdict: “Nice piece.”

Before Russ could say “thanks,” Linus had turned and walked away.

He shouldn’t have worried. There was no editorial content to this piece, no reviewing done or judgments passed. It was a straight overview, done in workmanlike fashion. Just the facts, ma’am.

But the clips were all of movies made in the past. Nothing soon to be released. Nothing that, by touting it to the public, could earn Russ any money. Until things quieted down a bit at
KTA,
Russ was going to lay low, play it safe, and give Linus exactly what he wanted.

Annabelle escorted the guest and his paraphernalia through the Baggage Room.

“You can set up right here,” she indicated.

As the representative of the luggage company arranged modern suitcases in an array of shapes, sizes, and colors, Lauren Adams arrived.

“We’ll start off with showing the viewer some of the sacks and duffels that the immigrants used and compare them with what’s available to consumers today.” Lauren reviewed the aim of the segment for the luggage rep’s benefit.

Annabelle consulted her clipboard to see who was arriving next and began to walk back to the entrance of the Main Building.

“Annabelle, you’re limping,” Lauren called. “What happened?”

“I fell. It’s no big deal. I’ll be fine.”

Lauren looked after her with skepticism.

He spotted her at the refreshment table and walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I looked for you when I came into the office yesterday afternoon, Lily. I had hoped that we were going to have our dinner together,” Gavin purred.
Instead, after I finished what I had to do, I went home to Marguerite,
he seethed inwardly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Winston. I couldn’t make it,” said the intern, grabbing her donut. “I’ve got to go. I promised Beth I would help her with something.”

Watching her hasty retreat, Gavin knew. Lily was avoiding him. There was no doubt about it.

He had seen this sort of thing happen before, too many times.

With a wireless microphone clipped to the collar of her sweater, Constance walked through the cavernous Registry Room and recited the words of Emma Lazarus written in 1883.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

Aerial pictures of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island were beamed from the helicopter flying above to viewers in homes across America.

“Good morning, I’m Constance Young, reporting this morning from the Ellis Island Immigration Museum.”

In the control room back at the Broadcast Center, the command was given, switching the cameras.

“And I’m Harry Granger at the Statue of Liberty.” Harry appeared, red-nosed, at the base of the statue. “It’s Tuesday, November twenty-fifth, and this is
KEY to America.
”

Constance was up again.

“During its peak years, Ellis Island received thousands of immigrants a day. Each hopeful human being was inspected for disability or disease as the long line of new arrivals made their way up the steep stairs to this great room. Over one hundred million Americans can trace their ancestry in the United States to a man, woman, or child whose name was registered here in an inspector’s record book. For those immigrants, this spot was
their
‘key to America’.”

Nice tie-in,
thought Annabelle as she listened and watched from the back of the giant room, just before she heard shouting from outside.