That was Fritz, always seeing the brighter side, God love him.
Finally, the train pulled into the station, exhaling a great breath speckled with soot as it sputtered to a stop. She fell into step beside her brother, and after a few minutes’ walk, they arrived at Battery Park, an expanse of greenery dotted with trees that sat on the rim of the bay. Only now, the ground had just begun to thaw, and the lawn was covered by patches of melting snow.
Fritz cupped her shoulders with his large hands. “I’ll meet you here at seven thirty. If I’m not here right away, wait for me. I don’t want you traveling through the Bowery alone.”
She nodded glumly. The evening seemed an age away.
“Good luck.” Fritz strode off at a clip, anxious to get to work on time.
With a feeble wave, Alma made her way carefully along the winding walk, slick with ice, toward Castle Garden. The legendary, circular sandstone fort perched on the very tip of Manhattan Island next to the water’s edge, overlooking the agitated band of water where the Hudson met the East River. For all the horrible stories she’d heard about the former immigration center, it looked fairly innocuous, perhaps because in recent years it had become an aquarium. Next to it sat the barge office and the docks for the ferry, Ellis Island, where she had been told to board. She walked to the farthest point of the land and peered out at the bay. The water churned as barges and smaller boats ferried against the tide. In the not-so-distant horizon, the Statue of Liberty raised her beacon to the sky. And yet, Lady Liberty gave her back to Ellis Island. Squinting, Alma made out the immigration center’s four domes in the haze of early morning light. Soon, the center would be like a second home to her.
Alma turned and walked to the docking house where people were beginning to cluster to board the ferry.
A young woman noticed Alma standing alone and within minutes had filled her in on how and where to board through the ferry house. Her name was Helene Bach, and she seemed kind and eager to talk so Alma listened politely, though she couldn’t help but wish for a little peace and quiet before the trying day ahead.
Helene paused to put on another coat of lipstick, though she already had a perfect pink sheen on her lips. “The immigrants have to dock here first as well, be sorted, and ferried out to the immigration station. The waters are too shallow there at Ellis Island. All of the oyster beds and sandbars make the steamers run aground.”
“Is that so?” Alma said, though she didn’t care one way or the other how the immigrants arrived. Helene went on and on about a hundred other things Alma didn’t need to know or care about, but nonetheless she continued to interject appropriate comments as if she were fascinated.
“The guards and inspectors do the sorting,” Helene said. “Speaking of the staff, I’d say there are almost a thousand of us, but we’re still sorely in need of help…”
Alma’s eyes glazed over, and when the woman finally stopped talking, Alma thanked her and moved swiftly away to join the crowd gathering by the dock. She tried to put on a brave face, but everyone looked so important. Nurses in their white hats and dresses, and men in dark suits dotted with brass buttons and a gold badge above the left pocket. A handful of women wore light-gray skirts and aprons that looked exactly like Helene’s. Alma wondered what their job was at the station.
Soon, the ferry pulled away from port and steamed across the inky waters of the bay. Alma watched the city awaken and change shape as she drifted farther from it. Buildings came to life, the lights flickering on, one by one, and she imagined the machinery within them growling as it roared to life. The sprawling skyline grew distant, smaller, and for the first time, Alma felt as if New York City, her thriving, crowded, awe-inspiring home, wasn’t the center of the universe after all. It wasn’t even the center of her world. Not anymore. Her life was about to change in immeasurable ways; she could feel it.
They docked a short time later. Heart in her throat, Alma disembarked and made her way up the walk, pausing briefly to take in the elegant yet daunting building. She knew from the newspapers a fire had ravaged most of the wooden buildings on the island five years before, leaving a burnt shell of what had once been the immigrant processing center. Having learned from the catastrophe, the government had commissioned a new building made of red brick and limestone. She tilted her head back to gaze at the four large towers crowned with copper domes. The windows glowed weakly in the morning light as if awakening from a long slumber. The island had been infamous for centuries, a place to hang pirates and criminals, or runaway slaves. Perhaps spirits haunted the island still. She shivered at the thought. The last thing she needed right now was to ruminate on ghostly stories about the place that already frightened her.
Reluctantly, she entered the building to find one large room. Massive windows ran along the outer walls and threw light into the center of the room, where trunks and travel cases were stacked high. There were signs indicating train tickets and foodstuffs for sale, and many people milled about already. Employees scattered immediately upon entering to their respective offices and positions.
No one noticed her. No one directed her here or there. And she hadn’t yet caught sight of John Lambert even from a distance. Instead, she watched everyone busy themselves, not having the faintest idea what to do.
Inhaling a deep breath, she mounted the staircase to the second floor. She paused to look up at the towering ceilings and massive chandeliers. Long benches ran through the center of the hall, stretching from east to west, and at the end of each row, a desk flanked the lines.
She turned abruptly to find a member of the staff and nearly stepped on a janitor toting a mop and bucket.
“I am so sorry, sir,” she said. “It’s my first day and I’m not sure where to go.” The words tumbled from her lips.
The irritation drained from his face, leaving in its place disinterested brown eyes and a bored mouth that drooped down at the corners. “Do you know which department?”
“I’m looking for Mr. John Lambert,” she replied.
“Come with me.” He motioned her forward and strode briskly across the room.
Relieved, Alma clutched her skirt and dashed after him.
“There he is, the tall fellow.” The janitor pointed to a row of desks. “Good luck, miss.”
Relieved to see a familiar face, she headed to Lambert’s desk. He seemed to be sorting through a stack of papers.
As she approached, she slowed and caught her breath. “Mr. Lambert, hello.”