So, I haven't heard anything regarding the last post but I'm going to keep going with the story. If people feel so inclined to send in anything, you are more than welcome!
This is the new format. Again, let me know what you think.
Melchior's Chapter
April-October 1893
April 25th:
Wendla was still looking for a job. Mrs. Yosef was more than happy to resume watching Niamh. I was still selling papers and helping out with the library. I felt terrible about this but when it was getting warmer out, sometimes I would take Niamh with me to sell papers. People would look at us and go "Oh, husband, look at this! Two adorable children out here at night, trying to make some pennies for their parents! Buy the paper!" I'm sure if Wendla hadn' t been so busy trying to find work she would've been upset but Alaster brought his youngest kids all the time to help out. However, life with just my paycheck didn't totally cover anything. She was so focused on finding work that sometimes she would be gone before I woke up and still gone when I went to sleep. She had had a few leads but it was mostly men who wanted to take advantage of a beautiful, young, foreign girl, like herself.
That night, I didn't' want her to worry about that, though. It was her 15th birthday and wanted so badly to make it a good one. She promised she would be home early but didn't seem to realize why I asked her to do so. It was a Wednesday so there was no night show for Alaster or me to cover. It was the week of Easter, so Mrs. Howard, being a "Good Christian", let Oona off for the week. Robby was look out from the fire escape, waiting for Wendla. Oona had generously made a cake and all the kids helped decorate it.
"She's here!" Robby shouted, with a lisp.
We all somewhat hid behind the bed or any other piece of furniture. Wendla opened the door.
"Melchior?" She asked.
At that moment, we all jumped up and startled Wendla to death.
"What is this?" She said, no doubt amused.
"You're birthday!" Moyna announced.
" I can't believe I forgot. This is so embarrassing." Wendla said, before bursting into laughter.
The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and happiness. We ate cake and the kids played. I decided to propose a toast.
"To Wendla," I said " without whom, I never would've made it. It's a pretty emotionally heavy thing to say but it's the truth. You amaze me, quite frankly. You do so much and do it well, with a smile, which isn't easy. Happy birthday!"
She smiled that beautiful smile that seemed to go on for miles. We finished our visit with Oona and Alaster and in one mass, they were all gone. Wendla and I started to clean up, not talking very much. When I'd finished, I went to check on Niamh in her crib, except she wasn't there.
"Wendla," I said, trying to sound calm," where's Niamh?"
I turned toward her, to see her leaning against the sink, with that same beautiful smile.
"Oona offered to take her for the night."
"That's kind of her but why?" I asked, genuinely confused.
Wendla walked over to me, never letting her smile falter. She got on her the tips of her toes and kissed me. It wasn't a peck or any run of the mill kiss. She hadn't kissed me like that ever. I was shocked but thrilled and wrapped my arms around her. She leaned against me, landing us on the bed. She took the lead and was more aggressive than ever before. I finally came up for air.
"Is this what you want, Wendla? Because I understand if you don't and I won't push you. At all. Whatever you want."
She whispered in my ear something that I would never write down on paper.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"For the last time, Gabor," she said "yes."
June 17th:
It was finally panning out. This life was starting to make sense for us. Wendla had found a job in Brooklyn in a sewing factory. She had to walk across the bridge every morning to get there but the little she was making made a difference in our life. Niamh was starting to eat real food, so we needed whatever we could get. Wendla would be home before I would but she would be absolutely exhausted. Niahm was usually asleep and Wendla was well on her way to sleep as well. I would sit down on the bed, only for Wendla to pop up from lying down and act as if she wasn't tired.
"Really! I'm not!" She exclaimed, suppressing a yawn.
We would discuss our days, which were rather uneventful but we could talk for hours still. I would hold her hands, which somehow felt like a big deal to me, in spite of everything. Everyday, there would be more and more cuts and bruises on them from the needles and machines.
"That cut's very deep, Wendla." I said one night.
"It doesn't hurt," she said trying not to wince from the pain.
I got out the rusted box where we kept bandages and rubbing alcohol.
"How was you day?" I asked.
" It was alright. Oh, God. Actually, something terrible happened. A little boy working at the factory got his arm caught in the mill. He lost an arm. His whole right arm, Melchi. The look on his face made me want to cry, too."
" That's awful!"
"It happens far too often. Before you know it, no one's going to be able to work there because we'll all be missing limbs," she paused, in a daze. " Oh, here's some tea for you," she said handing me a cup.
" Thanks," I said, wrapping the bandage around her hand. " All done."
July 31st:
After hearing about that little boy, I couldn't sleep that night. The thought of anyone going through that made my mind spin, especially when the person in question was a child. I was in disbelief.
The next day, while chatting with Alaster and a new salesman, Nelson, I asked them if they'd heard anything about factory stories.
"Yes," Nelson said, in a thick Welsh accent. " My wife. She… she lost part of her leg. She can't do anything anymore. Can't walk, can't cook, can't take care of our children. I went to the factory to ask for her back pay. They said they weren't reliable. Can you believe that? She works for them for two years, get hurt on one of their machines and they won't give her one more weeks pay." He was starting to cry.
"Yeah," Alaster piped in. " My cousin, Michael, was working in a steel factory. Got caught in a room, when someone in management wanted them to work late. It was full of fumes. He lost his voice. Then my friend, who works for this paper, got his arm caught in the press. He picked up a nasty infection and past away this last winter."
I couldn't comprehend this. I had always thought that these issues with the factories happened some time ago.
"Someone should do something," I said, "and start by talking to whomever runs this paper."
"Well," Alaster said, " who better than you?"
The next day I went up to 23rd Street to talk to the editor of the paper. I waited all day and got ugly looks from people wearing suits. By 2 o'clock, I made it into his office. I introduced myself and he introduced himself as Gerald Abrahams.
" I sell your papers in the theatre district."
" Yeah, you and 200 other people. What can I do for you?"
"Well, Mr. Abrahams, I've been hearing a lot about the poor conditions of factory workers, even here in your own printing press. People are losing limbs, left and right."
"Son, that was news 50 years ago."
" It may have been, sir, but apparently, not much has been done about it."
"What do you suggest I do?"
" I would propose that you take children out of your own factory and post warnings about the dangers associated with them. Also, you could publish an ex pose on the much publicized conditions that are still an issue, decades later."
"That's it?" He asked, breaking a smile.
"Yes," I said.
"Son, you know this is a good idea. Yes, I can see it now."
"See what now?"
"See you walking out of the door. Goodbye." He said simply.
I stormed out the door. I needed to help these people. I needed to do something. I just didn't know what yet.
Anna had no idea how she was going to get the money to leave this place. She couldn't handle it anymore. She felt as if she was being suffocated in this God forsaken town. Georg was following her like a puppy. She would go with him so he could "be inspired" only to get out of her house. Her mama didn't mind as long as she was with Georg. Georg was nice but that's all he was. He wanted to hold hands all the time but she would refuse. She wanted more than that, more than this. She asked Ilse what she thought about how she could get money.
"I hate to say this, Anna, because it's awful but it may be your only option. Are you sure you can't steal any money from your parents?"
" Ilse just spit it out."
" You can use what you already have."
"What do you mean?"
"Use what you have," Ilse said, gesturing towards Anna's bust. "You can pose for painting in Priopia or anywhere. If you get really desperate, you could do other things, too."
"Is that what you've been doing for a living, Ilse?"
"It doesn't matter. This is about you not about me. I hope it doesn't come to that for you, though," Ilse said, taking Anna's hand into hers, before the church bells went off. "I should go." She said and then took off right before Anna's eyes.
Anna headed home, feeling an odd feeling of resolution. She didn't want to do the things Ilse had suggested. However, what would happen if Anna didn't get out? She would finish school or what they called "school," though Anna didn't feel it truly educated about anything. She would get married off, whenever her parents pleased. Anna thought about her mama. She had no goals, aspirations, and dreams or drive to do anything. Her mama followed orders from her father, cooked, cleaned and did little else. Anna wanted a lot else. Even though she didn't want to, she knew what she had to do.
August 8th:
I knew what I had to do. I couldn't let people be treated like this. Wendla was a great help with inside information and she put up with me. I decided to get organized. I spread the word with all the salesmen. Wendla offered to tell people about it at her factory. Everyone in our building was involved, along with their extended families.
One early morning, Wendla and I, holding Niamh in my arms, went downstairs and met up with a large percentage of our neighbors. All together, we paraded up to 23rd street, as the sun was rising. Once we got there, to my immense surprise, there were at least 300 other people there. Some of them had signs with slogans against factories and their policies. I saw the men I worked with and people I knew who worked in the printing press. I met Wendla's coworkers. We chanted together. The sun was high, by the time I saw Mr. Abrahams, with a few police officers.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mr. Abrahams asked me with anguish in his eyes.
"You turned me away, when it was just one of me but I figure you can't get rid or ignore hundreds of people, including some of whom, have worked in your factories and were subjects to injuries from your machines."
"Well, son, you're out of a job. And all of you," he called, raising his voice, "better scram before you get fired or arrested!"
People scattered in all directions, leaving Wendla, Oona, Alaster, the children and me.
"You're under arrest," one of the cops said to me.
I handed Niamh over to Wendla, calmly, as her eyes avoided me. The officer cuffed me.
"And you," Abrahams said to Alaster, " are fired, too."
They took me Downtown past our apartment. I was housed in a cell with some drunkards and people who were caught stealing. A few hours later, Wendla appeared. She gave the guard some money and they opened the gate and led me out.
Wendla and I walked out of the building in silence. Still, she wouldn't look at me.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked.
"No, not at all," she said, grabbing my hand.
"What?"
" Melchi, one of the reasons I started to like you so much back home was that even though your ideas weren't popular, you made them known. You don't back down because someone threatens you. You do what you think is right, no matter what. I…"
I wanted her to say it for such a long time. It was completely selfish of me but I wanted to know, for sure, that she loved me, that she was in love with me. I loved her so much but I was afraid she wouldn't return the same feelings.
"You're what?" I asked, almost too fast.
"I'm proud of you, Melchi," she said, pecking me on the cheek.
The statement wasn't what I was hoping for but it satisfied me nonetheless.
October 14th:
"Pa…pa!" I heard, still in the dark tunnel of sleep. I heard it again.
The sun was creeping through the windows and Niamh was trying to stand up. She was learning to talk now and Wendla didn't want to tell me, as she wanted to save it for my birthday. However, a month ago, Niamh said "Mama" one night. I was so elated and pleased, that she was progressing so quickly. It surprised me, actually. Wendla had left already for work. I got up; got dressed, got Niamh dressed and fed her some applesauce. It was a beautiful day, so we walked down to the river, where Wendla and I slept over a year ago. Apparently, a boat had sunk in the river and there were reporters of all kind, trying to get the story. I saw Alaster from a distance, persuading the dock master to hire him. We were still out of a job, since the protest. I felt as if it was my fault. Niamh kept pointing to the boats, with such delightful giggling. It was truly amazing to see this person taking form, before our eyes.
The dock master started talking to reporters and soon they started breaking up. Two men walked past the bench where we were sitting. One of them stopped and looked at me. The other kept waling away and the other came toward me.
"Hey, sorry," he said, approaching me. " You look familiar. How would I know you?"
"Um…" I said.
"Oh, I know. I saw you in the paper. Your mug shot. You organized that big protest."
"Yep," I said, slightly embarrassed, slightly happy.
"You know, they published some of the quotes fro you interrogation. You're very liberal. I like that. You speak well and I'd imagine you write well. You… how old are you, anyway?"
"Sixteen," I said.
"Well, if Ben Franklin started writing anonymous letters to his local paper at 15, I'm sure you'll have no problem. You got a name?"
"Melchior Gabor," I said, slipping my hand away from Niamh.
" Will Phillips," he said, "editor-in-chief of The New York Times."
Review are the Ethel to my Lucy!