This story is slightly different from my others on the BSC...it's sort of about Mary Anne, but it's about her maternal great-great grandmother, who emigrated from Germany to escape poverty and political unrest. I've always enjoyed tracing ancestors and I've been to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty (Liberty is sooo enchanting!), so it stands to reason that in my stories, most of the BSC members' ancestors emigrated through Ellis Island at the turn of the twentieth century. The usual disclaimers on the BSC characters, Verna Baker, and on Mona; they're not my characters, but Mary Anne's German immigrant ancestors are my creation and have been copyrighted. It's the BSC's senior year and Mary Anne's family goes to see her Grandma Baker for the winter break. And Verna shows Mary Anne a treasure that she'll pass on to her granddaughter one day...
MARY ANNE:
I'm so glad Iowa has snow for the holidays. And it's wonderful seeing my grandma Verna again! Once we get settled in to stay with her for the winter holidays, my stepsister, Dawn and stepbrother, Jeff go out to do some last minute shopping, my stepmom and my dad go for a walk and in the house it's just Grandma and me. As I meander into the kitchen, Grandma asks, "Care for some tea, darling?"
"Sure," I nod and get out a cup. Grandma pours me and herself some and we sit at the kitchen table.
"Hard to believe you're a senior in high school already," Grandma sips her tea and gazes at me, her dark eyes a bit moist.
"Me too." I think of my friends in the BSC and the colleges we've applied to this past fall. My last holiday season as a kid. Next time this year, I'll be eighteen and an adult.
"Have you heard from any of the colleges yet?" Grandma asks.
"Not yet," I shake my head. "I don't think we'll hear from them until March or so." I've applied to Arizona U., New York U., Staten U., and Hartford U. I'm leaning in the direction of the New York colleges, since I want to live in New York City as an adult, but I'm also thinking a bit of Arizona. Dawn says she will probably go there next year, since she's applied to Tucson U. and Phoenix U. as well as two colleges in New Mexico and one in California where her dad and stepmom live.
"You're very fortunate to be living nowadays," Grandma tells me as she finishes her tea. "You have many more opportunities in life than I did or your ancestors did."
"Yeah..." I think of how in my great-grandmother's era, women couldn't even vote. "Did I tell you I looked up Syraria Wegenstein at Ellis Island in the computer? And her name is on that wall."
"I think you mentioned that," Verna told me. "She was a very brave woman. Came over in 1901 all the way from Germany so we could have better, safer lives. We've also inherited our love of sewing from her...me, your late mother, and you." Her eyes are faraway for a minute as she gazes out at the snow and the bright winter sky. Then she brightens and says, "I have the thing I wanted to show you, Mary Anne. It's up in the attic." I've finished my tea by then, so we put our cups in the sink and I follow her upstairs. Up in the dusty attic among all the old furniture and boxes is on special box and in it is a diary.
"It was your great-great grandmother's" Verna whispered, handing it to me. "Look through it, read it however much you like...this is the gift that will someday be yours when I'm gone. You're welcome to look through the box. Many of her old things are there." She strokes my back a minute before leaving. I sit all the way down and a small shiver runs through me as I finger the old, old notebook that resembles a school notebook of long ago. It's warped some and as I open it, the pages are yellowed and the edges crumble a little in my hands. I grope around until I find my glasses and put them on and start reading...
July 9, 1901:
Hard to believe it is the start of the twentieth century. I decided to try my hand at Englisch in this new journal, since we may be going to Amerika in a few time. I'm so glad to have you, my journal, to get my thoughts in, since my verbal speech is defective in both Englisch and Deutch. I hope you will bear with me if I make many mistakes in my Englisch; I have gotten better at it since my older brother, Erik emigrated to Amerika five years ago. Here in Germany still is my mother, Helga, my younger sister, Anna and me, Syraria. Our surname is Wegenstein. We might leave Germany because there is trouble here...riots everywhere and Mama's afraid of what the thugs will do next. They have attacked and destroyed a in a number of shtetls in this country and in Russia, Lithuania, and Poland it is even worse. Russia's czar Nicholas was assassinated earlier this year and there have been riots all over the country since and the Jewish people are getting the brunt of it. Mama says that thousands and thousands of people are fleeing from Eastern Europe and we may have to be next. Things have been quiet here for the past month, but we are not counting on it to stay that way.
"Wow..." I whisper, imagining how frightening it must have been to live in Germany even in the early 1900's. I swallow, turn a page and read on...
Maybe now is a gut time to tell you a little of myself and my family, as when I get old and die years from now, I may pass this journal on to my daughter and granddaughter and great-granddaughter and great-great and beyond...I'm sixteen and I'm Syraria Wegenstein. I have an older brother, Erik, who moved to America and is twenty-three. He wrote recently to tell us that he has a girlfriend, Joanna, also German and they are sharing a flat in a huge city called New York. We, his family, are the only ones who know that they are not married, but are living as husband and wife. It is still hard to make a living, but both Erik and Joanna hope to be able to soon make more money. They are working in factories and making enough to live in the flat, but not enough for extras. They still remain hopeful, though, since they say that Amerika is the land of opportunity. My father, Daniel, died when I was seven. From what Mama tells me, a riot broke out in the city where he worked as a shoe polisher and he died in that riot. I still shiver as I remember how Anna and I huddled under the covers that cold January night when we got the news, listening to Mama weep in her room. Anna and I had cried on and off. Anna is thirteen. Mama works as a bottle-washer in a furniture store downtown. She brings in enough to feed us, which is remarkable, considering how hard they make it for women to earn a decent living in this shtetl. Since Papa died, Mama has done a heroic job of keeping us fed, warm in the winter, and fully clothed as well as educated. About our place...we live here in the shtetl of Vosterbohn fifty-five miles north of Berlin, the capital and another fifty miles from the Polish border. It's a small, cozy house we live in and most of us here in the shtetl know each other. We're considered Jewish for our religion, although we do not really observe many of the rituals, not to the extent that our ancestors a hundred years ago did or some of our Orthodox neighbors do today. On Fridays, we sometimes have a special dinner and we observe Hanukkah and Passover, but that's about all; we don't go to Synagogue or anything else. Once I overheard a couple up the street saying we were "heeven" and I asked Mama what it meant. She told me the word was "heethen" and that it was a popular label on people who don't keep strictly to religious laws and to pay them no mind. In fact, it's Friday today and Mama's calling me to help her with dinner, so I'll be back later.
I glance out the attic window and seeing that it is growing dark, I fly back to the present. Putting the diary slowly down, I pat it softly as if the thank my great-great grandma for sharing her life with me and go down to see if Grandma needs any help with dinner. By then the rest of my family is back. As we eat, Grandma mentions that Hanukkah starts tomorrow at sundown. We'll be doing our gift exchange then and having a special dinner.
Hang on for more!
MARY ANNE:
I'm so glad Iowa has snow for the holidays. And it's wonderful seeing my grandma Verna again! Once we get settled in to stay with her for the winter holidays, my stepsister, Dawn and stepbrother, Jeff go out to do some last minute shopping, my stepmom and my dad go for a walk and in the house it's just Grandma and me. As I meander into the kitchen, Grandma asks, "Care for some tea, darling?"
"Sure," I nod and get out a cup. Grandma pours me and herself some and we sit at the kitchen table.
"Hard to believe you're a senior in high school already," Grandma sips her tea and gazes at me, her dark eyes a bit moist.
"Me too." I think of my friends in the BSC and the colleges we've applied to this past fall. My last holiday season as a kid. Next time this year, I'll be eighteen and an adult.
"Have you heard from any of the colleges yet?" Grandma asks.
"Not yet," I shake my head. "I don't think we'll hear from them until March or so." I've applied to Arizona U., New York U., Staten U., and Hartford U. I'm leaning in the direction of the New York colleges, since I want to live in New York City as an adult, but I'm also thinking a bit of Arizona. Dawn says she will probably go there next year, since she's applied to Tucson U. and Phoenix U. as well as two colleges in New Mexico and one in California where her dad and stepmom live.
"You're very fortunate to be living nowadays," Grandma tells me as she finishes her tea. "You have many more opportunities in life than I did or your ancestors did."
"Yeah..." I think of how in my great-grandmother's era, women couldn't even vote. "Did I tell you I looked up Syraria Wegenstein at Ellis Island in the computer? And her name is on that wall."
"I think you mentioned that," Verna told me. "She was a very brave woman. Came over in 1901 all the way from Germany so we could have better, safer lives. We've also inherited our love of sewing from her...me, your late mother, and you." Her eyes are faraway for a minute as she gazes out at the snow and the bright winter sky. Then she brightens and says, "I have the thing I wanted to show you, Mary Anne. It's up in the attic." I've finished my tea by then, so we put our cups in the sink and I follow her upstairs. Up in the dusty attic among all the old furniture and boxes is on special box and in it is a diary.
"It was your great-great grandmother's" Verna whispered, handing it to me. "Look through it, read it however much you like...this is the gift that will someday be yours when I'm gone. You're welcome to look through the box. Many of her old things are there." She strokes my back a minute before leaving. I sit all the way down and a small shiver runs through me as I finger the old, old notebook that resembles a school notebook of long ago. It's warped some and as I open it, the pages are yellowed and the edges crumble a little in my hands. I grope around until I find my glasses and put them on and start reading...
July 9, 1901:
Hard to believe it is the start of the twentieth century. I decided to try my hand at Englisch in this new journal, since we may be going to Amerika in a few time. I'm so glad to have you, my journal, to get my thoughts in, since my verbal speech is defective in both Englisch and Deutch. I hope you will bear with me if I make many mistakes in my Englisch; I have gotten better at it since my older brother, Erik emigrated to Amerika five years ago. Here in Germany still is my mother, Helga, my younger sister, Anna and me, Syraria. Our surname is Wegenstein. We might leave Germany because there is trouble here...riots everywhere and Mama's afraid of what the thugs will do next. They have attacked and destroyed a in a number of shtetls in this country and in Russia, Lithuania, and Poland it is even worse. Russia's czar Nicholas was assassinated earlier this year and there have been riots all over the country since and the Jewish people are getting the brunt of it. Mama says that thousands and thousands of people are fleeing from Eastern Europe and we may have to be next. Things have been quiet here for the past month, but we are not counting on it to stay that way.
"Wow..." I whisper, imagining how frightening it must have been to live in Germany even in the early 1900's. I swallow, turn a page and read on...
Maybe now is a gut time to tell you a little of myself and my family, as when I get old and die years from now, I may pass this journal on to my daughter and granddaughter and great-granddaughter and great-great and beyond...I'm sixteen and I'm Syraria Wegenstein. I have an older brother, Erik, who moved to America and is twenty-three. He wrote recently to tell us that he has a girlfriend, Joanna, also German and they are sharing a flat in a huge city called New York. We, his family, are the only ones who know that they are not married, but are living as husband and wife. It is still hard to make a living, but both Erik and Joanna hope to be able to soon make more money. They are working in factories and making enough to live in the flat, but not enough for extras. They still remain hopeful, though, since they say that Amerika is the land of opportunity. My father, Daniel, died when I was seven. From what Mama tells me, a riot broke out in the city where he worked as a shoe polisher and he died in that riot. I still shiver as I remember how Anna and I huddled under the covers that cold January night when we got the news, listening to Mama weep in her room. Anna and I had cried on and off. Anna is thirteen. Mama works as a bottle-washer in a furniture store downtown. She brings in enough to feed us, which is remarkable, considering how hard they make it for women to earn a decent living in this shtetl. Since Papa died, Mama has done a heroic job of keeping us fed, warm in the winter, and fully clothed as well as educated. About our place...we live here in the shtetl of Vosterbohn fifty-five miles north of Berlin, the capital and another fifty miles from the Polish border. It's a small, cozy house we live in and most of us here in the shtetl know each other. We're considered Jewish for our religion, although we do not really observe many of the rituals, not to the extent that our ancestors a hundred years ago did or some of our Orthodox neighbors do today. On Fridays, we sometimes have a special dinner and we observe Hanukkah and Passover, but that's about all; we don't go to Synagogue or anything else. Once I overheard a couple up the street saying we were "heeven" and I asked Mama what it meant. She told me the word was "heethen" and that it was a popular label on people who don't keep strictly to religious laws and to pay them no mind. In fact, it's Friday today and Mama's calling me to help her with dinner, so I'll be back later.
I glance out the attic window and seeing that it is growing dark, I fly back to the present. Putting the diary slowly down, I pat it softly as if the thank my great-great grandma for sharing her life with me and go down to see if Grandma needs any help with dinner. By then the rest of my family is back. As we eat, Grandma mentions that Hanukkah starts tomorrow at sundown. We'll be doing our gift exchange then and having a special dinner.
Hang on for more!