bell. Plink-plink!
Across the street, a heavy-set woman wrapped in a woolen
shawl crept to the edge of her porch
“Oh, no, no, no!” She swayed from side to side as though she
might wither at any moment.
“Both your girls are alive!” the Drojewska boy shouted.
“Western Electric called. They’re on their way home right now!”
Mrs. Mankowiecz shrieked in relief. The neighborhood burst
into joyful whoops.
“If those girls survived …” I smiled at Gracie. “Then Mae
could still be alive.”
She grabbed my hands and whirled me around as another
commotion started up.
“Someone’s coming!” Gracie dropped my hands and stared
out at the street.
“Let it be Mae. It has to be Mae.” I bit my lip watching, waiting, willing.
The people on the sidewalk murmured and then shrank back.
Karel appeared, his crisp, white shirt stained a greasy gray. One
leg of his trousers had been ripped off at the knee, his stocking
garter exposed. He was without his striped blazer, straw boater,
and tie.
And, without Mae.
10
I didn’t remember how I’d gotten back home from the Kozneckis’
or exactly what I’d told Mama when I’d arrived. I had a foggy
recollection of finding my bedroom and pulling off my rainwet clothes. But now I was shivering myself out of my stupor.
I needed to get warm. I changed into fresh undergarments,
grabbed the first dress I found in my closet, and slipped it on. I
blew on my trembling hands to warm them and then kicked off
my snakeskin shoes.
I was tying my black, ankle-high boots, when I remembered
my new watch, still pinned to my wet dress. I raced back to the
drippy pile of clothes on the floor, removed the watch, and repinned it on my clean, dry dress. Right there and then, I made
a pledge.
I would never go another day without my cherished watch
pinned near my heart.
Somewhat revived in both body and spirit, I scooped up my
everyday purse and hurried down the hall. The beaded bag I’d left
behind this morning was now on the golden oak sideboard in the
dining room. I transferred my comb, latchkey, and pocketbook
from that bag into my everyday, scooped up the umbrella I should
have had with me all along, and headed outside to wait once again
for Karel. But this time we weren’t going on any picnic.
Tonight, we would search for Mae.
When he’d returned home without her, everyone, including
Karel, had feared the worst. He told us he’d rescued two teenage
boys from drowning and then despite exhaustion, had jumped
back into the Chicago River to try and save a mother and baby.
The mother had perished, but Karel had brought the baby to
safety. He’d spent the entire day on or near the Eastland but
had never found Mae.
Or her body.
Mae was still out there somewhere, and I was determined to
find her. I would not shed one more tear until I had verifiable,
undeniable proof.
From where I stood on my porch, I could hear the doleful
keening of my grief-stricken neighborhood. In homes up and
down the street, families mourned for their missing or wounded
sons, daughters, parents, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins. The loss of life on this block alone was unimaginable.
Barely six-thirty on a midsummer’s eve, yet oil lamps flickered through every parlor window. There should have been
hours of sunlight left to the day, but this heartless rain had
brought on an early darkness. I needed to talk to Mama again
before Karel arrived, so I popped open my umbrella and walked
three doors down to the VandeKipps’, where Mama was keeping
vigil in front of their darkened house.
Mr. and Mrs. VandeKipp and their four children were missing. As of this hour, none had returned and no one had word
of them, either. Worried neighbor ladies had urged Father
Raczynski from St. Mary’s of Czestochowa to come and lead
them in prayer. With their strands of Rosary beads in hand,
the women recited the familiar prayers in perfect unity. Well,
almost perfect. Mama’s childhood catechism
Across the street, a heavy-set woman wrapped in a woolen
shawl crept to the edge of her porch
“Oh, no, no, no!” She swayed from side to side as though she
might wither at any moment.
“Both your girls are alive!” the Drojewska boy shouted.
“Western Electric called. They’re on their way home right now!”
Mrs. Mankowiecz shrieked in relief. The neighborhood burst
into joyful whoops.
“If those girls survived …” I smiled at Gracie. “Then Mae
could still be alive.”
She grabbed my hands and whirled me around as another
commotion started up.
“Someone’s coming!” Gracie dropped my hands and stared
out at the street.
“Let it be Mae. It has to be Mae.” I bit my lip watching, waiting, willing.
The people on the sidewalk murmured and then shrank back.
Karel appeared, his crisp, white shirt stained a greasy gray. One
leg of his trousers had been ripped off at the knee, his stocking
garter exposed. He was without his striped blazer, straw boater,
and tie.
And, without Mae.
10
I didn’t remember how I’d gotten back home from the Kozneckis’
or exactly what I’d told Mama when I’d arrived. I had a foggy
recollection of finding my bedroom and pulling off my rainwet clothes. But now I was shivering myself out of my stupor.
I needed to get warm. I changed into fresh undergarments,
grabbed the first dress I found in my closet, and slipped it on. I
blew on my trembling hands to warm them and then kicked off
my snakeskin shoes.
I was tying my black, ankle-high boots, when I remembered
my new watch, still pinned to my wet dress. I raced back to the
drippy pile of clothes on the floor, removed the watch, and repinned it on my clean, dry dress. Right there and then, I made
a pledge.
I would never go another day without my cherished watch
pinned near my heart.
Somewhat revived in both body and spirit, I scooped up my
everyday purse and hurried down the hall. The beaded bag I’d left
behind this morning was now on the golden oak sideboard in the
dining room. I transferred my comb, latchkey, and pocketbook
from that bag into my everyday, scooped up the umbrella I should
have had with me all along, and headed outside to wait once again
for Karel. But this time we weren’t going on any picnic.
Tonight, we would search for Mae.
When he’d returned home without her, everyone, including
Karel, had feared the worst. He told us he’d rescued two teenage
boys from drowning and then despite exhaustion, had jumped
back into the Chicago River to try and save a mother and baby.
The mother had perished, but Karel had brought the baby to
safety. He’d spent the entire day on or near the Eastland but
had never found Mae.
Or her body.
Mae was still out there somewhere, and I was determined to
find her. I would not shed one more tear until I had verifiable,
undeniable proof.
From where I stood on my porch, I could hear the doleful
keening of my grief-stricken neighborhood. In homes up and
down the street, families mourned for their missing or wounded
sons, daughters, parents, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins. The loss of life on this block alone was unimaginable.
Barely six-thirty on a midsummer’s eve, yet oil lamps flickered through every parlor window. There should have been
hours of sunlight left to the day, but this heartless rain had
brought on an early darkness. I needed to talk to Mama again
before Karel arrived, so I popped open my umbrella and walked
three doors down to the VandeKipps’, where Mama was keeping
vigil in front of their darkened house.
Mr. and Mrs. VandeKipp and their four children were missing. As of this hour, none had returned and no one had word
of them, either. Worried neighbor ladies had urged Father
Raczynski from St. Mary’s of Czestochowa to come and lead
them in prayer. With their strands of Rosary beads in hand,
the women recited the familiar prayers in perfect unity. Well,
almost perfect. Mama’s childhood catechism
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