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Authors: Cindy Thomson
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Grace found this strange.
“Perhaps your mother wrote to you while you were still on the ship.”
“I had not thought of that. I’m sure that explains it.”
Mrs. Hawkins motioned to her housekeeper. “Leave it on the table, please, love. We’ve got to be going.”
Annie placed the letter on the tray they kept on the hall table. “To see the Ellis Island photographer?”
Mrs. Hawkins put on her gloves. “That’s right, but we’re just going a few train stops north. He is not working today and couldn’t see us if he was. The immigration station is remarkably busy these days.”
“I’ll take it with me.” Grace snatched the letter. She could not wonder all day what was inside.
Aboard the el, she tore it open.
Dear Grace,
We are so blessed with a good crop of potatoes this year, thanks be to God. So all is well here. You and I had a difficult time once, but it is all past. Isn’t that so, darling?
Tears sprang to Grace’s eyes. While Grace was treated well and enjoyed enough to eat in America, her mother was still in the clutches of that man in damp, dismal Ireland.
“Is everything all right, love?”
Grace sniffed. “Aye. As well as can be expected.”
“There, there. God has a plan.” The woman patted Grace’s shoulder.
God would not have planned this. Grace read on.
Do tell me all about your new home, Grace. Is the mistress there nice? Have you found work yet? Please write, even if you do not hear from me for a time. I need to hear from you and know that you are well.
Grace folded the letter and tucked it away. She would answer before bedtime that very night. She would let her mother know that help was on the way.
They exited at Christopher Street. When they approached a church, Grace paused. “Why are we here?”
“He’s going to meet us at his church. He lives with his mother and several other boarders, love. He thought we could talk better here.”
“But I thought I would be observing.”
“To do that truly, we’d have to go over to Ellis Island. He doesn’t have room for photography elsewhere. And you know what it is like there, love, all those crowds.”
Grace frowned. She did not wish for mere conversation.
“Don’t fret, love. He’ll have his camera and his photographs. He’s being quite generous to take the time.”
They mounted the steps to St. John’s. They stepped inside, their movements echoing in the cavernous building. Grace gazed at the stained-glass windows over the altar. She didn’t hear the man approach until he spoke her name.
“Miss McCaffery, a pleasure to see you.”
She turned to find the man with the receding hairline and a small bow tie that she vaguely recognized from her arrival on Ellis Island. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Sherman.”
“I’m most pleased to.” He turned to greet Mrs. Hawkins.
The woman held his hand in both of hers. “You are looking fine, Gus. How is Stella?”
Grace stared at her landlady. Mrs. Hawkins obviously knew Mr. Sherman well. Of course Mrs. Hawkins was the reason he was being so generous. Not for Grace alone.
“My mother is fit,” Mr. Sherman answered. “A bit of the rheumatism but otherwise sound.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mrs. Hawkins turned back to Grace. “I’ve been acquainted with Mr. Sherman’s mother since before my husband passed away, Grace.”
Grace narrowed her eyes. “Truly.”
“There are some connections, very old friends, who will stick beside you through life’s journeys, no matter if you see them often or not. The Benevolents, you know.”
“Oh, I see.”
Mr. Sherman rubbed his hands together. “Well, if you will come this way, I’ll show you my camera. Normally I don’t have it here, as cumbersome as it is to cart around, but I needed to do some repairs.”
They followed him to a side vestibule where a camera stood on a tripod. The cloth the photographer blanketed himself in while operating the camera was pulled back, revealing the mechanical-looking box with
“Perhaps your mother wrote to you while you were still on the ship.”
“I had not thought of that. I’m sure that explains it.”
Mrs. Hawkins motioned to her housekeeper. “Leave it on the table, please, love. We’ve got to be going.”
Annie placed the letter on the tray they kept on the hall table. “To see the Ellis Island photographer?”
Mrs. Hawkins put on her gloves. “That’s right, but we’re just going a few train stops north. He is not working today and couldn’t see us if he was. The immigration station is remarkably busy these days.”
“I’ll take it with me.” Grace snatched the letter. She could not wonder all day what was inside.
Aboard the el, she tore it open.
Dear Grace,
We are so blessed with a good crop of potatoes this year, thanks be to God. So all is well here. You and I had a difficult time once, but it is all past. Isn’t that so, darling?
Tears sprang to Grace’s eyes. While Grace was treated well and enjoyed enough to eat in America, her mother was still in the clutches of that man in damp, dismal Ireland.
“Is everything all right, love?”
Grace sniffed. “Aye. As well as can be expected.”
“There, there. God has a plan.” The woman patted Grace’s shoulder.
God would not have planned this. Grace read on.
Do tell me all about your new home, Grace. Is the mistress there nice? Have you found work yet? Please write, even if you do not hear from me for a time. I need to hear from you and know that you are well.
Grace folded the letter and tucked it away. She would answer before bedtime that very night. She would let her mother know that help was on the way.
They exited at Christopher Street. When they approached a church, Grace paused. “Why are we here?”
“He’s going to meet us at his church. He lives with his mother and several other boarders, love. He thought we could talk better here.”
“But I thought I would be observing.”
“To do that truly, we’d have to go over to Ellis Island. He doesn’t have room for photography elsewhere. And you know what it is like there, love, all those crowds.”
Grace frowned. She did not wish for mere conversation.
“Don’t fret, love. He’ll have his camera and his photographs. He’s being quite generous to take the time.”
They mounted the steps to St. John’s. They stepped inside, their movements echoing in the cavernous building. Grace gazed at the stained-glass windows over the altar. She didn’t hear the man approach until he spoke her name.
“Miss McCaffery, a pleasure to see you.”
She turned to find the man with the receding hairline and a small bow tie that she vaguely recognized from her arrival on Ellis Island. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Sherman.”
“I’m most pleased to.” He turned to greet Mrs. Hawkins.
The woman held his hand in both of hers. “You are looking fine, Gus. How is Stella?”
Grace stared at her landlady. Mrs. Hawkins obviously knew Mr. Sherman well. Of course Mrs. Hawkins was the reason he was being so generous. Not for Grace alone.
“My mother is fit,” Mr. Sherman answered. “A bit of the rheumatism but otherwise sound.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mrs. Hawkins turned back to Grace. “I’ve been acquainted with Mr. Sherman’s mother since before my husband passed away, Grace.”
Grace narrowed her eyes. “Truly.”
“There are some connections, very old friends, who will stick beside you through life’s journeys, no matter if you see them often or not. The Benevolents, you know.”
“Oh, I see.”
Mr. Sherman rubbed his hands together. “Well, if you will come this way, I’ll show you my camera. Normally I don’t have it here, as cumbersome as it is to cart around, but I needed to do some repairs.”
They followed him to a side vestibule where a camera stood on a tripod. The cloth the photographer blanketed himself in while operating the camera was pulled back, revealing the mechanical-looking box with
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