Eastland (13 page)

The rain had held off all day on Friday. And now, with the
promise of a clear evening as well, the line outside of Gruber’s
Olde World Creamery snaked out the door and down TwentySecond Street.

“Guess we’re not the only ones in the mood for some refreshment,” Karel said as we took our place behind all the others
waiting for ice cream.

He’d been right, of course. The whole town seemed to be
yearning for something familiar and comforting and truly normal
again. I pressed back against the brick wall under Gruber’s redand-white-striped canvas awning and watched as two girls played
a fast game of cat’s cradle. In line behind them, twin boys boxed
with one another in a mock fight. Directly in front of us, a young
couple fawned over each other as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Could I ever be so much in love with someone that I didn’t
care about anything else? And if I were that oblivious, who
would I be in love with? Karel? Or Lars? Who had Mama seen
waiting just around the corner? I gazed up at Karel, hoping to
find the answer in his face.
“What?” he asked.
“Checking to see if you were still there.”
“I’m not going anywhere tonight without you.”
I thanked my lucky stars for that. Karel and I were on our

first date. My first-ever date! So what, if it wasn’t as exciting as
the dates I’d heard about from Mae? Karel and I weren’t going to
the theater, or the beach, or dinner at some elegant restaurant.
We were out in the neighborhood for ice cream. But at least
Karel and I were alone.

I glanced at the line of people in front and behind us. Well,
sort of alone.
Karel gave me a playful nudge. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I was thinking of Mae.”
“Yeah, me too.” He looked at me and smiled. At that moment,
he had an expression so much like hers, my heart wrenched.
“Mae sure loved Gruber’s. She couldn’t get enough of their
chocolate ice cream. In the summer, we had to stop after Mass
every Sunday for some.”
“She told me about it every Monday. Made me so jealous.”
Karel shook his head. “That’s our Mae.”
That
was
our Mae.
“I’m so glad we can talk about her like this,” he said.
Karel and I shared the same pain. The two of us would
understand each other in a way no one else in the world ever
could. What a blessing that would be! Not to have to keep the
ache inside. Not to have to mask my tears.
“You keep her alive for me, Dee.”
He leaned on the wall next to me, his shoulder touching
mine, and we shared a quiet moment together, remembering
Mae.
He straightened and craned his neck. “Do you smell that?”
He sniffed the air. “Roasted pecans.
Mmmmm
. And cinnamon.”
Gruber’s was famous for their roasted peanut and pecan toppings, but they were also known for their homemade cinnamon
ice cream. And their …
“Hot fudge,” I drooled. “
Gaaaahh
.”
“Women and chocolate. I can’t imagine a better combination.”
I envisioned another great pairing: me and Karel. But then
again … what about me and Lars?
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Nothing.” I bit my lip. “So, ah, you really think I’m pretty?”
“Of course. Everyone does.”
“What about Dolly? Do you think she’s attractive?”
“Most guys would think so, but she’s really not my type.”
Inside, I screamed with relief. On the outside, I calmly said,
“So back to me.”
“With pleasure.” Karel took my hand. “I like a girl who has…”
He kissed the knuckle of my index finger. “… smarts.” He nibbled
the knuckle on my middle finger. “Beauty.” He moved onto my
ring finger. “Courage.” By the time he reached my pinky, I was a
quivering mess. “A girl exactly like you. Why, you’re trembling.
It’s eighty degrees out. Are you cold?” Karel’s eyes glittered playfully as he felt my forehead. “Don’t seem to have a fever. I know
what’ll fix you up! A double-scoop chocolate sundae.”
“With lots of nuts?”
“Nice, warm roasted pecans.”
I shook my head. “Has to be peanuts.”
“For you, anything.”
A raucous party of eight burst out the door. Mr. Gruber signaled to the families with the twin boxers and the girls playing
cat’s cradle, and the line moved forward. We were next, right
behind the lovey-dovey couple still cooing and kissing.
“Can’t see you acting like that in public,” Karel said in a low
voice. “You’re more demure.”
I used to be more reserved, but maybe not so much anymore.
Some unknown piece of me yearned to act like those two
lovebirds, to cause a stir and not give a damn. I wanted to get
lost in someone’s eyes or smothered in someone’s arms. Yet
even as those strange desires stirred, the larger, more sensible
part of me knew nothing inappropriate would ever happen. The
French voice in my head wouldn’t stand for such behavior. I let
out a grumble.
“You okay?” Karel studied me as the lovesick couple in front
of us was shown to a table.
“Just craving some chocolate.”
“Your wish is my command.”
The moment he’d said that, we were waved forward.
Karel and I held hands as we followed Mr. Gruber across the
speckled linoleum floor, past a huge German pipe organ, and along
the swivel stools at the soda fountain. I glanced to the side and
caught my reflection in the wall-sized mirror behind the soda bar.
My face was frozen in a silly smile, my hand tucked inside the
smooth, uncalloused fingers of the handsomest guy in Cicero.
My goofy grin broadened.
“Enjoy!” Our host pulled out a black, wrought iron chair for
me at a cozy table for two in the corner. I hesitated, not wanting
to let go of Karel. But we had to sit, eventually. I gave his fingers
a squeeze and slipped into the chair I’d been offered. Karel sat
across from me. We were given two menus before Mr. Gruber
bustled back to his station at the door.
“We really don’t need these, do we?” Karel grinned, taking
my menu from me. “Can I order for the both of us?”
“To be honest, I’d like to do that for myself.”
Karel’s smile melted like a cone in August.
“You don’t mind? Do you, Karel?”
The muscles in his face contorted. My gut knotted.
“You’re such a daisy,” he said. “Of course you can get whatever you’d like.”
Relief washed over me as a waitress appeared at our table.
She looked to me first. “Yes, miss?”
“Chocolate soda, please.”
“And for the gentleman?” She turned to Karel.
“If I might.” I held up my index finger. The waitress looked
back at me, her expression annoyed. “Could you make the soda
extra large? And add a second straw?”
I watched Karel, my fingers crossed under the table.
“You heard the young lady. Your biggest chocolate soda. And
two straws.”
“Yes, sir.” The waitress winked at me before scurrying away
with our order.
“You’re sure?” I asked, barely able to contain my delight.
“Of course. I’d love to share a soda with you.” Karel stretched
his hand across our wrought iron table and unfolded his fingers.
I slipped my hand into his again. “I wanted to ask you something,
Dee. Father wants to take Mother to the Grand Hotel on Mackinac
Island for a few weeks to rest. I’m going up to Michigan in August
to visit them for a couple of days. And they, well, Mother especially,
would like you to join us.” He laughed. “I’m lying.
I
would like you
to join us. What do you think? Would you come for the weekend?
Maybe take a day or two off of work and stay a little longer?”
Mae had told me all about the Grand Hotel. She’d said it
was the most gorgeous, and expensive, place she’d ever stayed.
Imagine, me in a posh resort like that with a dreamy suitor like
Karel? I wanted to say a million things. I wanted to say “yes.”
But all that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t know if I
could miss the time at work.”
“You don’t have to decide tonight. Talk to your mother
about it.”
“You talk to Mama. I have a feeling if you asked her, she’d
agree to almost anything.”
Karel released my hand and scooted his chair around the
table. “Mind if I sit next to you?”
I shook my head, I think. He had moved so close to me, I
could feel his warm breath on my cheek. I had to stay calm.
Focus on that adorable, dimpled cleft in his chin.
But I couldn’t concentrate on anything because his lips were
nearing mine. Karel was going to kiss me. My first-ever kiss on
my very first date.
I closed my eyes, as his breath grew hotter and more rapid.
My mind went fuzzy, and then his lips were touching mine. He
held them there, pressing gently. I melted into him, wanting
more. The sensation was intoxicating.
Was this how it felt to be drunk?
Applause broke out from around the room. My head shot up.
Had we caused a scene?
But no one had taken any notice of us at all.
Instead, all eyes were focused on the German pipe organ.
Fritz Gruber, the middle son in a family of nine, smiled and
bowed and then sat to play. Karel touched my cheek with the
back of his hand. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His
lips had said it all. He stretched his arm across the top of my
chair, his hand resting on my shoulder. I tipped my head back
against his arm and let the breeze from the fan on the tin ceiling
cool my overheated face.
Fritz played while I relaxed. My mind drifted.
“I see Fritz every Sunday,” Mae had informed me this past spring.
She’d paid Mrs. Mazurski for the fruit and waved good-bye to the
greengrocer. “And he doesn’t start playing the organ ’til I get there.”
I had to bite into my apricot to keep from snickering. I chewed
slowly until the impulse subsided. I swallowed and asked, “How
do you know that?”
“Fritz told me. Last night.”
“You two went out?”
“Not exactly. Fritz said he likes to stretch his legs after work.
I mentioned my address and suggested he might like to “stretch”
past my house.”
“You didn’t?”
“Did. He told me what time he usually went out, and, as luck
would have it, I was sitting on my front porch at that exact hour.”
“Fancy that. What a coincidence.”
Mae had laughed and pulled an apricot from her bag. “Yep,”
she’d said, before taking a bite. “Fritz is going to play my favorite
song for me next Sunday.”
“I’m Simply Crazy Over You,” I muttered.
“Right,” whispered Karel. “Mae loved this tune. Fritz played
it every time we came, although it sounds a bit choppy today.”
The smile Fritz had been wearing when he’d first started
playing had sagged. His eyes blinked rapidly. He seemed to be
rushing through the piece. He ended abruptly on a flat note,
wiping at his cheeks before going on to his next song.
Yet another broken-hearted casualty. The
Eastland
ripple
never seemed to end.
Beside me, Karel was blissfully unaware. He bobbed his head
in time to the beat. I found myself wondering,
What would life
be like with him?
Would we have more lovely outings like this? Could we
buy a Victorian? Maybe live close to Mama? Would we summer in Michigan? Along the Great Lakes? Where Merchant
Marines worked?
The waitress appeared, startling me. She placed a gigantic
chocolate soda on the table and then handed each of us a long
paper straw. “We all good here?”
“Of course!” Karel plunked his straw into our soda.
“Everything’s perfect.”
Oh, if only I could be as sure.

A half a day of work on Saturday always seemed like an
exclamation point at the end of a tedious sentence. After an
exhausting workweek, everyone dragged. Yet somehow on halfday Saturdays, employees found the energy to tease and flirt and
slack off a bit. They knew that in four short hours, work would
be over, and the weekend would begin.

This weekend. The ballet benefit with Lars.
I peered up at the bleak morning sky. After Friday’s reprieve,
storms had returned. But who cared? I flipped up my umbrella
and bounded down the porch steps, hopping onto the puddly
pavement with a splash. I kicked at the water and laughed.
“Wooey! That must have been some ice cream you had
last night.” Dolly sauntered up the sidewalk, twirling her
umbrella.
“The soda was scrumptious.”
“Who cares about that? I want to hear about that heartthrob,
Karel Koznecki.”
“There’s nothing much to tell.” Or maybe I didn’t know what
to tell her. About Karel. Or Lars. Or anything in my mixed-up
mind. I changed the subject. “But hey! What’re you doing here?
You never come past my house on your way to work.”
“Thought you might like the company this morning.”
“You thought you could get some good gossip about my
evening with Karel.”
Dolly let out a squeaky, girly giggle. “Oh, come on now,
chickadee.”
I stiffened. “Don’t ever call me that.”
She held up both hands. “Don’t get your knickers all knotty.
Okay, you’re not a chickadee.”
“But I am! I mean I was.” Tears flooded my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dee. I don’t understand. What’s the matter?”
“Mae used to call me that. Only Mae. No one else.”
Dolly stared at me, her emerald eyes wide, her cheeks flushed
as if all her freckles had bled together. “I didn’t know.”
I exhaled. “Of course not. How could you?” I touched her
arm. “Sorry I snapped at you, but that was Mae’s nickname for
me. Hearing you say it made me kind of crazy.”
We strolled up the rest of my block, neither of us saying
much. At the corner, I paused, waiting for Dolly to turn and head
north toward the shops on Twenty-Second Street. Instead, she
went straight across Fiftieth Avenue.
“Thought we should probably take side streets.” She waved
to me from the opposite curb. “You know, to avoid all the
shoppers.”
I stared at her for a moment and then shrugged and raced
after her. We walked east along my new route together.
“So, you gonna tell me about your date with Karel or not?”
I took one breath and the words came tumbling out. By the
time we reached Western Electric, Dolly knew all about the
spectacle of the love-struck couple, the smell of roasted peanuts,
the giant chocolate soda, and of course, the two straws. I left out
the bits about Fritz Gruber and my plans with Lars.
Fritz would remain a secret between Mae and me. And talking about Lars was strictly off limits.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share. Heck, I needed to talk
to someone because everything seemed so strange and weird. I
didn’t understand what I was feeling. How could I care about
two guys at the same time? What kind of person did that make
me? Oh, if ever a confused, desperate girl needed a friend. But
was I ready to reveal my most intimate thoughts to Dolly? So
soon after Mae?
We scampered past the twenty or so unemployed still waiting outside the north gate. Mr. Bruno maintained his vigilance,
though his presence didn’t really seem necessary today. The
small group looked quiet and orderly. Mr. Bruno spotted us and
waved his billy club in greeting.
“Last day of interviews,” I shouted to him. “New crew will
start in two weeks.” The unemployed cheered.
“Quiet! Or there won’t be no interviewing no how,” Mr.
Bruno threatened. But I saw the smile that flickered across his
bulldog face.
Soon, it would be business as usual. There would be no
more unemployed hopefuls at the gates, no job vacancies, and
no near-empty departments. The only things still lurking about
would be the ghosts that haunted the halls, and our hearts.
Mr. Bruno went back to his patrol. We hurried into the inner
yard and headed for the Central Office buildings.
“You told me all about Karel,” Dolly said, “but what about
that other fella?”
“What? There’s no one else.”
“You’re a bad liar, Delia Pageau. You’re hiding something.
I know it. There’s more to this story than Mr. Koznecki.” She
held opened the door to Twenty-Five for me. I shook out my wet
umbrella and ducked inside. “You’re one sly little peanut.”
“Peanut?” I waited as Dolly closed her own umbrella.
“It fits ya, don’t cha think? Yep, peanut. That’ll be my pet
name for you. So, you want to meet back here at eleven-thirty?
Walk home together?” Without waiting for an answer, she
waltzed away but then paused to look back at me. “Seriously,
Dee. Good luck with the interviews. I know this has been awful
for you. Remember one miraculous thing. You survived.” Dolly
waved over her shoulder as she sashayed toward the switchboard in Twenty-Seven. “Toodles.”
The five-minute warning whistle sounded. I rushed toward
the personnel office. Not the regular, official personnel office.
That was a small room run by two men on the second floor of
Dolly’s building. No, I was on my way to the temporary personnel office that had been set up in the ground floor lunchroom of
this building. There I joined the nineteen other specially selected
representatives from nearly every department in the company.
Applicants were screened at the door. Family members of
deceased employees had first crack at any available jobs. Once
all relatives had been hired, the remainder of the unemployed
would have the chance to interview for a coveted position at
Western Electric.
Since Thursday, I’d interviewed dozens of people, but
it didn’t seem to be getting any easier. Each applicant had a
story—some tragic, many desperate, and a few almost too unbearable to hear. At precisely seven-thirty, the starting whistle
blew. I watched as the first of the family members paraded into
the lunchroom.
A teenage boy, who appeared somewhat small for his age, sat
across from me at my designated round table. “Good morning.”
“Morning, ma’am.” The boy twitched, his shoulders popping up.
“Please don’t be nervous. I’ll try to make this as painless as
possible.”
His head jerked to the right. “Yes, ma’am.”
I pushed a blank application across the table. “Can you fill
this out? Or would you like me to do it for you?”
“You do it, please ma’am. I can read. Don’t you worry.
Finished the eighth grade. But I’m kinda nervous today.”
I fought down a smile and leaned forward. “Don’t need to
keep calling me ma’am. You and I are about the same age.” I
pressed back.
The boy exhaled so hard, I felt the puff of air across the table.
I waited for some kind of tic, but nothing moved.
“Right, well. Let’s begin. You’re related to someone who
wor—”
“My pop.” The boy’s hand convulsed up from his lap.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I repeated, for what seemed
like the hundredth time. “What was your father’s na—”
“Henry Stanley. But he went by Hank.”
I flipped through the seven-page Roster of the Dead until I
found the S’s. I ran my finger down the column. “Ah, here he is.
And yes, we have him listed as Hank Stanley.”
The boy’s eyes glazed over as he stared past me. “Pop preferred
that. Never liked Henry. Thought it sounded too highfalutin for
his taste.” His smile widened as he spoke, but I knew he wasn’t
talking to me. I seemed to be a bystander in this conversation.
“Hank. Short and simple, Pop used to say.” A few seconds passed
and then the boy shook his head as though waking from a dream.
“Sorry, ma’am.” His entire body jolted. His foot stomped on the
floor. “Oh, I did it again. Sorry for calling you ma’am, miss.”
“Pageau. But you may call me Delia.”
“Delia. Yes, miss.”
“And you are?”
“Nathan. Nate for short. Like Pop.”
“So, tell me, Nate. What department did your father work in?”
“Shipping.”
“Would you like to work there?”
Nate shook his head, hard. “Not there. Anywhere else. I used
to visit him in shipping on Saturdays. I couldn’t stand to work
there. To be reminded of him all day long.”
“I understand. Well, we have lots of other openings.” I
thumbed through the list of available jobs and then stopped on
page four. “How’d you like to be an office boy?”
The woman interviewing at the table to my left whipped her
head around and glared at me.
Office boy positions were sacred, saved only for the select
few. Everyone knew ‘office boy’ could put someone on the fast
track to management. Johnny Volo had been on that track. His
job was still open. Until this moment, I had not dared to think
of offering an applicant such a prized position. But short and
simple Nate seemed like he deserved something select.
“Office boy? I was thinking maybe I could work in the warehouse. Do something with my hands.”
“Office boy pays more than shop work.”
The interviewer to my left cleared her throat. I shifted to my
right, ignoring her. “Office boy is the best position available.”
“Really? Wait ‘til Ma hears!” Nate jumped up so quickly,
he knocked over his wooden chair. As he bent to pick it up, the
woman to my left leaned toward me.
“Only the personnel director can give away an office job.”
“I’m here to hire replacements. And that’s just what I did.”
The woman turned abruptly away.
“Now, Nate. Let’s finish the paper work, and I’ll tell you more
about your new job.”
We huddled together to complete the application. I gave
him a time card and sent Nate, Short and Simple, on his
happy way.
A woman with silver hair took Nate’s place. “Good morn—
Wait. Don’t I know you?” I studied the older woman for a moment, and then it came to me. “You’re the one who accosted me
at the gate Thursday morning!”
“You’re that girl! The one who said she wouldn’t help me!”
A pang of guilt shot through me. But why should I feel bad? I
wasn’t the one pulling at people and tearing sleeves.
“I couldn’t help you, not wouldn’t. I didn’t have the authority, at least not then. But I do now.” I threw back my shoulders,
willing away the guilt. “I can help you today.”
“My son died. My only son. My only child.”
“I remember.” She was a widow. Alone in the world.
Frightened. Desperate. “I’m so sorry. Really. Very sorry for your
loss.”
The silver-haired woman sighed, her breasts heaving. I
caught the glimmer of a gold cross at her throat. She sniffled.
“Thank you.”
“Your name, ma’am?”
She fidgeted with her necklace, rolling the cross between her
index finger and thumb. “Helen Volonowsky.”
“And your son?”
“John Augustus Volonowsky.” She sniffled again.
I could tell she was fighting back tears, so I didn’t offer to
have her complete the application. I filled in the blanks for her
as she spoke.
“John worked where in the company?”
She cocked her head, looking confused. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what did your son do? What did he tell you about his
job?”
“He worked in an office.” She seemed to brighten with pride.
“Then your son was an executive?”
“Oh my, no.” Her pleased smile drooped. “He was only
nineteen.”
‘Then he must have been an office boy?”
“Yes.” She rolled her cross again. Something clicked in my
brain.
“Did your son go by any other name?”
Mrs. Volonowsky nodded. “I didn’t like it. Wanted him to use
his full name. Be proud of his Russian heritage. But he said he
was born an American and needed a snappy, American name.”
“Your son was …” A chill washed over me. “Johnny Volo?”
“Yes! Did you know him?” She stared at me with big, hopeful
eyes.
“I knew him.” A tear trickled down my cheek. “I saw him
before …”
“Before what? Did you see him that day? Were you on that
boat?” She seized my wrist. “Please, tell me what you know.” She
let out a strangled sob and released me, collapsing back into her
chair. I rubbed at my tender wrist and tried to explain.
“Johnny had been dancing with my friend, Mae Koznecki. The
two looked so happy, so wonderful together.” I reached into my
pocket for a hankie and wiped my eyes, blew my nose. All the while,
Mrs. Volonowsky sat stone still, waiting for me to go on. I feared
she might not be breathing, so I quickly tucked away my hankie.
“I saw him again.”
“Before the boat tipped over? Do you know where he was
when he died?”
“I believe he was with Mae. In the salon, near the dance
floor.” My shoulders sagged. I was having trouble staying in
control. “I saw Johnny again after the capsizing.”
Mrs. Volonowsky clutched her cross. “In the water?”
I shook my head, unable to utter the words.
“The morgue,” she choked out, finding the words I couldn’t.
There we sat, both of us consumed by grief. And all the while,
people came and went and filled out paperwork. But I knew I
had to pull myself together. I had responsibilities.
“Mrs. Volonowsky, I’d like to offer you a job.”
“It’s Volo now. Like my John.”
“Mrs. Volo.” I scribbled her new name and department
number on a time card and held it out to her. “You’ll be coiling
telephone wire. With me.”