The Titanic Plan (25 page)

“
Short attention span,” Archie whispered to Belle.

“
Her latest lover,” Belle said about the young man who was now nibbling the hostess’s ear. “Some mad journalist who just got back from covering the revolution in Mexico. He supposedly rode with Pancho Villa.”

“
Hmmm,” Archie hummed, unimpressed.

“
Belle,” a voice called. Archie turned to see Emma Goldman clumping toward them, smiling like a kindly, middle-aged aunt. “I had no idea you were coming this evening, darling.” Emma kissed Belle on both cheeks then turned to Archie and looked him up and down. Archie bristled at being given the once over by America’s most dangerous anarchist.

“
Emma,” she said and held out her hand.

“
Archie,” he replied, feeling Emma’s firm grip.

“
I haven’t seen you before, Archie. New in town?”

“
He’s from Georgia,” Belle interrupted.

“
Ah, the South. I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting there, fearing that as a Jew and anarchist I would probably be lynched within a day of crossing the Mason-Dixon Line.”

“
You’re being unfair,” Archie replied. “The South is as highly cultured as anywhere in the United States. It has an unfortunate past which many of us Southerners are trying to ameliorate.”

“
Here, here, Archie,” Emma said approvingly. “So I take it you are a fellow traveler in the cause?”

“
I believe in justice for all men, if that’s what you mean, Miss Goldman.”

“
Justice exclusively for men? Are we women to be left out?”

“
Of course he’s for suffrage, Emma,” Belle interrupted in an attempt to rescue Archie.

“
Are you for equal rights for women, Mr…?” Emma paused. “I didn’t get your last name, Archie.”

“
Emma, I am for what is best for all of us,” Archie said tactfully. “And in my case right now, it’s a refreshment. You’ll excuse Belle and me.”

Emma laughed. “You slipped out of that one nicely, Mr. Archie. You should be a politician.”

“
Heaven forbid,” Archie said, taking Belle’s arm and walking away.

“
She liked you, Archie,” Belle teased. “You’d better watch out. She’s notorious for seducing men.”

“
Her?!” Archie glanced back at the short, manly looking anarchist who was now engaged in a conversation with the hostess’s journalist paramour.

“
All I’m saying is be careful who you get in bed with.”

“
You can trust I am always careful on that account, Miss Greene.”

“
Hopefully not too careful,” Belle said coyly, letting her hand brush his. Archie felt that familiar jolt of electricity shoot through his body.

“
I’m here to find information about who killed Mick Shaughnessy. That is the only reason I came. It is something you assured me was here. I must ask you to reveal it now or, quite frankly, I should stop wasting my time and leave.”

“
You’re free to leave,” Belle said. “But I think if you talked to some of the people here about your friend Mick you would probably find out more than what you might want to know.”

“
Who? Who should I talk to?”

Belle looked around. “Well, just about anyone. They all knew him.”

Emma began clinking a knife on the edge of crystal goblet. “Can I have your attention, please,” Emma’s voice boomed above the racket. “Quiet, please. We’re about to start our program now.” No one did quiet. The chatter continued until two small young women in plain dresses entered near the back of the apartment. They looked out of place in the stylish drawing room, like frightened deer that wandered into a banquet of hunters. Their awkward entrance drew people’s attention. By the time the two girls reached Emma, the entire room had fallen silent.

“
Friends,” Emma said gently. “Tonight we have two courageous young women who are here to relate a fight for survival which can inspire us all. I know you are all aware of the horrible tragedy of March 25. These girls are here to tell to us first hand of that tragic day at the Triangle Shirtwaist factory. This is the brave young organizer you’ve all heard about, Clara Lemlich.” Emma put her hands on Clara’s shoulders. “And this is her cousin, Dora Rosen, who survived the horrible fire and is here to bear witness for us.”

Clara stepped forward first. She was accustomed to speaking before crowds and spoke with the authority of the righteous in her heavily accented English. “Comrades,” Clara shouted. “Zank you very much from the bottom of our hearts for havin’ us here and lettin’ us tell about our good friends who vasn’t able to make it ‘cause of the fire and how the struggle of us vorkin’ girls continues.”

Everyone in the salon applauded. Clara introduced Dora, who looked uncomfortable having all the eyes focused on her. She started to speak. Her voice quavered. Her body trembled. She had to stop before she could even utter a full sentence. Clara draped a comforting arm over Dora’s shoulders, but Dora shook her away, determined to go on. She closed her eyes and began to relive that day. “It vas a beautiful afternoon and me and my friends vas just gettin’ off work.” In a slow, steady voice, with her eyes still closed, Dora began telling of how the fire started and how it spread to the ninth floor. “I vas near the cloakroom vhen I heard screamin’ and looked up to see Annie Colletti’s dress catch fire and she…” Two tears escaped from the corner of Dora’s closed eyes. She choked out her words. “…and she started burnin’ up…her dress, her hair. Then I saw all these girls and they vere pushin’ at the door but it vasn’t openin’, so I thought maybe to take the elevator ‘cause I knew I had to get outta there quickly. But vhen I ran to the elevator, there vas lotsa other girls and they vas pushin’ and shovin’ and runnin’ all over each other and tryin’ to squeeze in and the elevator operator vas sayin’ that it vas too full and he vas tryin’ to close the door and he looks at me and says ‘sorry, I’ll come back up and get you.’ But I knew he never vould ‘cause the fire vas gettin’ too big. So vhen the elevator started I looked down the shaft and saw it’s only maybe one floor down so I threw my coat into the shaft and it landed on top of the elevator then I jumped and landed on my coat and thanks to God by some miracle I vas still alive. But then I felt a heavy smash, like a big sack o’ potatoes and it’s another girl and she jumped down too and landed on top of me but it didn’t help her ‘cause she hit her head on the elevator cable and died. And then two more girls jumped and they landed on me and I felt my body breakin’ apart ‘cause my ribs were broke and that’s the last thing I remembered ‘til I woke up in the hospital room.”

Dora stopped and gulped a breath, leaving the horrific scene that was seared into her mind. She opened her eyes and saw a roomful of faces with tears pouring down their cheeks. “I vould now like to tell you the names of some of my friends who died in the fire so that their memory may live. Yetta Goldstein vas a gorgeous girl with long red hair and a pretty smile. Ve vould eat together lunch. Annie Colletti, oy, could that girl talk, chattered like magpie…sometimes I just vanted to tell her to shut up…but, oh, I so vish I could hear her voice now. And Sarah Brodsky, I vas to go to her veddin’ that vas to take place a veek ago. Yes, she vas to be married last Sunday. Instead, her sweetheart vas the one who identified her burned body by the gold ring he gave her. She vas buried on her veddin’ day.”

Dora trembled then broke down weeping. Clara embraced her. The people in the room rushed forward and surrounded the girls, giving them sympathetic hugs and slipping dollar bills into their skirt pockets. After a few moments, Clara stepped away and began singing. Emma joined in with her foghorn voice:

Arise, you prisoners of starvation!

Arise, you wretched of the earth!

For justice thunders condemnation:

A better world’s in birth!

It was
The Internationale
, the hymn of the worldwide workers movement. The singing rippled like a wave through the entire room – writers, painters, anarchists, rich bohemian women and their handsome young lovers, all were bonded by the sad tale of a completely ordinary girl who was made extraordinary by an ill-fated tragedy.

No more tradition’s chains shall bind us,

Arise you slaves, no more in thrall!

The earth shall rise on new foundations:

We have been naught, we shall be all!

The young pianist began banging the staunch melody out on the Steinway, which encouraged the voices to grow even stronger. As the song reverberated through the ornate salon, Archie noticed a large man hanging at the edge of the crowd, singing as heartily as the others. The man’s hair was parted in the middle and fell over his ears. The man looked familiar to Archie, but he couldn’t quite place him.

Tis the final conflict,

Let each stand in his place.

The Internationale

Unites the human race

Then, as the man shook his head with his own passionate singing, his hair slid back to reveal his ears – prominent, jug ears. It hit Archie: the angular face, the hulking body, the ears that stuck out. Except in Archie’s memory the man had a large handlebar mustache. And it wasn’t just one man, but two. Twins. Archie remembered the concussive bursts of gunfire that lit up the subway tunnel. He recalled the features of the men’s faces. And, reverberating though his skull, he heard the horrible screech of metal and the sickening sight of a man crushed under the wheels of the subway car.

Archie blinked and fixed his look on the man again. Yes, it was the second twin. The large man noticed Archie’s hard gaze and met it. He curled his lips upwards. To Archie it was a sinister grin, a mocking grin, a grin drenched in the blood of the twin’s brother and Mick Shaughnessy.

Archie blanched.

So comrades, come rally,

And the last fight let us face.

The Internationale,

Unites the human race!!

The chorus of voices rose in a final, ragged burst of passion and then erupted in a tremendous cheer. Archie staggered away, lost. Belle pushed after him. “Archie, are you alright?” Archie could only shake his head. She took his hand. “Let’s get some air.”

They sat on a bench at the edge Washington Square. Silent. A night breeze slapped at their faces.

“
Cold?” Belle asked.

“
No,” Archie answered.

“
Good.”

They sat.

“
Archie, what upset you so much?”

Archie didn’t answer. Minutes passed.

“
Miss Greene,” Archie finally said. “I appreciate you bringing me here tonight. You were true to your word, I did find something valuable. But I’m curious. What was so pressing about me coming to New York? It wasn’t just for my benefit. You want something from me.”

“
Yes,” Belle said and took his hand and held it. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, but more an affirmation of togetherness. “For some reason, I trust you. And you can trust me, Archie. Please. Trust me.”

“
I would like to, Miss Greene.”

Belle waited a moment, knowing she was about to test his trust. “I would like to know the nature of your association with John Astor and George Vanderbilt,” Belle asked delicately.

Archie didn’t answer.
How did she know about Astor and Vanderbilt?

“
It’s important I know, Archie. Not only for me, but also for you.”

“
For me?” Archie’s voice began to rise. “And why is it so important for me? Why is your prying where you have no business important to me? You’ve befriended me for some reason, teased and tantalized me. If you really want to be honest and genuine, if you really are my friend, now is the time to speak up. What is the real truth here, Miss Greene?”

“
The real truth is that I am an ally,” Belle answered with a quiet but firm voice. “And at this point, all I can ask is that you trust me on that.”

“
Give me a reason to trust you and I will.”

“
You are in danger, Archie. You don’t even know the trouble you are stirring up. These people don’t play around.”

“
What people, Miss Greene? Tell me. Give me names.”