What next, Delia wondered. She and Lilly stood protectively behind Rachel, ready to grab her and run if need be. The door gleamed with brass plates and polished wood. It was more impressive and forbidding than the factory gate. What next? At the foot of the stairs Henry Mendelsohn leaned on the balustrade, his arms folded, smiling up at them. He caught Rachel’s eye and tipped his hat. Rachel turned pink, reached up and gave the bell-rope a long, deliberate jerk.
The heard the chimes echo and echo inside the house before fading away. The door remained shut.
“See? Enough yourself!” Lilly tried to pull her sister away.
Henry Mendelsohn chuckled. That did it. Rachel yanked the bell again.
As the chimes faded once more, the door opened a crack. The three of them held their breath. The crack widened. A girl their own age clad in a blue work apron with a kerchief around her head peered out at them, holding her breath too. Behind her they could see nothing but darkness as if the whole house were a tomb.
For a moment no one spoke.
“The missus, she ain’t in.” The girl addressed Rachel. Then she saw Delia and Lilly, disheveled and sweaty from running all day. Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. “But if yer looking for work, you better come round the back.” She kept looking from Rachel to Delia and Lilly as if not sure in what way they could possibly fit together.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel murmured, finally embarrassed by her efforts to evade Henry Mendelsohn. “We must have the wrong place.” They turned. Henry Mendelsohn was gone. No. Not completely. Somehow he had managed to spirit himself across the street. There he was at the edge of the park, showing his tricks to two ladies sitting on a bench. He glanced over his shoulder and saw them watching. As if his arm was pulled by a string, he popped his hat high off his head and bowed to Rachel the grand way, his nose nearly brushing the ground. The ladies laughed so hard, you could almost hear them.
Rachel turned a furious red. “Please.” She pleaded with the girl, who stood in the half-open door watching too. “Let us in.”
“Please. Just for one minute. I...I feel faint.”
“Faint, are you?” The girl examined the darkness behind her, making up her mind. “Come on then.” She gestured them inside quickly. “I know what the faintness is. You wouldn’t think to look at me, seeing as how I’m just a bitty thing. But I’m at least fifteen and I’ve had me fainting spells now for at a year and five months.”
Inside the house was even darker than they expected. On both sides of the entry hall they could see rooms where everything was covered with sheets.
“Hush,” the girl commanded, though they hadn’t said a thing. “I’m not allowed to have visitors, you know, but right now it’s just the cook and me here. Everyone’s gone.” She talked the way a starving person might eat, stopping to breathe for a split second, than plunging right in again. “When I saw the three of you standing there I thought maybe you’d come to help, because, see, Minnie left last month and I’ve been the only serving girl. I’m Birdie.” ...
“Did someone die?” Delia asked pointing to the draped furniture.
“I should be so blessed. No, the missus is just off gallivanting for the summer. Though if she drowned in the Atlantic sea, you wouldn’t squeeze a tear out of me.”
The floor above them creaked.
“Hush.” Birdie picked up a feather duster, though whether she expected to use it as a weapon or just wanted to look busy, Delia couldn’t tell.
“Cook keeps herself company with her bottle of gin. Me? I keep myself company with the sweeping and scrubbing and shoveling the coal dust.”
From where they stood it seemed the rooms went on forever, one arched doorway opening into another. Crystal glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered with flowered paper and the rugs were pattered like the garden of paradise. Birdie let them take in their fill. “There’s even more,” she told them. “Two parlors, a sitting room upstairs, and a whole room with nothing in it but a tub. A tub just for bathing yerself. Big as a boat.”
“We should leave.” Delia said.
“Not by that door you don’t.” Birdie blocked their way. “If Annie next door sees you coming and going, she’ll tell cook and I’ll get a lump on my neck for sure. You’ll have to come downstairs. No one cares what happens in the alley. Not even old Annie.”
Rachel paused in front of a hallway mirror. A single shaft of sunlight touched her hair where it fell loosely against her cheek.
“I’m sorry, I am.” Birdie’s round little face appeared behind her. “If you were real lady visitors, I’d take you in here,” she indicated the parlor.
Rachel gazed around wordlessly at the marble mantelpiece and brocade drapes with silk tassels. She swayed as if she really was faint.
“I know about the faintness,” Birdie steered her away gently. “There’s things to cure it. And things to bring it on.” She lowered her voice, “When it don’t come by itself.” She led them downstairs into a big damp kitchen. It smelt more like home down here--cold grease and laundry soap. A pan of potatoes sat on the stove where the fire had gone out, a basket of wet linens waited by the door ready for hanging. Delia spied a deep stone sink with two gleaming spigots. “Two inside pumps!” She exclaimed.
“We’ve got those, too,” Lilly announced loftily. “In our new flat.”
Birdie turned a spigot, grinding it back and forth until a trickle of water came out. “You have to work at it. The other one makes the water hot. It really does.” She glared at them as if daring them to deny it. “But you’ve got to light the boiler and wait an hour. We don’t use it when the misses is out.” Very solemnly she filled a china mug and handed it to Rachel. “It’s pure uptown tap water. What all the ladies drink.”
Lilly and Delia swallowed hard while Rachel took a sip.
“You’re not faint,” Birdie told them. “You’ll have to get yours from the pump outside.”
The back of the house looked even more like home with its laundry lines, upturned buckets to sit on, a broken slab for a stoop, and a box filled with ashes.
“It’s all for show.” Lilly sat down on a bucket bottom. “The front of the house, it’s all for show.”
“Don’t you think I know?” Birdie picked up a big, flat rug beater and whaled away at the carpet hanging over the line. After a dozen or so whacks she stopped and scanned the upper windows of the house. “See anything?” They looked. The windows remained faceless. A house like that could fit a hundred people, yet here it stood empty except for an old cook and one girl. “Good.” Birdie plopped down on the stoop. “Cook and her bottle have gone to sleep. Let the saints keep her that way.” She pushed up her sleeve and rubbed a fresh-looking burn. “Since three this morning I’ve been on me feet, boiling the sheets, taking the black off every piece of silver. If you hadn’t come, I’d have an iron in me hand this minute.”
Delia and Lilly took turns drinking from the pump with its squeaking handle. Delia wished she could ask Rachel if she could compare pump water to uptown tap water, but she didn’t want to offend Birdie.
“Still, if you’re looking for work,” Birdie squinted at them. “We could use another girl or two. It’s not bad. You get a bed. And your food. It’s just been me since Minnie got sacked. She took kerosene.” She glanced around, then leaned forward conspiratorially “Because her fainting spell didn’t come. It’d been nearly three months since she’d seen it. There’s things that you can take to bring it on, like I said. Bitters with a big spoon full of salt in hot vinegar.” She stopped. “I mean, that’s what I heard. But you have to do it early. She waited too long. So now I’ve got all her work to do as well as me own. ”
“We already have work,” Delia told her. “In a factory.”
“A factory? So what brings you here? There’s not a factory for miles. Thank heaven. I tried it once. I thought I’d been hired by the very devil. I didn’t last the day. The noise alone would’ve driven me mad.”
“It’s not so bad.” Delia didn’t know why she was defending the shop. For some reason she felt she had to. “Sometimes they speed things up. But most times you can talk, and even read, as long as they don’t catch you and you make your daily stint.”
“I wouldn’t stay a single minute,” Birdie exclaimed. “Did you run away?”
“We were locked out. There was some...trouble.”
“Ahh trouble,” Birdie smiled with satisfaction. “Like the strikers. The coal and railroad men.” She looked at them expectantly, ready for a story. “But I’ve never heard of striking girls.”
“We don’t have a real strike. Not yet anyway.”
“Well if I stood there and said I wouldn’t do a spot of work unless they paid up, cook would break every bone in my body. Even the bitty ones. And each one of them twice.”
Delia shifted uneasily. She remembered the police tapping their nightsticks against the palms of their hands. “Well,” she tried to sound brave “Sometimes people do get knocked about.” Knocked about. That sounded like something Jake might say. She pictured Jake standing on the corner, his sack of newspapers slung from his shoulder, his hands in his pockets, his cap pulled over his eyes. ‘Sure, you can get knocked about.’ He’d whistle a few bars, just to show it was nothing. Nothing to be knocked about.
“Knocked about? That’s the least of it. You talk as if you still have all your teeth.” Birdie looked straight at them and hooked a finger in the corner of her mouth, jerking back her cheek to reveal a missing row of upper teeth. “My da did that. Before I left home. I stay here so he won’t have another chance.” Then, as if overtaken by shame, she hung her head, rubbing the cheek that hid the missing teeth.
“It a very nice house.” Lilly tried to say something kind. Birdie really was very pretty, when you looked at her straight on, with her wisps of hair even lighter than Rachel’s peeking out from her kerchief and cheeks round and pink as a painted tea plate.
“I get enough to eat.” Birdie wrapped her arms around her knees and fell silent.
“Birdie, Bird-eee!” A voice boomed from the upper most window. “If you let that fire go out girl you’ll be sorry. Sor-eee!”
“Yes ma’am, yes ma’am. May the devil fill your bottle of gin.” Birdie clutched her head, rocking back and forth as if a hundred policemen were beating on her with a hundred nightsticks all at once.
“Go!” She hissed, shaking with terror and tears. “Get around by the sideway quick. If she sees so much as the hem of your skirt I’ll have a black bruise on my back for sure.”
“I wouldn’t stay there a minute. I’d run out and do anything, anything but sit inside all day to scrub till I was half-dead,” Lilly said when they were back on the street.
“Sometime I feel like that at the shop.” Delia replied. A minute before she had been talking as if the factory was a good place. As if the girls were in charge. Now just the thought of it made her want to hold her head like Birdie and howl.
“Why?” Lilly gave a little skip. “Like you said, we’re always whispering and laughing behind the boss’s back. You bring the paper and read. And we talk about all the letters that girls write to the editor.”
“But don’t you ever want to do anything else?”
“Like what? I could have stayed in school. But the teacher was always standing over me, making me repeat myself cause she couldn’t understand how I spoke. That was worse than any boss and I didn’t even get paid.”
Delia thought back to when she used to go to school. She remembered the old wooden desk whose top was carved with the names of all who had sat there before her, the thick, yellow sheets of paper the teacher handed out, the heavenly smell of ink. “I wandered lonely as a cloud...” Once she had recited a poem for the school oratory contest. “...that floats on high, o'er vale and hills.” She had been so scared that she had skipped whole chunks of it, but the judges had given her a ribbon anyway because she was the youngest of the contestants. For weeks after that she had worn the blue rosette with the number of her school, P.S. 150, pinned to her blouse. The ribbon was long gone now, along with the poem. “When all at once I saw a crowd...” No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t remember the poem. If only she had been able to stay in school another year, she was sure she would have been able to recite the entire thing from top to bottom without a single mistake. “I wandered...”
Two ladies with furled parasols approached. Delia and Lilly stared at them as they passed. For people who lived in such a fine neighborhood these ladies were surprising short on ruffles and lace. Their hats were big enough, but their skirts were dark and too narrow at the feet. Most of the women on this street wouldn’t get a second glance on East Broadway.
The next pair that passed was far more satisfying. The lady had a way of leaning in towards the gentleman who walked beside her, not exactly touching him, but swaying like a flower on a stalk, making him reach out to catch her. She wore a pale blue dress that rustled along the sidewalk.
“Don’t stare at people,” Rachel whispered.
“Why not?” Lilly gazed at the couple stubbornly. “You sit out on the front stoop for hours at home, watching people walk by and taking their clothes apart.”
The lady tilted her head on the man’s shoulder. He enclosed her, his hand resting just below her waist.
“Like lovers at the Palladium when the curtain closes.” Lilly sighed as they watched the couple cross the street and disappear into the park.
“Nu?” Rachel arched her eyebrows. “A broomstick dressed in lace?”
“I thought she was beautiful.”
“Beautiful? A face that’s been sitting in vinegar for fifty years? And he looks at her like he’s about to eat her like a little iced cake!”
Lilly and Delia looked at one another. What was wrong now?
“But she has him. And me? Me? Who do I have? Who’s left for me? Henry Mendelsohn! That’s who. Henry Mendelsohn!”
Delia rubbed the back of her ear and looked around for him but he seemed to have vanished for good. “Henry Mendelsohn is nowhere here,” she told Rachel.
“Oh yes he is. Or if not him, another schlemeil who could be his twin. The Henry Mendelsohns of this world are thick as flies. One is always buzzing in your ear.”
Delia touched her ear again.
“But he’s not so bad,” Lilly said. “He dresses fine and knows magic. He could pull money right out of your hair.”
“Then you marry Henry Mendelsohn.”
“Marry him?” Lilly gaped at her sister, incredulous.
Could you marry someone just because you liked the way he touched your ear, Delia wondered. What would the Forward say about that? “Dear editor,” she spoke solemnly as if she were reading a letter out loud from the bintel brief. “Is it proper for a gentleman to pull money from a lady’s ear?”
“And you can marry him too,” Rachel snapped at her.
“Are you meshuga?” Lilly said. “We both can’t marry Henry Mendelsohn!”
“Esteemed editor,” Delia intoned. “May two ladies to marry the same gentleman because that way he can pull twice as much money from their ears?”
Lilly giggled. “Worthy editors, may a gentleman have a harem?”
“Harem!” Delia couldn’t believe Lilly even knew such a word. ”Dear worthy esteemed editor, my friend and I wish to become a harem for Henry Mendelsohn!” They fairly exploded with giggles.
“Harem!” Lilly repeated.
“Harem!” The word made them shake with laughter until their cheeks glistened with tears and they had to lean against one another to stay standing up. “Harem!”
“What a fine picture you make, behaving like that in the street.” Rachel put her hands on her hips, surveying them up and down.
Delia wiped her face with her sleeve. She could see red stains from the raspberry ice on the front of Lilly’s blouse and she knew the back of her own skirt was scuffed with dirt from Birdie’s stoop.
“Yes, that’s what you are, exactly.” Rachel flung her arm wide as if addressing a great crowd, though the street was nearly empty. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she called out. “Here you see the harem of Henry Mendelsohn.” And with that she turned her back on them and strode away, south towards the Lower East Side.
“Rachel!” Delia started to run after her. “We were just making a little fun.”
“Let her go.” Lilly pulled her back. “She comes uptown and then gets angry when she’s here. Then she will go home and wish she was uptown. Everything sets her off these days. Not one suitor that the matchmaker brought suited her. She sent them all away. So now she cries to Mama that she will be an old maid. And Mama cries that Papa should pay another matchmaker and Papa acts like he wants to covers his ears. It is a mishegas, a big mess. I can hardly stand putting a foot in the door at home these days.”
Delia watched Rachel’s retreating back. “I should go home,” she said. But her feet didn’t seem to move in that direction.
“Stay a little longer,” Lilly coaxed. “Rachel will complain about me to mama. If I wait, Mama will have forgotten what she said by the time I get back. I don’t want to stay uptown alone. Let’s take our time.”
“You mean our leisure.” The word rolled off Delia’s tongue. What was leisure? She linked arms with Lilly. Perhaps she should find out.
“Our lee-zoor,” they said together and crossed the avenue.
At the entrance of the park they each bought a bottle of Dr. Cohn’s Elixir for a penny from a small refreshment cart and gulped it down so fast the quinine bubbles made them croak and burp. Then Lilly took Delia over to the ladies’ pavilion where they had their choice of three gleaming porcelain toilets with polished wooden seats and brass pull chains.
“So fancy!” Delia couldn’t get over it. Each toilet was enclosed in a marble-walled stall with a hinged bolt upon a solid oak door. It was nothing like an outhouse in a courtyard. She even wondered whether it would almost be worth a nickel to take the trolley up to the park just to use one of these wonderful toilets every once and a while. In an adjoining room there were two stoneware sinks where you could wash yourself with icy-cold water that gushed like a river from copper taps.
“Don’t take all day, girlie.” A matron sat on a stool in corner eyeing Delia suspiciously as she turned the taps on and off over and over.
“For you, missus,” Lilly silenced the matron’s complaints with a penny.
“Does she live there?’ Delia whispered as they left.
“She has been appointed by the city,” Lilly explained. “That’s what Rachel said the last time Papa took us to Central Park. You give her the penny so she will treat you nice when you come back again.”
Delia nodded, impressed. That was why it was good to have an older sister, someone who could tell you these things. Rachael and Lilly might fight, but they were still sisters. Lilly would never be alone. And what of me, Delia thought. She tried once more to remember the day she had Clara had come to the park with their papa, but it seemed so long ago, it was nothing more than a dream. "Sisters," she hooked her arm through Lilly's. She did not want to be alone.
"Sisters," Lilly smiled back. Two sisters taking their leisure.
They wandered around the park looking for the best place to sit. Groups of children with nursemaids clustered by the edge of a small pond where a peddler’s stand with a striped awning sold toy boats and spinning pinwheels colored like the American flag--red, white and blue. The children played quietly, pulling little wagons, tossing balls or sailing their boats. Nobody hollered, fought or rolled in the dirt.
One little boy’s boat had just drifted out of his reach. Sailing a boat must be hard work for him, Delia thought. His face puckered into a frown as if he were already a grown businessman. She reached over and gently pushed it back to him. He was about the same age as her little cousin Sid and wore a sailor suit with a wide, white collar. One winter Mama and Helga had made nothing but sailor suits for three solid months. Delia remembered how hard it was to keep the white collars clean while you worked on them. The jobber would dock your pay by three cents if a collar showed even a tiny spot. Perhaps he was wearing one of the very suits her mama had sewn. Again, the image of her mother and the endless pile of sewing made her wince inside. She should be home helping out this very moment.
Lilly lolled back on the grass. “This is leisure!” She let her arms flop out wide.
The very air in the park felt dense and sweet. All around them flowers with bright yellow blossoms swayed in the breeze. Delia lay down too, closing her eyes. She felt the breeze waft over her. When all at once.... She sat bolt upright. “I wandered-lonely-as-a-cloud-that-floats-on-high-o’er-vale-and-hills-when-all-at-once-I saw-a-crowd-a host-of-golden-daffodils!” The words came out in a great rush. “Beside the lake, beneath the trees. Fluttering, dancing in the breeze.” There was even more. It had come back to her just like that, she exaulted. The whole poem.
“What? What crowd? “ Lilly sat up, looking around. “Where?”
“It is a poem. An English thing I learned in school a long time ago.”
The little boy with the boat waved to Delia as his nursemaid led him away. The nurse rubbed a spot on the boy’s collar and wagged a scolding finger at him. The collars get so dirty so easily, Delia wanted to tell her. She had stained many herself when she helped Mama make them.
“I don't’ know poems,” Lilly said. “But have you ever been to the Biograph?” she added, not to be outdone.
“No.” Delia sensed vaguely that she should just leave it at that. Lilly might have all day for leisure, but she certainly didn’t. On the other hand, she had never been to the Biograph, not even once. “What is it like?” she asked.
“What is it like?” Lilly stared at her as if she had just asked what the sun itself was like. “It shines in your eyes. It fills you inside. It is vunderbar. Wonderful. The Biograph Motion Picture Palace on Mott Street. Rachel and I have gone there many times. Come I will show you.”
A Biograph motion picture show? Delia checked her pocket. She still had one nickel and one penny left. Why not? There would still be plenty of time left for her to go home and help her mother. “To the Biograph!” she exclaimed.
They dusted themselves off headed back to the corner to wait for the next street car going back to the Lower East Side.
The Biograph must have been a leather shop once, not too long ago, Delia realized as they groped their way inside. The smell of animal hides and glue still clung to the walls. She stumbled a little in the darkness, her stomach churning. “Maybe not today.” She tried to back out, not sure she should even be here.
“Come on.” Lilly pulled her right up front to the first bench.
As soon as they sat down, a white square on the wall, the size a parlor window, rippled to life. First there was nothing but gray shadows and ghosts, then, in a split instant, an ocean wave came surging straight at them. “Coney Island!” Delia jumped to her feet.
“Shhh...” Lilly yanked her back down. “Don’t act like some greenhorn girl.”
“Hush your mouths,” a woman called out. “When you’re talking no one can think to see.”
Another wave. Girls in striped bathing costumes ran with little hen steps. A two-humped camel lumbered down the boardwalk.
“Next you get a parade,” Lilly whispered. She came so often she knew all the shows by heart. “After that soldiers on horses. It’s the Calvary charge. And then a motorcar race that will make you scream. But everyone does then. So it’s all right.”
Delia sat up rigid, her eyes open as wide she could possibly get them. She had just spent her last nickel and she wanted to remember everything. She’d tell it all to Gertie and Sid tonight. This would be the best story they ever heard.
But if she told them about the Biograph they’d beg to come. The realization that she had spent nearly all her money on herself today hit her, as if the wave on the screen had suddenly become real and doused her with ice cold water. What had she done? She hung her head. She couldn’t afford to bring her cousins to a Biograph show. And she wouldn’t be able to buy peaches for them tonight either. She couldn’t watch any more. She had no right.
“Now!” Lilly rammed her so hard in the ribs Delia nearly fell off the bench. Her head jerked up. A pair of motorcars whizzed by. Everybody on the bench leaned back. One car nearly bashed into the other. Everybody screamed. Delia too. A long, loud, wonderful Coney Island, running-into-the-ocean scream. The other motorcar swerved away in the nick of time.
“See?” Lilly gave Delia hug as they left the Biograph. Delia leaned against a building, her legs wobbling, almost like they had on first day of work when the machines had driven her dizzy. But this time she was happy-dizzy. A glorious sense of resolve took shape in her mind. She had to come back to the Biograph. She’d bring Sid and Gertie and Leah too. She’d make the money. Enough for all of them. Somehow.
“Wasn’t that better anything you ever learned at school?” Lilly demanded. “Wouldn’t you rather have a nickel for the Biograph than a teacher with a book?”
Delia was still too dumbstruck to answer. “And then my heart with pleasure fills.” That was part of the poem too.
“My belly’s starving,” Lilly said.
“Mine too.” Delia felt famished from all the excitement.
They stopped at an outdoor stand where Lilly bought them each a blini with current jam and sweet cheese for two cents. Delia ate slowly, licking the jam from her fingers after each bite.
A pair of musicians played on the corner. One had a balalaika, the other a violin. The balalaika player was blind. He stared straight ahead at nothing while his hands flew over the strings, swift as birds. The violinist, who had no trouble seeing, kept a sharp eye on the hat where people tossed coins. Someone called for a waltz. Couples began to dance. A young man reached out for a girl in a pink blouse who was just walking by and she fell into his arms laughing. The blini woman and her husband ran out from behind their counter to join in, both of them so round their bellies jiggled with every hop. Even so, the blini woman was light on her feet and knew all the latest steps, including something Lilly called the “Spanish Dip,” which she did by bending backward in her husband’s arms while balancing on one tiny foot.
“Do you know how to dance?” Lilly gripped Delia by her wrists.
“Neither do I.”
So they made up their own waltz-step, bumping up against each other, hopping back and bumping again. Step-hop-bump-hop, step-hop-bump hop, step-hop...
Delia watched the young man and pink blouse girl. She imagined herself dancing with Henry Mendelsohn. She would do the Spanish Dip. He would bend over her, his face so close that he brushed her ear not with his fingers but with his lips and she-- “Enough!” Her face burned. She jerked her hands free from Lilly and rubbed her mouth furiously.
“What?” Lilly gaped at her.
“I’m just tired,” Delia explained self-consciously. After that, she stood on the sidelines, letting Lilly hop around alone till the music wound down.
“Enough! Enough!” The blini woman gave each of the musicians a big, smacking kiss and dumped a whole handful of money into the hat. Other people did likewise. Delia felt the balalaika player looking straight at her with his blind eyes. She dug into her pocket. She had one penny left. She dropped it into the hat.
A clock tower chimed nine. “Now I have go home,” Lilly declared. “Mama will be so glad to see me she will forget to scold me what I come in.”
“My mama is waiting too.” Delia hoped her mama would be sound asleep when she got back. Then she could slip in and finish a few shirts before she went to bed herself.
They parted not far from the spot where they had sat eating their ices that morning. So long ago, it seemed to Delia. She peeked down the alley at the shop. The building was black and empty as midnight. But if she had seen Mr. Meir standing there this minute in front of the gates, his arms folded and his long legs straddled wide, she might not have been able to stop herself. “Oh Mr. Meir,” she’d run right up and fling her arms around him. “Thank-you for locking us out. Such a day I’ve had. You wouldn’t believe.” She remembered the trolley ride, the park, the Italian ices, Elixir and blinis, the Biograph show, balalaika dancing in the streets, even little Irish Birdie and the big, forbidding house. Such a marvelous day no one could possibly believe. If this was being locked out, maybe she could do with more of it, even if it made for empty pockets.
Such a day. Did it have to end so soon, she asked herself, as she walked down to East Broadway? She might find Jake hanging around outside the Forward’s offices with some of the other newsboys. If he still had an unsold paper, maybe he’d let her have it for free.
Leave a Reply.
Like many Americans I am the descendant of immigrants. I have always been fascinated by their stories. I hope you enjoy reading about Delia and her adventures growing up on the Lower East Side. If you want to learn more about the historical background, please take a look at the About and Resources sections. If you want to learn more about my other books for children and young adults visit my website.
TABLE OF CONTENTS