The Night Before the Storm
In a war on two fronts, Rosie finds herself uneasy about the future. Just like the rest of the world.
Rosie was late to class again. She tried to dodge dancing children, but found herself encircled anyway.
Ring around the rosie A pocketful of posies
“I’m Rosie and I say get out of the way!”
She meant it to sound playful, but the scratchiness of her voice startled the children and they fell back to let her pass. At the door to the YWCA she paused and turned. The smallest urchin stared back at her, coal-dark eyes lost in a pale, freckled face.
Ashes, ashes We all fall DOWN!
Rosie glanced at the gathering clouds and pressed a hand to her head. The air was charged. The whole neighborhood could feel the storm coming.
Inside the gym, Caterina bounced a ball, waiting. “Finally! They’re working you too hard at that factory.”
Rosie was out of breath. “Those kids are outside again—”
Caterina laughed. “Those kids need jobs. Too much time for play.”
“I wish we’d been like that. They’re lucky little rapscallions.”
Caterina tossed Rosie the ball. “We were lucky to eat some days.”
Rosie felt the little girl’s gaze boring into her again. She dropped the ball with a start.
“Leave it, Rosie. Let’s roll the hoops.”
The repetitive release and return of the hoops gave Rosie the space to say what had been on her mind all day. “My mother got another letter about my brother.”
Caterina rolled one hoop back to Rosie and corralled the other with the heel of her hand. She waited.
“It said they buried him in France. They’re not sending his body home.”
Caterina kept the hoops moving. “What did your mother say?”
“Ten Hail Marys, don’t you know.”
“You know what Mr. Horowitz says? He says it’s not the Germans killing our boys. He says it’s the plague.”
Rosie’s head felt heavy and her heart hurt.
“Do you think that’s true?”
“Mr. Horowitz says there’s two wars but only one is for our flag.”
“But is it true?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t it strange that they’re not sending him home? Bobby McGregor came home. So did Joey Rubino. And I heard …”
Rosie’s face flushed. “Don’t tell me any more about what Mr. Horowitz said!” She returned the hoops to the rack, and disentangled two jump ropes from a basket.
“Rosie, it’s not just Mr. Horowitz. My father says it too. He says the plague is everywhere. No one’s saying it in the papers because of the war, but it’s everywhere.”
Rosie skipped rope in time with her pulse.
Caterina changed the subject. “Mrs. Maloney is looking for a few girls at her shop. She says if we can sew, she can teach us to bake.”
“We’ve been sewing since we were eight,” Rosie said, the unexpected nostalgia of it catching in her throat.
“How will we find husbands if we can’t cook?”
“Where shall we find these husbands, then? Aren’t they all off to war or …”
“There’s always the cousins our mothers keep threatening to send for … but I guess they’re soldiers too now. So that leaves the widowers with the bad eyes.”
“Or the rheumatism.”
“Or the tuberculosis.”
“To Mrs. Maloney’s bake shop it is then.”
After ten minutes with their hands in straps pulling on springs and another ten grasping a barre and balancing on their toes, Caterina remembered.
“I have something for you!”
A genuine smile brightened Rosie’s face for the first time that day. “Oh? Is it a feast day for some saint I’ve forgotten, then?”
“My uncle sent some pepperoni and figs for his favorite redheaded O’Grady.”
“Please extend my thanks to dear Uncle Carlo. Wait! I remember. Tell him I said grazie, mio caro zio.”
“I’ll even tell him your accent was perfect.” Caterina winked.
The gym had darkened. “We’d better get home before the storm starts.”
They stepped into a fog rolling across Canal Street. Rosie pulled her cloak tight. “We’re in for a lashing, alright. Maybe it will break this feeling. I can’t tell the sound of thunder from the rumbling of the train lately.”
“October is one long night before a storm. My fingers are stiff in the mornings and my father has been coughing.”
Rosie opened and closed her fists. “Bakery jobs then. The kneading will help. And at least it will be warm in the bakery.”
On Mulberry Street, the fog was so thick they could barely see Mr. Giorgio standing at his newsstand. He handed two papers to them. “Go home, girls. It’s no good out here tonight.”
Rosie fished two pennies out of her pocket but Mr. Giorgio waved them away. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Your brother. He was a good boy. My wife is making a nice lasagna for you and your mama.”
Rosie nodded and whispered thanks. She glanced at the headlines.
29,999 CALLED AS DRAFT CONTINUES
MARSHAL JOFFRE HAS GRIPPE
NEW YORK SOLDIERS AMONG LOSSES BUT ALLIES GAIN
CLOSURES ANNOUNCED AS SICKNESS SPREADS
They entered their building. They heard Mrs. Giorgio singing and her baby crying inside apartment 2A. The smell of Mrs. Kowalski’s beets and cabbage greeted them as they passed 3D. Caterina sneezed. There was nothing but silence inside 4C since Mr. Horowitz was still at his cobbler shop and Mrs. Horowitz was bed-ridden.
Caterina disappeared inside apartment 5A. Rosie stopped at her door. The stairs had tired her. A few deep breaths and she entered the kitchen.
“I’m home, Ma. Look what Caterina’s Uncle Carlo sent. Pepperoni and—"
Rosie’s mother sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a shawl, taken with tremors. Rosie rushed to her side.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You’re burning up. Let’s get you to bed. It’s this weather, that unholy fog tonight.”
Her mother was racked by a deep cough. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth until the fit passed. A bright red spot spread through the white cloth. Outside in the distance, Rosie heard the thunder rumble.
