The American Lady(14)

Harold laughed. “I can see that you’ve already made up your mind about your German aunt.”

Wanda waved his remark away. “I won’t have time for her anyway; after all, I have to look for another job.”

She looked at her watch and put a hand to her mouth. “I’m already late! I was supposed to be at the hairdresser’s a quarter of an hour ago.” No sooner had she spoken than she was on her feet, stooping over to give Harold a good-bye kiss on the cheek.

“The hairdresser? Don’t they expect you to be home when your aunt arrives?” Harold asked, surprised.

Wanda made a face. “So what if they do? I’m sure some gossip has already told my mother about what happened at Dittmer’s—it could even have been Monique herself,” she remarked mockingly. “Since I’m sure to get a good scolding for that, a second one hardly matters . . .” She shrugged. “Thank you for listening so patiently.”

And she was off.





4

“I still can’t believe you’re really here!” Ruth squeezed Marie’s arm as the two of them waited for the taxi driver to stow the luggage away behind the passenger bench.

“Nor can I,” Marie said, glancing around nervously at the harbor, her ship, the Mauretania, on its way to Ellis Island, the skyscrapers, which were so much taller from close up . . . and the taxi, and Ruth. Above all Ruth. It was all so strange.

“You look wonderful,” Marie said spontaneously. She reached out almost reverently and stroked the silk sleeve of Ruth’s navy-blue suit.

At first she had hardly even recognized her sister. They had sent photographs to one another over the years, of course, but no picture in the world could have prepared her for Ruth’s elegance at thirty-eight years old. Her outfit was modest but of the finest quality—there was no longer any hint of the girl she had been in her youth, when she had always put on another string of beads rather than take one off.

“And I feel wonderful as well.” Even the way Ruth laughed was elegant. “But don’t you worry. Starting tomorrow, we’ll spend all our time looking after you and your happiness.” She frowned as she plucked at Marie’s dress. “The first thing we’ll do is get you some new clothes—we can’t have you running around in these old things. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you didn’t turn up wearing those famous pants of yours!”

Marie felt a twinge of shame as she climbed into the car behind her sister. She resolved not to tell anyone that she had bought this dress especially for the trip to New York. Now it seemed that had been money down the drain.

The taxi moved off slowly, and Marie gazed out the window. “I’m in New York—isn’t that crazy?” She laughed joyfully.

“And you could have been here long before. I wrote letter after letter trying to get one or the other of you to come visit me here, but what good did it do?” Ruth was only half pretending to be upset.

Marie didn’t want to let go of Ruth’s hand ever again. “My goodness, how long has it been since we saw one another?”

“Wanda had just turned one, or . . . drat it . . . I’m so excited I can’t even think straight,” Ruth squeaked, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s been seventeen years, can you imagine? I feel as though we’re talking about another life.”

Marie felt tears prickling at her eyes as well.

“You know how it is at home—always too much to do and never enough hands for all the work,” she sniffled. “But I’m here now. And I’m so glad!” New York blurred before her eyes.

Nothing had prepared her for what she was feeling at this moment. Strange though it may sound, Marie was surprised at how happy she felt to see her sister again. Of course she loved her, but as girls, they had simply been too different to feel anything more than the usual family fondness—Ruth had gone one way and Marie had gone another, as far as such a thing was possible in the narrow little house they shared.

“That aside, you could have visited us, you know!” she said once she had dried her tears. Then she shrank back into her seat, startled, as another car came toward them and missed them by a hair’s breadth.

For the briefest of moments Ruth’s face clouded over. “You know it was never as easy as that. But not a day has passed that I didn’t think of you all. Now tell me—how was the crossing?”

Marie told her about Georgie, and how she wanted to visit her while they were both in New York.

Ruth didn’t seem especially interested in hearing more about her new friend. “And you had no trouble on arrival?”