New York - The Novel

going to happen. It was all very exciting. She’d almost forgotten about her granddaughter-in-law and her young people when suddenly, just as the main course was being served, Rose stood up and announced that there was a young woman from the garment districtwhom she’d like them all to hear, and turning to the young woman at her side, she said: “You can stand up now, dear.”

    Anna Caruso glanced down at Salvatore. She’d only agreed to come if her brother was there to protect her. “Just tell your story simply, the way you told it to me,” Rose had said. But faced with all these people, in this big house, and the fact that she knew her English still wasn’t so good, she couldn’t help being nervous.
    She’d been surprised when Mr. Harris at the factory had called her over last week. “This lady,” he’d explained, “wants to talk to one of our loyal workers, and I’ve told her you’re a sensible girl.” It was pretty clear that she’d better do what he said. So she’d told the lady what she wanted to know. Then the lady had said she’d like to come back to her house and see her family. So at the end of the day, she’d collected Salvatore and Angelo from the park, and the lady had driven them all back to Mulberry Street in her car. The sight of the Rolls-Royce stopping outside their house had caused quite a stir. When the lady had said she wanted to take her next Sunday to tell her friends about the factory, her father had been dubious, but when Mrs. Master had given him her visiting card and address, and offered twenty dollars for the inconvenience, it was agreed that she should go, as long as she was accompanied.
    “My name is Anna,” she began, “and my family lives in Mulberry Street.” She told them how they had arrived in America from Italy when she was a little girl, how her father had lost their years of savings in the panic of 1907, how her brothers had had to leave school, and how they were all working to get back on their feet again. She could tell that they liked her story. There had been murmurs of sympathy about the loss in the panic, and of approval for the way they were all working so hard. She explained how difficult it was for her mother, working at home, and how she had gone to the Triangle Factory, where the conditions were better.
    And now the lady started asking her questions.
    “Is there a union at the factory?” Rose asked.
    “There is a friendly union inside the factory.”
    “It was the outside union, the Women’s Trade Union, that the owners did not like. Did you want to join it?”
    “No.”
    “So when the owners locked out the workers, what happened to you?”
    “My parents wished me to continue working. Our priest also said I should work. So I went to Mr. Harris at the factory.”
    “And he gave you back your job?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did he employ new girls to work at the factory?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are they mostly Italian, Catholic, respectable girls, like you?”
    “Yes.”
    “The girls who lost their jobs, who have joined the WTU, are they mostly Jews?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you, dear. You can sit down.” Rose turned to the assembled ladies. “I think everyone here can see that this is an honest young woman,” she declared. “And I’m sure there are grievances at some of the factories which need to be addressed. But I think we need to be careful. What is it the Jewish girls want that Anna here does not? Are they really striking for better conditions, or is their object political? How many of these Russians are socialists?” She gazed round in triumph. “I believe it’s a question we need to ask.”
    Rose enjoyed the silence that followed. In the first place, she’d brought a little common sense to the place. The people in the room would have been even more surprised had they seen the little press story that gave an account of how, at a luncheon at old Mrs. Master’s house, members of the Master family who were well acquainted with the true conditions of the workers, not all of whom were on strike, had questioned the motives of some of the socialist agitators behind it. Old Hetty could still have her moment of glory—her luncheon would be remembered—just not in quite the way she had planned. And the family’s reputation would be saved. The story would be printed in several papers that evening.
    In the silence that followed, Hetty stared. She couldn’t believe it. Her own grandson’s wife had come here to ruin her party, in this act