JACK'S ROSE
Chapter Twenty-Six
As Rose stepped into the sweatshop, she was
greeted with the familiar roaring noise, nauseating smell, and dripping heat. Her
headache quickly returned. Rose walked through the small waiting room set up
with nothing more than a desk and three chairs, and to a room filled with girls
sitting in front of sewing machines, moving the foot pedal up and down, up and
down. She started for her seat. And stopped short. Her seat was filled. Rose
looked about for the owner of the sweatshop. Ah! There he was.
"Mr. Keller!" Rose called, making
her way over to him. "Mr. Keller!"
"Ah. Miss Dawson. You're back," he
mumbled. She looked at him questioningly.
"Yes, sir. But there's a problem."
He looked up at her. "Someone is in my seat," she stated, following
him as he moved to another room filled with young woman and girls sewing away.
"There's no problem there, Miss Dawson.
You were replaced," he said plainly, walking by each worker and scribbling
down notes. Rose's jaw dropped.
"But, Mr. Keller—"
"We pull our weight around here, Miss
Dawson. And you haven't been doing that," he said, walking back to the
other room. She followed him.
"But I was ill with a fever, Mr. Keller!
I was confined to my apartment the entire week! Quite a few others were out as
well."
"Yes, they were," he said, looking
up once more. "And do you see any of them here?" Rose's eyes
fluttered over the faces of the girls and women, seeing quite a few new faces.
"But many of them had been here almost
ten years! How could you fire them?" Rose inquired harshly.
"They, just as you, were not fired, but
replaced." They were now standing above Rose's old seat. She glared down
at the young girl. "You're fairly young. You could be some sort of nanny,
or waitress. You could clean houses, or, you could even finally get married,"
he told her harshly. Rose shoved her hands into her pockets, so as to restrain
herself from striking out at him.
"I've been a waitress, a nanny, and even
tried cleaning, Mr. Keller, and I couldn't do any of them!" she argued.
"Then pursue something else, Miss
Dawson. You know the shop cannot handle having anyone gone for more than two
days. You were gone for six. You were not fired, as I've said before, but
replaced. Now," he started, before she could protest again, "I would
appreciate you leaving without my telling you again."
"But—"
"Good day, Miss Dawson," he said
harshly. The man turned and walked away. The young girl now looked up at Rose.
"I sorry, miss. He didn't tell me
nothing 'bout replacing no one," she said. Her voice was heavily accented.
Rose sighed, all her anger draining out of her. She forced a smile, nodded,
and, for the last time, rushed out of the sweatshop. In all honesty, she was
relieved that was no longer her life, but concerned as well, for now she had no
job to pay her rent. She deeply inhaled and stepped onto the sidewalk. She
would think of something.
Rose looked about the street. She didn't want
to go back to her rooming house, nor did she want to start her search for a new
job immediately. She smiled as her eyes settled upon a familiar sight. A small
fruit and vegetable stand only a few feet away from the entrance to the
sweatshop, with a large, kind-faced man standing behind it. Rose made her way
through the crowd to the small line in front of the stand. She stepped into the
back of the line and waited patiently for the line to move.
"Hey there, Larry," Rose greeted
the man as she stepped up to the stand.
"Hi, Rosie," he said, his features
relaxing as he saw there was no line behind her.
"Looks like I ran your customers
off," she said, glancing behind her. He chuckled.
"Ah…no! Thanks! Too many of them today.
Must be fruit and vegetable day today." Rose smiled at him.
"Well, at least you're not mad,"
she responded.
"So, why aren't you in there
working?" the man asked, straightening some melons.
"Because I don't work there
anymore," she said, a smile slowly spreading over her lips at the sound of
that.
"What?" he asked, startled.
"Mr. Keller decided that since I have
been sick for almost a week, that I needed to be replaced."
"His loss, eh?" Larry asked,
echoing the look on Rose's face.
"Yes. His loss. But now, I haven't the
slightest idea what to do," Rose said, straightening the ruffles hanging
from the edge of the cart's cover.
"I don't know, either. You've done
everything," he teased. Rose looked up at him, trying to scold him with
her eyes, but failing miserably and instead bursting into a fit of giggles
instead.
"It's not funny, Larry," she
insisted.
"Then stop laughing," he said,
chuckling. She sighed and finally her laughing stopped. "You could go to
Los Angeles. Go live with your friend at her brother's theater." Rose
looked at him.
"Actresses are looked down upon by
people."
"So are women who work in grubby little
sweatshops and earn a couple dollars a week." She paused, glancing up at
him. Was it really time for her to tear up her roots again and make a new home?
Yes. It was.
"I'll miss you, Larry," Rose said
honestly. He smiled.
"I'll miss you, too, Rosie," he
said, glancing behind her at the line that was taking shape again. "Looks
like my people are back."
"Well, I'll go, then. Bye, Larry. I
promise I'll see you again," Rose said quietly.
"I know you will." He winked at her.
Then Rose rushed to her room and packed, paid her landlord that month's rent,
and made her way down to the stables where she told the stable owner she would
be leaving. He told her that he would be glad to keep Star there. Rose
accepted, knowing she would be able to visit her beloved mare whenever she
pleased, and reluctantly bid good-bye to her faithful flying friend. As Rose
rushed through the streets to the train station, she knew she was leaving
another complete chapter of her life behind.