The gray charcoal of New York City molests me as we disembark at Ellis Island, my throat a parched sandpaper and my chest a rumbling sewer. I pray this cold does not turn to pneumonia. A cold rain pounds the pavement as we make our way from the dock up toward the city. Andrew holds a shoddy map of Manhattan and I follow him. I hold baby Martin in my hands, poor son, crying his lungs out, not even seven months old. I hope the second one arrives safe and sound. I’ve got another four months to go.
Andrew and I shuffle our way from the Battery toward Downtown toward the Village through Washington Square and onto Fifth Avenue. We stop to rest on a park bench, my cloth coat and my hat soaked all the way through. The greens, blues, and yellows of Ireland have no place here. This world of America is all black and gray with a touch of white and brown. I wonder how much longer our shoes will last. Can we make it to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and seek comfort there? That is another forty blocks, Andrew tells me.
We begin anew, walking more slowly this time. Busy horses and carriages splash mud on the street. We try to dodge them and I fall, but I cannot get up and no amount of prodding from Andrew can get me up. I think I’m dying and I will lose my second baby. Martin continues crying, Andrew starts to cry. We don’t know what to do.
A man comes out of a building with friends and after leaving them, he passes us and asks, “what seems to be the trouble?” He puts us in his open carriage and takes us uptown to his mansion. His wife comes out of the house and helps me inside. They lay us in an empty servant’s quarters and call their doctor, who is nursing me now.
The doctor tells me, I am very lucky. I have developed pneumonia but he thinks he can cure me before it is too late. He says I should be very grateful that George Tasker found us and rescued us, otherwise I would have died.
I dream of a day when I’m old, comfortable, and at peace., I’ll be sitting in an overstuffed chair, doing my knitting, giving advice to my grandchildren. When I talk to them about their problems, I’ll remind them that every problem has a George Tasker to help solve it. The only question they’ll need to ask themselves, who is their George and what form does he take?
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