There's Wisdom in Women

Chapter One

Chapter One

Lillian McCullough:

I was kicked out of the shirtwaist factory. Or, to use their fancy term, I was "formally dismissed". Looking back on today, I'm not entirely sure what happened. I mean, I might have dropped my needle countless times, or have gotten a little too daring with the scissors, and there's no mentioning that sewing machine I nearly broke. The point is however, that I was "formally dismissed" my first day on the job. And being fresh off the ship, this was no time to be unemployed. 

I have to find another job! I urged myself as I walked bravely down the steps to the factory, head held high. Since there was no other place to go, I pointed myself in the direction of the tenement I was currently living in. I was lodging with another Scottish family who had just settled down recently. We had agreed to pay the rent together, but now I was worried. If I had no job, then I had no money to spare. There would be no money to send back home to my family in Scotland , and no money for food. I would be completely and utterly helpless. 

Why did I have to be the first one to cross the Atlantic ? Why couldn't I still be on my old family farm, harvesting what little crops we had right now? The familiar scent of potatoes drifted by my nose, and for a second I could imagine I was back, sitting on the front porch of my family's small home. Closing my eyes, I could see everything I loved. Those small yellow lilies were growing in the dirt path to the right, and my father was approaching form the field, arms reaching out to hug me tightly in that way that only he could. I ran forward towards him, but it was all only an illusion. 

"Careful where you're going!" a large man pushing a flower cart growled at me. I stumbled backwards, rubbing the side of my leg where the arm of the wagon broadsided me. 

"Sorry, sir," I muttered, filing across the narrow, dirty path. Looking back, the only thing familiar I saw was the stand selling potatoes, the one I passed on the way to the factory. But even this was enough to give me hope. Why am I here? I am here to raise enough funds to bring the rest of my five siblings and my parents to America . And just having no job isn't going to stop me. I'll find another. 

I hitched up the long skirt of the worn dress I had so I could run back to the tenement, although I knew the action was not considered lady-like. I ran down to the appropriate alleyway and opened the door, then ran up the stairs and down a hall to enter the small, cheap, and murky living space I shared. Obviously quality construction was not important when this room was built. With every step I took I feared that the squeaky wood paneling beneath my feet would cease to support my weight and I would fall through to the next floor. The walls were made of a material so thin that one could hear the noise of the neighbors arguing in the tenement across the hall. What's more, there was a sort of suspicious murky small emanating from the furnace. 

Even the small, cramped home I used to share with my family back home in Scotland was better than this. This place here in New York almost seemed dangerous. In fact, New York itself seemed dangerous. One had to be careful treading the paths and alleyways of the city by yourself. 

It was then that I realized; I would have to wait out the afternoon before any one of the Smiths made it home. I frowned. Having to relay the news that I just got myself fired was bad enough. Having to wait all afternoon in suspense to that moment was even worse. What would I say? If I wasn't careful, I may have to find someone else to lodge with. The Smiths can't pay the rent fees by themselves, and there are plenty of others who would be willing at a moment's notice to have somewhere to live.  

I walked slowly to the dirty wall mirror in the corner of the room. There was a long crack stretching down, from the top of the mirror all the way to the bottom. I stared at the slightly distorted figure reflected back at me. A pair of worried and anxious brown eyes stared back. The young woman in the mirror wore her short dark hair down, it not even touching her shoulders. Her dress was old and battered a hand-me-down. In fact, she herself seemed old and battered, physically and mentally tired from that long and grueling trip across the Atlantic . 

I sighed. How had I come to this? I was some poor sixteen year old immigrant who couldn't even use one of those fancy factory sewing machines properly without almost breaking it. If I was just a bit less clumsy, then maybe I wouldn't have gotten fired. At this moment however, it was better just to not play what-ifs. My mother always said, "If it happens, then it happens. Don't fuss over the things in life you can't change!" 

Smiling at the words of my own mother, I dragged myself to one of the two small adjacent bedrooms. The bedroom was empty besides the single bed that adorned a majority of the space. I sat down on it, thinking to myself. Before I knew it, I was lying down on top of the scratchy covers. Eventually I was lying UNDER the covers. Then I was asleep. 

I woke up to the sound of the door opening, quiet chatter lightening up the place. I could hear Jonathan Smith, the only son of the family I shared this space with talking to his father. The exact words were difficult to pick out, however. I quickly sat up in bed, and my head had the unfortunate experience of making contact with the wood beam above. Gritting my teeth, I slipped quietly out of the bed, and rounded the corner. Jonathan acknowledged me with a small smile, and kept on talking with his father; something about finances. Whatever it was, it didn't sound too good. 

When he was done, Jonathan crossed over to me. 

"Good evening, Lillian. Did your first day at the factory run smoothly?" 

Two thoughts crossed my mind at this. The first was how Jonathan always seemed to have such good manners. The second was more serious. How was I going to tell him?  

After a moment's consideration, I opened up. "Could you come over here to talk, Jonathan?" I whispered, gesturing over to the bedroom. He nodded, and we both walked over there. I swallowed. "I got kicked out." 

To my surprise, Jonathan didn't really have any reaction to this. He just nodded as if it were something that happened every day. 

"So, you're telling me that you got fired?" he clarified. I nodded. He grimaced, shaking his head. 

"Lillian," he scolded. "I don't know you that well, but this is low, even for you! We need all the money we can get for rent! Let alone food! You need to find another job, and quickly!" 

"Where would I ever find a job?" I asked urgently. "I'm a woman! If I tried to sell papers like the other boys I've seen, I'd get laughed right out! I don't know where I could go..." 

"But I think I know of a job you might be able to take." 

That next morning, I travelled with Jonathan to where he worked. I did not know it before, but he had recently gotten a job as a part-time butler in a wealthy man's household. 

"Mr. Blue has been looking for another servant for the home for some while," he had told me earlier. "You should be glad you needed a job when you did. Most weeks, you might earn up to nine dollars. That's a far cry away from the measly two-fifty one might earn over at the shirtwaist factories!" 

Nine dollars, I reminded myself that whole morning. Nine dollars. Follow the directions you are given for the whole week, and get your nine dollars!  

Honestly, I was a bit worried. After being accepted and introduced to the head housekeeper, I had already been given an apron and a job. I was given a tea tray with orders to take it to the parlor. Usually, carrying a heavy tray of fragile china full of tea was not the sort of work I excelled at, but I had to follow orders.