Chapter Thirteen

Rachel and that other woman, Mae something, walked into work around one in the afternoon. Both looked pretty grim. Sinclair was there because he’d been ordered to “mind the shop” while Cobb was in bargaining. Sinclair watched as the Levy woman paused to speak to some women who, in turn, spoke to others. Word spread among the employees like a breeze blowing through long grasses. Most nodded assent upon receiving Rachel’s word. If negotiations had gone as Cobb planned, Levy was telling them that there’d be a meeting after work. He might as well check.

He began to walk among them, pausing here and there to give a quiet compliment. He didn’t have to make one up. These were hard working people. He got nods in acknowledgement but no smiles nor speech. He couldn’t take offense. After all, he was the boss’s representative. When he reached Chrissy she smiled, though even her smile was subdued.

“Hey, there girl. You want to meet me at our usual place after work? I’d like to buy you supper.”

This time her smile was bright but then it dimmed. “I can’t. We’re all meeting after work to talk about the negotiations.”

“Oh yah, how are those going anyway? Cobb’s been real closed mouthed about them whenever he bothers to show up. I don’t think he trusts me.”

“Not good, I guess.” She stiffened, “We better stop talking. Everybody says I’m not to blab to you.”

“Ah, Chrissy gal, I understand. But, remember, they have no way of knowing that you knew me before I even started working here. Or, that you’re the reason I got this job in the first place. You know that even though I’m taking Cobb’s pay, I have no reason to be loyal to him. He treats you gals terrible.”

She brightened. “That’s right. I am the one who told you about the job opening.” She situated the shirt collar in the mangle and pushed on the pedal to lower the pressing board before saying, “Well, maybe we could visit a bit after the union meeting? It shouldn’t last but an hour or so. Folks are pretty tired. That’s why we usually meet on Sundays instead of after work.”

He gave her his warmest smile, making sure his eyes twinkled, “Okay, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll be waiting for you at that saloon near your boarding house,” he said, as he gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved on. As he did so, he glanced at Rachel who appeared oblivious to their conversation. Probably has her mind on her sister. The urge to reassure her pulled at him but he turned away instead.

Heading for the cool of the office, he didn’t notice that two pair of eyes had been watching his every move—one pair calculating, the other pair narrowed in suspicion.

Sitting in Solomon’s well-appointed apartment sipping iced lemonade, Sage felt a pang of guilt thinking of Mae at her ironing board in the midst of noise, stink and steam heat. Although she claimed ironing delicates was the easiest job, he hadn’t missed her grimaces when she pulled off her soggy boots nor the tiredness deepening the lines of her face and draining all color from it.

It was late afternoon. Fong, Eich and Sage were sitting around a polished mahogany table, waiting for Solomon to arrive. Solomon’s home was on the ground floor, tucked behind the New Era Hotel’s lobby desk. A wide range of books filled elegant bookcases, family portraits hung on flocked wallpaper and comfortable couches and chairs sat atop ruby-red oriental rugs. It was the luxurious setting of a well-off and learned man.

Solomon entered, wearing a wide smile on his face. “Sorry, gentlemen, for the delay,” he said. “A little mix up in the Portland’s dining room delayed my departure.”

“That’s okay. We thank you Angus for taking the time away from your job. I trust your absence won’t cause problems for you.” At Solomon’s head shake, Sage continued, “I take it no porter has seen our girl Rebecca leaving on a train? And nothing about a dark-haired woman being taken onto a ship in the harbor?”

Solomon poured coffee into their cups from a silver coffee urn sitting in the middle of the table as he said, “During the past few days, I have managed to query every porter on every line coming into and leaving the city. I did learn two things. The first is that two men, acting a bit secretive and unfriendly, arrived in town a day ago. I have not been able to ascertain where they are staying. I speculate that they are staying in a boarding house. They are below the standards of the Portland Hotel’s customary clientele but interestingly a housemaid reported seeing two men fitting their description in the corridor outside Farley’s room.”

“That must be the two operatives Farley was expecting to arrive by train. Do you have a good description of them?”

“I think I have better than that. The housemaid told me about the two men as soon as she saw them. So, I sent my nephew to linger about in the corridor until they came out. Then he followed them. They went over to the union hall. After they left there; they met with a third man in a coffee shop. Unfortunately, my nephew couldn’t go inside. ‘No Negros Allowed’,” he added with a wry twist of his lips. “Anyway, since they went to the union hall it suggests they will pass themselves off as union men.”

“Probably. I suspect they’ll work the delivery driver angle. Help Farley keep the drivers in line,” Sage said.

“Would your nephew recognize third man from the cafe if he saw him again?” asked Fong. “Cousins can keep under watch if he is pointed out to them.”

“Undoubtedly, he could. If you want to meet me here later tonight, I’ll have my nephew here for you to talk to him,” Solomon said before continuing, “But, I have news of the girl as well. Not quite as good but maybe you’ll find it helpful.”

Eich leaned forward, dark brown eyes intent in his bearded face, “Did they see where she’s being kept?”

Solomon gave a rueful shake of his head. “Sorry. One of the men working here at the hotel, said he saw a drunken girl with dark curly hair being half-carried along the street late Saturday afternoon.”

“Where?” asked Eich and Sage simultaneously.

“He says they were down near the rail yards, close to where he lives in one of the few houses left standing after they built Union Station,” he said, adding, “The station was built on top of my people’s houses, forcing most of them to move across the river into Albina. Anyway, he says he saw the couple just a few blocks from his house.”

Sage leaned back in his chair, looked at his friends and said, “Well, his sighting tallies with the prostitutes’ information. They said if someone’s holding the girl captive, it will likely be inside a rundown sporting house like those near the rail yard. I don’t suppose your man can describe the fellow walking with the girl?” Sage asked.

At Solomon’s negative shake of the head, Sage turned toward Fong. “Have the cousins heard of any imprisoned girls?”

Fong said, “Sorry, cousins say she is not in any Chinese sporting house or with any Chinese pimp. And, they also ask every China man they see. No one saw white girl a prisoner in any white sporting house. ”

That didn’t surprise Sage. Few Chinese cooked or cleaned in the white sporting houses. And, although the Chinese traveled Portland’s streets in the day time, they tended to stay away from places where they might encounter drunken white men. Ignorance, poverty and drink often brought out the bully in white men who enjoyed terrorizing people who were smaller and looked different than them.

“Well, Mister Fong,” Sage said, “I did acquire a bit of information from some sporting ladies that might assist the cousins in their search. Is there any chance they could snoop around the whorehouses near the rail yard for boards nailed across a window? That’s what the girls said we should look for.”

“Just how you meet these prostitutes?” Fong asked.

“I talked with Hanke while he was having his usual noon meal in Mozart’s kitchen. I asked him what he knew about white slavery in Portland. He knows a lot, it turns out. Anyway, he and Chief Hunt were planning prostitution raids that very night. He thought, and correctly it turns out, that not all of the girls’ pimps would bail them out. I hung around one of the saloons they raided and bailed out some of the ladies afterward. In exchange, they gave me ideas on how to look for Rebecca.

“I’m thinking that if we can find that boarded up window, Hanke will cooperate and raid the place. He told me that his chief is frustrated so many cops are on the take. To conduct last night’s raid, they had to summon the officers at the last moment, while keeping the purpose secret, just so the raids would be a surprise. We’ll have to be just as careful if we mount a raid to rescue Rebecca.”

“Ah, that means cousins better make hatchets sharp enough to split hair,” Fong said, with a smile.

Eich shifted in his seat. “What about Mae? Do you think she’s in any danger?” he asked, his wide forehead creased with worry.

Sage shook his head but added, “The real danger is that she is going to collapse. She’s working all day in that damn heat, then going home with Rachel, Rebecca’s sister, and not getting enough rest.”

“Still, someone did most definitely kidnap Rebecca. What if he comes back for Rachel?” Eich persisted.

“Why would they? I’m convinced that Rebecca’s kidnapping has nothing to do with the labor dispute. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. From what Hanke told me, more white slavery goes on than we think. Most of the adrift women the white slavers grab have no friends or family living close enough to raise a hue and cry. I think a white slaver maybe saw an opportunity and grabbed Rebecca, not knowing she had a sister around to raise a fuss,” said Sage.

Sage saw, from the expression on Eich’s face that Mae and Eich had probably discussed this point and reached a different conclusion. Mae was convinced that Rachel was in danger. That’s why she insisted on going everywhere with the woman. Sage and Mae had a whispered quarrel on the boarding house veranda the night before.

“It’s silly for you to sleep here when you could be so much more comfortable at home,” he’d insisted.

“I am not that uncomfortable here. Besides, it’s easier on you if you don’t have to fetch me to and fro every day.”

“I don’t mind. At least that way, I know you’re staying out of trouble,” he said, realizing as soon as the words left his lips that he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

Mae pointed her finger at his face. “I am telling you for the last time, John Sagacity Adair, you are not in charge of me and you will not tell me what to do! You don’t browbeat Fong and Eich about their safety, so don’t browbeat me.” Though there was only a quarter moon lighting the night sky, it was bright enough to see her eyes shooting fire in his direction.

“Okay, stay here. But when you finally collapse from exhaustion, I’m carting you back home and I won’t want to hear another thing about it.”

Instead of responding, she shot him another glare before turning around, opening the door and stepping back into the boarding house. She shut the door firmly enough that it rattled the window next to it.

He looked up from his empty coffee cup and found Eich studying him with kind eyes and a teasing smile. “You tried to boss her around, didn’t you?” the ragpicker asked, his grin parting beard from mustache, “Even I’ve learned that is a losing proposition.”

Before Sage could answer, Eich continued, “I am afraid I don’t share your certainty that she and Rachel are in no danger. I’m concerned. So, since there is so much open land on the eastside, I’ve found me a little camp site near Rachel’s boarding house. I hope you will forgive me if I focus on watching over Mae, instead of looking for Rebecca. Though I will do that too, once I know they are both safely inside either the boarding house or the laundry.” He gazed around the table to see the other three nodding their agreement.

Despite their exhaustion, the laundry workers trudged across the Morrison Bridge to the union building’s meeting hall. Mae counted noses—all but ten of the forty Sparta Laundry workers made the trek and those ten were women with small children at home. The majority of workers from the other laundries were also there, filling the hall’s wooden benches to overflowing. The union president got right down to business.

“Thank you for coming. The Association flat out rejected our nine-hour proposal. They countered with an offer to extend our twenty minute lunch by ten minutes for a total of one-half hour.”

Angry, derisive shouts exploded throughout the room. “Cobb takes four hour lunches!”“They don’t care if they kill us!” “My sister lost her hand to those criminals!”

The last shout to ring out, “To hell with their damn job!” inspired cheers.

Once the tumult died down the president said, “We told Cobb that we would allow you all to vote on whether to accept or reject their offer. That’s one of the things we need to do tonight.”

“If we reject it, what happens next?” asked a woman in the front row. The question turned the room pin-drop silent.

“Well, the parties could decide to stay in negotiations. Or, we could vote to strike,” Mae noticed this last comment caused many to shift uneasily atop the benches. “Or, management could decide to lock us out.”

“What do you think we ought to do?” came the question.

“I think that we should stay at the bargaining table. Though, if management decides to lock us out, there’s not much we can do in return.”

“How likely is a lockout?” asked the worried voice of a Sparta Laundry wash tub man.

“I won’t lie to you. I think the likelihood is high,” the president responded honestly. “Rachel Levy, who you all know, has been planning for that happening. Rachel, can you please tell them what’s planned?”

Rachel rose to her feet, letting her eyes rest on every face before she said, “As you know, I’ve been working with our president and some others to make plans in case the managers do lock us out. We have a number of things in the works. First, we are going to start a commissary in this very building. Other unions and their members will contribute food, clothing and other necessities. There will also be a jobs desk. We need volunteers to help gather and distribute the donations and other volunteers to identify and solicit temporary jobs.”

A number of women’s hands shot into the air, causing Rachel to laugh. “Thank you, ladies. Please give me your names at the end of the meeting.

“Additionally, the local labor council has said it will be contributing funds. These are for the rent, utilities and doctor’s bills of those who need the help. Fortunately or unfortunately for us, our wages are so puny that keeping us going won’t be all that costly. We’re champions at making do with boiled bones and paper-stuffed shoes.” Her observation brought the first laughter of the night.

A smiling Rachel held up a hand to quell the laughter. “There are two other things in the works. The first is that we have applied to the Shirtwaist and Laundry Workers International Union for strike fund money. That means every person who walks the picket line at a laundry will get paid for that day’s work.”

She took a deep breath, clearly excited about her next piece of information, “I am also pleased to announce that the labor council intends to purchase and run a cooperative steam laundry. It is their intent to provide jobs for all good union members.”

There was a momentary cessation of all sound and then the room erupted in handclaps and cheers.

Mae looked at the hopeful faces around her, wishing with all her heart that their good spirits would last through the trying days ahead. She’d been in strikes before. She knew how hard it was to stay hopeful when the larder was empty—especially when children were going hungry.

She scanned the faces once again until her eye caught on the figure of a woman slipping out the door at the rear of the hall. She quickly searched the room for the Caroline woman. She was nowhere to be seen.