Read Don't Die Under the Apple Tree Online
Authors: Amy Patricia Meade
Don't Die Under the Apple Tree (2 page)
Once setup was complete, the passer and bucker, tools in hand, took their position on the exterior scaffold, while the riveter, on the rope scaffold, waited on the other side of the steel hull. The heater, standing on his platform, would heat a rivet until red hot. Using tongs, he would pick it from the coals of his forge and toss it to the passer, who caught it in a metal can.
Meanwhile, the bucker had unscrewed and pulled out one of the temporary bolts joining the two pieces of steel, leaving the hole empty. The passer would pick the rivetâwhich, at this stage, was shaped like a mushroom with a button head and a stemâout of his can with a pair of tongs, stick it in the now-vacant hole, and push it in until the head was flush with the steel and the stem protruded from the riveter's side.
While the passer stepped aside and prepared to catch the next rivet, the bucker fitted a tool over the rivet head and held it in place while the riveter pressed the cupped head of his pneumatic hammer against the rivet stem, which was still red hot and malleable, and formed a button head on that side as well.
The process was repeated until every hole that could be reached from the scaffolds was filled with permanent rivets. The scaffolds would then be moved to a new section. The heater's platform, however, remained in place until all the work within a seventy-foot radius had been completed.
Upon hearing her assignment, Rosie sighed noisily. She had spent the previous week acting as passer to the riveting gang of Hansen, Del Vecchio, and Delaney. It was only Tuesday, but this week looked to be shaping up the same way.
Although working on high scaffolding presented its own risk to workers' safety, that risk was far outweighed by the dangers posed by the red-hot rivets as they sailed approximately forty to seventy feet through the air. In the few days since starting at Pushey, Rosie had heard several employees speak of flying rivets that had burned through their clothes, hair, and flesh. And Delaney, a lifelong bucker, had warned Rosie against allowing the hot metal to fall into the vats of oil, varnish, paint, or any of the vast number of flammable chemicals present at the shipyard on a daily basis.
Indeed, for a riveting gang to avoid injury, it was necessary for all four workers to learn to anticipate each other's movements, but nowhere was this truer than in the relationship between heater and passer. The best heater/passer teams in the yard not only minimized the risk of injury, but they enabled the bucker and riveter to work at maximum efficiency and speed while demonstrating a rhythm and flow typically seen only in Major League catchers and pitchers.
Rudy Hansen was one of the best heaters at Pushey Shipyard. In complete control of the forge at all times, he could heat a rivet to the perfect temperature and do so quickly, so that none of it melted away. Meticulous and highly observant, he could determine whether or not a passer would be good at his job within the first few hours of working with him. Unfortunately, the only thing Hansen could determine about this new passer was that she was female.
Rosie followed the rest of her gang into the shipyard and climbed, along with Delaney, to the scaffold. Working at a height of fifty feet granted her a bird's-eye view of the yard below and the cobblestone streets beyond, but the massive steel hull completely obscured her view of Gowanus Bay.
Just as well
, she thought. Catching Hansen's rivets while balancing herself on the narrow platform was difficult enough; she did not need the added distraction of a waterfront view.
Just as well
, she thought. Catching Hansen's rivets while balancing herself on the narrow platform was difficult enough; she did not need the added distraction of a waterfront view.
Clutching her rivet cone tightly in her hand, she waited for the first toss of the day, fully aware of Hansen's contempt, and confident that he'd persist in the previous day's behavior of consistently overshooting the bucket. While most of yesterday's tosses could still be caught by taking a step backward toward Delaney, the few that had been thrown overhanded, rather than in the traditional underhanded fashion, proved impossible to either catch or dodge and had left large red welts on Rosie's wrists.
It was, therefore, a genuine surprise to find that today, the first, second, and then a third round of rivets landed softly in the bucket.
Still on guard, yet hoping for the best, she caught every rivet Hansen cast her way that morning. Feeling herself falling into the rhythm the other, more experienced passers had described, she finally understood their love for the trade. There was, amongst the creaks and crackles of the narrow walkways, despite the swinging of the ragged old ropes, a beautiful choreography to the process.
Rosie grabbed a hot rivet from her bucket, placed it in a predrilled hole, and smiled to herself.
Perhaps this job will work out
, she thought.
Perhaps I've been too hasty
â
Perhaps this job will work out
, she thought.
Perhaps I've been too hasty
â
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden and sharp burning sensation in the back of her trousers. Rosie turned her head to see a round hole, just about the size of a rivet, singed into the seat of her coveralls. Fifty feet below her, Hansen and another man laughed.
Furious, Rosie shouted from the scaffold, “The next rivet that hits me, Hansen, is getting thrown right back in your face.”
Rosie's warning elicited whistles and catcalls from the male workers in the vicinity.
Hansen's smart-aleck responseâ“If you can't stand the heat, go back to the kitchen”âbrought down the house, prompting Bob Finch to emerge from the shipyard office.
“That's enough, fellas. Get back to work,” he commanded. “And Keefe? You open that piehole of yours again, you're outta here.”
Finch marched back into his office, leaving a quiet crew to return to their various tasks.
Rosie drew a deep breath and picked up her rivet bucket, hopeful that Hansen would play fair. But, in her heart of hearts, she knew that things wouldn't be that simpleâa feeling borne out when Hansen tossed the next bunch of rivets overhanded instead of underhanded, sending the white-hot pieces of metal hurtling past Rosie's bucket and directly toward her head and torso.
Rosie shielded her face with her forearms and yelped as the rivets, reminiscent of glowing grapeshot, burned tiny holes into her kerchief and coat sleeves and sent her scuttling backward along the narrow wooden planks. Fearful she might lose her balance, Delaney rushed from the other end of the scaffold, reached around her coat, and grabbed hold of the elastic waistband of her coveralls.
“You okay, Rosie?” Delaney asked.
She gave no reply. Her anger at the morning's eventsâDel Vecchio's taunting, Billy's lies, and Finch's reprimandsârushed forth in a torrent. Hastily, she picked three of the hot rivets up from the floorboards with her tongs and made her way down the scaffold.
“Hey, Hansen,” Rosie called when she was a few feet away from the forge.
Hansen, his back turned to the scaffold as he laughed and joked with two other men, had been oblivious to Rosie's descent. At the sound of her voice, he turned to confront his redheaded nemesis, his face registering both surprise and confusion.
With a quick motion of her arm, Rosie released the rivets from her tongs and launched them at Hansen's chest. Two of them bounced off of his asbestos apron and landed on the sleeves of his heavy flannel shirt. The third, however, slipped down the top of Hansen's apron, causing the man to scream obscenities and dance around until the metal object, finally extricated, plopped onto the ground.
A highly agitated Bob Finch exploded from his office door. “What the hell is wrong with you, Keefe? Hansen, you hurt bad?”
Hansen shook his head.
“Thank God for that,” Finch uttered in relief. “Everyone back to work. Keefe: my office.”
Rosie obediently followed Finch into the shipyard office and stood before his desk. The foreman didn't even bother to close the door before launching into his tirade.
“What the hell were you thinking? Hansen is our best heater. You could have burned himâbadly.”
“Hansen could have burned me badly, too,” Rosie argued as she displayed the holes in her coat sleeves and the blistered red flesh on the arms beneath them. “Besides, you shouldn't yell at me. He's the one who started it.”
“Yeah, but there's a whole bunch of crazy broads lining up to take your place. There ain't any men left who can fill in for Hansen. You're fired, Keefe.”
Rosie's anger and indignation dissipated, immediately replaced by regret and remorse. “But Mr. Finchâ”
“No âbuts,' Keefe. Get outta here and let someone with a family to feed have your job.”
“But I have a family to feed, too, Mr. Finch. Most of us women do. That's ... that's why we're here.” Her voice cracked as she fought the urge to cry. “Please. Please, Mr. Finch. My sister and her baby moved in with me just a few weeks ago, right after my brother-in-law was killed. I need to take care of them.”
“You don't say?”
“Yes.” She drew a deep breath. “Please, Mr. Finch, don't fire me. I'm sorry about Hansen. I lost my temper. It won't happen again.”
“Damn right, it won't happen again. You think I'd let you anywhere near Hansen after what you did to him?”
“No,” she conceded. “But I'll work anywhere else. I'll paint. I'll sweep up. I'll work in the cafeteria. Anything.”
“Anything, huh?” A gleam flickered in Finch's eye.
“Yes. Anything. I just need a job.”
Finch grinned and shut the office door. “Maybe there is a spot for you. You're a tiny thing... . I never noticed it until now. What do you weigh, 105? Or 110?”
“Around there, I guess. Why?” Rosie stepped backward as she felt a wave of anxiety wash over her.
“We could send you to weld the bottom of the hull.” Finch moved closer, his eyes appraising her with every step.
Rosie took another step away from Finch only to back into his desk. “That sounds good,” she responded nervously.
“It should. It pays more than you've been making.” Finch continued his approach.
“That's very kind of you. Who should I see about being trained?” she asked in an attempt to extricate herself.
Finch grabbed her by the wrist. “Not so fast.”
Rosie's heart began racing and she wondered if she should scream. “What are you doing?”
“You and I need to discuss the terms of our agreement.”
“Agreement?” she asked as she tried to yank her wrist free of Finch's grasp.
Finch grabbed her other wrist and pulled her closer. “You owe me, Rosie. That's what Delaney calls you, isn't it? âRosie.'”
“Let go of me!”
Finch only tightened his grip, all the while smiling menacingly. “Come on now, that's no way to treat the man who just saved your job, is it?”
“I don't want the job. I don't want this. Let me go!” Rosie struggled to break free, but Finch was incredibly strong.
“Let you go? But we're just getting started. You said you'd do anything to keep your job, didn't you?”
“I meant cleaning up orâor ... but not this,” Rosie explained, all the while trying to free her hands.
Finch pushed her backward against the desk. “So you're gonna let that sister and nephew of yours starve just because you changed your mind about playing? That's silly, don't ya think? Especially when we both know you want to.” As Finch moved his mouth closer to hers, Rosie leaned forward and gave his lip a hard bite.
Finch reared back and instinctively brought his right hand to his mouth, leaving Rosie's left hand free to grab the heavy green stapler from the desk behind her. Without a second thought, she lifted it above her head and brought it crashing down just above Finch's right temple.
Finch cried out in agony as Rosie swung open the office door and ran into the yard at breakneck speed, bumping into Michael Delaney on the way.
“Rosie, what happened? Your faceâit's white. What happened? What did Finch do to you?”
Rosie stared blankly at Delaney, uncertain of what he was saying or asking, certain only of her desire to run.
Several yards away, Bob Finch leaned out of his office door, a trickle of blood wending its way down the side of his face. “Keefe! You slut! I'll make sure you never get a decent job in this town again!”
The area surrounding the office fell silent as all eyes fell, in turn, from Bob Finch to Rose Doyle Keefe.
“Delaney!” Finch shouted. “I'll do the same to you if you don't get back to work!”
Delaney took Rosie's hands and placed in them a handkerchief, a hipflask, and a one-dollar bill. “The money is for a cab so you get home safe,” he instructed before sprinting back to his rivet gun. “The rest is for youâin case you need it. I'll check up on you later.”
Rosie pocketed Delaney's gifts, shot a vague smile in his direction, and took off through the Pushey Shipyard gates.
Chapter Two
It was well past dark by the time Rosie returned to her one-bedroom Manhattan apartment. After sitting near the Brooklyn docks for hours, she'd hopped the Brighton Beach subway line and rode it to Coney Island and back before transferring to the Interborough Rapid Transit train that would take her back across the East River into Manhattan. From the Eighth Avenue/ Twenty-third-Street stop, it was a two-block walk to the brownstone she and Billy Keefe called home.
Thirteen years had passed since Billy first carried her over the threshold on their wedding night. During that time, Rosie watched her friends and neighbors marry, have children, and move to more spacious apartments and houses, while she and Billy barely scraped by. Realizing that her husband's nonexistent work ethic and her part-time job at the local bakery would never afford them the opportunity to move, Rosie decided to make their apartment the best it could be. Although the space measured just three hundred square feet, Rosie worked hard to ensure that every precious inch wasn't simply clean, but cozy. Using hardware store paint, she breathed new life into her secondhand bedroom set and coffee table, and, with discounted fabric from Montgomery Ward, she hand-stitched curtains, slipcovers, and throw pillows to conceal the threadbare sofa, dime-store bedspread, and dreary view.
Rosie scaled the bare wooden staircase, consoled by the prospect of collapsing onto the slipcovered couch and sinking into the oblivion that only sleep could offer. However, upon arriving to find her sister, Katie, waiting by the apartment door, she knew that sleep would have to wait.
“Oh, Rosie, thank goodness you're home,” Katie cried as she threw her arms around her sister. “I've been so worried about you!”
Rosie fell into Katie's arms and buried her face in her younger sister's long, blond hair. Comforted by her sister's familiar scent of baby powder and Chantilly perfume, Rosie felt the tension in her shoulders ease and a trickle of silent tears stream down her face. It was the first time she had cried all day.
“Shh,” Katie soothed. “Let it out. You're home now. Mr. Finch is far, far away.”
Rosie lifted her head from Katie's shoulder. “How did youâ?”
“Michael Delaney came by to check on you. He told me you'd been fired. He also said that ... well, he said your boss was bleeding when you left. What happened, Rosie? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
Rosie entered the apartment and flopped onto the large, upholstered sofa, which, since Katie's arrival, had been serving as her bed. “No, he didn't hurt me. He ...” Her voice trailed off.
Katie shut the apartment door and sat beside her sister. “You don't have to talk now if you don't want to,” she offered as she helped Rosie off with her coat and shoes. “I know it's been a rough day. That's why I laid your pajamas out on the bed. Go get cleaned up and when you come back, if you feel up to it, we can talk over some tea and some soup. It's your favorite: navy bean, just like Pop used to make.”
Rosie's eyes again welled with tears. “Oh, Katie-girl,” she exclaimed as she embraced her sister. “I know it's not under the best of circumstances, but I'm so glad you and Charlie are here right now.”
“I am, too, Rosie.”
Rosie's eyes narrowed. “Say, where is that nephew of mine anyway?”
“Oh, I put him down for the night.”
“Of course. Stupid of me. I guess I didn't realize how late it was.”
“No matter. I'm sure he'd still like a kiss from his Aunt Rosie,” Katie replied as she sent her sister off to the apartment's only bedroom.
Rosie tiptoed through the narrow passage between Charlie's crib and the double bed. Peering over the wooden rails, she watched as the towheaded six-month-old, thumb in mouth, slumbered peacefully. With a proud grin, she smoothed his hair and pulled the blanket over his pajama-clad body before retreating to the bathroom for a much-needed shower and change of clothes.
She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, still on edge, but better equipped to face the world. After changing into a set of short-sleeved cotton pajamas and a chenille bathrobe, and after conducting another brief check on Charlie, Rosie returned to the living room to find the whitewashed coffee table set with two cups of tea, sugar, milk, and spoons. From the corner of the room, Glenn Miller's “Serenade in Blue” echoed softly from the 1940 Philco console radio.
“What's all this? You don't have to wait on me.”
“Oh yes, I do. You've watched over me my entire life. It's high time I take care of you for a change,” Katie explained from the kitchen. “How's Charlie?”
“Sound asleep and beautiful.” Rosie sighed.
“You'll have one of your own someday.”
“I'm not so sure about that.”
“Why not?” Katie challenged as she brought two steaming bowls of soup from the kitchen.
Rosie settled onto the sofa with her bowl and spoon. “Thanks. This smells wonderful,” she said, purposely avoiding the question.
“I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” Katie replied as she settled beside her sister. “So what do you mean you're ânot so sure'? Do you mean because of Billy?”
“Mmmm ...” Rosie slurped her soup noisily. “Gee, Katie. I think this might be better than Pop's.”
“Thanks,” Katie answered absently. “Ummm ... I heard about Billy and what that man said about seeing him. I can't believe it! You don't really think he's still in town, do you?”
Rosie let her spoon drop into her soup bowl. “I don't know what to think anymore. Part of me refuses to believe that Billy would stoop so low. His disappearing for a day or two is nothing new, but four months? Where could he have gone for so long? But then again, if he did enlist, I would have heard something by now, wouldn't I? At least I would have gotten his paychecks.”
“Not if he didn't arrange to send them to you.”
“True. It's not like I got his paychecks when he was at home. Why should this be any different? But I ... well, I'd like to think he'd write me to tell me where he was.”
“When Jimmy got shipped out, he wrote to me from the train that same day,” Katie recalled with a wistful smile. “I didn't receive it until two weeks later, but still ...”
Rosie placed a comforting arm on her sister's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Katie-girl. Here I am going on about Billy when ...” Her voice grew faint.
“That's all right,” Katie assured as she patted Rosie on the knee. “They're good memories. Besides, I was the one who brought up Billy in the first place.”
“Yeah, butâ” Rosie narrowed her eyes and let her arm slip from Katie's shoulder. “Say, how did you know about Billy anyway?”
“Delaney, of course.”
“Of course.” Rosie shook her head. “Wow, you two had a regular gabfest, didn't you? I always knew Delaney was sweet on you.”
“Sweet on me? Dream on, Macbeth! Delaney's been following you around since grade school.” Katie laughed. “Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it? What would your life be like if you had married someone like him instead of Billy Keefe?”
“Given the Delaneys' ability to reproduce, I'd probably have six kids by now.”
“All of them with your red hair and Michael's glorious nose!”
“Now, wouldn't that be pretty? But then again, I probably wouldn't be sitting here, feeling like such a fool.”
“You're not a fool. You trusted the man you married, the man you love.”
“But I shouldn't have trusted him. I've always suspected there were other women. I just didn't want to think about it, that's all.” Rosie picked up her spoon and poked at the beans in her soup. “The other thing is ... well, I'm not sure I do love Billy. Not anymore. I think I fell out of love with him quite some time ago.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don't know. Right now, I have other things to worry about. Like, for instance, the fact that I no longer have a job.”
“You're one of the hardest-working people I know. Why were you fired? And why was your boss bleeding when you left?”
Rosie told Katie about the incident with Hansen and then the scene in Finch's office.
Katie gasped. “Oh, Rosie, honey, I'm so sorry! You wouldn't have taken that job if it weren't for me and Charlie moving in with you.”
Rosie shook her head. “It's not your fault. Whether you were here or not, I'd still have to find something to take the place of Billy's paycheck.”
“Yeah, but without our mouths to feed you could have taken a shop-clerk job or something that paid less. I never liked the idea of you working at the docks with all those men. It's dangerous.”
“No, Katie! I love having you and Charlie here. With Billy gone, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't. As for a shop-clerk job, I would have taken one if there were any. Right now, every job out there has something to do with the war. No, the only person to blame here is me. If I had only kept my cool and not lost my temper, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have been fired and Finch wouldn't have tried what he did.”
“Listen, even if you had managed to keep your cool, I don't think it would have made a single bit of difference. Should you have thrown rivets back at Hansen? Maybe not. But if you hadn't stuck up for yourself, the next batch of rivets he threw at you could have gotten you right in the face or, worse, caused you to fall off that scaffold. No, lamb, the problem isn't with you, it's with them.”
“As much as I agree with your sentiments,” Rosie said, “part of me thinks I should have tried to tough it out a little longer, especially knowing what that shipyard paycheck would mean to our bank account.”
“Well, that shouldn't be entirely on your shoulders,” Katie declared. “In fact, from this point on, I'm going to do my share.”
“Katie,” Rosie admonished, “we already discussed this and we both agreed that your most important job right now is taking care of Charlie.”
“And I will take care of him. I'll just have some help doing it.”
“We can't afford to pay someone to watch him,” Rosie pointed out. “Besides, he's just a baby. I don't like the idea of some stranger helping to raise him.”
“It wouldn't be a stranger. Ma would watch him.”
“Ma isn't going to take the train from Greenpoint and back everyday.”
“No, you're right, she wouldn't want to do that ... but ... um ... well ... what if she didn't have to?” Katie suggested.
Rosie's eyes grew wide. “Oh no, Katie, you only just got here and I like having you around. Please say you're not moving back with Ma!”
“Okay, I'm not moving back with Ma,” Katie reassured.
“Good. That's better.”
“All three of us are.”
“What?” Rosie put her bowl of soup on the coffee table and threw her head against the back of the sofa.
“Come on, Rosie,” Katie coaxed. “Just think about it. Ma has that great big house sitting empty. We could each have our own roomâthat means no more sleeping on the sofa for you.”
Rosie closed her eyes and sighed.
“And,” Katie continued, “Ma's house is paid for. If she continues to take in mending, I get a part-time job, and you get a job at another shipyardâ”
“I don't know if I can,” Rosie interrupted. “Finch has probably bad-mouthed me to every other yard in Brooklyn.”
“Then you check the yards here in Manhattan. Or the airplane factories in Queens,” Katie said resolutely. “The point is, if the three of us pool our money, we'd have more than enough to make ends meet.”
“You're overlooking two very important things: First, Ma drives me crazy.”
“Ma drives me crazy, too.” Katie shrugged. “She drives everyone crazy. But she loves us and means well. Besides, there's strength in numbers; so long as you and I stick together Ma doesn't stand a chance.”
“Second,” Rosie went on, “I'm a married woman. I can't just call my landlord and move out.”
“Why can't you? Billy packed up his stuff and went off to war without giving you a second thought.” Katie added under her breath, “If, in fact, he's even at war.”
Rosie sighed noisily. Everything Katie said about Billy made perfect sense, but it still didn't make it any easier for her to let go. “It seems strange, taking off and not telling him.”
“Leave a forwarding address. If and when Billy ever sees fit to write you, you can tell him then. If he makes a big stink about it, tell him you would have said something sooner but you had no way of getting in touch with him.”
“You're right,” Rosie relented. “It's silly to stay here in this tiny apartment struggling until Billy comes home or sends along a paycheck. Moving to Greenpoint would give us more room and more money, and it'd be healthier for Charlie in the long run, what with that big backyard. Still, it's a big decision, Katie, and today has been ... Just do me a favor and let me sleep on it before you say anything to Ma.”
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