“Thank you.” The newsperson lowered the microphone.
Ethel turned as the Immigration clerk stamped the files and passed the last group of kids through the line.
“The chaos made me uneasy. Before I had time to gather myself, a woman from Child Services who’d been sent to help finally appeared.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Gathers, we will take it from here.” The woman wearing gold-framed glasses reached for the baby in her arms.
“Each child had been given a small knapsack with the basics; some had an additional change of clothes. It was the noise that I remember. It seemed to be coming from every direction, all punctuated by a few of the children clinging to me and crying.”
“Ethel Gathers! You look fantastic. Which one is my baby?” called Bertha, a woman Ethel knew from theAfro-Americannewspaper. Ethel remembered hugging her tightly, so happy to see a familiar face. Then another woman walked up to her.
“Hi, I’m Mrs. Clark. Here for the two children. A boy and a girl.” Mrs. Clark smiled, showing off a gold tooth as she leaned closer to Ethel.
Something about Mrs. Clark seemed off. But Bertha kept talking, pulling Ethel’s attention away. “I have turned a room right off the kitchen into a playroom. I can’t wait to get my bundle of joy home.”
Ethel wasn’t listening to Bertha; she was busy craning her neck, trying to take in the woman who had introduced herself as Mrs. Clark. Then, like a vulture, another reporter swooped down on Ethel and shoved yet another microphone in front of her face.
“I was glad that I thought to include the photos of the children. I had anticipated it would be hard for the parents to communicate, with the children speaking German and everyone else English.”
Sophia’s eyes never left Ethel’s face, but her hands fidgeted with her sweater sleeves.
“Parents were grabbing up their children and leaving before I could get away from the reporter to check that everything was in order.”
Ethel remembered feeling like she needed to converse with Mrs. Clark and that quiet man, dressed in a too-big sport coat with his eyes on his shoes, before she released the two children to them. As Ethel gave yet another interview, she couldn’t shake the gut feeling that she had misjudged their application in her haste to bring additional children to the States after the fire at the orphanage. She decided that she would question the Clarks further before letting the two children go.
“How can people reach out to make a donation to your organization to help more of these Brown Babies?” the blond reporter pressed. “Surely there are more?”
Ethel looked into the camera and gave them all the information they needed. Once the cameras finally turned off and the microphone was gone, most of the families had left, including the Clarks. Ethel scanned the lobby for the Clarks, to no avail.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” Sophia asked. “What’s this all got to do with me?”
Ethel touched a lock of Sophia’s red hair, then she rose on shaky knees, suddenly remembering that the wringer was still spinning the laundry. She needed to go turn it off and check on her roaster in the oven, but she had to do this first. Ethel walked over to her file cabinet and removed several folders. “There were four little girls with me on that flight from Frankfurt.”
“And?”
“The Clarks were one of the families who received two children.”
“Clark is not an unusual last name,” Sophia replied, and Ethel could see from her slouched posture and the dark circles under her eyes that she had lost all the hope that she had come through Ethel’s door with just an hour ago.
Ethel spread the four files across the desk. “Just look these over and see if anything sticks out to you,” she said. She watched as the girl studied the pictures, then brought one closer to her face.
“Oh my God,” Sophia shrieked. “This is me.”
CHAPTER 43Philadelphia, PA, November 1952
OZZIE
Two and a half months of marriage had passed faster than a greased pig at a country fair, and although Ozzie had settled into a comfortable newlywed rhythm with Rita, he was no closer to securing a mortgage from the bank and moving them out of Great-aunt Reese’s home. In addition to the Philadelphia Savings Fund Society, he and Rita had put in applications at Fidelity, Girard, and Provident banks. What was frustrating was the banks never exactly told them no, but they were not saying yes either. Just more applications, more questions, more proof that led to nowhere. It felt very much like a stalemate. Meanwhile, he had read several articles inThe Philadelphia Inquirerdetailing how his white G.I. counterparts were securing large mortgages and moving out to the lofty suburbs.
Ozzie left his work boots at the front door and peeled off his uniform shirt, which he dropped on the sofa. His feet sighed through his cotton socks as he walked back through to the kitchen, which always seemed to smell of bleach and lemons. The Kit-Cat Klock hanging on the green wall above the sink rolled its eyes and wagged its tail as Ozzie reached into the icebox for a Schlitz. He flopped down intothe kitchen chair with the cold can in his hand, feeling dog-tired. His foreman had called in his team for a quick haul, allowing him only a short amount of time to move steel, material, and lumber from the warehouse onto a ship that was being repaired. It was backbreaking work, and Ozzie felt like nothing more than a tool. But it was Friday, he had two whole days off away from the shipyard, away from a boss who could never seem to remember his name. Two days off from being nothing more than muscles, and he was looking forward to relaxing. As he popped the tab on the can, he heard Rita coming through the front door.
“Aunt Reese, it’s just me,” she shouted up the stairs, then, as she moved through the dining room, she called, “Hey, good-lookin’, what’s cookin’?”
Ozzie felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her. She stopped in front of him, wearing a wide grin, as he stood and pulled her into his arms. “Girl, you’re always so soft.” He snuggled against her.
“That’s ’cause I wear lotion. Unlike you, ashy feet.” Rita touched his chin and gave him her cheek. As she kicked her heels under the table, she said, “I know you ain’t starting in early?” She moved to the sink, turned on the faucet, and let it run before dipping her glass for water. “Don’t forget, we’ve been invited to the Alexanders’ tonight at eight for a party. It’s the first time I’ve been invited to my bosses’ home, and I need you in your right mind.”
Ozzie brought the beer to his lips and took a gulp. “That tonight?” He sighed.
