“But mother!” Elizabeth whined, “Can’t I please go out to see a showing with Charles!”
“I have told you once and I will tell you a million times, you are not going out with any man who has a car,” Mrs. Moore berated her daughter, “Now go upstairs and put on something that is less colorful. You look horrid in that new-fangled clothing.”
“Mother! Its just Dante’s Inferno ! And this dress is in the height of fashion! I am wearing it.”
Elizabeth protested, trying to convey to her mother the importance of staying in style.
“If you are wearing that you are not going to the Russell’s party. I am not afraid to leave you home Elizabeth. We are leaving in ten minutes with or without you.”
Mrs. Moore glared and walked into the living room.
Elizabeth groaned and reluctantly stomped up the stairs to change her dress.
“Ms. Moore, please put on this, your mother picked it out,” her maid Virginia called gently. She held it towards the fuming girl and tried to help her into the beatific dress. It was long and flowing, with peach lace and sparkling pearls.
“Boy, I can’t believe her. She’s just so so ugh! I can’t wear this!” Elizabeth raucously stormed out of the room and into the bathroom.
“ELIZABETH ANNE MOORE! YOU GET IN YOUR ROOM THIS INSTANT AND PUT ON THAT DRESS! Don’t you dare make me come up there!” she stood at the top of the stairs, gesticulating wildly.
“Fine,” Elizabeth sighed and threw on the dress. “There, happy?” she retorted sarcastically at her mother as she stepped down the winding staircase with floral carpeted steps.
She passed the library that was lined to the ceiling with huge shelves full of dusty old books. A large purple armchair sat in the corner with an old lamp casting a dim light sitting next to it.
Very,” Mrs. Moore smiled pristinely and pushed her daughter through the entry room, out the door, and into their brand new Stanley Steam car. It was one of the newest models and was Mr. Moore’s pride and joy. The black paint shimmered in the sun and sent rays of sunlight into the family’s eyes. They sat on the dark midnight cushions that covered metal chairs as Henry (their driver) slid into the driver’s seat.
“The Russell’s house?” he questioned.
“Yes, thank you Henry,” Mr. Moore spoke and sat back in his seat, enjoying the wind rushing by as the automobile cruised down the road.
When they arrived at the house, Elizabeth hopped out as soon as Henry opened the door for her. Mr. Moore sighed. “Be careful darling!” he called after her.
Elizabeth stepped into the house and gasped, it was huge! A large diamond chandelier hung on the ceiling, reflecting rainbow light across the room. There was a table piled with all the sweets and drinks a girl could imagine. Slow dancing music played from a band in the corner.
“Boy, is this posh ,” she looked around in awe.
“Like it?” a boy her age came up behind Elizabeth and stood next to her. He wore a brown suit with a tailcoat, white waistcoat and white necktie. His nose was pointed upward on the end, screaming snooty.
“Ugh. Beat it Joseph,” she went to walk away from the boisterous young man, but he stepped in front of her. She felt cooped up by his large presence that blocked her from reaching the one she was looking for.
“You should try the punch, it’s my favorite,” he smiled eloquently, trying to win her favor.
“I’ll make a note of that,” Elizabeth glared menacingly and stalked off to find Charles.
“Hey, Lizzy,” Charles smiled and wrapped her in a hug.
She giggled, “I wondered where you were.” Elizabeth walked across the room, hand in hand with the favored boy, and checked her dance card . As she had suspected, the first name on it was Joseph Russel. “Ugh, not him,” she groaned.
Mrs. Moore peeked her head over her daughter’s shoulder. “You should dance with Joseph dear; he’s quite a nice boy.”
“Mother!” Elizabeth jumped in surprise.
“Hello Mrs. Moore,” Charles stated politely, “A lovely night for a party isn’t it?”
She shamelessly ignored him. “You will most definitely dance with Joseph.”
Charles reached to pick up the pen and write his name on Elizabeth’s card. He had barely gotten a dot on the paper before Mrs. Moore interrupted with a remark. “I wouldn’t Mr. Williams. You are not dancing with my daughter, or taking her to a showing for that matter. A young man with an automobile is not going anywhere near my daughter.”
“Mother!” Elizabeth gasped, appalled at her mother’s blunt behavior.
But Charles just smiled politely, “I understand Mrs. Moore.” Then he took Elizabeth’s arm and walked off to the table of refreshments.
Later that night, the two of them sat happily in the corner, speaking of a secret plan. They were going to sneak out and go to a showing of Dante’s Inferno.
“This is sure to be such a joy!” Elizabeth laughed, adrenaline coursing through her veins and the thought of leaving the house with Charles without her mother’s permission. Strong vehemence built up inside her as she cast a look in her family’s direction.
“Elizabeth!” she heard her father call across the room, “We’re going to be leaving soon! Please come here!”
Charles held her hand as she went to step away. “I will pick you up tomorrow night at eight, see you then,” he smiled encouragingly but nervously, love filling his pale blue eyes.
She nodded happily and skipped off toward her parents repeating in her head, tomorrow night at eight, tomorrow night at eight, tomorrow night at eight.
The next day, Elizabeth could barely contain her happiness, but everyone else was less than overjoyed. An eerie feeling dwelled within the family. They could feel the pit of impending danger in their stomachs, squirming and writing like dry kindling in the fireplace. The excited young woman picked out her favorite dress of the newest fashion. It’s bright colors and short cut fabric would not stand a chance against her mother’s watchful eye. She slipped it on and stepped downstairs, glowing with beauty, but expecting less than a compliment from her family. Elizabeth walked deliberately past her mother, clacking her four-inch heels. Mrs. Moore didn’t even looked up.
“What do you think of my outfit, mother?” she smiled mockingly.
“Hmm, oh. Very nice, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Moore murmured, clearly preoccupied, still not glancing up to see the horrifying dress. It tormented the law-abiding side of her confused daughter.
“I thought you hated clothes like this.”
“Whatever you like dear. Now would you stop agitating me and move along. I have bigger things to worry about,” she faced the radio and turned it up. A newsman’s panicked voice came through the speakers. He spoke of death and war. “Go,” Mrs. Moore spoke again firmly.
“Oh,” Elizabeth walked outside and sat on the front porch steps, waiting for Charles. She felt as if she should savor her mother’s lenience, but it just felt out of place. The sun began to set and a purple haze drifted across the sky. Darkness fell across Elizabeth’s shadow as 8, 8:30, then 9 ticked by. A single tear dripped out of a mascara-covered eye and rolled down her face, hitting the pavement of the porch steps. She sighed and opened the door, stepping inside to go to bed. “He’s not coming,” she thought sadly, “He’s really not coming.” Elizabeth’s heart dropped and she felt an empty pit in her chest that was once filled with excitement. Charles was normally so good with paying attention to the time and never letting her down. A whirl of thoughts and emotions rushed through her head. Had he given up on her? Was this his way of telling her that the relationship was over? Was he in trouble and needed her help? She miserably brought the door closed and began to drag her feet upstairs.
Everyone seemed so distracted - Mother not caring about the horrendous dress, Charles missing out on their secret date. What was happening?
Mr. and Mrs. Moore sat in the kitchen listening to the radio. This was odd; they normally didn’t stay up this late. “Is something wrong?” Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, curious as to why everyone was behaving so unusually.
“There’s a war going on,” Mr. Moore grimaced.
“Well I know, but – “
“And they’re drafting all boys between the age of 15 and 60 to go to battle tomorrow morning,” he continued.
“But you…but Charles…no!” Elizabeth was flabbergasted.
“I’m sorry honey, but there’s nothing we can do,” Mrs. Moore offered gently.
“You will be staying home with me, mother, correct?” Elizabeth groped at anything that would keep her anchored to reality.
“Taxes are higher than ever, especially for the upper class and your mother will have to work to keep the family running. We cannot go bankrupt,” Mr. Moore sighed apologetically.
The next morning, a somber mood hung over the house like a cloud of locusts. The family helped Mr. Moore to pack for his long journey over-seas. Mrs. Moore got ready to go to her new job at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. The lifestyle was one that Elizabeth had never seen before, and could not imagine for herself, yet here they were.
They dropped Mr. Moore off at the docks, giving him last hugs and goodbyes.
“I’ll miss you, Father,” sobbed Elizabeth.
“Don’t you worry princess,” he comforted her, “I’ll be home soon. Take good care of your mother for me.”
She nodded her head sadly, lamenting the life they were leaving behind. Elizabeth remembered her Papa sitting by her bed as she sipped warm chicken noodle soup when she was sick last winter. She remembered sitting next to him watching a play and giggling at his funny comments, her mother looking disapprovingly in their direction. She remembered walking the streets of New York City, listening to the calls of the newsies and inhaling the smells of the street stands. She hoped that her Papa would return and she would be able to have more memories with him.
Mr. Moore smiled firmly, accepting that his volition to stay was taken away by the imminent danger in Europe.
Charles spotted Elizabeth through the crowd and pushed his way to her, claiming a final embrace.
The two men boarded the ship and waved back at bawling families blowing good-bye kisses as the large boat pulled out of the harbor, taking away all that kept Elizabeth grounded – her father (a strong man who had taken care of her for so many years), and Charles (her beloved boyfriend who gave her something to believe in and fight for).
The next day, Elizabeth sat numbly home alone, with no one but servants as company. She tried to think of what she had done to keep herself busy when she was younger and thought of the box of Lincoln Logs and her Erector Set boxed up in the closet. The steps creaked loudly under her feet as she walked upstairs to the attic, the sounds of the empty house echoed sadly. Elizabeth pulled down the box and sat cross-legged on the ground, remembering sitting on the ground as a child while her parents talked of business in the kitchen. She sighed, thinking of how happy she had been then, how innocent and suddenly playing with children’s toys did not seem so exciting anymore. Elizabeth went back downstairs and pulled a chair up to the kitchen table.
She turned on the radio, desperate to hear anything about the war, even though her loved-ones had not reached Europe yet. The announcer was saying something about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, where Mrs. Moore worked. Elizabeth turned up the volume, curious as to what he could be saying. The connection was bad though, and she could only hear snippets.
“A huge fire…Triangle Shirtwaist Factory…workers could not escape…locked in…estimated 150 deaths…” the reporter stated factually.
Elizabeth gasped and sat up straight. “Mother?” she stuttered, grabbing a purse and running out the door to the factory.
She arrived, out of breath, to see lifeless bodies and ashes cover the ground. Police surrounded the site, keeping the panicked crowd.
“Mother!” Elizabeth’s voice cracked with worry and grief, “Mama? Mama, where are you? Mama!”
She pushed through the screaming crowd, closer to the debris of the factory. “Mama!” Elizabeth’s voice rang high over the large group of crying New Yorkers, causing people to look sadly in her direction, pity filling their eyes.
The smell of burnt flesh mixed with New York air. Smoke made Elizabeth’s eyes water as it rose up into the sky. “Mama?” she asked quietly, tears streaming down her soot-streaked face. Elizabeth reached the yellow caution tape and fell to her knees. A decrepit old woman came up behind her and patted her back reassuringly.
“Who are you looking for sweetie?’ she smiled sadly down at her, not wanting to break the bad news.
“My mother,” Elizabeth sniffed, “Charlotte Moore, she worked here. She just started working here. Only yesterday.”
The old woman’s eyes filled with pity for the poor young girl and she commiserated for her loss. “Not many people who worked here made it out alive. I’m sorry.”
She stared up at her. Deep down inside, Elizabeth knew that her mother’s fate had been sealed, but she refused to believe it. “No!” she ripped out of the woman’s grasp and began running. Elizabeth didn’t care where, she just ran, feeling the tears stream down her face and fly away in the wind that clawed at her flowing dress.
She ran until she was out of breath but kept running, thinking of her mother. She must have banged on the locked door as the flames licked the dress on her back. The owners of the factory locked the doors so that the workers could not escape, and now it had killed her mother. Elizabeth pictured her thinking about their family – if Mr. Moore would come back, who her growing daughter would be, maybe even planned a little bit of Charles and Elizabeth’s wedding and realized that Joseph was not the right match for her. She wondered if her mother was upset or if she perished in peace thoughts drifting through her head and the burning fire consumed her. She kept running.
Elizabeth wanted to run until she was in Europe, where she could grab her father and Charles and take them home. Home. The word snapped her back into reality, halting her trek; she immediately turned around and began the long walk back. Back home to her lonely room with no one except for the quiet servants and empty hallways. Home.
She was overcome with sadness in the posthumous days after the fire. Elizabeth wandered aimlessly around the house, waiting for the return of Charles and her father. She wished for them to return soon, but knew that the prospect was hopeless. There was nowhere for her to go, nothing for her to do.
“Miss,” Virginia finally offered politely, “You could try to protest for the rights of people working in factories like your mother, since I know how upset you were that she was unable to escape because of the locked doors.”
Elizabeth stared back, only mildly interested. “Yes?”
“Well, every other Saturday afternoon, a group called the AFL, that’s the America Federation of Labor, goes and protests for the rights of workers,” Virginia peeped meekly.
Elizabeth rolled the thought over in her mind. Mrs. Moore would be alive if it wasn’t for those locked doors. How could she let her mother die in vain? She had to help others, to prevent the deaths of other innocent people.
“I think it’s time for me to stop rolling in my own contrition. I will be coming with you next Saturday, Virginia,” Elizabeth stated, making up her mind.
“That seems right to me, miss.”
“Enough with the ‘miss’; call me Lizzy. Now let’s get this show on the road.” Elizabeth nodded her head sharply, deciding that, in her mother’s name, she would fight for other’s rights.
The rest of the week went by quickly due to the fact that Virginia helped to keep Elizabeth busy. She taught her how to wash clothes, create signs for the protest, come up with powerful speeches, bake a cake, dust the piano, make beds, and many more things that would help Elizabeth to become an individual, strong woman. The tasks helped to invigorate her and keep her from the sadness that she tried to banish from her mind. Finally, the day of the protest arrived.
Elizabeth spoke strongly and brandished her opinion like a sharp blade, swinging it at those who treated others unfairly. She felt powerful and finally in control of her life. She could be who she wanted, say what she felt, and right the wrongs of others.
Every other Saturday, she continued to go to the protests. Elizabeth became more and more involved in the AFL. Being with people who believed the same things she did gave her a rush of adrenaline and power. She went every day to do planning and talk to big companies, telling them about the dangers of locking workers into factories, preaching the story of her mother. She worked her way up in the organization and eventually met President William Howard Taft during a rally and spoke of her story.
Dressing in fancy clothes, fighting with her mother, and obsessing over boys was now a thing of the past. Elizabeth was as changed person.
She wondered if Charles and her father would approve, but did not worry about it too much. Her aching heart leaped with agony any time she thought of them, overseas, without the comforts they used to enjoy at home.
One day, she came home and sat in the dining room, listening to the radio. The man spoke of boatloads of soldiers coming home. Elizabeth turned it up, hoping to hear of the return of her father and Charles.
“All boats coming home…New York…tomorrow…” she heard.
“Virginia!” Elizabeth called.
“Yeah Lizzy?” hollered back.
“Father! Charles! They’re coming home!”
“Eeeeeeeee!” Virginia squealed and twirled into the room.
The two girls jumped up and down excitedly, anticipating the return of the brave soldiers. They couldn’t wait to meet them at the harbor the next day.
The next day, Elizabeth stood in her room, contemplating what to wear.
“Should I wear a dress since that is what they are used to?” she thought, “Or should I wear a shirt and pants because that is who I am now? They need to know me for who I am.”
With that thought, she threw on the dirty outfit of everyday wear and stepped outside to find Virginia.
At the harbor, the two close friends stood watching as the boat pulled up to the docks. They cheered with the crowd and men began pouring out of the ship. Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes, peeking over the people to find her father and Charles. She saw them step off the boat and look around for her. People stepped out of the way when she pushed past them, fighting to get into Charles’ arms.
She reached him and wrapped Charles in a tight hug. He looked down at her, surprised.
“Lizzy?” he muttered cautiously. She beamed.
He pulled her close to him and gently kissed the top of her head. “I missed you so much,” he whispered.
Elizabeth gripped him tighter; his familiar feel reminded her of the life she used to have. “I missed you too.”
Suddenly, large arms came up from behind her and picked her up. “Papa!” Elizabeth shouted.
“Elizabeth!” he extolled, twirling her around in the air, “Look at you!”
She laughed, “Oh I have so much to tell you!”
“I’m sure you do, princess, we have so much to tell you too.” He looked over and saw Virginia standing next to them uncomfortably. “Virginia! Thank you so much for sticking with us. Even when you weren’t paid.”
“How could I have left my best friend?” the maid smiled sweetly at Elizabeth.
The four walked home happily, telling stories of what they had been through. The hole in their hearts had been filled by the joy of being together. It had taken so long, but Elizabeth felt that she was finally happy.