New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [334]
Just then, Rose appeared. Fortunately, she seemed quite pleased about everything, and she took them away. So Anna never found out how the rich lady got out of the Lower East Side.
At Hetty’s request, Mary O’Donnell remained after everyone else had gone. Mary knew it was nice to have someone to discuss a party with, when it was over.
“It went well,” she told Hetty. “Everyone will remember it. And the conversations certainly made everybody think.”
“I am not pleased with Rose,” said Hetty.
“Mr. Keller did quite well.”
“He meant well. Rose,” Hetty continued, “was very disloyal.”
“I suppose we must forgive,” said Mary.
“I may forgive,” Hetty replied, “but I’ll be damned if I forget.”
“The Italian girl was sweet,” said Mary.
“That reminds me,” said Hetty. “Why did you tell her that your father was a drunk who didn’t work? Your father was a perfectly respectable man. He was a friend of the Kellers. I remember very well the day that Gretchen told me all about you.”
Mary paused, and looked at Hetty a bit sheepishly.
“When I saw that girl and her brother,” she confessed, “and heard about how they were living, it all suddenly came back to me. I don’t know what made me blurt it out, though.”
Hetty eyed her. “Are you telling me, Mary O’Donnell, after all these years, that you came to work here under false pretenses? That you weren’t from a respectable family at all?”
“I don’t think I could have done it. But Gretchen could. She was my friend.” Mary smiled, affectionately. “I’m afraid she told you the most dreadful lies.”
Hetty considered. “Well,” she said finally, “I’m very glad that she did.”
Edmund Keller spent a pleasant evening with his father. It wasn’t until the next morning that he heard what had happened at the meeting at Carnegie Hall.
And what a night it had been. The radicals had produced a splendid speaker, Morris Hillquit the socialist. With soaring oratory, he told the packed hall that the factory owners and the magistrates who had fined them were nothing more than the mailed fists of oppression. “Sisters,” he cried, “your cause is just, and you will be victorious.” Not only that, he assured them, the garment women’s strike was the beginning of something altogether more wonderful. Through the union, they could lead the great socialist cause of a class struggle that would soon transform not only the factories of the Lower East Side, but the entire city, and even the whole of America. It was a thrilling speech, and they cheered him to the rafters.
True, he was followed by a moderate lawyer who counseled restraint and a legal battle instead. But his speech was so boring that the crowd grew restless. And when Leonora O’Reilly of the WTU spoke next, and chided the lawyer, and told the women that their strike had done more for the union movement than all the preaching of the last ten years, they cheered her too. No wonder they were in high spirits.
But not everyone was happy. Tammany Hall liked political power, not revolution. The conservative leaders of America’s big unions, men like Sam Gompers, didn’t think that preaching revolution was a good strategy either. From that evening, support in the smoke-filled rooms of the labor movement began to fade. And something else began to ebb away rapidly. Money.
Had Rose’s intervention at old Hetty’s lunch made an impression? Who knew? But one thing was certain. When Anne Morgan attended the Carnegie Hall meeting, she didn’t like what she heard. The very next day she let everyone know that she’d support the garment women’s rights, but not socialism. She wasn’t giving money to start a revolution. Other wealthy donors followed her lead.
It wasn’t until early February that the strike wound down. The women got a shorter working week, down to only fifty-two hours; they were even allowed to join a union. But the Triangle and the other factories could employ whomever they liked, union member or not.
Edmund Keller supposed that Rose must be pleased about that. He’d been