Shirtwaist Ghosts Chapter 8

8

9th floor

Margarita caught John’s eye and jangled the bracelet for a second. Then she bent over her sewing machine to continue working. When she glanced up again, John paused at her station and graced her with a huge smile.

By this time, she knew his routine at the factory. He entered through the glass door elevators and did a walk through of the eighth and ninth floors late in the morning before heading up to the executive offices on the tenth floor to have lunch. Sometimes he was accompanied by his father, Mr. Harris, or Mr. Blanc. Other times he made the rounds by himself.

When he appeared on the ninth floor, she snuck glances at him the entire time. As he brushed past her on his way upstairs for the rest of the day, their eyes met. Her heart lurched, she wouldn’t have any contact with him until Sunday.

On impulse, Margarita stood up and marched toward the elevators to grab more materials she didn’t need as John was leaving. She flashed her bracelet as he turned around. He smiled at her and gave a slight nod of this head as the glass doors closed.

She sighed, her eyes lingering on the elevator doors, when the manager slid in front of her. “What are you doing?”

She made a grab for the materials realizing, too late, that the bracelet was still showing.

He grabbed her hand. “Where did you get this?”

She paused then replied, “My mama gave it to me.”

The manager turned her wrist back and forth. “Wait a minute. Mrs. Harris has one just like this. How did you … ?”

“It’s mine!” Margarita yelled, trying to yank her hand back.

“Like hell it is!” The delicate bracelet broke easily when he grabbed her wrist. “You wait right here,” he said, as he strode to the elevators.

His mother’s bracelet. The thought rooted her to the spot.

Some of the other girls stopped working to gawk. Angelica put her arm around Margarita's shoulders and asked, “Margarita, what happened?”

Margarita shook her head, afraid to tell anyone. The fire escape seemed the only way to avoid a disastrous confrontation. She ran to the door.

8th floor

The generator for the sewing machines on the eighth and ninth floors stood droning away in the southwest corner of the room. It hiccuped once, then threw a uni-colored shower of orange sparks into the air. The shirtwaists, hanging from the ceiling on ropes, sent up a plume of smoke.

Betty Susner manned the phones while working on the payroll for Harris and Blanc Enterprises. Her main job was to keep track of all 300 employees. The system in place to keep track of all of them was for everyone to enter through the fire escape and leave through the elevators.

She paused over her journal when a commotion started at the other end of the room. Smoke and flames licked along the ceiling as screams of “Fire!” sent a wave of panicking girls toward her.

Betty picked up the phone and rang the tenth floor. No answer. Her desk sat on an elevated platform, but the swirl of screaming girls made it impossible to see the fire. Standing on her chair, she observed several men throwing pails filled with water on the hanging shirtwaists.

She rang the tenth floor again. The receiver slid from her fingers as the rope of shirtwaists gave way, sending fire and sparks to the floor. “Hello? Hello! Betty, is that you?” The voice jerked her attention back to the receiver dangling from her hand. “Fire! There’s a fire on the eighth floor!” She slammed the phone down and dialed the servicemen who ran the elevators.

The girls pushed, screamed, and shoved their way to the elevator doors. Desperate cries turned to a fever pitch as an elevator car came into view. “Help us! For God’s sake, help us!” The car carried people from the tenth floor down and never came back up.

Screams filled the air. The girl's skirts started to catch fire. Glass shattered from both sides of the room as the girls broke windows to yell for help and escape the smoke.

Betty charged into the crowd which was growing frenzied by the moment as flames ate up more space. Smoke stung her eyes and she buried her nose and mouth in the crook of arm. She shoved, elbowed, and swung her arms to clear a path to the fire escape. “Let me through!” she tried to yell over the pandemonium. “Let me through!” she yelled again, gripping an ordinary dull metal key in her right hand. There were only two keys for the Harris Shirtwaist Factory. The one in Betty's hand, and the other one with Mr. Blanc on the tenth floor.

The group of girls pressed up against the fire escape door were in a complete panic. Only the ones nearest Betty could hear her shouting, “I have the key. Let me through! I have the key.” She started dragging girls back from the door by their hair. I’ll be hanged if I’m going to die today!

Shouts rose above the chaos. Betty glanced over her shoulder to see the men who were trying to put out the fire earlier, now prying the elevator doors open. A large number of girls left the fire escape door for the elevators. Betty shoved the remaining girls away from the fire escape door. She pushed the key in the lock, gave it a twist and yanked back on the door knob. The girls pushed forward. She yelled in frustration, trying to get them to understand the door opened inwards.

Betty managed to open the door halfway. Smoke poured out the opening burning her eyes and making her cough. Screaming and coughing the girls squeezed through the crack as Betty fumbled with the key in the lock. She had to get the key and open the door on the ninth floor, otherwise, everyone on that floor would perish in this nightmare.

The key came loose from the lock. She clutched it to her chest and tried to keep her footing as the stream of girls carried her around the door and into the enclosed fire escape. Betty heard shouts. “It's open! This way!”

A surge of people shoved her forward as the door opened wider. Betty stumbled, losing her balance. She threw her arms wide to catch herself as she tumbled backwards. The key floated in front of her eyes for a moment. She stretched out her hand to catch it, but the relentless flow of bodies carried her down the stairs. The key fell and disappeared from her sight.

10th floor

The manager from the ninth floor stormed out of the elevator and up to Mr. Harris. “Sorry to bother you sir, but I thought you’d want to see this.” He dangled the broken bracelet in front of Mr. Harris.

“Yes?” Mr. Harris said. John jumped up from his chair and crossed the room in several long strides to snatch the bracelet from the manager’s hand. The manager stepped back.

“Let me see it, John.”

“Father, I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Father, I gave the bracelet as a token of my affection.”

“To who?”

A phone rang in the background unanswered. No one was going to answer it and miss the family drama unfolding in front of them.

The manager spoke up. “I figured she stole it. Girl like that wouldn’t have any use for something so fancy.”

“Who?” asked Mr. Harris again.

“Mar...” the manager started to say.

John spoke rapidly, “I gave it to a girl as a token of my affection. Margarita must have found it. I’m sure she planned to return the bracelet.”

“Margarita was wearing it,” the manager said softly.

John’s eyes narrowed as he dangled the broken bracelet in front of the manager's face. “How? It’s broken.”

“She was wearing it.”

John faced the manager and leaned in. “I’m sure she would have returned the bracelet, given the chance.”

The manager stepped back further and turned to Mr. Harris. “Sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

“Fine.” Mr. Harris waved his hand to send him off and pulled John aside. “Who is Margarita? And will someone answer that phone?”

John’s eyes wandered to the far wall, his mind racing to form an explanation when he heard people gasp in alarm.

“Mr. Harris! Mr. Blanc! Betty just called, there’s a fire on the eighth floor!”

“Smoke!” John's gaze followed the pointing fingers. Smoke rose up like long tendrils of black hair.

“Calm down, everyone! Head to the roof,” Mr. Harris commanded.

John turned as the people nearest the elevator doors ran and crammed themselves inside. The elevator operator yelled above the crush of people trying to get in, “Mr. Harris!”

“Go on, it’s all right. We’re heading to the roof,” called out Mr. Blanc, whose desk stood a few feet away. He strode to Mr. Harris and clapped him on the back. “Thank goodness this building is fire-proof,” he said as he moved to the fire escape door.

A crowd blocked his path. Mr. Blanc raised a meaty fist in the air. He opened his hand slightly. A dull metallic key dropped down and swung back and forth from a gold chain. “Make way! I have the key.”

John's eyes fixated on the key swinging above Mr. Blanc's head. He turned toward his father. “Margarita’s on the ninth floor. Who else has the key?”

“John, we need to get to the roof, now.” His father took hold of John's jacket and dragged him to the fire escape door.

“Who else has the key?” John shouted trying to pull free. As they neared the fire escape door, John saw Mr. Blanc heading up the stairs. “The key! Mr. Blanc, I need the key!”

Mr. Blanc shouted over his shoulder. “Get to the roof, son, we’ll be fine there.”

“Please, Mr. Blanc! I need to open the fire escape door on the ninth floor.” John ran after him, shoving people aside. He heard angry cries and some people shoved back. Mr. Blanc stood by the open doorway to the roof. John caught a glimpse of bright blue sky above his head.

“Mr. Blanc I need the key!”

John saw a puzzled look cross Mr. Blanc's face as he stared for a moment at the key he held in his hand. He looked at John and replied, “Don't worry John, Betty has the other key. She's probably already opened the door and let everyone out.”

As John reached the open doorway, the panic that had tightened John's chest lessened. He knew Betty to be a firm, but kind-hearted woman. Even though he was sure Betty would get everyone out of the ninth floor, he still needed to see for himself. He looked over his shoulder to tell his father when a rolling black cloud of smoke billowed out, smudging the afternoon sky.

John caught his father as he spilled out of the doorway onto the roof and set him down gently. He turned and snatched the key from Mr. Blanc's hand.

As he raced into the blackened stairway, he heard his father begging him to come back.

9th floor

Margarita wrapped both hands around the door knob and tugged at the fire escape door. She heard Angelica behind. “It’s locked until the shift is over.”

She slammed her palm down on the door. “I have to get out of here, right now. Who has the key?”

“Miss Betty downstairs. You'll have to take the elevator.”

Margarita spun on her heel, pushed past her friend and started running down the aisle toward the elevators.

The elevator glided into view. Margarita paused at the sight of the elevator jammed full of people. Angelica called out behind her, “Margarita, just come back to work.”

A scream pierced the air. “Smoke!” She spun around and saw a girl pointing out the window. Black smoke floated heavenward.

Margarita turned in a circle watching the smoke fan out and spread down both rows of windows lining the room. Girls jumped up from their chairs and scurried to the center of the floor. She felt someone squeeze her arm. Angelica's frightened eyes stared into hers. Seconds ticked by of confused quiet murmuring until fingers of flame reached between the floor boards. Margarita and Angelica clutched each other. The circle of girls burst apart. Some ran for the elevators, while others ran to the fire escape door.

At the elevators, the only man working on her floor, a sewing machine mechanic, and several girls were prying the elevator doors open. When the elevator doors gave way, the mechanic and girls started tumbling into the black hole. She jerked her head away and squeezed her eyes shut.

Breaking glass made Margarita open her eyes again. Smoke rolled into the room making her choke and cough. She spun with her friend in a tight circle, holding their ground as all around them girls were jumping out of the windows and down the elevator shaft. A small group of girls who had chosen to stay by the fire escape door in the hopes that someone would open it were engulfed in flames.

Margarita made her decision. She drug Angelica to an open window, tears streaming down her face. She climbed up on the window sill, then reached down and pulled Angelica up. Margarita took Angelica's hand and looked down. Groups of men held blankets trying to catch the falling girls. Angelica whispered, “Don't look down.” Margarita met her eyes, took both of her hands and jumped.

The Roof

John fell out of the fire escape doorway. He heard his father yell for help, then felt hands dragging him away from the smoke that was choking him. He lay coughing violently unable to speak or hardly breathe. A handkerchief was pressed to his eyes. His ears rang with sirens, shouts, screams, and thuds like sacks of potatoes being stacked up in a pile.

The black smoke was too thick. He never made it to the ninth floor and the thuds and screams that reached his ears left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The people on the ninth floor were dying. John sat huddled in on himself through the chaos, tears streaming down his blackened face. The key to the fire escape door slipped from his hand and made a small clink as it landed safely on the roof.