18. An Island of Darkness and Secrets - 1927
It had been nearly two terrible days since her precious Lily had disappeared: May’s last gift to her late husband, Samuel, and his to her.
She was gone, and yet May could still feel the trusting weight of her little one as she settled against the curve of her body at night, could still smell the sweat-and-powder scent of Lily’s hair.
Sometimes she could swear she heard Lily’s high, clear voice calling her, only to realize it was a trick, the curl of the wind beneath the eaves.
Twice, she’d woken from dreams in which Lily was lost, wandering a house made of endless hallways, with May always a step behind her. Never able to reach her, to help.
May had thought losing Samuel was the worst pain she would ever experience, but how wrong she’d been.
The knowledge that while she’d been sitting in a crowded factory, laboring to piece together garments she’d never wear, her youngest daughter had been lost to her forever…
it was unbearable. She blamed Samuel, for dying and leaving her responsible for so many children, with bupkis to her name.
Her mother, for being foolish enough to send Susi and Lily down into the courtyard unsupervised, wearing little more than schmattes.
And Susi most of all, for not having the good sense to watch out for her little sister.
Every time May looked at Susi, all she saw was everything she’d lost. Susi had apologized again and again, but May couldn’t bring herself to look at her daughter.
Far less did she have the strength to offer comfort.
Her heart was a cold, dry thing. There was no room inside it for anything but grief, blowing through it like frosty wind through a tunnel.
May had been to every orphanage and foundling house in the city, looking for Lily.
She had no photograph of her daughter to share.
Instead, she stumbled through the dirty snow, her threadbare coat clutched tight around her, knocking on one door after another, only to be turned away.
At night, she’d peered into alleyways where the newsboy urchins slept, curled around each other for warmth beneath blankets made of the broadsheets they sold.
Over and over again, she lifted the newspapers, looking for Lily, demanding in Yiddish and broken English whether any of the children had seen her daughter.
This high, she’d said, raising her hand to her waist. Big eyes. Blond curls. You’ve seen her, nu?
But over and over again, at the orphanages and workhouses and on the streets, the answer was the same. No. No. No.
Now she stood in front of the last place she knew to try: the Divine Grace Home for Children.
Above her, heavy clouds weighted the sky.
The sidewalks were slick with ice, and gouts of wind whipped around the corner of the stone building, buffeting the cornices.
They crept through the cracks, howling. The clatter of the street was overwhelming—the hollers of the newsboys, the roar of car engines, the banter of street vendors.
But as she stood, afraid to knock, inside May’s mind everything went cold and dark and still.
What if Lily wasn’t here? Worse still, what if she was, but all that was left for May to find was her corpse?
May drew a deep breath. Even the air was different here, unfamiliar. Outside her home, it was thick with the stench of sauerkraut and pickles, the reek of fish and the familiar, fried-oil scent of potato knishes. Here, it smelled only of car exhaust and the harsh, cold bite of snow.
It smelled as empty as May felt inside.
She lifted her hand to knock. Her knuckles were bruised, from all the doors she’d hammered on today. Her head swam, dizzy from hunger and grief.
A woman opened it, dressed all in white. “Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”
May opened her mouth to ask about Lily, as she had so many times before. But to her horror, all that came out was a low moan.
“Can I help you?” the woman said again. Her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected May might be meshugenah.
May searched for the words in English, the ones she had uttered over and over again. But they wouldn’t come. Instead, all that came out was a flood of Yiddish, each word louder than the next. Desperate, she clutched at the woman’s sleeve. Help me, she wanted to say. Help us.
“I don’t speak…that.” The woman’s caterpillar-like eyebrows lowered. “And if you don’t let go of me, I’ll have to have you removed.”
Panic built in May’s chest. This was her last chance to find her daughter. She couldn’t be sent away. Tears overflowed, streaking down her cheeks. She pulled the woman closer, terrified that she would slam the door in May’s face, separating her from Lily forever.
“Let go of me!” The woman tugged at May’s fingers, trying to loosen her grip. “Let go this instant!”
But May couldn’t. I’m sorry, she meant to say, but out of her mouth came the words she’d been told at every place she looked. “No,” she wailed. “No. No. No.”
The dark clouds that had massed above them opened, and the rain came down, soaking them both. Over the boom of thunder, May pleaded with the woman in white to listen, to tell her if she’d seen her daughter. This high. Big eyes. Blond curls.
But the next thing May knew, a man was there, tearing the woman from her grip. His words rose over the roaring of blood that filled her ears, the wail of the wind and the rumble of thunder: Police. Leave now. Don’t come back.
Some small part of May wanted to laugh. What good would the police do?
She’d gone to them for her Lily. Begged them to help.
But they’d paid her little attention, barely taking the time to write down her daughter’s description.
When she’d pleaded, they’d told her a hundred children disappeared in the city every day. That Lily was nothing special.
To the officer, Lily might be drek. But to May, she was everything.
The man’s face was inches from hers, ruddy with rage, his hair plastered to his cheeks. His lips moved, and though May couldn’t make out the words, she understood his intention well enough. You’re not welcome here. We have nothing for you. Get out. Out. Out.
“Lily,” May shrieked, as loud as she could, just in case her daughter was there and could hear. “Lily!”
The door slammed, leaving her on the other side. Above her, no window creaked open to reveal her sweet daughter’s face. No one answered her call.
Alone and weeping, May stood on the street, in the city of water and wind. It was a hungry city, built to devour lost souls and dreamers, lifting up the lucky few. An island of darkness and secrets, glittering skyscrapers and the words of a thousand tongues.
The city waited; it wanted.
Gulping, Manhattan opened its throat and swallowed May Dressler whole.