and she came down and told me that Rose was laying there sick. She can’t talk. They got in touch with Frank, and they took her to a hospital. She had a stroke. After that, they took her to a convalescent home in Willow Grove. Celia and I would go with all the trolley cars to visit Rose. Her boyfriend used to take us to the trolley car when we went home. I told Frank I didn’t think I should come next week to see Rose. She doesn’t seem too happy to see us. We are all dressed up, and she is laying there sick. Rose told Frank that she was going to die he would marry one of these girls. He wanted to make sure that she shouldn’t get upset and get sick again, so he told her, ‘If that is the only thing that bothers you, tomor- row morning let’s take a cab and go to city hall and take out our license and get married. Even if you have to still be in Willow Grove, at least you can be sure that I am married to you.’ In the meantime, the doctor told him that he could never marry her, that her heart could never take married life. He felt that if he had married her a week before and she took sick, it could happen once you got married. He didn’t want to have it on his conscience that she took sick because he let her go. They took a cab the next day and on the way in the cab she took another stroke, for the worse. Instead of going with her to city hall, they went to the hospital. She died there that day. Frank got in touch with everybody. In those days they didn’t have an undertaker. Jewish people had a place if they didn’t have anyone, Chevra Kadisha. The Synagogue used to have a garage on Fitzwater Street. They would bring the body there. Rose’s step-sister and brother-in-law wouldn’t make it alone because they felt it would leave them with a bad memory. We were six or seven girls. All finishers from the shop. I cried my heart out. She was so beautiful. I knew her people in Russia. We came from the same area. Frank didn’t care about the other girls crying, but he wouldn’t let me cry. He told me he did everything he could for her and he didn’t want me to cry and make things bad for myself. After the funeral, he hired a beautiful
white carriage and white roses for Rose, and he buried her like a millionaire. The step-sis- ter told him that Rose had saved up $800 and if he wanted, he could take her money to pay for doctors and hospitals. He refused to take her money. He told the step-sister, ‘If Rose got better and Rose finds out that her money went for doctors and medicines, she will eat herself up alive.’ He pawned his suits to take care of her. He felt that money couldn’t buy him. Today, I have no money, and tomorrow I will have money. That’s the way Pop was. A week went by and another week went by. There were no telephones to talk to him. He lived with his sister, Mary, who had four children. FALLING IN LOVE I asked, my friend Goldie, ‘What would you think if I went to Frank to have a suit made.’ I had something else, a fashion in mind. It was too early to think about it. I had a piece of material that I had purchased from a peddler. I went there. I saw the way he handled Rose and how could you not like a person like that? He was so good to her. He made me a blue serge suit, and I wore it over a green petticoat, and half of the green petticoat showed through. This was the style. It had big sleeves. I had a beautiful velvet hat. He used to come to fit the suit at my place. The more I saw him, the more I liked him. I told the lady of the house, Mrs. Lit, who was a very lovely woman. She took an interest in me like a mother. I just boarded there for $2.50 a week. She knew I was in love with him. I bought my own food there. She gave me the front room in her home, and I was satisfied. Anyhow, she went to him. He couldn’t make up his mind about me. It was only a few months after Rose’s death. He was broken-hearted. He liked that girl, Rose, as long as it happened, he was going to take his time. He didn’t have a penny to his name. He had noth- ing to offer a girl. Every suit he made was in the pawnshop. Mrs. Lit told him, ‘Mr. Shooster, Miss Goldstein ...’ When I went to get a job, they asked my real name and told them, Chomut.
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