Travel magazine

The Land Of Opportunity

I look over the railings of the ship into the immense waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
My stomach churns, and I hurl into the waters once again. I feel Martin’s hand return to
it’s spot on my back, but that does little to ease the nauseousness. He rubs his thumb in
circles in the middle of my spine, which truly does make me feel better. I whip my hand
behind me, hoping to pat his leg to let him know I’m thankful, but instead I accidentally
slap his knee and receive a slight grunt in return.

“Sorry!” I say groggily, bringing my hand to my stomach once again.
“Louisa!” Martin stops rubbing my back.
“Martin, I said I’m sorry, don’t be like-”
“Louisa!” he lightly taps my back.
I spin around, barely staying upright. Now, I’m downright flustered with him.
“Mar-” he takes my face in his hands and forces me to look to the left. Then to
the right. People from all over the ship are now lining up at the railings. I follow where all
their gazes seem to go, when I see it. The skyline of America! The Land of Opportunity!
I stare into Martin’s excited deep blue eyes, and he slips his hand in mine.

********************
“Thank you, Mrs. Baker. I will not fail you!” I walk out of the shop door, and into
the busy streets of lower Manhattan. Many people are running about, some even
bumping my shoulder occasionally. Although, I suppose I’ve gotten used to it by now.
Even in the new cold December air, I’m still more comfortable now than I was when we
arrived in August. I lay my hand on my rounded stomach and silently hope our new
arrival somehow feels the same way in a few months.
“I got it, Martin! Mrs. Baker said I could work for her. I start tomorrow!” I yell into
our little tenement as I walk in the front door. He comes out from our little kitchen space
and quickly embraces me.
“That’s wonderful, Louisa! This is a matter of the utmost importance!” He swings
me around off my feet.
“You must be careful Martin,” I remind him, gesturing toward my abdomen as he
sets me down.
“My mistake, Louisa. How is the little one today?”
“Very good. Although, we have the rest of the day ahead of us,” I answer him.
“Well, I’m off to work at the mine again. Have a wonderful day Louisa,” he kisses
my temple.
“And you, Martin.”
Later, as the sun set on yet another day in Manhattan, I spent most of my night
writing about the journey we’ve had so far. I wrote poems among other things, mostly

reflecting on the past 3 months. Of course getting here was quite the trek, and finding
jobs for the both of us was even harder, but I know both of us (soon to be the 3 of us)
are very happy. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of the childhood I had, and the
hopefully different one my children will have. When I was younger, my mother hit me. At
first, I thought it was normal. It was happening to so many other kids, and it was even
happening at the schoolhouse I briefly attended when I was just 8 years old. After a
while, it starting happening more frequently, and the hitting became..harder. I sat in our
little tenement, and became thankful that our reason to come to America was because
we wanted our children to have better lives, away from my family. I can only hope our
children have many more educational opportunities than their father and I did.

In the spur of the moment, there is a knock at the door. I leisurely walk over to
open it, not knowing who it could be. Just as I reached for the knob, three more rapid
knocks came from the other side. I turn the knob and immediately see the frantic look
on my neighbor, Margaret’s face.

Frantically, I ask, “Margaret, what is it?”
“Louisa... it’s going around... coal mines... they-they’re trapped!” she gasps in
between rapid breaths. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks.
“Slow down Margaret,” I try to comfort her. She begins taking deep breaths.
“Louisa, there is word going around that there has been a collapsing at the coal
mine where Martin and Oscar work,” she cries. My legs all of a sudden feel very weak.
“Oh dear. Have you heard how many people are trapped? Or who? Oh Margaret,
what if our boys are in there?” I question.
“I don’t know who’s in there Louisa. I hope it’s not our husbands,” she puts a
hand on my shoulder, and starts to leave.
“Margaret,” I start, “would you like to stay in here with me until they come home?”
She nods, and walks in as I see tears well in her eyes. We sit down at the table
by the window, and look out the street hopefully. I make Margaret and I the rest of the
tea we have, and we wait. Hours pass, and pretty soon it’s too late into the night for
either of us to keep our eyes open. Finally, at about 2 in the morning Margaret goes
back to her and Oscar’s tendement.
“Goodbye Margaret. Rest easy,” I say to her as she walks out the door. I
exhaustedly walk over to the table, pick up the mugs, and put them in the sink. I’m
tempted to wash them in the morning, but knowing I most likely won’t sleep, I start to fill
the sink. I can’t help the tears beginning to spill from my eyes. Fear consumes my
thoughts, and I can barely wash the mugs for my hands are shaking so much.
Then, I hear it. It was barely a whisper but I turn off the sink anyways and slowly
start to turn around.

“Louisa.” I turn around, and I see him. There he is, dirty and clearly worn out, but
there he is. I cover my mouth with my hands, and tears once again well up in my eyes.
He swiftly walks over to me, and wraps his arms around me.

“Oh Martin,” I choke out, “I’ve been so very worried about you.” He rubs his
thumb in circles in the middle of my spine.

“I’m home, Louisa. I’m home.”
********************

I look into her beautiful blue eyes. Just like her father’s. Her little hand wraps
around my pointer finger.

“Eliza Helen Crowell, welcome to The Land of opportunity.”