Ellis Island Read Online Free PDF

either. I needed my parents’ permission to see him so that everything could be back the way it had been before.
    My mother didn’t notice at all. That was my fault. I always ate breakfast alone, and she picked up the bowl of porridge and scooped the leftover mush away into the bin without even looking. At dinner I was frightened of offending her, so I swirled the food around and made it look as if I had eaten some of it. My mother was as thin as a rake and not interested in eating herself, so she didn’t pay attention to any food I left behind. By the end of the second day, I was feeling very weak. Not wanting to cheat, I had even given my school bun and milk to Kathleen. On the third day I was late for school because I had to sit down on the road to rest. I realized this was going to be much, much harder than I had thought, and I hadn’t even got my message across.
    On the fourth day I felt floaty and light-headed. After my mother threw away my breakfast again, I murmured five decades of the rosary and prayed that my father would have his tea with us that evening. If we could eat formally at the dining-room table, I could sit throughout with my hands on my lap and he would notice my protest. But he didn’t. My fifth day of not eating was a Saturday, and I was too weak to get out of bed. My mother called me from the bottom of the stairs for my breakfast, but I could not move. She came up to see what was the matter. She stood at end of the bed. “Are you sick?” she said.
    I whispered, “I have a tummy pain.”
    “I’ll bring your breakfast up.”
    At last, I thought, she’ll notice.
    Ten minutes later, she came back up. She helped me sit up in bed and placed a tray across my lap. The tray had a cloth on it that was embroidered with flowers and swallows. I wondered if she had embroidered it herself or if someone had given it to her, but I didn’t ask. On the tray was a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea in a china cup and saucer.
    “I’m not hungry.”
    My father came into the room. He was dressed and ready to go out for the day. He was in a hurry to get away, and seemed even more distracted and cross than usual. “What’s the matter with her?”
    “She doesn’t feel well.”
    “Is she not eating her breakfast?”
    “It’s probably best she doesn’t eat if she feels sick.”
    He picked the spoon up and let some porridge slop back into the bowl. “Perhaps you should give the child something she might want to eat.”
    My mother’s lips clamped into a tight line. She picked up the tray and went downstairs.
    He followed her, saying, “If she’s not better later, I’ll call Doctor Bourke out to her. I’ll be back by six.”
    I lay down and drifted quickly off to sleep.
    I woke up to the sound of Doctor Bourke’s gentle voice. He was leaning over me, saying, “Wake up, Ellie, now, there’s a good girl.” It was dark outside and the faces of my parents, who stood behind him, glowed orange in the lamplight. They looked warm and worried. For a moment I felt happy, as the doctor checked my pulse and felt my forehead. “Her temperature is normal, but her blood pressure is very low. She’s pale—you say she wouldn’t eat earlier and she’s been asleep like this all day? Has she been vomiting?”
    “She’s been perfect all week,” my mother said.
    “Eating all right?”
    “Well, yes.”
    I knew I had to say something, otherwise this could go on forever and I might die. “I haven’t eaten for five days.” It burst out in a sudden shout, which surprised me—and them. My mother took a sharp breath and put her hands up to her mouth. Her eyes went wide and frantic as if I had let out a terrible secret. Perhaps she had known all along and wanted me to die? My father looked at my mother. She looked back at my father, shaking her head.
    Only Doctor Bourke looked at me. “Have you been feeling this sick for five whole days, Ellie?”
    Would my father and mother be mortified if I told the doctor how I