I had woken up to the sound of the boat arriving at the dock of Ellis Island, New York. My name is Nora Murphy, I am 17 years old, and I am coming to America from St. John's Roscommon, Ireland. My dream was to come to America for a better life for me and my family. As the boat rocked gently, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Leaving my home was hard, but I knew that this journey was my chance for a brighter future.

    My sister Cecilia already lives here with her husband Gregory and their two kids, Margaret and George. I can hardly contain my excitement to finally meet my niece and nephew! The thought of hugging them fills me with warmth. Unfortunately, my parents, John and Mary Murphy, did not have enough money to come to America with me, which weighs heavily on my heart. I wish they could share this new beginning with me.

    America is the land of opportunities! I hope that I can get a good job that will help my parents come to America sooner, so Cecilia won’t have to worry about the bills as much anymore. I can already picture a life where we can all be together, free from the struggles of poverty. My life is going to change dramatically, I just know it!

    As soon as I stepped off the boat, my hopes and dreams began to fizzle away. As an Irish woman, I am naturally Catholic. However, in "the land of opportunity," being Catholic did not give me a head start in my journey; it did just the opposite. The fact that I was a woman did not help my cause either.

    I was unaware that anti-Catholic sentiment was prevalent during this time. Cecilia warned me that since we are Catholic, some people see us as untrustworthy, making my odds of getting a decent education or job even slimmer. I was greatly startled by this; no one back in Ireland or in Cecilia's letters informed me that life would be like this for us in America.

    The struggle to find a job and education was terrible. We were losing more and more money the longer I went without a job. Many shops and even some sweatshops turned me away because I was Irish and Catholic.

    After a while of getting doors slammed in my face and being rejected from jobs, I started to look for an education. But Cecilia and Gregory really needed the extra money, so for now, I had to push my education to the side. All this rejection made me think I was the problem. Why did I have to be Irish? Why did I have to be a woman? Why did I have to be Catholic?

    I started to become depressed; I felt like an outcast in society. Cecilia and the rest of the family were barely getting by, paying for bills and groceries. Everyone was going through hardship because I couldn't get a job. Even my parents in Ireland were suffering.

    One night, as I was coming home from being turned away from yet another job, I heard footsteps following me. “Is someone following me?” I thought to myself. I turned around and found nobody there. How odd.

    Finally, a few weeks later, I got a job at a sewing factory named “Charlee’s Sewingshop.” My job was to sew garments and pants for men’s work suits. The pay was only about six to seven dollars a week, but it was better than having no income at all.

    The environment at the factory was outrageous. I could have a whole dollar knocked from my paycheck if I went to the bathroom or even whispered. Many rooms in the factory had little to no ventilation or windows, so the air was gross and stagnant. I had to be at my station by six a.m., and I didn’t get to leave until eight p.m. On top of that, we had one thirty-minute break for lunch.

    After coming back from work, my living conditions were far from pleasant as well. Cecilia’s family and I were all living together in a tenement. Our building had no plumbing, street cleanup, or electricity. People dumped feces into the streets, which caused disease and even death for some. The other immigrants in our tenement were German brothers, Gustav and Otto Adelburg. There was also an Italian family, but they kept to themselves. All I knew was that their daughter, who was around my age, was named Inez.

    The Italian girl who lives in the tenement with me, Inez, also started working at Charlee’s Sewingshop Factory. Sometimes it can be hard for us to talk to each other because of our accents. She always says I talk funny, but I think it's the other way around.

    Inez and I have become very good friends. During our time off from the factory, we always hang out and sometimes go to the library together. Recently, she has been talking about a young man named Peter. From her description, Peter seems to be a total catch. I wondered if I would ever find someone like Peter to go dancing with on my nights off and even bring home to the family.

    “I wonder if Peter will ask me to marry him someday,” Inez pondered.

    “You guys have only been going out for a week and a half, Inez! How do you know he’s the one?” Nora asked.

    “Oh! But he’s just so great! He takes me out to dance whenever we get the chance; that's how you know he's a real man. Don’t worry, Nor, we’ll find you a real man too,” Inez winked.

    A few weeks have gone by, and the extra money from the factory is really helping at home. My wage covers most of the groceries and other necessities for the house. This has allowed Gregory to start saving up for a family business. Gregory is quite crafty and wants to open a furniture store for the family to run. I think this is a great idea; I just hope it works out for him.

    This Saturday night, Inez wants me to accompany her, Peter, and his mystery friend to go out dancing. I told Inez that he better be cute, or there will be consequences!

    Saturday night rolls around, and I put on a green dress to complement my red hair. Cecilia tells me I look beautiful.

    Knock, knock, knock.

    “I’ll get it!” Nora yells as she half sprints to the door.

    “Hello… Madam, I am Franc. Inez told me that you wanted to go dancing with me tonight,” Franc says with a smirk.

    “Did she say that? Because I'm pretty sure I planned on going out with her, Peter, and one of Peter’s friends,” Nora says suspiciously.

    “Yes! I am one of Peter’s friends, but they told me you wanted to go out with me alone,” Franc replies, confused.

    “Then I guess let's make the best of it,” Nora says as she shuts the door behind her. “Let's go dancing!”

    “So, Franc, where are you from? I haven’t heard an accent like yours yet,” Nora asked.

“I am from Austria-Hungary. Most immigrants from there go to Chicago, but I found myself here instead. Peter told me you are from Ireland. Why did you come here?” Franc questioned. 

“Yes, I am from Ireland. I came here to live with my sister and her family in hopes of a better life. Back in Ireland, we were facing political unrest, and my parents wanted to get me out of there in case anything terrible happened. My family and I are trying to save up to buy tickets for my parents to come here. What do you do for work?” Nora answered. “I had quite the struggle finding a job.”

    “I am a craftsman. I came over here with hopes of opening my own store. My family has been craftsmen for many years, and I hope to carry on the legacy!” Franc boasted.

    “My sister's husband is looking to open a family business that sells furniture! Hopefully, we won't have too much competition,” Nora flirted.

    “Maybe one day I'll be family, so there won't be any competition,” Franc flirted back.

They arrived at the dancing lounge and continued to talk and dance until Nora knew Cecilia would yell at her for being out so late.    

    After that night dancing, Franc started to come around more often. He began to learn my schedule and would bring lunch for Inez and me with Peter. He would even show up outside my tenement early in the morning to walk me to work. Cecilia made sure to let me know I needed to prioritize money for the family instead of hanging out with some boy, especially as Gregory's business was getting closer to opening.

    Working at the factory has become harder and harder. There are children in there who I've seen have had their fingers and even arms chopped off by the machines. One lady who works at a station near mine got fired because she was sick and took too long in the bathroom. This cannot keep happening; something has to change!

A few weeks later, a factory called the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory caught fire. Someone had smoked a cigarette and dropped it into a trash bin filled with leftover fabric. One hundred forty-six people died in that factory fire because the doors to exit were locked! Why were they locked, you ask? Apparently, to “stop theft from the factory.”

    Due to the fire, reform movements began to gain momentum, specifically focusing on working conditions, labor unions, and women's suffrage.

    As Inez and I were walking home from our shift at the factory, a lady began to follow us.

    “Are you young women coming back from working in a factory?” the lady asked.

    “Yes, we are. Why do you ask?” I replied.

    “I am a representative of the women's suffrage movement. Do you want to help make a change?” the lady said.

    “I don't think we can afford to make a change,” Inez stated. “We have our families to feed; we can't just stop working!” I added.

    “I understand. If you young ladies change your mind, here is a card with my name on it and the address of where you can find me,” the lady said before turning into the darkness.

    The card read: “Hope Smith, National Woman Suffrage Association representative. Address: 87 Hewes Street.”

    “I don't know if this would be a good idea, Inez. I can't just quit working at the factory for something that might not even change!” I worried.

    “I agree; we need to talk to Cecilia about this. She will give us guidance,” Inez replied.

    The following day after work, the girls planned to talk to Cecilia about the woman who had approached them the prior night. They did not know whether to join the cause and stand for what they believed in or continue working at the awful factory to support their families.

On Sunday, when the girls finally had their day off, they went with Cecilia to the address written on the card. The building was tucked away at the very end of the street. Cecilia walked up first and knocked on the door. A few moments later, the same woman, Hope, who had stopped them on the street, opened the door.

“Hello, girls! I am so glad to see you again!” Hope cheered.

“The girls have not made their final decision yet; we have come to ask some questions,” Cecilia stated.

“Yes, I understand. Come right in, and we can talk,” Hope answered with a smile.

Cecilia led the two girls into the building and sat in the foyer. They all sat on the same sofa across from a single chair where Hope sat.

“What questions can I help you with?” Hope asked warmly.

“How would we support our families if we join this movement? The rallies take place during the hours we would be working in the factory,” Inez asked first.

“Very good question,” Hope smiled. “The National Woman Suffrage Association pays women who are part of the movement because we know you will likely lose your jobs. While the money is only four to five dollars a week, it is better than no income at all.”

“What rules must we follow during these rallies?” I asked next.

“The main rules you must follow are to never call anyone scabs, understand that not all women have to join, and never get violent,” Hope replied sternly.