Bread and Roses, Too (23 page)

Dear Rosa,

You have heard about the truble at the railway stashnn I think. Do
not worry. Mamma and I are fine. I got a bruz on my arm and Mamma got a bump on her head, but we are ok. We are home from jail. The polees took Ricci to the poor Farm. We did not no where he was, but he is home now and ok to. Mamma says she is sory to giv you so much wory.

The strike is big and better than befor. Mamma says it is wirth a bump on her head and three nites in jail for shure. WE ARE GOING TO WIN. Soon you can come home. We all mis you. Grany J. says the bed is to cold.

Your loving sister Anna,
Mamma and Ricci to

She folded the letter very carefully and returned it to its envelope before she let herself burst into tears.

He supposed he had to tell Rosa, but it included so much lying and hiding the truth that he put it off. She was too worried about her family. She didn't need to hear all his woes—but she would have to, sooner or later. He would wait, he decided, until the strike was truly over. She would be so happy at the thought of going home that she wouldn't waste her time being mad at him and all he'd put her through.

He was still puzzling over his talk with Mr. Gerbati Sunday night. The man had caught him, as they say, red-handed, trying to break into his safe. He hadn't called the police. He hadn't called any of his Italian pals. He had called Duncan.
Because he thought I was Scotch. Even then I was sure he would send me back to Lawrence the next day. But, no, he takes me into his parlor and talks to me. He makes a bargain with me, just like I'm somebody.
But the bargain was that he would stop lying, and if he hadn't told all that many lies to Rosa, he had certainly never told her the truth.

At work he was a demon of energy, racing to the blacksmith shop with points to be sharpened and racing back again, shoveling grout until his shoulders groaned, clearing fresh snow from the path to the door—indeed, doing every job Mr. Gerbati gave him with such speed and devotion that he hardly recognized himself. Now there were only two things left to do. The first was to tell Rosa everything. That should be easy, but he kept putting it off. Then there was the other matter. This, too, he put off, because it meant a kind of begging he'd never let himself stoop to before. Oh, sure, he had begged Mr. Gerbati not to call the police, but he did that out of sheer terror, without any thought. He had turned this new request over in his mind so many times, he had almost worn it out. How could he put it into words? He had tried a thousand times and no words seemed good enough.

The strike would soon be over. Everyone said so. And when the strike was over, the Lawrence children would be sent home. He had to speak to Mr. Gerbati right away. But how?

Barre's entire North End followed the developments in Lawrence as closely as though they'd been mill workers themselves. They still held benefits in the Labor Hall and the opera house, sending the money to the Wobblies in Lawrence. They read almost breathlessly the accounts in the newspapers of the testimony in Washington. The president's own wife, Mrs. William Howard Taft, had gone to hear children from Lawrence talk about their lives in the mills—how they had to sweep the mill floors after working hours for no pay, how money was taken from their meager wages for the water they drank, how little Camella Teoli's hair got caught in the machine and she was scalped.

On Tuesday, March the twelfth, the long-awaited telegram came from Lawrence. Mr. Billy Wood had surrendered. He would meet the strikers' demands—every single one of them. The rest of the mill owners fell like tiles in a game of dominoes. And on Thursday, the fourteenth of March, in the year of our Lord 1912, twenty-five thousand men, women, and children mill workers gathered on Lawrence common and voted to return to work.

The time had come for the Lawrence children to go home. The Barre newspaper on Saturday the sixteenth asked all the families who were hosting children to meet at the Labor Hall the next day, between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m., to make arrangements for the visitors' return. When Mrs. Gerbati and Rosa got home from Mass, Mrs. Gerbati served, with many apologies, an abbreviated breakfast, and then she and Mr. Gerbati headed for the Labor Hall.

Jake and Rosa were left at the house. The committee thought it would be easier for the adults to sort out the details without the children present. "You study now, Salvatore," Mrs. Gerbati said. "Is good chance. Then you go home and show off to Mamma, yes?"

They sat side by side at the kitchen table. Jake hadn't made much progress. He knew his alphabet at least. But Rosa would sigh over the clumsy way he made his letters. He often made the
S
s backward and there were two of them, large capital ones, in Salvatore Serutti. He threw down his pencil.

"It ain't my name, anyway," he said. "I don't need to write it proper."

Rosa cocked her head. "Then tell me your real name. I'll teach you to write that. No need to show it to the Gerbatis."

"Jake," he said. "Jake Beale."

"Hmmph," she said. "I wonder if it has a silent
e.
Beale, that is."

After that, it was easier to tell her the story he had told Mr. Gerbati three weeks earlier. He even told her about robbing the poor box and stealing food and sleeping in the churches, Rosa being as close to a priest as he was ever likely to confess to. He didn't bother to tell her about the trash piles. She knew about those.

"You were running because you thought the police were after you?"

"Yeah. He was dead. I thought they'd blame me." Then he remembered Mr. Gerbati's admonition. "Not just that. I reckon I was spooked. I'd slept all night with a corpse. It really spooked me."

She nodded. "It would scare me, too," she said and shuddered. It made him feel better, Rosa saying that.

As little as he wanted to, he made himself tell Rosa the events of that awful Sunday when he'd tried to break into Mr. Gerbati's safe. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her whole face went white.

"I know," he said. "I done a terrible wrong. I don't know why he didn't drag me to the police the minute he caught me. He didn't beat me or nothing. He just made me promise to stop lying. And I'm trying."

It took him a minute to realize that Rosa was crying.

"C'mon, Rosa. What's the matter? I told you I was trying."

"It's not that." She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. "It's my prayers," she said. "They've all been answered. The strike is over. Mamma and Anna and Ricci are safe. I'm going home soon. And you confessed your sins. The Virgin answered my prayers and"—here she burst into fresh tears—"and I'm not even good."

"Sure, you're good. You're the best person I know."

"No, I'm not. And all my prayers were answered anyway—well, all except for one."

"What one was that?"

"I prayed you could be as happy as me."

When the Gerbatis came in sometime later, Mrs. Gerbati went straight to the kitchen. The noon meal would be very late and, by her standards, breakfast had been nothing. Food took precedence over delivering news, apparently. The meal was on the table—soup to cake—before Mr. Gerbati cleared his throat, took a noisy gulp of his grappa-laced coffee, and began.

"Okay," he said. "We talk and make plan today. Thirty-five children come, two go back right away, yes?" Everyone agreed. "Then week before this there was four children go home because someone in family very sick, yes?" They all remembered, especially Rosa, who had not really wished illness upon any member of her family, but still.... "Then yesterday, one more." Rosa hadn't heard about that one. "That leave," he signaled with his fingers, "twenty-eight children, yes?" They all nodded. "Tomorrow Mr. Broggi can take some children, but twenty-eight too many, so some have to wait."

Rosa clamped her hand over her mouth. Otherwise, she was sure to cry out. How could she wait any longer? Mrs. Gerbati reached over and gently took the hand away. "I tell them my Rosa need to go," she said. "I don't want to lose my childrens, but they need their own mamma, yes?"

"You've been so good to us, Mrs. Gerbati. We do thank you both, but..."

Jake stiffened. Maybe he'd left talking to Mr. Gerbati until it was too late. It sounded as though they were going to be shipped back to Lawrence tomorrow.
Hell's bells,
why had he put it off?

"So," said Mr. Gerbati, "Rosa need to be ready for train tomorrow in afternoon. Mamma already know. She will meet you."

"Oh," Rosa said, suddenly remembering him. "What about Salvatore? When does he leave?"

Mr. Gerbati swung around and looked Jake in the eye. "Is very strange thing. On the list come from Lawrence union committee, isn't no Salvatore Serutti."

"Don't worry, Salvatore," Mrs. Gerbati said. "We straighten. You be home soon.
Ti prometto.
Is a promise."

Monday morning Jake and Mr. Gerbati went to work as usual. All the way there, Jake tried to make himself talk to the man, but Mr. Gerbati walked so fast and was so intent on getting to the shed that Jake's courage failed him once again.

Meanwhile, at the house, Rosa climbed the stairs to her beautiful bedroom for the last time. She was looking about, determined to keep the picture of it in her mind forever, when she heard Mrs. Gerbati's heavy step on the stairs.

"Scusami,
Rosa." She stood panting at the door, a leather suitcase in one hand, her other arm full of clothing. "I send few things to home."

"Oh, Mrs. Gerbati..." She didn't know what to say.

"No, no, is nothing." Mrs. Gerbati came into the room and dumped her load onto the bed. "And bag for train." She began to fold the garments and put them into the case.

Rosa stared wide-eyed, then slowly began to help. More underwear, another dress—"For your Anna"—a set of small boy's underwear, trousers, shirt, and jacket—"For little Ricci. I don't know size so I get big, okay?"—two woolen shawls—"One for Anna and one for Mamma, eh?"

Tears were falling on everything Rosa folded. "No, no! Don't cry! Then I cry. No good we cry. Is happy time, yes?" The woman put her arms around Rosa, and Rosa could feel the old body shake with sobs. Mrs. Gerbati pulled away and wiped her eyes on her apron. "Silly old woman, eh?"

"No," said Rosa and turned to hide fresh tears. "You're too kind, Mrs. Gerbati, but not silly. Never silly." She busied herself getting the extra underwear and clothes Mrs. Gerbati had bought for her out of the bureau to add to the wealth already packed.

In the end, Mrs. Gerbati had to sit on the case before Rosa could close it. They were both laughing by the time Rosa managed to pull her to her feet again.

Mrs. Gerbati laid out even more than her usual noonday feast. No one talked much. Rosa toyed with her food. As the time for departure grew closer, it became harder to hide her excitement. She was going home at last.

"You don't eat, Rosa? Long ride to Lawrence," Mr. Gerbati said.

Rosa shook her head. "It's good, really it is, I just can't..."

"Our Rosa is happy girl today," Mrs. Gerbati said. "But we miss her, don't we, Mr. Gerbati, Salvatore?"

"I'll miss you, too," Rosa said.

Jake looked at her closely, as though to make sure she wasn't lying.

"I wish Sal was coming with me," she said.

"Oh, it work out for Salvatore," Mr. Gerbati said. "I talk to committee. Everything fixed." He glanced across the table at Mrs. Gerbati, and then focused on his coffee.

***

The three of them went to see Rosa off on the train even though it meant that Jake and Mr. Gerbati would be late getting back to work. The other host families of the returning children were there, chattering and hugging and promising to keep in touch.

"You write letter, Rosa, yes?" Mrs. Gerbati said. "Tell about Mamma and Anna and little Ricci, okay?"

"Of course I will," Rosa said. "And I'll write to Sal, too."

"Good practice for Salvatore," Mrs. Gerbati said. "Learn to read good, eh?"

Jake looked at his boots.

"You've got to practice, you know," Rosa said. "Promise me you'll work on it."

"Yeah, okay," he said, but he didn't look up. Why were they talking about reading when the train whistle was already blowing? She was going, and what would happen to him now? He watched the train chug slowly into the station.

Rosa hugged each of the Gerbatis. Then she turned to him. He thought for a moment she was going to hug him, too, but, instead, she put out her hand and, a bit shyly, took his. "Goodbye for now, Sal ... Jake," she whispered. "You behave, hear?"

He nodded, his throat a bit too full to get out words. Then, quickly, she was on the train, waving from the window.

The three of them stood there in a little huddle, Mrs. Gerbati wiping her tears away with the tail of her shawl.

So long, shoe girl. Thanks for everything.
He lifted his hand and began to wave until he could no longer see the southbound train, its whistle scarcely a tiny peep piercing the March fog.

"Mrs. Gerbati," Mr. Gerbati said sternly. "How come you don't buy this boy no gloves? Look how red his hands is."

"Oh," said Mrs. Gerbati. "I do today. Now, before he go back to work."

"Don't you mind," Mr. Gerbati said. "I do already." Out of his big overcoat pocket he pulled a pair of brown leather gloves. "So, try on. See if they fit good."

The gloves were soft and lined with fleece. Jake pulled them on slowly.
Would the man never cease to surprise?

"So, fit okay?"

"Perfect."

"Oh," said Mrs. Gerbati, shaking her head. "No good, Mr. Gerbati. Should buy big. He grow too fast."

"So," Mr. Gerbati said, "
next year
we buy him new pair."

Next year
?
Jake looked at Mr. Gerbati. The old man shrugged. Mrs. Gerbati was smiling across her wide face, fresh tears swimming in her dark eyes. She threw her arms around Jake and crushed him to her breast. "We need boy in our house," she said in his ear.

It was a hug to smother a small army of boys, but Jake didn't even care. He was never going to have to beg to stay.
Hell's bells.
He wasn't even going to have to ask. They had straightened it out, just as Mrs. Gerbati had promised. He stepped away from her to wipe his nose on the back of his sleeve, careful to avoid his beautiful new gloves.