Death of a Serpent (15 page)

Serafina stood until the stack of steam disappeared behind San Calogero, anger crowding disbelief. Her face paled. The baby slept. She turned to Rosa. “I’m so sorry, my true friend. Of all people, I should have known.”

“No matter.” Rosa waved the air with circling gestures, hugged Serafina, Tessa and the baby.

“Follow us.” Renata and Tessa navigated the way to a conductor selling tickets. Tugging his sleeve, Renata said, “Can you tell me the time of the next train to Palermo? We couldn’t board this one—too crowded. May I exchange these?”

The conductor peered at the three women, consulted the filigree dials of a large watch. “In an hour fifteen.”

“And after that?” Renata asked.

He bent to scratch an ankle. “Well, there’s one at eleven, one at—”

“Four round trips on the eleven o’clock, please.”

“Make them first class and give the tickets to me,” Rosa said. She held out coins.

His mouth worked as he studied Rosa.

Taking Tessa’s hand, Rosa said over her shoulder, “We’ll meet you here at ten fifty. Don’t be late.”

The Orphanage

S
eated in the parlor of Guardian Angel, Renata and Serafina waited for Mother Concetta.

The baby began to cry.

“There, there, little one,” Serafina said. She got up and began walking back and forth with him. Each time she patted the infant, the infant cried.

The door opened. Mother Concetta entered, stooped, shorter, and more wrinkled than Serafina remembered, but the eyes were the same.

Serafina explained the baby in her arms. Without a word the old nun rang the bell, and in a few moments, a child of about six appeared, wearing a resized dress. Pushing strands of hair away from her face, she stood, still and solemn, before the nun.

“You are in charge of our newest orphan. One, get him fresh clothes and another diaper. Two, give him a bath. Three, give him to Grandma Colletti, he needs milk. Four, find him a place to sleep. After he wakes up, Dr. Loffredo will need to see him. Get him.”

“No more cribs.”

“Improvise, child. Put two infants in one crib until the carpenter can make another.”

The child nodded.

“And Ave—?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Before you do your improvising, sit down and put your boots on the correct feet.”

She sat.

“One more thing.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“When you remove his diaper, be careful of the burr. Put some salve on the wound.”

Throwing a smile over her shoulder, the child disappeared with the howling infant.

“That’s the second baby we’ve gotten from the train station in three months.”

“I thought they left them on your doorstep,” Serafina said.

“The unmarried do. But a mother who is leaving for a strange land with the rest of her family, afraid for the life of her newborn during the voyage, or too poor to care for another hungry mouth? She doesn’t make her decision to leave her baby until the last minute. I can’t imagine the depth of her pain. The husband, or someone else in the family, convinces her it would be better for the child if the mother left him behind. So a family member, usually the father, takes the infant to the train station, finds an unsuspecting passenger.” She pointed a gnarled finger at Serafina. “Someone like you. Your clothes give you away. The story they tell is the same—the mother is coming any minute, but wants to check the house one more time. The man asks for help calming the baby, then disappears. An old trick played on the naive.”

Serafina’s cheeks burned.

“The orphanage is full. We need money to pay the wet nurse, to feed them when they are older, to clothe, to teach. Thank the Madonna, God provides.”

“And if not?” Renata asked.

“And if not, I go to Palermo and visit the archbishop. The coffers open.”

Serafina pursed her lips. “How can a mother abandon her infant like that?”

The nun’s battle-ready eyes narrowed in her direction. “Terrible to abandon a child at any age, no matter what the child’s done, don’t you think?”

• • •

Serafina breathed in and out. She heard, as if for the first time, the sound of Carmela’s feet running down the stairs, saw Carlo speeding after his twin, returning hours later, admitting that he couldn’t persuade her to come back, “Too stubborn, too much like you,” he’d said, spitting on the ground before her feet. At Carlo’s remark, Giorgio had lifted him by the collar and slapped his face.

Serafina put a hand to her cheek. She must say something to this nun, but what? From somewhere outside she heard running feet, shouting youngsters.

“No running, children!” a voice said.

Serafina’s hand flew to her heart. Renata pointed to the door, forms an ‘O’ with her mouth.

“Were you going to say something?” Serafina asked.

Renata mumbled a reply.

“Your child, for instance,” the nun said.

Serafina gripped the side of her chair.

“She’s here, you know. Came to us in the spring.”

“I…we didn’t know.”

“Of course not. She didn’t want me to tell you.”

“But we’ve been looking for her,” Serafina said. She paused before continuing. “To be fair at first only her father, Carlo, and Renata were searching.” She heard the heavy beat of her heart, felt the blood in her ears.

Mother Concetta said nothing.

“Does she know about the death of her grandmother? Her father?”

The nun looked at her hands. “She came here after Maddalena’s death. I knew they were close. I could not bring myself to tell your daughter about the death of her grandmother. Each time I began talking about her family, she wanted nothing to do with the conversation.”

“Her father?”

“She doesn’t know of his death, either, but a voice tells me now I was wrong.”

Serafina stared at the bowed, veiled head. Perhaps the nun was not such an iron heart. “Does the voice have a wrinkled nose?”

Concetta smiled.

“When can we see her?” Renata asked.

Serafina said, “Can you call her?”

Concetta shook her head. “I’d like to prepare her for your visit. The meeting and your news might be too much of a shock in her condition.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“No cause for alarm, but sit down, please.”

The Train to Bagheria

T
he air smelled like burnt oil as they rocked back and forth on plush seats while the world outside their window blurred. Serafina and Renata sat on one side facing Rosa and Tessa. Rosa swayed this way and that. She hung onto her hat for most of the ride.

When Renata told her about the orphanage and their conversation with Mother Concetta, Rosa was full of questions. She wanted to hear all about Carmela.

“We haven’t seen her yet,” Renata said. “Tomorrow the whole family goes. We’ve received permission to take Giulia and Maria out of school for the day.”

Serafina said nothing. Thinking of tomorrow made stomach queasy.

Rosa and Renata exchanged a look.

Tessa played with her doll.

Serafina looked out the window. She vowed not to be distracted from her work, not today. Towns dotted the hills next to orange groves and olive trees. In the distance, she spotted a peasant leading a pair of oxen. On the other side of the car, there was an abrupt drop to the sea.

No one spoke until Renata opened Rosa’s basket of bread and figs, not a meal but a snack before dinner. If they had enough time after meeting with the Baldassare brothers, they’d eat a little something in La Vucciria—
paneddi
and
babbaluci
washed down with a house wine. Later they’d buy cannoli from the convent of St. Dominic.

Serafina told Rosa about her brush with the deserter.

Rosa clenched her chest. “Anything to do with the murders?”

Serafina shook her head. “I don’t think so. A deserter living rough, my guess.”

Renata said, “If it weren’t for Arcangelo, who knows what would have happened. We have you to thank for him.”

“Told her, I did, not safe at night with only Beppe.”

While Rosa beamed, Serafina thought the time was ripe to strike with some uncomfortable questions. “Who do you think is the killer of your women?” she asked.

“In front of Tessa?” Renata asked.

Rosa batted the air and said with her mouth full of cookies, “My Tessa knows everything, don’t you, Tessa?”

She nodded.

“Would you like a cookie?” Renata asked.

Tessa shook her head.

Rosa swallowed. “Why would I be sitting here with you on a rocking train, filling my belly with figs and your daughter’s
ossa da mordere
if I knew the answer to your question?”

“But you have an idea?”

“Ideas, they come into my head, convince me for a day, and, like the larks of summer, fly away with the first icy wind.”

“After Gemma died, who did you think might be the killer?”

Rosa’s face reddened. “At first I thought it must be a relative or someone from the past. Or Gemma’s mourner.”

“Say again?” Serafina asked.

“To Gemma’s wake there came a mourner.”

Serafina consulted her notes. “You didn’t tell me about him, but the embalmer did.”

“I’m telling you now. As we were about to leave, the room, full, the priest finished with his prayers, a man, not old, not young, he came up to the casket, raised his fist, cursed the corpse.” Rosa wiped her forehead. “Escorted out, he was.”

“A customer?”

“There you go again. Never!”

“The embalmer said he had ‘seeping eyes.’”

“What?”

“’They watered, but not from grief. The eyes, disconnected from the mouth,’ he told me.”

“I searched for him, didn’t I? Had the guards scour the land for an angry father, a jealous suitor. Nothing. After Nelli’s murder, I became confused. The two, Gemma and Nelli, were from different towns, had no relatives in common, no friends together, so I gave up, didn’t bother telling you about the man at Gemma’s wake, the tricky one.”

“And any ideas after that?”

“Why do you ask me these questions?”

“You trust Scarpo?”

Rosa looked like she was caught in a spell. “Scarpo, the killer? Utter nonsense. What are you saying?”

“All I’m saying is that we need to look at everyone around us with new eyes.”

“Wild words spit from your mouth. It’s little wonder you can’t keep your daughter at home.”

“Where was he, Scarpo, around the time of the murders?” Serafina continued. “The afternoon, the evening, the night before you found the bodies?”

“My house, of course. Scarpo doesn’t leave unless he has an errand in town. Devoted to me, he is. At night he’s always there. The house would fall without him. Who’d see to the guards, call the time, collect the money, throw out the scruffy ones, scare off the bandits?”

“What was the first thing you did after you saw Gemma’s body?”

“Screamed and…and what did I do? I pulled the cord? I don’t remember, I must have done. People poured in from all around, upstairs, the front parlors. All the girls were around me, I think, and Scarpo. Arcangelo went for Colonna.”

“Any of the women missing? Away? On a day off?”

The madam considered. “Bella was the only one. She had the weekend off. All the others were at the house, but if one of them were gone, what would that mean? Nothing. These killings are the work of a wild devil with a thirst for my coins.”

“But he could have had help from inside,” Renata said.

“For instance, Eugenia, the thief,” Serafina said. “And several of the women said the house has changed.”

Rosa nodded. Tears formed in her lower lids. “Different now and strange. Silent, the girls, or they whisper in the halls. We used to be so lovely—so gay, so droll—before the killing started. Just like a family.”

“You mean before Eugenia came,” Serafina said.

“You mean like a family during good times,” Renata said, “because families can be silent and untrusting, too, when something bad happens.”

Serafina shot her a look. “Enough Renata. Let’s stay fixed on these killings, nothing else. I know what you’re up to, you and Carlo, but not here, not now.”

Renata and Rosa looked at each other.

“If you die, does Scarpo gain?”

“You always have a way to make me squirm. Why ask such questions?”

Serafina watched the purple spread over her friend’s cheek and waited.

“Who’d gain from my death?—Tessa, not Scarpo. I fooled them, those greasy officials. They said I couldn’t adopt her, being a woman without a husband, but I have a smart
avvucatu
who knows all the ins and outs.” Rosa twirled her hands in the air. “Struts around the courts like a silky black rooster. Expensive he might be, but knows the laws of inheritance and how to make them work for me. Not enough to have a will. He made it work.” Rosa moved plaintive hands up and down. “Tessa inherits my estate, all of it. How does that answer fit into your theories, oh fancy
Ispetturi
?”

Serafina chewed the inside of her cheek. “Didn’t she need a husband?”

“Two: one for me, one for her. Cost extra. He took care of it, my handsome
avvucatu
.”

“You’re married?”

“Deceased, the spouse. Tessa’s, too.” Rosa made a placatory gesture with her hands. “Suggested him to Nittù, I did, after his sons perished.”

“Nittù?”

“How many times must I tell you. Nittù Baldassare, Bella’s father. The man we visit today. What’s wrong with you? Mind stuck?”

Renata passed the basket of food again. Rosa reached for several cookies, a slice of cheese, and a fig. They all ate something, even Serafina.

A conductor with a purple nose opened the door to their compartment. He offered drinks from his beverage trolley. The three women asked for caffè which the conductor poured from a dented tin pot. Thick as molasses, the drink, steeped for days, it seemed to Serafina, but it was wet and washed down their food. With a flourish, the conductor handed Tessa an orange drink.

After he left, they were silent for a while. Serafina picked at her food and stared at the passing scenery, swaying back and forth, lulled by the movement.

Presently she said, “Sometimes, you know, I think I need a crowbar to pry information out of you. But I will say this: you have an amazing group of women who work for you, amazing. And all to your credit.”