Sofia's Tune (13 page)

He jiggled one foot as he spoke. “It is not fair. We are in America. The land we were told was paved in gold bricks.”

She laughed. “Who told you that? Papà traveled here many times. He knows better, and so should you.”

“But at Ellis Island. Do you not remember?” He stared at the sky. “Hope. We all felt it when we arrived. We thought our lives would be better. We only had to step off that ferry and our poverty would be in the past.”

She nodded. “Oh,
sì.
The ship agent, the
padrone,
they were the ones…so many promises.” She patted his shoulder. “But see? I have a job. I have a nice place to live. You will find steady work. God will guide you.”

He drew in a deep breath that made his chest swell. “I thought Mamma would be better here.”

She blinked as a knife-sharp pang hit her heart. “I thought so, too, my brother, but do not give up hope so quickly. America has fine doctors. Papà will see. Mamma will get the treatment she needs and then we’ll rejoice that America truly is the land of golden promises come true.”

He hugged her. “My sister, Sofia—always the cheer giver.”

Chapter 14

Early in the evening on Monday, Antonio dug out some sheet music and began practicing. Luigi, lying on the striped rug next to the piano, perked up his ears. By the time Antonio was satisfied he knew the tunes he’d likely be playing on his next vaudeville job, he rose stiffly from the bench and began searching in his cupboard for something to make into a meal.

“Rice today. What do you think, boy?”

Luigi sprung to his feet, stretched with front paws extended, and then wagged his tail.

“I purchased this from a Chinaman’s cart. Let’s give it a try.”

Luigi barked in agreement.

Antonio thought about Sofia as he filled his pot with water from the faucet. He’d been going about this the wrong way. He hoped that while he was at the church in Little Italy, Sofia would stop by on her way to night school. Why not have Sofia make introductions for him? Those men, the ones asking for him, said they wanted something. So did Antonio. Answers. Proof that his papà was not wrapped up in anything nefarious. The trouble with the southern Italians was they didn’t know how to get answers without bullying folks, and that’s what had given the priest and others a bad impression.

While the people in Sofia’s neighborhood distrusted outsiders, perhaps if they thought he was
her
friend…

He rubbed a thumb over the stubble on his chin. “What do you think, Lu? Is it bad to use an acquaintance in such a matter?”

Luigi flopped back down on the rug, probably disappointed the music had stopped and supper was not yet ready.

“Of course, I would not mind if Sofia Falcone became more than just an acquaintance.” He told his dog things he wouldn’t tell humans.

After they ate, Antonio checked his pocket watch. Seven o’clock. He should get along so he didn’t miss her. School for immigrants who work during the day normally started at eight. He’d seen enough flyers on doors to know that. “Just enough time to check on Uncle Nicco, I suppose.”

Luigi whined and scooted down to lay his head between his outstretched paws.

“I know you don’t care for the man, but he’s all I’ve got. Father would want me to make sure he’s all right.” He glanced to Nicco’s accordion. “Come along.” He whistled and opened his door. As always, Luigi followed at his heels.

“He’s been asleep most of the time?” Antonio stood with the charity worker gazing down on the mountain of blankets covering Nicco.

“Except for meals. I expect he’s only sleeping it off.” The gruff man, who said he was a retired schoolmaster, was the only volunteer in the building at the moment.

“But I brought him in on Saturday. Should the doctor see him?”

“Our health and sanitation volunteer has already examined him, along with the other men. Purely an alcohol slumber, he assured me. Your uncle left our facility for a time yesterday. The saloons should not be open on Sunday, but you know how it is.”

“Very well. I mean, if the volunteer thinks that’s all it is.”

The man sneered at Antonio’s dog. “He should not be in here.”

Antonio turned to leave. “Are you saying the place is not fit for a dog?”

The man flipped away the insult with his fingers and returned to his desk. This was the best place around for vagrants, but it was no Peacock Alley in the Waldorf-Astoria.

“Come on, Lu. We’ve a mission.”

***

When they got off the trolley, Antonio and his dog were once again met by an admiring tribe of children. They circled them, sighing and clicking their tongues. Antonio moved through them and Luigi, despite enjoying the attention, followed. “It is getting late, children. You should get on home.” He wished he knew more Italian. One thing he did figure out was that the children in Little Italy adored his dog. They kept shouting something he thought was an announcement, that the famous dog and his owner had returned. This couldn’t hurt his reputation.

He knocked on the abbey door.

“
Sì
,
sì
, come in.” The diminutive woman he had met the other day waved them inside. She whispered. “Mother Superior is away for a few days so your dog is welcome,
signore
.”

“Sister Stefania, we met before but I’ve just learned that you are the aunt of an acquaintance, Sofia Falcone.”

She swept her hand toward the chairs in the kitchen. He sat and waited for her to pour coffee into china cups.

“Lovely girl. I think I told you so,
Signor
Baggio.”

“You remembered my name.” He sat up straighter.

“Ah,
sì
. And your friend here. What do the children call him? The Victor dog?”

“Yes, I think so. He looks a little like that advertisement for phonographic records. I think it’s more the way he behaves than how he looks. Have you seen those records?”

She smiled broadly. “I have one myself.”

“How nice. His true name is Luigi.”

She patted his head. “Why would you give him an Italian name?”

He set his china cup down. “I am Italian.”

She brought a hand to her forehead. “Baggio. Why do I forget this? Some would think you are an outsider, but your father
was
Italian.”

“You are quite perceptive. I was born in Pavia, but my father brought us to America when I was only five years of age.”

She nodded. “America. Sometimes I can even forget I am here, what with all the Benevento people here at the church.”

“Yes, that is what I would like to talk to you about, Sister. I have heard my father acted in the role of helper of some sort, for the people here. Do you know anything about that?”

She smiled sweetly, like a child. “That is a good thing,
signore
.”

“Then you know what I am talking about.”

“We are brothers and sisters, made in the Lord’s image. I am happy to know the kind of man he was.”

“Uh, yes. Do you know what cause he might have taken up?”

“I suppose the cause of loving our fellow man.”

Antonio muttered a silent prayer while the nun answered a knock at the door. Where was he to go from here?
Help me, Lord!

The nun returned and handed him a folded piece of paper. “A message for you.”

“Who is it from?”

She shrugged. “One of the church workers brought it down, but he doesn’t know its source. Signed, perhaps?”

He unfolded it. At once he recognized the handwriting. The same person who had given him clues before. Feeling weary, he struggled to understand the words.

“I can help,” the nun offered.

He handed it to her.

She smiled as she read, giving him the impression that she could know something about it. Was she the informer?

It says: “Your father once helped the people of this neighborhood.” She paused and looked him in the eye. “Ah, as you said.” She nodded vigorously and then continued. “We are a proud people. Others will not say they distrust outsiders, but I will say it for them. Please find out what your father did with our money.” She wrinkled her brow as though this surprised her.

“I don’t know what it means, Sister. Please tell me where these messages are coming from.”

She frowned. “I do not know.”

***

Sofia said good-bye to her brother and entered Hawkins House. “Hello, love.” Mrs. Hawkins stood in the hall, chubby hands clasped in front of her waist. Her sharp facial features would make her appear foreboding if it weren’t for her sing-songy voice.

Sofia focused on her English. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“Come and sit down in the parlor. I know you have night school to ready for, but after a long day at work you should have some tea and relax a few minutes.”

“You are very kind.” What had she done? Her boss wanted to fire her, and now Mrs. Hawkins seemed disturbed.

As they settled in, Minnie entered with a tray. “Coffee for Miss Sofia, and tea for Mrs. Hawkins.”

Sofia was not used to being served. It made her even more jittery. She’d heard about how the American slaves had suffered only a generation earlier and she didn’t want to give this woman the impression she expected to be served. She jumped to her feet. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t mind a bit, Miss Sofia. Now you just sit down and rest. I will get you a sandwich since you won’t be here for supper. Kick off those big shoes of yours if you want, honey. We don’t stand on ceremony at Hawkins House, do we, Mrs. Hawkins?”

The hostess didn’t immediately agree. Sofia was learning that various cultural groups had different mannerisms and expectations. It was a lot to keep up with when one had been living among such a small circle of people. And to top it off, something was bothering the woman and Sofia had no idea what.

Mrs. Hawkins sipped from her floral teacup. “If you would like to go upstairs and freshen up, even put on some slippers for a bit, I do not mind at all.”

“Oh, I am…quite comfortable, but…
grazie
.” She lowered herself back down on the plump sofa.

After stirring a bit of cream into her coffee, Sofia glanced up to see the woman staring. What had she forgotten? Did Mrs. Hawkins expect her to “freshen up?” It was the housekeeper who had mentioned taking off her shoes. Mrs. Hawkins had urged her to sit. She tried to relax her pounding heart.

“Love? Was that a family member walking you to the door? Or a beau, perhaps? I only ask because I want you to know you are welcome to have visitors here.”

“Beau? Uh, a sweetheart you mean? No.” She had answered too quickly because Mrs. Hawkins cocked her head in a way that suggested she did not believe Sofia. “My brother. You saw him outside.” A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “He could not stay. But,
grazie
, thank you.”

“Anytime, Sofia. Invite him to Sunday supper. Your papà, too.”

Oh, no. Never. She could forgive this woman who could not possibly understand. Sunday suppers are sacred for Italians. You would never find any Italian, other than Sofia, at the table of an English woman on Sunday. She rubbed her chilly arms.

A few moments later, having consumed the ham sandwich Minnie brought her, she excused herself and quit the room to go upstairs and collect the books Annie had left for her. She would show them to her teacher at night school with the explanation that her boarding house let her borrow them, not what boarding house or who owned it or what guests visited there. For now she would tell no one, not until she could explain fully. She could not imagine why the men from her village were suspicious of Antonio, but Sofia had been naïve before so she would proceed cautiously.

Darkness had fallen by the time she exited the train and walked toward the building adjacent to the church. Lamps flickered in the windows, casting a welcoming amber glow at her feet. She was glad to be back. As challenging as the English language was to learn, she liked the night school because it was what remained for her of
la famiglia
, of her village. Mamma had rejected her, she’d felt the loss of her twin deeply, Joey no longer resembled the delightful younger brother she’d helped raise, and the mass she now attended made her feel like a leper everyone tried to avoid. But this classroom was her nest of security.

“Wait there, Sofia!” The door to the abbey kitchen flung open.

“Sister Stefania, I will be late for school.”

“I am here with a young man, and he says you have met, Sofia. Come, come.”

She had almost forgotten Antonio Baggio had said he was coming to speak to her aunt. She was sorry she did not have more time, but she had only now reminded herself to be cautious. “Say hello for me. I must go. Tell him I can speak to him after class, please.” She would warn Antonio that the people in her village were wary of him and ask him why.

The woman marched up the steps from the kitchen and grabbed hold of her arm. Sofia had no choice but to follow.

Antonio rose from his chair at the table when he saw her. His curly hair and the gleam in his eye made him seem gentle and attractive, not someone who might be a threat. Surely Joey and his
padrone
trailed the wrong outsider.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Falcone.”

“And you,
Signor
Baggio.” She felt heat rising to her cheeks. Something about the man charmed her. Joey would like this young man, if he attempted to become acquainted. She nearly forgot her quest to get to school on time.

But she did need to go.

“Sit, sit,” her aunt ordered.

“Just for a moment, Sister.” Sofia dropped down on the chair directly across from Antonio, stacking the books in her lap. It was infuriating at times how Sister Stefania did not seem to care what others might be doing or how busy they might be. When the woman wanted to talk, she talked. Even
Signor
Baggio seemed held against his will.

“Do you know why
Signor
Baggio has come to the abbey?”

Sofia whispered. “Sister, I am sure that is his own business and he doesn’t care to share it with everyone.” But she wanted to know. Very much.