Sofia's Tune (17 page)

Papà narrowed his eyes and dipped his chin. “My daughter does not live here. Please take her to her boarding house.”

Sofia tried to explain on the trip back to Hawkins House, but Sergeant McNulty was driving the horse and couldn’t hear her. After he helped her from the wagon, she tried again. “My papà, he wants to send Mamma away. But I am sure she will be better now. I upset her. That is why I stay here.”

He turned kind, warm eyes toward her. “You owe me no explanation,
signorina
. I know Mrs. Hawkins will take good care of you here.”

They trotted up the steps toward the door together. “You are familiar with Mrs. Hawkins?” Sofia asked.

“Oh, yes. My wife Grace used to be one of the girls here.”

The door opened before Sofia grasped the door handle. Minnie gave her a surprised look, her large chocolate eyes widening. “Oh, my gracious. I was just about to pay the neighbor a visit to borrow a cup of brown sugar for the Apple Betty. Thought I’d get a jump on tomorrow’s baking. Well, no matter. Come in, you two. What brings ya around, Mr. McNulty?”

“Just escorting this young lady home, Minnie.”

“Please come in and sit down.” She shook a finger at the sergeant. “Don’t you be running off, ya hear? We don’t see enough of you and Grace around here. I’ll just pop over to get the sugar and then come right back and put the tea kettle on.”

“I would not miss it,” he said.

Sofia was weary and would rather go to bed than socialize but she saw Mrs. Hawkins marching down the hall toward them and knew she would have none of it.

Chapter 18

Antonio rose early on Tuesday because his thoughts would not let him rest. As much as the writer’s suggestion intrigued him, he had other things to attend to. “Come on, Lu. We will accomplish something today. Off to
Banca Stabile
.”

Antonio did not know much about the Italian bank, just that it catered to Italians, helping them send steamship tickets to family members or wire them money. He imagined, like most banks, they also lent money. This was where the
padroni
often loitered, waiting for unemployed men to show up. As they walked up Mulberry Street, Antonio patted his dog’s head. “Let me know, pal, if there are any perfidious characters I should avoid.”

Lu let out a whine, echoing Antonio’s own apprehension. But the lovely Sofia needed his help. Her aunt had certainly insinuated as much.

They passed a business with an Italian sign:
Farmacia Italiana
. The Italians’ pharmacy. He congratulated himself on knowing that bit of Italian. Perhaps his limited Italian would assist him on this venture. He was aware that in this neighborhood he was as out of place as a fly in soapsuds. His skin was lighter and his hair not as dark as the Southern Italians. He remembered what Nicco had said. Perhaps he should present himself as wholly American.

As they continued down the street, only stopping once so a girl could pet Luigi, he paused outside another storefront bearing Italian words. A man standing in the doorway bid him to enter. “For a respite.” He indicated that Lu should come in too.

“Thank you.” Antonio ducked through the doorway after checking his watch and determining that he had a few minutes to spare. He shook the man’s hand.

“You are not Italian, are you, sir?”

“Yes. I mean, I was born Italian but have lived in New York since I was a boy. And…I am not from this neighborhood.” Whatever he had considered before as an appropriate way to introduce himself around was now lost due to his nervous tongue. He’d always believed honesty was best anyway. “Name’s Antonio Baggio.”

“I am Lieutenant Delfino. Please come in.”

The hall was filled with empty wooden chairs. Banners hung from the walls. One read, “All For Jesus.” But it was the red sign, “Salvation Army,” that told him where he was despite the Italian writing on the outside windows, which must say the same thing.

The man offered Antonio a cup of coffee. “If you are not from here, mind me asking what brings you to Mulberry Street?”

“It’s a fair question.” The coffee tasted good. He hadn’t taken time to make any for himself before he left home. “I suppose no one would come down here for no reason. Uh, not that it’s not nice. It certainly is. I mean no offense.”

The man chuckled. “We cannot deny poverty, son. There is no way to cover it up here. We are happy people, hardworking and proud, but no one who lives in these tenements would say it’s a wonderful place.”

“I suppose not.”

“But as to no one coming here without reason? Ah, that’s not entirely true.” The man spoke with an accent but his English was very good for an immigrant.

“Oh, I understand, sir. You are here to distribute charity. I did not mean any disrespect. I have attended your doughnut fundraisers and I always drop a coin in the bucket when I see one.”

“None taken. But I am happy to hear you’re aware of our efforts.” He raised an eyebrow. Antonio had not yet answered his question.

“I have come to aid a friend.” Yes, honesty. “And to have some questions answered for myself. I need to go over to the bank, but…I fear they won’t talk to an outsider.”

“Just be friendly. Wear a smile. Hold your head up as though it’s the most reasonable thing for you to be walking through the door. So many Americans in this city harbor morbid contempt for the Italian. They dislike the vast numbers arriving daily. They turn their ignorance to fear and declare that the Italian is of low intelligence at best and a rapscallion at worst.”

Antonio tapped a finger on the side of his cup. “I believe that is prejudice. A disillusioned evaluation of newcomers. My friend is a good example of how untrue such perceptions are.”

The man nodded his head. “If you show that you will treat them well, they will respond. In time. Be persistent if you need cooperation from the bank in order to help your friend. We have had great success reaching out to the poor here, and God bless them, they arrive in such desperate circumstances.”

Antonio lifted his coffee cup. “I appreciate the advice. Perhaps you can tell me, have you heard of the name Ernesto Baggio?”

“No, I can’t say I have heard that surname around here.”

Lu whimpered.

“Down,” Antonio ordered and Lu immediately quieted.

“Fine dog you have there,
Signor
Baggio. Well trained.”

“He is a good dog, but I cannot take credit for his training. His temperament seems to come naturally.”

“A loyal companion. If you and your dog ever want to join us here and become soldiers for Christ, stop by for a meeting.”

“You are very kind.” Antonio rose to leave. “May I ask one more question?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you know the Falcones from Benevento?”

“Gabriella Falcone? She brings some neighborhood children to the reading room a few doors down. Sometimes accompanied by her neighbor, a young lady named Luisa. I can’t say that I know either family well, though.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Antonio chided himself for asking that question. The man wouldn’t be able to tell him if the Falcones were in peril from a
padrone
. Still, he stored away the information about this Gabriella and Luisa in case it could be helpful in some way.

As he marched down the sidewalks, he tried his best. But an organ grinder barely tipped his chin at Antonio’s greeting, and a grocer pushing a straw broom across the step of his store did not even lift his head to return Antonio’s, “
Buona sera!
” He focused his eyes straight ahead. Short of faking a southern Italian accent, there was nothing Antonio could do to fit in when he opened his mouth.
Be friendly. Smile. Hold your head up.
He concentrated on Lieutenant Delfino’s advice. He glanced down at Luigi. Isn’t that what his dog always did? It worked for him.

Leaving Lu outside, Antonio entered the bank and stood in line behind several men, all of them with thick, black hair. They spoke rapid Italian. Many wore ragged clothes they had brushed and straightened to look as much like businessmen as possible. Several had probably just arrived from Ellis Island.

When it was Antonio’s turn to approach the teller’s cage, he smiled broadly. “
Parla l’inglese
?”

“
Sì
.” The man’s dark eyes bore into him, making Antonio’s hands perspire.

“I am looking for the
padrone
, the one who works with Benevento men.”

The man huffed. “What business do you have with this man?”

“I…uh, for a friend. I need to ask a few questions, is all. Might he be here?”

“No.” He motioned for the next man in line.

“Wait. When will he be back? What is his name?”

The man just shook his head.

“Please, help me. You see, my father…something happened that I do not understand. But I’m told my father was known around here, for…helping. And now my friend has some trouble. Somehow there is a connection to the misfortunes we are having. Have pity on me, won’t you? I know I don’t belong here. You don’t want me here. But I must be heard.” Antonio’s words surprised even him.

A man stepped out of the queue. “The Benevento
padrone
? The man who employs Benevento men, you say? You are looking for him?”

Antonio approached him, excited. “Yes.
Sì
. Can you help me?”

“Not here,
signore
. This is an honest bank. That man is no…he is…not here. That is all I know.”

“But where?”

The whole line shrugged their shoulders. Giving up, Antonio returned to Lu and slid his back against the wall until he was seated on the pavement with his dog. Those men knew something. They all knew something. Only one person was willing to tell him things, but that was in parables and anonymously. Their lips were shut tighter than a clamshell.

It had begun to rain steadily. He watched rivulets flow from puddles down to the street gutters, his resolve slipping away with the rain.

The door to the bank opened and a man walked out at a quick clip. He made a motion with his hand that Antonio should follow. Leaping up and pulling on his dog’s leash, Antonio trailed the man to a bakery and then ordered Lu to wait. When he went inside he waited patiently while the man purchased something. The man spun around and held out a pastry. “
Anisette
.”

“
Grazie
.” Antonio took it and followed the man to an aisle near the rear of the shop where bins of flour were stored. “Another bank you are looking for. West one block and then north three. A small place where
Signor
Parrella recruits men. That is who you look for,
sì
?”

“I don’t know.”

The man cocked his head the way Luigi sometimes did when he didn’t understand a command.

“No one told me his name,” Antonio explained. “Perhaps if I can just ask him if he knew my father. Then I would know if he was the correct
padrone
.”

“No!” The man grabbed his arm. “I do you a kindness,
sì
?”

“Indeed.
Grazie
.” Antonio began fishing in his pockets for something to give in appreciation.

“No, no. You do not understand.” He let out a frustrated breath and glanced around before speaking again. He lowered his voice. “Find out first if he is the right one. Ask your friend. You are an outsider walking on shards of glass, my friend. Take care you are not cut.” He spurt out the final word as his eyes flared. “I must go.”

His dog had waited patiently. “Sorry it took so long, Lu. Here, maybe this will help.” He handed his dog the Italian cookie.

The unsettling visit to Little Italy had at least turned up one bit of information: a name. Perhaps Sofia or her aunt would recognize it. When he found the other bank, however, it was closed. He would have to come back.

As he prepared to board the el, he glanced down to the street below. A young woman stared up at him. When he waved, she darted off out of sight.

Chapter 19

Once again Sofia had needed to race to work as though wolves were on her heels. Last evening’s conversation, poetry recitation, and exhibition of Grace McNulty’s photographs were proper evening pursuits in an English woman’s boarding house, but Sofia had been exhausted and was worried about her mother, and would have preferred to be excused. She hadn’t asked, however, because she did not want to appear unmannerly. To make matters worse, she’d missed another session of night school in the process.

Claudia whispered to her as they walked to their stations. “Mr. Richmond is afraid we will form a union and if we do, he won’t be able to replace us. And he should be afraid unless working conditions improve. People deserve to be treated with respect.” She lifted her brows menacingly. Americans, along with the Irish and other fair skinned people, seemed so expressionless to Sofia that they were hard to discern. Just the eyes. How odd. She preferred the passion of the Italians. That she understood. No mistaking an Italian’s melancholy or pleasure.

When Sofia went to her dark corner the wheels of her imagination cranked up. People could join together to convince others to do what was right. She might find a team of people to support her belief that Mamma should get proper help. She wasn’t sure about a union at the factory. If things were so bad here, why didn’t people leave and get other jobs? Claudia could not have been serious. Nellie Bly had not come snooping. Still, she did not like knowing that Mr. Richmond could fire her on a whim. She supposed a union could be useful.

Sofia did not see Claudia later. Sofia had been forced to work through her lunch break because her reflecting had resulted in her falling behind. When she punched the clock and readied to go home, she turned to find Mr. Richmond blocking her way.

“Miss Falcone, I have heard the rumors, as I am sure you have.”

“I…uh…I do not know what you mean.”

“Unions. Protesting in hopes of gaining high wages and shorter hours, which could mean ruin for the company’s profits, which in turn would cause people to lose their jobs. Those Progressives even want to take away my floor boys. They are twelve years old, not six. Well capable of the work I ask of them. I will not have rebellion on my floor, Miss Falcone.”

“No, sir.” She knew the boys were younger than twelve, but children working to help their families was not something she ever considered improper.

“You understand that I have been disappointed in your performance as late.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Richmond, but I will make up, catch up.” She was unsure how to explain.

“Yes, well, come to my office. I have a little proposition for you.”

“I must check on my mother. And then night school.”

“I promise this will only take a moment.” He took a step toward her, forcing her to turn around and walk toward the open door to the room where he smoked and shuffled through papers most of the day.

He shut the door behind them, something he never did. The door had always been open. He leaned against the desk, letting one leg dangle over the corner, and folded his hands in front of his belly.

“What do you want to tell me?” She managed to blurt out. The secretiveness of the meeting made her nervous.

“I want you to be my ears on the floor. All you have to do is tell me what the girls are talking about.” He laughed. “Not fashion or gossip, mind you, just whatever they say about unions or striking or any kind of disgruntled talk so long as it has to do with the factory.”

How could he ask this of her? A woman of character was loyal to family and to friends. “I do not think—”

He slid his foot back to the floor and banged a fist on his desk. “You will do this, Miss Falcone, in order to stay employed here.”

She jumped involuntarily. So he wasn’t asking at all. Her hands began to tremble as nippy air whisked down from the paddle fan on the ceiling.

“Besides, in accordance with our arrangement, I will see to it that you once again regain your position in the middle of the floor. You will need to be there to listen, of course. I will make sure you get an extra fifteen minutes for lunch.”

“I…uh, Mr. Richmond, this is a difficult thing for me—”

“Of course it is. I will increase your pay two dollars a week. But that is just between us, you understand.”

“Taking money for this?” Her head began to ache.

“All right. Don’t take the increase if you insist against it. But Miss Falcone, you understand the choice here is simple, don’t you? You do the job I’m asking of you, or you collect your final pay and don’t come back. Those have always been the terms.” He stood too close to her and touched his index finger to her sleeve, stroking her arm.

Every muscle in her body tensed. She couldn’t move, though. She must not lose her job.

“There could be more benefits, my dear.” He withdrew his hand. “If you handle this well, I will find more pleasurable tasks for you. You would like that now, wouldn’t you?”

She agreed. She wanted him to like her. She did despise that dark corner. “I understand. But Mr. Richmond? I do not think anyone is serious about unions.”

He stood and opened the door. “See that it stays that way, Miss Falcone.”

As she walked away she felt as though she’d done something terribly wrong, when in fact she had done nothing but listen to her boss. If she had understood him correctly, he wanted her to give him information. There would be nothing to tell, but by being agreeable she hoped to save her job. He had touched her, though, and she had not wiggled away. Thoughts of that house of ill repute she’d stumbled into and the man who had forcibly accosted her came rushing back like a bad dream.

Out of breath when she reached the Russo’s apartment, she paused to regain her composure before entering the building. Joey found her there.

“Sister, I thought you had to stay away. Papà should not find you here.”

“He doesn’t want me
inside
the apartment. I want to talk to the healer. Is she back at her home now?”

“She is.” He turned to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“
Banca Stabile.
I need to see the
padrone
.”

“
Padrone
?” She remembered her aunt’s rambling, a warning about a
padrone
, the man who finds work for Italian men for a price. She’d heard rumors that the cost was often equal to being enslaved. Not only do you pay a fee, but you pay for transportation to the job, buy food from the company store at inflated prices, and even pay to have your clothes washed. At the end of the day there was not much left, and some were even indebted to the
padrone
and the company they worked for. “You do not want to do that, Joey. Do not work for that man I saw with you the other day. Some of those bosses are not fair and take advantage.”

He hugged her. “Some, but not all. I will be careful. You were right, Sofia. I should find steady work.” He smiled and waved as he left her.

She shouted after him. “Maybe you should try the Free Library.
Signor
Arrighi sometimes helps men find work. You know, where the children go sometimes. Luisa is always over there. She likes it.” It would be better for her brother to be converted to another religion than to be enslaved. She didn’t know if he heard her but she had to hurry. She turned and rushed up the stairs.