Sofia's Tune (25 page)

Chapter 29

Sofia was astounded when Minnie escorted Father Lucci into the parlor.

“I was at Ellis Island meeting a new immigrant. When we arrived in Battery Park, her family surprised us. Her parents had not been able to get away from work to claim her at the immigration station, but they managed to get to the Battery so I released her into their capable arms. Since I found myself down here with a bit of leisure time, I decided to call upon you, Sofia, to see how you are getting along.”

She wanted to embrace him, a bit of home here in the English woman’s boarding house, but that would not be proper. “I am so happy to see you, Father. Please sit down. I will get coffee.”

Minnie cleared her throat. “Hold the train! That’s my job, Miss Sofia. And I don’t want to miss a chance to make coffee instead of tea around here.” She chuckled at her own humor as she shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen.

The priest sat on the sofa. Sofia took the chair between the piano and the fireplace. The space seemed somehow foreign with the presence of her neighborhood priest. Father Lucci was a man who embodied the essence of Little Italy—American in speech, but Benevento in appearance. The two of them sitting in Mrs. Hawkins’s parlor made her think of two mountain goats climbing the steps of the Waldolf-Astoria—a scene not at all believable. Seeing Father Lucci now reminded her of where she did belong—with Mamma and
la famiglia
.

He glanced around, taking in the room. “You are well here?”

“I am. Thank you for coming.”

He lifted a hand. “And at work? It is going well, Sofia?”

“
Sì
. I thank God for my employment. I could not go to work the last few days because of the weather—the factory was closed—but I did visit my mother.”

“She is at Ward’s Island, then?”

“She is.” Sofia drew in a breath to keep the tears away.

“And…how is she?”

“As anyone would expect, Father.” Sofia rubbed the heel of her hand at the corner of one eye.

“I am so sorry, Sofia. If only I knew of a way to commission those doctors over on Long Island.”

Mrs. Hawkins shuffled into the room, her scurrying footsteps quieting as she reached the flowered rug.

“Mrs. Hawkins, may I present our priest from my neighborhood, Father Lucci.”

Father Lucci stood and shook the woman’s hand. They were cordial, not adversarial. Most anyone from Mulberry Street would be surprised to see it. Sofia was pleased.

Minnie brought coffee, tea, and round, white biscuits topped with sparkling sugar. She refused Sofia’s offers of help. “You just relax and enjoy, honey. You have had it rough, what with your mamma and all.”

A few minutes later, Annie Adams and her husband Stephen joined them. Mr. Adams still wore his postal uniform. Sofia was a bit embarrassed for the Father because they had come in to gawk at the Italian priest. But then, how different were Italian families when outsiders came to call? They would have done the same.

The postman addressed Father Lucci. “You say the new medical attitudes toward the infirmities of the mind are quite progressive, Father?”

Father Lucci nodded. “I have been to the hospital myself and witnessed the relative calm, the assurance that the doctors understand the patients as men and women still in possession of their right minds. Underneath it all, of course.”

Sofia noticed Annie and Mrs. Hawkins exchanging knowing glances, but for all the lemon trees in Benevento she could not understand what was happening. She twisted her fists in her skirts as she tried to ignore her rushing pulse. Father Lucci, despite being the most friendly and open person in Little Italy you could ever hope to meet, would not talk so freely about his parishioners here despite the questions. It was not done. These Americans did not understand.

“Father?” This time Annie addressed him. “If a charitable group of Christians wanted to assist these doctors, what should they do?”

Father Lucci cocked his head to one side. “I do not understand, Mrs. Adams.”

“Well.” She straightened in her chair. “I run a library here, to encourage newcomers to read and learn. And to tell stories.” She laughed nervously. “I imagine you have libraries in your community.”

“We do.” His coffee cup rested in his hand. He had not taken a sip.

Annie continued, although Sofia thought she really should have given up. “I am sure you will agree that Jesus himself was the quintessential storyteller.”

The Father’s expression gave away nothing. “Indeed, you could say so.”

“Aye. Well, we try to follow his example, as I know you do as well. We are very charitable here, and there are so many who need assistance these days. What if we wanted to help?”

Father Lucci placed his china cup on the tea table and crossed his long legs. “We have charitable groups, as well, Mrs. Adams. The Catholic church tends to her flock.”

Mrs. Hawkins cleared her throat. “Of course, Father. We did not mean to imply otherwise. I am afraid we are not making ourselves clear. What we are proposing is to retain the services of a doctor to tend to Mrs. Falcone.”

Sofia gasped. Humiliated by her outburst, she covered her mouth, sucked her lips tight, and then plopped her hands into her lap.

“Very generous, Mrs. Hawkins.” The priest tapped his fingertips together as he spoke. “But you may not realize how much in fees it would take to bring one of the doctors out to Manhattan. I am afraid that is the reason it has not been done already.
Signor
Falcone would have sacrificed much to do it if he could have. The church, with her limited resources, would have donated toward the treatment if it were within reach. But alas, it is not.” He glanced at Sofia. “I am sorry for the dismay this brings you, Sofia.”

She nodded, not taking her hands from her skirt less her trembling hands reveal how very much she was troubled. She wanted help, needed it for Mamma, but the price was too dear. No one could afford it.

“Oh, Father, please have some more tea or uh, coffee, won’t you?” Mrs. Hawkins rose to serve him herself. When she saw that his cup was still full she smacked her lips and placed a confection on his saucer. Then she returned to her chair.

Father Lucci smiled. “I can see you are taking quite good care of Sofia. I shall give her father an excellent report.”

The older woman blushed. “It is our privilege to help her, Father. In fact, we consider it our mission from the Lord.” She waved her fleshy arm around the room. “There are several of us combining resources so that we may help whomever God sends to us. Sofia is not our only girl here, and she won’t be the last. There is plenty of money to fund our efforts.”

Sofia caught the Father’s puzzled look. Hawkins House was nice, but in no way opulent. He obviously was not convinced. She wasn’t either. She believed that Father Lucci understood the situation better than Mrs. Hawkins did. After all, he actually knew these doctors and had visited their hospital.

“Despite our humble dwelling, indeed perhaps because of it, I assure you we have deep pockets, Father.”

Mr. and Mrs. Adams agreed. Why were they so insistent? They lived well at Hawkins House, but this home could not compare to the mansions uptown that Claudia and others were always fawning over while reading the society pages in the newspapers. Claudia’s cousin worked as a lady’s maid in one of the colossal homes. She had told Claudia the curtains were sewn with gold thread, and diamonds glittered across her mistress’s evening dresses. Hawkins House was nothing like that, but they were acting as if it was. Those rich uptown people, they were the ones who could afford these doctors. She had heard the names of the wealthy: Astor, Du Pont, Forbes, Roosevelt. Definitely not Adams or even Hawkins.

The Hawk made a chopping gesture with her hand. “Now, if you will give us a name of a doctor to contact, we will make arrangements and get poor Mrs. Falcone out of that terrible place at once.” She said it as though it were a simple matter.

Father Lucci finally sipped deeply from his cup. “Excellent coffee, madam.”

“Thank you, but the doctor?” Mrs. Hawkins could be embarrassingly direct.

Sofia spoke up. “Mrs. Hawkins, I thank you very much for trying to help. And Father, I thank you for coming out here and for your prayers in Mamma’s behalf.” She stood. “I am sure the Father must be going.”

Mrs. Hawkins appeared flustered. “But—”

“It would be an intrusion to keep him past the evening confessional time.” Sofia took his coffee cup and he stood as well.

“Minnie? His coat?” Sofia did not wish to direct the housekeeper, but she had to step in to help the Father save face. These were not his people, despite their kind intentions.

Sofia thought the priest looked relieved. “If something can be worked out, I will send word, Mrs. Hawkins.” He bowed his head toward her. “Thank you for your kindness.” He was being most gracious indeed.

“Uh, thank you for coming, Father. Come back anytime you wish.” The woman’s face was white and her cheeks puffed. Clearly, Mrs. Hawkins had never encountered the Italian proclivity toward privacy and did not know how to respond. She peered through the front door that Minnie had opened. “Thank the good Lord it seems the rain has slowed considerably.”

“Yes, I will need to attend to the mopping out of my church. Good evening, ladies, Mr. Adams.” He turned up his coat collar against the autumn wind.

After he had left, Annie Adams sighed heavily. “He did not believe us. No one considers the possibility that an Irish lass like me could have money.”

“Now, dear,” Stephen said, patting his wife’s hand. “It is the nature of your benevolence that has contributed to this. You did not wish people to know of your wealth, remember? Despite the popularity of your father’s stories, you chose to follow Mrs. Hawkins’s example and keep your generosity a secret for the most part. If your name appeared regularly in the society pages, then people would believe.”

Annie grinned and touched a heart brooch she wore near her throat. “Aye, and I don’t want that. If people only understood the depth of our Mrs. Hawkins’s generosity, they would be as inspired as I have been.”

“You two must not go on so,” Mrs. Hawkins scorned. “Let us stay focused on what God instructs us to do rather than on ourselves.”

“You are most right.” Annie stood and flashed her sparkling smile in Sofia’s direction.

Sofia leaned against the pocket door. “I do not understand.”

“Well,” Annie began.

Sofia held up a hand. “Please, it does not matter. If Father Lucci could have helped Mamma, he would have. What I have to do now is get her back home. The rest we will figure out later, my papà and me.” She hoped they would understand it was a family matter.

Mrs. Hawkins wrapped an arm around her. “Of course, love. Do not worry so. I will help you get her back to your home and then the matter of her treatment can be sorted out.”

Sofia dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief from her sleeve. “
Grazie
, but please leave Father Lucci be, Mrs. Hawkins. The people from my neighborhood…they are not like you here. Please, understand, and do not bother him. He is so busy.”

“I would not dream of it, love.”

Sofia thought she caught a glimpse of the woman winking at the couple. They seemed to be in on some secret. They would learn, however, that Italian families take care of their own, one way or another. If not Papà, then someone else from home would help out.

***

As Sofia prepared for bed she counted the hours until she could return to Ward’s Island. Tomorrow, Saturday, was normally a short day for the shoe factory workers who were released at two o’clock. However, Mr. Richmond would expect the workers to make up for time lost due to the storms. The ferry did not run late. Perhaps she could make a telephone call to Ward’s Island. She would practice her English and make sure the attendants there knew that Mamma was to be released to her family. Mr. Richmond might be convinced to allow her to use his telephone so long as she did him a favor in return. She didn’t know what that might be. Spy on Claudia and the others? That’s what he wanted, although there was nothing to tell. That she knew of. She would pay attention, though, just in case.

***

The sun was beginning to rise as Sofia headed to the trolley. She needed forty minutes to get to work but since she’d left early she might get there in time to talk to Mr. Richmond, before the others arrived. She hoped to appeal to a sense of compassion that she desperately wanted him to possess.
Please, God, open a door for me to get to Mamma
.

There were a few early birds in the building but the relative silence from idle machines gave the factory an eerie feel. She’d had to wear her old shoes because she’d ruined her special pair in the floods. Without the extra height, she felt insignificant.

Her shoes tapped softly on the workroom floor. A light glowed from her boss’s open office. The smell of cigar smoke and slightly aged shoe leather stuck in her throat. When she coughed and peeked in he saw her and immediately pushed his chair back from his desk. “Early, aren’t you?”

“
Sì
. Yes, sir.”

He smiled, exposing tobacco-stained teeth under his mustache. “I am delighted to see you, my dear. Come in.”