"Kidnap?"
"
Si,
kidanapa their boys. But we don't, no? Your papa want you to come, yes, Salvatore?"
"My pa is dead." He watched her eyes shift. What did she suspect?
"Si,
si, scusami.
I forget. My heart all upset. Mamma sign card, yes? She want you to come to Barre?"
"Uh, yeah. She signed."
Mrs. Gerbati leaned toward him conspiratorily. "We don't tell Rosa, no? She so homesick for Mamma. Don't tell her Colonni boys go home tomorrow, okay?"
He nodded. Rosa would find out, he knew, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell her.
"And we don't
make
you go to work in the shed, yes?"
"No. I mean, yes, no one made me go."
"We promise, you see, we send all childrens to school, don't make them work."
"But I wanted to work."
"That's what I say to Mr. Broggi. You say you
want
to go with Mr. Gerbati. No go school."
"They ain't going to make me go to school, are they?"
"I don't know. They don't like you go to shed. Not so healthy, they say, for growing boy." She glanced toward the front window. "Shh. Hush. She coming."
By the time Rosa got in the house, Mrs. Gerbati had taken herself to the kitchen. "Come, come, eat!
Zuppa
get cold. No good."
They gathered around the kitchen table. Rosa's hair had been freshly plaited with red ribbons tied to either braid. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold, and her eyes were shining. School seemed to agree with her.
"Is good school on Brook Street?"
"Yes. They even lent me some books to bring home."
"You gotta good teacher?"
"She's very nice. Miss Moulton."
"You grow up to be teacher, Rosa. We needa good teachers for Italian childrens."
It seemed obvious that Rosa hadn't heard about the boys going home. But she would by tonight. Then he'd be in a pickle. If she demanded to go, he was likely to be sent home with her. But if she stayed, they might force him to go to school, and then the jig would be up, for sure.
Mr. Gerbati finished slurping in the last of his coffee and scraped his chair back.
"Oh, so soon!
Scusami,
Salvatore. Mr. Gerbati always first back from
colazione."
She made an attempt to whistle with her mouth. "Got to pull the—the, you know—"
Jake jumped up. He wasn't going to let the old man leave him behind.
When Rosa returned to school after the midday meal, she was immediately greeted by one of the other Lawrence children. "Did you hear about the Colonni boys?" and when Rosa said she hadn't, the story began to pour out. She could tell that Tony had mixed up several versions in his excitement, but the main point was clear. The Colonni brothers' father said that he had not given permission for his sons to come to Vermont, that they had gotten on board the train instead of some other children. All the Barre people were swearing that they had been told that every child had had the proper permission card signed. Perhaps, in the confusion, some child might have boarded by mistake, but they could hardly believe that two children could have escaped their notice.
Rosa listened in horror. She knew perfectly well that Sal had no permission card and that he had boarded and passed almost unnoticed. But if a mistake had been made with these two boys, the Barre committee would be on the alert for other mistakes. She needed to warn him, but there was no way to do so before that night.
Tony, who was telling her breathlessly about the case, wound up by saying, "And they don't want to go home at all. They got plenty to eat and warm clothes. They like it here. It's a vacation, just like the union promised."
"They don't want to go home?"
"No. They're mad as wet cats."
Oh, if it had only been Rosa, not these silly boys, who was leaving tomorrow. Then she'd be home and she wouldn't have to worry about Mamma and Anna and Ricci anymore, much less Sal and all his problems and lies. It was hardly fair. Boys who didn't want to leave having to go, while she, who wanted so much to go home, must stay. Not only stay, but dream up more lies to help that wretched boy, whose real name and story she didn't even know, except that there was something dark, some shadow he was running away from. Of course, she was curious—anyone would be—but she was also terrified that he might tell her everything, and then she'd have the burden of even more lies as well as some wicked secret to keep hidden.
When she came in from school, she found Sal in the kitchen stuffing his mouth with bread and cheese. She made him leave his snack on the table and come into the hall with her.
"Can't it wait?" he asked grumpily. "I'm eating."
"They're sending two of the boys home to Lawrence tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah," he said, already turning to go back into the kitchen. "I heard already."
"You don't understand." She grabbed his arm. "They'll be checking on
everyone
now. They think there may have been a mixup boarding the train...."
"Yeah?" He was trying to act nonchalant, but she could tell he was worried.
"Well, what are we going to do?"
"Nothing. I told you I'd be leaving soon."
"But if you run away now, I'm the one who'll have to explain why."
He gave her a wry grin. "You're getting good at explaining. You'll think of something."
He was infuriating. "I have a good mind to march right into that kitchen this minute and tell Mrs. Gerbati everything!"
Alarm crossed his face, but he controlled it. "You wouldn't do that."
"And just why wouldn't I?"
"Because you're in too deep, that's why."
She knew he was right. The Gerbatis trusted her. They wouldn't understand if she suddenly announced that all she had said about Sal had been lies.
"You can tell them one thing, though."
"And what is that?"
"The real reason I can't go to school."
"I thought you'd be too ashamed."
"It'll be worse if they make me go."
She stared at him. He was ashamed—really ashamed—of not being able to read or write even his own name. She wanted to say,
I'll teach you,
but that might make matters worse.
"Mr. Marchesi come by to tell Mrs. Gerbati I was supposed to be in school, not working. Part of the deal was that the people here would send all the kids to school, not make them work."
"Nobody's making you work, are they?"
"No. I kinda like it. It's not near as hard as the mill. And all the guys are friendly to me. Even the old man ain't too bad."
"Okay," she said finally. "I'll tell them, but I may have to tell the truth."
He reddened, but he nodded. "Whatever you have to do. I can't go to no school."
Rosa went to Mr. Gerbati, who had fetched his afternoon newspaper from the market around the corner and was reading in the sitting room while his wife finished putting supper on the table. "Sal asked me to talk to you, Mr. Gerbati," she began.
He folded the paper on his lap and looked at her over his little metal-rimmed glasses. "He can't talk for himself?"
"He's too ashamed."
"So?"
She took a deep breath. "Sal can't go to school, Mr. Gerbati. He—he's never been, so he would have to start with the little ones. He's too ashamed to be in the first grade with six- and seven-year-olds."
Mr. Gerbati was waiting for her to go on.
"I know it seems strange ... me going to school and my brother not. But—but he was, well, when he was six, he was very sick, and when he got well again, he refused to go. You may have noticed that he's very stubborn." Mr. Gerbati gave a faint smile. "So finally Papa paid the man for the papers, and Sal went to work in the mill. He was as big as some of the older boys, and nobody asks questions at the mill anyway. Besides, we needed the money. Then Papa was killed, and we needed it even worse."
"So, if he's worker, why is he here with children?"
"I—I wouldn't come alone. I was too scared. There was no work with the strike going, and," she put on her saddest face, "he was hungry, too."
Mr. Gerbati ran his finger along the crease of his paper. "When Mr. Broggi go to Lawrence, he promise all the children go to school. Mr. Marchesi tell Mrs. Gerbati today, all the committee know Sal no go to school."
"I know. But you could explain to Mr. Marchesi and Mr. Broggi. Mamma would understand. She won't expect Sal to be in school, only that he behave himself and help you any way he can. We're both so grateful to you and Mrs. Gerbati...."
"Tell your brother next time he speak for himself,
si?
Not send little sister." He turned back to his paper.
At supper neither of the Gerbatis mentioned the return of the Colonni brothers to Lawrence, nor the visit Mr. Marchesi had paid to check on their charges. But after the old man had finished the last of his wine and his coffee, into which Rosa noticed he poured a bit of grappa from a jug on the counter, he pushed back his chair and addressed Sal. "Your sister say you like work in the shed better than school, yes?"
"Yessir," Sal murmured to his empty plate.
"You work hard, you behave good, I fix with committee, okay?"
"Thank you, sir," Sal said without lifting his head. "
Grazie.
"
"But after work, you gotta study,
si?
Rosa, she smart girl, she teach you. And I don't want no monkey business, neither. You study good. You go home after strike and you no dumb kid, okay?"
"Yessir."
"Begin tonight. I tell Mr. Broggi and Mr. Marchesi you study at Gerbatis' house, okay?"
So it was all right, at least for now. She'd gotten the wretched boy through one more scrape. It would be nice to think he was grateful, but she doubted it. She began that night at the kitchen table writing "Salvatore Serutti" in big curling letters at the top of the paper that Mrs. Gerbati had found for her. Then below she wrote the alphabet, first in capitals, then in lowercase. "Now copy everything," she ordered, "while I study my own lessons."
He was sweating, holding the pencil tightly in his right fist. She knew he would have objected if the Gerbatis hadn't been in the next room, Mrs. Gerbati smiling with pride over her two charges working away on their lessons at the kitchen table.
Mr. Broggi escorted the Colonni boys to Lawrence the next day on the afternoon train. The word came back that their mother wept with regret when she saw her sons so well dressed. The mill owners' agents had lied to the parents, had pressured them to demand the boys' return, saying that they were being harshly treated in Vermont, that they were no more than slaves to the rough and drunken stonecutters in that godforsaken place. When the boys told them about the parade and the feast at the Labor Hall and how every meal since had been a feast, even the father begged Mr. Broggi's forgiveness. Maybe more children should go to this paradise in the north, the Colonnis said.
Thursday, Mr. Broggi returned. All the children at school were hoping for word from home. So as soon as the dismissal bell rang, Rosa raced back to the Gerbatis', past Mr. Gerbati reading his paper, and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Gerbati had evidently just given Sal a fat slice of bread slathered with butter to "hold his belly" until supper was ready.
"Did my mamma send any word by Mr. Broggi?" Rosa asked by way of greeting.
Mrs. Gerbati smiled and pulled a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket. "She write to Rosa," she explained to Sal. "You learn good to read, she write you, too, yes?"
Rosa unfolded the paper. It had been written not by Mamma, but by Anna. Mamma couldn't write well in Italian, much less in English.
Dear Rosa,
How are you doing in Barry, Vermont? We miss you, but Mr. Broggi says all the children ther are doing fine and we must not lisen to lies from the mill people. Ther are a lot of lies about Lawrence children being kidnaped and carried away to New York and Vermont, but Mamma says we know they are lies, jus like the other lies we been told.
Mamma meenS to Send me and Ricci to Filadelfiaon Saturday. I don't want to go, but Ricci is to Jung to go alone and I have been coffing more and Mamma Says I need to go where I can get good food and a warm place to Stay.
We got the post card you Sent and also the pitchur of you and a boy from Mr. Broggi. Who is that boy? You look good, but his fase was blury. Mamma thought Mr. Broggi Said Something about her Son, but Mamma must have got it wrong. I worry the masheens have made her def like Mrs. Marino. By the way Mrs. Marino has been to jail. She hit a milisha with a pot of Slop from her window. They let her go tho. I think Mrs. Marino is to much troble even for the polees. Rite Soon.
Love,
AnnaI forgot to Say. Olga Kronsky Say to tell you Miss Finch bring breakfast for class every day now.
A large tear rolled down her cheek and plopped down on "Filadelfia," making it a smear.
"Bad news, Rosina?"
"No, Mrs. Gerbati. Just ... Mamma is sending my sister and baby brother to Philadelphia on Saturday."
"Aw, Philadelphia. We want more children in Barre. Why go to Philadelphia? Too big city. Barre nice, lotsa nice Italian family here."
She sounded so much like Mamma that it was all Rosa could do to keep from bursting into tears.
"You don't read your mamma's letter to your brother?" Mr. Gerbati was standing at the kitchen door. "Or don't he care for news from home?"
"Oh, yes, sure, of course he cares. I'm sorry, Sal."
Sal looked up from his plate. Mrs. Gerbati had given him a second slice of bread and butter, so he hadn't been paying any attention to the old woman and Rosa. "Huh?"
"It's a letter from Mamma."
"Yeah?"
"Our big sister Anna and our little brother Ricci are going to Philadelphia on Saturday." She realized, a bit late, that it sounded as though she was talking to a dimwit. After all, Sal ought to know who Anna and Ricci were.
"Yeah? That's nice."
"And Mrs. Marino had to go to jail. She—uh—poured—uh—slop from her window on a Harvard boy's head."