"Yeah?" Sal laughed out loud. "Good for her. That would mess up a pretty uniform."
"They—they took her to jail, but Anna says they didn't keep her long. You know Mrs. Marino. Like Anna says, she was probably too much trouble even for the police."
Mrs. Gerbati was looking a bit shocked, but Sal was thoroughly enjoying this bit of news.
"And, of course, everyone sends you their love."
He actually blushed when she said that. Probably it was the first time anyone anywhere had ever sent him love. It was too bad it was just another of her lies.
Saturday came. It was the day Anna and Ricci would be going to Philadelphia and leaving Mamma behind with only the Jarusalises for comfort. Rosa went with Mrs. Gerbati to confession where Rosa admitted to telling a number of vague untruths. She didn't venture to be too specific. The priest didn't press her, but gave her the usual Hail Marys and Our Fathers to recite, and they were back, preparing for supper, when the telephone rang. There was a large contraption of wood and metal and wires attached to the wall in the front hall, which Mrs. Gerbati had proudly pointed out to be a telephone. Rosa had never seen anyone using it, and it took her a minute to realize that the ringing noise she heard was inside, rather than outside, the house.
"Ah,
il telefono"
Mrs. Gerbati exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron and hurrying into the hall to pick it up. Rosa couldn't help it—she followed Mrs. Gerbati right out the kitchen door. She'd never known anyone actually to talk on a telephone, and she was curious to see how it worked.
"'Ello, 'ello?" Mrs. Gerbati had pulled part of the instrument from the wall and cupped it over her right ear. She was standing on tiptoe, yelling into a sort of raised ring on the front. "
Si, si.
" And from then on she was mostly yelling
Si
or breathing a hushed
No
into the instrument. The only thing Rosa was sure of was that the news from the other end was not good. She could read that much from the growing expression of alarm on Mrs. Gerbati's face.
As soon as Mrs. Gerbati replaced the earpiece, Rosa called out to her, "What is it? What's the matter?"
Mrs. Gerbati took her by the hand and led her back into the warm kitchen. "Sit, Rosina."
Rosa obeyed. Mrs. Gerbati sat in the chair beside her, still holding her hand and shaking her head. Suddenly, as though something had just occurred to her, she raised her head and looked about. "Where is Salvatore?"
"I don't know. He said he was going out for a walk after he had his snack. I think he likes to wander around town. He'll be back soon, but you don't need to wait for him...."
"Better we wait for him." She let go of Rosa's hand and patted her knee. "And Mr. Gerbati, too, yes?" Mr. Gerbati had gone to the Labor Hall. He might not even come home for supper.
"Is it about Mamma?"
"Don't worry,
bambina.
Is all right, all good. You see."
Rosa didn't see anything at all except that nothing was good. Something terrible had happened to Mamma, that was it. Something so terrible that the news had to come by telephone, not telegram or letter. News so terrible that Mrs. Gerbati didn't even dare to tell her. Rosa was shaking all over, despite her warm clothes, despite the warm kitchen. Couldn't Mrs. Gerbati see what she was doing to her? Torturing her with silence? But Mrs. Gerbati had gotten up and gone to the kitchen counter. She took the leftover polenta from the night before, now congealed, and sliced it with a piece of string. She put the neat slices into a cast-iron pan sizzling with olive oil and began to fry them, concentrating on the task as if her life depended on it. If Rosa had thought it would do any good, she would have thrown herself at the old woman's feet and begged her to tell, but she knew Mrs. Gerbati was determined to make her husband the teller of bad news—news so terrible that she could not bring herself to break it.
Finally, Sal came back and, minutes later, Mr. Gerbati. It might as well have been days, as far as Rosa was concerned, for by the time the old man opened the door, Rosa had mentally gone to the DeCesare funeral parlor and seen the bodies of her loved ones laid out like Annie Lopizzo, and then followed the hearse that carried her entire family to paupers' graves in the Lawrence cemetery. Or would the union pay for a proper burial? They ought to. They were at fault. If it hadn't been for the union, she would still have a family.
"Some coffee and bread?" Mrs. Gerbati asked a bit too chirpily as her husband and Sal entered the kitchen. "To comfort the belly after your cold walk?" Both Sal and Mr. Gerbati sat down at the table while she served them. "And you, Rosa?"
Rosa shook her head, unable to speak. She was numb with terrified anticipation. Mrs. Gerbati was sending silent signals to Mr. Gerbati across Sal's head, but the boy seemed to notice nothing but his food. Finally, Mr. Gerbati cleared his throat.
"I hear at the Labor Hall some news," he began. Rosa looked up quickly. Sal kept munching away on his bread. "There was a—a
tumulto
at the station...."
"What station?" Rosa blurted out.
"In Lawrence. The parents was taking their children to the train."
"To go to Philadelphia?" Rosa could not help herself. She had to know. Why couldn't he go ahead and tell her if Mamma and Anna and Ricci were dead or alive? They must be dead—why else all the delay?
He nodded. "To Philadelphia," he said. "The police—"
"Mamma's dead."
Both Mr. and Mrs.Gerbati started in alarm. "
No! No!
" They chorused.
"
Povera bambina!
" Mrs. Gerbati came from the stove and put her arms around Rosa, crushing the girl's face to her wide bosom. "No,
no,
don't I tell you no worry? Is all right? You tell Rosa is all right," she commanded her husband.
"The police attack the people," Mr. Gerbati continued. "No dead, but some beat with police stick. We don't know 'bout your mamma and sister"—he glanced at Sal, who was still chewing his food—"if hurt or not. We only know Mamma and sister in jail and baby boy took away to somewhere we don't know."
Rosa let out a cry, which prompted Mrs. Gerbati to hug her closer.
"Mr. Broggi, he in touch with union committee in Lawrence. He get more news, he telephone, okay?"
"Why do they do such terrible thing, Mr. Gerbati?" Mrs. Gerbati sounded near to tears herself. "Beat up womens and little childrens and snatch baby away from Mamma? What kind of people do such terrible thing?"
"Only people who fear. Fear make people crazy."
"What have they got to be scared of?" Sal said. He'd stopped chewing and begun to pay attention at last. "They got all the guns."
"Guns don't win this kinda war," Mr. Gerbati said, thumping his chest. "Is heart. Is strong in here."
***
Rosa could hardly eat, and later it was even harder to sleep. Pictures of Mamma and Anna in what she imagined to be the Lawrence jail filled her mind. And little Ricci. Where was he? She couldn't even imagine what must have happened to her poor baby brother. It would be better for him to be in jail, wouldn't it? At least he would be with Mamma and Anna, not carried away by strangers. She was, by turn, hot with anger and cold with fear. Why had she left them? She could have kept them out of trouble if she'd been there. No, probably not. Mamma was a hardheaded Italian woman after all. Well, then ... she would have been in jail with them. Wasn't that better than being here all safe and warm and well fed while everyone she loved was suffering? She began to cry again, quietly into her pillow, so as not to disturb the Gerbatis in the next room.
Morning came at last. Rosa dressed and went into the kitchen. Some morning, she promised herself, she'd get up before Mrs. Gerbati, surprise her by starting the fire in the stove. Not today, however. Mrs. Gerbati had the stove roaring and coffee bubbling on the back of it. The bread for the day had risen and was already baking in the hot oven. She gave Rosa a big smile, though her eyes were pained as they searched the girl's face. "You sleep okay?"
Rosa shrugged in answer.
"Me, too." The woman sighed. "So much worry for Mamma and sister and baby. But it be all right, yes? We get good news soon, you see. Mr. Broggi find out soon, fix everything."
"I got to go home, Mrs. Gerbati."
"No! You can't go. Your mamma not even there."
"The Jarusalises—the people who live in our apartment—they are there—at least Granny will be. She won't be in jail. I have to go and find out about Mamma and Anna, and especially Ricci. I don't even know where Ricci is! He'll be scared to death. He doesn't like strangers at all. He won't know what happened to him."
"Shh, shh. Hush. We talk to Mr. Broggi. We find out everything soon, yes? Now, come to Mass like good girl and we pray to Virgin, okay? We light special candle—one for Mamma, one for Anna, and one for baby Ricci, yes?"
What else could she do? She had no money for train fare. She fetched her coat and hat and put them on. Mrs. Gerbati hung up her apron and threw her great wool shawl over her head and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Salvatore not go, yes?"
Rosa shook her head. He was probably sleeping like a baby. He wasn't worried about anything.
She couldn't know that at that moment Jake was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was all going to explode soon. The police had arrested Rosa's ma. There would be questions, if not from the police, from the stinking union committee. It wouldn't be more than a day or so before ... He was actually sweating. It was a cold sweat but sweat nonetheless. He had to get that money today before everything blew sky high. There was a safe in the office. He had seen customers come to the office and give Mr. Gerbati money, which he had locked up in a little metal safe under his desk once they were gone. The key was on Mr. Gerbati's watch fob. Not much chance of pinching that. But how tough could that lock be? With one of their precious points and a hammer, couldn't he jimmy it? Make it look like a robbery? Well, it wouldn't matter if they suspected him. He'd be long gone before Mr. Gerbati discovered the broken lock and missing cash.
He began to sweat again. The police of two towns would be after him. But how smart could the police in a hick town like this be, anyway? Besides, he'd gotten the distinct impression from the men at work that the police didn't have much use for the Italian community. Too much drinking and brawling and loud talk in the streets. Duncan had said even his own family, being Scots, hated it that he was working in a wop shed. Duncan had really said "Eye-talian" not "wop." They wouldn't have minded so much if the shed had been owned by a Scot. Duncan's pa had come from Scotland to get the granite out of the ground. Now all the men in Duncan's family, except for him, worked in the quarries.
Duncan would despise him if he stole the money and ran. But why should he care what Duncan thought? The man actually thought old man Gerbati was a kind of god, creating living things out of dead rock.
What if he didn't run? Not at first anyway. If he stole the money and hid it and waited a day or two, then they wouldn't suspect him. If he grabbed it and ran, of course they'd be after him like a shot. Mr. Gerbati would send every goon in the labor union after him. And Rosa, tired of lying for him, would squeal that he'd taken the first train to New York. Then he'd have every cop in New York City on his tail.
He sat up in bed. Today was the day to do it. Nobody went near the sheds on a Sunday. It would be Monday morning before the theft was discovered, and he'd be there, shoveling up the grout, innocent as a daisy. Creeping to his door, he listened while Rosa and the old woman left for church. He dressed quickly, then waited silently until he heard the old man's feet on the stairs. He was headed for the bathroom at the end of the downstairs hall. The door shut, and then Jake could hear the regular morning noises of the old man. First there was the rush of the flushing toilet, then raspy coughing and wheezing and clearing of the throat, a morning ritual before he shaved his face. He waited until he heard Gerbati in the hall, putting on his overcoat. He was getting ready to go fetch his morning newspaper. The front door opened.... It was safe to leave. By the time the old man turned the corner and started uphill for the shop, Jake would be out the kitchen door, heading downhill to the shed.
The sky was gray; the sun had yet to make its way through the heavy clouds, which might or might not mean more snow before the day was over. Jake could tell it had snowed during the night. It seemed to snow all the time up here. He was tired of snow. Oh, it was pretty all right, like now when it first came down, but run a few horses and wagons through it, not to mention automobiles, and it churned up as bad as the slush in the Lawrence streets. Well, no matter. He wasn't out for sightseeing today.
He felt a tickle of excitement in his chest. This was better than going after a poor box. This was the real thing. He quickened his steps. There were not many people on the streets in the North End. The pious were in church. The others were sleeping off the effects of Saturday night. Why, by the time he got to the shed, even the old man would be home, settled in his chair, his glasses on his nose, reading his infernal Italian newspaper. He crossed Main Street without seeing a single vehicle, not even a trolley car. What a dead burg this was!
Just in case, just in case anyone happened to notice him—and he always felt conspicuous in his grand overcoat—he turned off Main Street a block before he needed to and wound his way in and out of sheds before he approached Rossi and Gerbati. How was he going to get in? He'd forgotten that the outside door also had a lock. Never mind, he'd broken into plenty of places before. He forced the small window in the office up far enough to let him wriggle through and slide headfirst onto the office floor. The room was dark, but he wasn't going to risk turning on any lights.
He pulled down the window and went over to examine the safe. He knelt down and ran his thumb along the edge, trying to measure the width of a cutter's point that might fit in the crack between the door and the wall of the little metal safe. The whole thing looked flimsy.