She lifted a single, frail shoulder. Shrugged.
He wanted to take her by it, enclose her in his embrace and hide her from the world forever, but he had no right to do any of those things, so he held up another tomato instead. “Five?”
She nodded.
“Six?”
She was just about to shake her head when she realized that doing so would end their conversation. It would only speed her home. So she nodded.
He held up another.
She nodded again.
By the time Annamaria left Zanfini’s frutta e verdura, she was carrying twelve tomatoes in her basket. But more than that, she was carrying new thoughts and new vistas in her mind. She may have walked into the store the eldest daughter of the Rossi family, but when she walked out the door, she did so as a woman.
“Twelve tomatoes? You brought me twelve tomatoes? What am I going to do with twelve tomatoes?” Mama was putting them back into the basket one by one, recounting them just to make sure.
“Did you talk to him? You didn’t speak to him, did you?” Papa Rossi had watched from the window the whole time, but still, he had no way of knowing what had taken place inside that shop.
Annamaria heard her parents speaking, saw her brothers and younger sister watching. Indeed, they all saw her listening and watching. They just couldn’t make her speak. She was pondering all that she had heard and seen in Zanfini’s shop. And she was feeling, with newfound wonder and tremulous delight, the stretching and growing of her heart.
“Annamaria!”
She blinked. “Sì, Mama?”
“Twelve tomatoes?”
“Sì, Mama.”
“Just like a Sicilian. I suppose you asked for three and he forced twelve on you instead.”
“No, Mama. He was very nice. But I didn’t talk to him.”
Papa walked up to her and clasped her by the arm. “You didn’t speak to those people?”
“No, Papa.” But she smiled as she said it.
“So . . . he didn’t force them on you?” Mama was still trying to work out how it was that she’d ended up with twelve tomatoes.
“No.”
“But he gave you twelve.”
“Sì.”
Clearly, something had happened. But since it didn’t have anything to do with talking or tomatoes, Mama and Papa looked at each other and shrugged. What did it matter what happened, as long as she was safe, back home on the right side of the street?
14
The next morning at the shop, Madame’s fingers closed around Mrs. Quinn’s bag, pulling the jewels from the safe. Grazie a Dio, they were still there! She shook her head. Nearly made the sign of the cross. She’d never dealt with such a thing: a treasure chest’s worth of priceless gems from a client. She refrained from peeking inside, not wanting to tempt fate. What was the woman thinking? That she was a jeweler now, as well as a gown maker? That she could advise on gemstones and marriages as well as patterns and fabrics?
At least they had already been drilled – they were meant to be strung or wired. At least she would not have to worry about that. But, really, she shouldn’t have to worry about them at all. What had the woman been thinking, to commend such costly treasures to her care? Madame didn’t like the responsibility such a trust brought with it. She cast a longing glance toward the drawer of her desk, but decided it would be foolish to waste such precious drops of liquor on the thought of that witch . . . when soon enough the woman would be appearing, once more, in person.
She muttered vague pronouncements and rather specific curses under her breath as she climbed the back stairs to the third-floor workshop.
All three of the girls looked up at her appearance.
Madame walked to Luciana and then placed the pouch on the table before the girl. “These are the jewels that Mrs. Quinn left. We might as well see what she’s given us so that I’ll be able to place an order for what else will be needed.”
Julietta gasped as Luciana shook them out onto the table. “Bontà mia!” She’d never before seen such a bounty of riches. “What are they?” Her fingers itched to touch the lovely, glittering stones.
Annamaria’s eyes had gone wide at their sparkling brilliance.
Madame shrugged. Picked up several. “Besides the sapphires, these look like . . . garnets.”
“Rubies.” At least the two that Madame had chosen were. Luciana had corrected her without any thought or hesitation. Only a ruby could exhibit such a deep bloodred color. Garnets tended toward the brown.
Madame handed them to Luciana.
She took them and put them back among the others, proceeding to separate them out by stone and then by size. As she thought back to the gown the strega had ordered, a pattern began to take shape in her mind. A simple Florentine pattern of blossoms and scrollwork. Perhaps, if she placed the design on the vertical, like so . . . her hands worked to shape a line as if it were decorating one half of a collar. And then, another line on the other side. Soon, two lines had blossomed on the table in front of her.
Sì. Like that. Just like that.
Madame looked at Luciana’s idea for a long moment. Measured off the length and width of the bodice in her mind. Imagined the collar. She reached down and shortened the line a bit by pushing the jewels closer together. “Sì. That will work.”
Luciana nodded. “With some jet beads in addition.”
Madame cocked her head as she looked at the pattern. Reached down to draw on the table with one long finger. “Here. Like this?” She traced a design through the bottoms of the blossoms.
“Sì.”
Madame nodded. “I’ll place the order. The beads and fabric should come in next week. And I’ll put these back into the safe until then.” She swept the jewels into the bag and then proceeded toward the door, leaving Julietta and Annamaria to marvel at the magnificence they had just witnessed. And Luciana to remember, with regret, all the treasures she had left at the estate when she had fled. All the jewelry she’d had to sell once she came to America. She wished she’d kept some; she could use the money. But the lavaliere she’d given Julietta in exchange for altering the gowns was the last piece she’d had.
Madame hefted the bag as she descended, imagining what she might do with the small fortune the bag represented. She could expand the shop’s offerings into . . . shoes. Or hats. She could buy out the shop next door. Or import some of the more notable designs from Paris herself. A small fortune. What a foolish woman the strega was! Perhaps she should increase her insurance. To protect the shop.
Which reminded her!
She halted her descent, turned around, and started back up the stairs.
“Julietta.”
The three girls turned in unison at the sound of Madame’s voice.
“I need to speak to you.”
Annamaria and Julietta exchanged glances. When Madame made a point of coming up to the third floor, it had always been to speak to both of them about the detailing of some gown or the work that would soon be sent up from the second floor.
Julietta shrugged and set her embroidery down. Madame beckoned as she turned toward the stairs. Julietta followed her all the way down to her office and remained standing as Madame took a seat behind the desk.
“My business is growing, Julietta.”
The girl nodded.
“Growth is good. But new clients create new work.”
Julietta nodded once more.
“It is possible that at some point in the future, I will need to take on a partner.”
“A partner?”
“Someone to share my business. Someone who can run the shop while I am out. Someone who knows gowns but who also knows people.”
Julietta could hardly believe her ears. She had known Madame would need an assistant; she had envisioned herself many times in that role. But a partner? With a share in the business?
“I would consider you for such a venture if you prove that you are worthy of the work.”
Work? How could it be work? Work was making
ruffles and flounces and sewing them onto skirts. Work was embroidering endless vines and flowers onto a collar. A partner? In the shop? That meant being downstairs. That meant waiting for clients to come for their appointments. Flipping through the sample books. Choosing fabrics. Why, that was no work at all!
“It would mean spending extra hours with me at the end of the normal workday. And it would mean learning to speak English. Extremely well. Do you know English?”
Julietta inclined her head. She used to. Long ago, when she had gone to school at the Settlement House. But she hadn’t really used it since she’d left. “Some.”
“I would need you to speak English with only the faintest of accents.”
“I could take a class. At the Settlement House. I could start tonight.”
Madame permitted herself a smile. “If you are that eager in wishing to learn, and if you show me that you are worthy of my trust, then I will increase your pay commensurately.”
Julietta’s eyes widened. Papa would like that! Shame she wouldn’t be able to keep any of it, for paychecks were always handed over to him on Fridays, still sealed within their envelopes. If she just had access to some of that money, think of all that she could do with it!
Julietta returned to the workshop, dreams of fortunes dancing in her head.
Annamaria wasn’t going to ask what had transpired. Julietta would tell them sooner or later. Luciana, however, didn’t want to wait to find out. In Roma she’d felt no shame in asking any of her maids to tell her exactly what she wanted to know. “What did she say?”
“She says she needs a partner in the shop. And she’s chosen me.”
Annamaria slid a glance at Julietta. A partner? Julietta was moving up, moving on, while she was stuck in the same position as always, doing the same things she always did. She jabbed her needle so forcefully into the material that it came out the other side, straight into her finger.
Mannaggia!
She stuck her finger into her mouth, but not before a drop of blood had stained the fabric. What was wrong with her? Why had good news for someone else become bad news for her? What had happened to the kind and meek Annamaria who had nothing but good words and a helping hand for everyone?
Poor Annamaria. Thoughts of the grocer’s son had filled her head and haunted her dreams ever since she’d come back from Zanfini’s with all those tomatoes in her basket. What she wanted more than anything was to go back and buy some more. But she couldn’t. Not until Mama told her to. She couldn’t do anything unless Mama told her to. She’d spent her entire life doing what Mama told her to. And Papa. And Theresa. And the boys.
Indignation colored her cheeks as she thought about just how many years she’d spent doing things that other people wanted her to do. She ought to be doing things that she wanted to do, shouldn’t she? Just like everyone else? So, what did she want?
Here it must be said that Annamaria faltered. Oh, she wanted something grand! She wanted the thing that had made her heart beat faster standing there in Zanfini’s store. She wanted to go back and see the grocer’s son. But it wasn’t her place to reach out for what she wanted. It was her duty to reach for what others wanted to give her. And so duty and desire warred within her breast.
What was wrong with thinking about a man?
He was a Sicilian, that’s what was wrong with it.
What was wrong in wanting something for herself?
She was born to serve others.
But what was wrong in wanting something . . . more?
Because a person was supposed to be grateful for what she had.
With that thought, Annamaria turned her eyes from the desires of her heart and back to the tasks that needed to be accomplished. So close she’d been to peering over the side of her family’s nest . . . only to slide back down and settle once more inside it. But it takes great courage to stand at the edge of a nest and greater courage still to fly. I’m sure at this moment you feel quite as disappointed as I do. But we must strive to remind ourselves that eventually, all birds learn to fly. It’s what birds, after all, are meant to do.
Sometimes all that’s needed is a bit of wind beneath those fledgling wings.
15
“So you’ll start when?” Julietta and Luciana had continued on, oblivious to Annamaria’s plight.
“Soon. Of course, I’ll have to learn better English. That’s what Madame said.”
“Better English . . .” Luciana didn’t know any English at all, but she needed to. She had no hope of survival in this country without it.
“I told her I’d take a course at the Settlement House.”
“A course?”
“A class. Where they teach you English.”
“It’s a . . . school?”
Julietta shrugged. She supposed it was like a school.
“Where is this place?”
“The Settlement House?” Didn’t the girl know anything?
“Over on Parmenter.”
“And they would teach you English at this place?”
“You and everyone else.”
That was something to think about. She wondered how much it would cost.
Annamaria spent the rest of the day pulling out her work and then starting over again. If she refolded the material, she thought she just might be able to hide the stain within the fold of a pleat. Julietta worked with swift hands. She wondered how many more leaves and vines she’d have to embroider. How many more flowers she would have to create before she could lay down that work forever. She imagined herself in the sleek and elegant clothes of a shop owner. Part owner. Wondered if she shouldn’t start altering some of her clothes to that end now.
Just how long would Madame make her wait?
At the end of the day she gathered her things quickly and ran down the stairs without a backward glance. She needed to celebrate her good fortune by herself, on the streets of downtown Boston. She needed to align herself with destiny just as surely as she needed to visit the Settlement House.
She was at North Street before she became aware of her surroundings. Before she descended from her daydreams long enough to register a male voice.
“Buon giorno.”
Angelo! She smiled as she turned.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Have you?”
“I have.” He linked an arm through hers, pulling her along with him.
Julietta’s heart thrilled at his touch.
“You owe me something, Signorina.”
“I – I do?”
“You owe me your name. I gave you mine . . . ?”
She smiled. “Julietta.”
“Julietta?”
“Giordano.”
“Julietta Giordano. Well. You have to stop running away from me, Julietta Giordano. So that we can get to know one another. You want to go for a walk? To the waterfront?”
Oh, but – she was supposed to be signing up for an English class. Wasn’t that what Madame had said? And what if she asked Julietta what the classes were like? Or worse, asked her to say something in English!
He tugged at her elbow. “Come on.”
I’d like to say that she hesitated more than a moment. I long to tell you that she refused him altogether, but alas, that would not have been true. As she stared into his eyes, she decided that English lessons could wait one day more.
They walked down to North Bennet and then turned onto Commercial Street by the wharves, Angelo saluting carters and longshoremen, until they reached the water. Amid the clop of horses’ hooves, the honking of trucks, and the teamsters’ cries, they stood together, gazing out at the harbor. She knew somewhere out there, beyond the wharves and ships, was the ocean. And somewhere beyond that was the old country. That land of family and tradition and la miseria. She turned her eyes upon him. “Where are you from, Angelo?”
“Roma.”
Roma? It wasn’t such a usual place to be from. Not in America.
“And what did you do there?”
He
shrugged. “Whatever I wanted. I was a student.” And so he was. He’d studied Stirner’s amorality as well as Armand’s free love; he was dedicated to both those causes and methodical in practicing their disciplines.
She’d suspected that he was smart. He drove a truck, didn’t he? “And what were you studying?” What did people study? “Medicine?” People besides Mauro. “Law?”
“Something like that. What I was studying will cure what infects the world. And all the people in it. Nectarine?” He’d taken it from a crate when no one was looking. It wasn’t an ice cream, but it was something.
He bowed as she took it from him, letting his eyes roam her face. “And what do you do?”
“I work for a gown maker. And she’s going to make me her partner. She told me so herself, just this day.” And telling someone somehow made it seem more official.
“Partner? In a shop?” Angelo wasn’t nearly as jubilant as she was. “Why would you want to be her partner?”
Why? – men! When had they ever understood anything when it came to fashion? “It’s a fancy shop. Where the finest ladies in Boston come to buy their gowns.”
“Finest? By that you must mean the richest.”
Wasn’t it the same thing? And why did he have to speak so scornfully?
“Why would you want to become a parasite and oppressor of the poor? You don’t seem like that kind of a person.”
Parasite? Oppressor of the poor? “I didn’t say any of that, I only said that she wants to make me her partner.”
“Your shop owner doesn’t actually make the gowns, does she?”
“She drapes them and fits them. Like a genius. The best in Boston.”
“And then I suppose she makes everyone else put them together.”
Well, of course she did. “She pays us for it.” Julietta forgave him his great disdain, for how could a man be expected to know what making a gown required?
“Ah! But how much does she pay you? Not nearly what you’re worth, I’d guess. She keeps some of what she makes for herself, doesn’t she?”
“I suppose she should. She owns the shop.”
A Heart Most Worthy Page 10