“But . . . you don’t – why not?” The thought that someone didn’t want the same thing she did was almost as offensive to Julietta as a woman wearing a gown three seasons old. Why wouldn’t anyone want what she wanted?
Luciana folded her arms across her chest as she glowered at the girl. She would not be told what it was she could and couldn’t do. Not by this girl. “Actually, you’re right. I’ve changed my mind. You’ve convinced me. Maybe I do want the shop.”
“But you can’t – ”
“I can. You might know how to sew, but I know how to wear the clothes you make. And I can get on better with Madame’s clients. Much better than you do.”
Julietta eyes flashed. “Not if you can’t speak English. Not if you keep cringing at shadows. You don’t know the first thing about America.”
“And you don’t know the first thing about class.”
They exchanged looks across a vast expanse of resentment and envy.
Julietta broke the silence, eyes spitting fire. “Fine. What do you want? More than the store?”
More than the store? Luciana had to admit that the idea of spending her life as a shopkeeper was just as distasteful as spending it sewing beads. More than the store? There was in fact one thing she wanted. One thing she needed quite badly.
“I need to learn English.”
English? That was what she wanted? Then why hadn’t she just said so? “Go to the Settlement House. Over on Parmenter Street. Like I told you.”
“I don’t . . . I – I can’t.”
“Why not?”
How much should she say? “I can’t.”
Julietta’s brows crimped in annoyance.
“I really can’t. There’s someone looking for me. And if he finds me . . . I’m afraid of what he’ll do. I saw him once. Here in the city.”
“Why is he looking for you?”
“Because of something that happened in Roma.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Sì.”
She’d known Luciana wasn’t from the south. The only mystery was just how northern she’d been. She was from Roma? Then she was among the worst of all northerners. Among the first of all those who had taxed and ignored and oppressed their countrymen into poverty. She was the cause of all the country’s troubles. One more reason to despise her.
Like most of us, Julietta had no trouble holding conflicting opinions about a certain set of facts. Angelo and Luciana were both from Roma. The prejudices Julietta, as an Avellinesi, could easily dismiss for the one, she pressed like an iron against the other. And had you or I informed her of the inconsistency, she wouldn’t have seen any fault in herself at all.
“My grandmother and I came here to America because we had no other choice. We had to escape him. And we can’t let him find us now. We have to survive.”
Survive. Julietta could understand that. That’s all that any of them had wanted. At first. But Julietta was beginning to want more. She wanted more than existence, more than mere survival. She wanted triumph. That’s why Madame’s shop was so important. She wanted to become a part of America. She wanted to belong. To walk down any street in Boston knowing that she had a right to be there. Know that everyone else knew it too. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to . . .” What did Luciana want? “I want you to show me where the school is. I can’t afford to wander around looking for it. He might see me. I want you to take me there, and I want you to help me sign up.”
“That’s what you want.” That’s all she wanted? “If I help you sign up, you won’t take the shop from me?”
Luciana shook her head.
“All you had to do was ask.”
Mauro searched the crowds all day on Saturday, pushing through the packed streets in vain. Julietta was nowhere to be found. As it happened, Angelo had driven by in his truck just before Saint Marciano’s procession had started. When Julietta saw him there sitting high in his cab, when she saw him reach across the seat and push the passenger door open, there was nothing for her to do but get in, to see where the ride would take her.
And what a ride it was!
Good thing she’d decided to wear the messaline. She always knew Saint Marciano was looking out for her! And she never imagined how exciting riding in a truck could be. It wasn’t like the electric car at all! No. There were only the two of them and somehow, enclosed in the cab, it was very private. For several blocks she didn’t know quite what to say. She snuck a look at his dashing form. Overcome with the intimacy of the moment and the speed at which things passed by her window, she lost her ability to speak. Though not for long. Soon she was smiling as if she went for rides in trucks every day of the week.
“Where are we going?”
Angelo winked at her. “Where do you want to go?”
She shrugged. It wouldn’t have done to look too excited, to seem too eager. A man like Angelo wouldn’t be interested in a naïve country girl. He was probably used to girls with much more sophistication. Julietta surreptitiously pushed herself back against the seat and folded her hands into her lap.
And so they proceeded, away from the city and out into the farmlands that surrounded the metropolis, lurching over potholes and honking at groups of children playing in the dusty streets, warning them to get out of the way. And once, when they came to an intersection blocked by a sturdy if stubborn cow, Angelo let Julietta press the horn herself.
After a while he turned the truck off the main road, and they jounced down a rutted, rocky lane. When the road ended at the start of a field, Angelo set the hand brake and turned off the engine.
He pushed his door open, hopped down, and reached behind the seat for something. Paused when he saw her still sitting there. “Aren’t you coming?”
Julietta was surveying the field, just as she had surveyed the road that had brought them there. They were both rather . . . rough. And covered with a dense layer of dust. Being made denser still by the dust they’d stirred in their coming. It was settling down all around them – on them – she could taste it on her tongue.
Dust was one thing she hadn’t thought of.
A romantic walk in a park. A picnic. But trudging through a dusty field had not been part of her plan. And anyway, she was dressed in her best. For the festa.
She put one long leg up on the bench of the truck. “I’ll ruin my shoes.”
He took one look up that nicely shaped, incredibly long leg, and then fixed his gaze on her eyes. “So take them off.”
“Take them – take them off?”
“Take them off.”
Well. She could. But why should she? And risk her gown being ruined by the dust and the dirt! She pouted, just the tiniest of pouts. “Can’t we go somewhere else?”
He leaned an arm against the steering wheel. “Like where?” He thought of the picnic hidden behind the seat and his growing hunger.
“Like . . .” They couldn’t very well go back to the city and risk being seen. What she’d done by leaving with him was risky enough. She didn’t want to be caught in the doing of it. “ . . . like . . . your place. I could meet your family.” They couldn’t be half as bad as her own. And if she met them and they liked her . . . wouldn’t that be grand!
Angelo had raised a brow in apparent surprise. “My place?” He hopped onto the bench, slammed the door shut, and reversed the truck so quickly that Julietta’s head knocked against the back window.
“Is it very far?”
“What?”
“Your place. Is it very far?”
“No.” Angelo turned off the main road onto a lane that bordered more fields. Tall cornstalks rose up from one of them like spears. Hardy green bouquets of cabbages sprouted from another. He took a sharp turn onto a narrow, rutted path that outlined the perimeter of the cornfield, following until it dead-ended at a stand of trees. The engine died with a jerk.
He stepped down from the cab, inviting her to do the same.
She slid down from the seat onto gravel.
This was no better. They might as well have stayed where they were.
Angelo had already started down the lane, carrying a basket in his hand.
“Wait! Scusi. I just . . . I can’t . . .” The gravel was poking at her feet as if she weren’t wearing any shoes at all.
He strode back to her, gestured for her to get back into the cab, and then he knelt on the gravel below her. “Here. I’ll give you a ride.” He tugged on one of her feet, seeming to indicate that she should mount his shoulders.
“I don’t think . . . I really shouldn’t – ”
“And how else are we going to get there?”
With a scramble up onto his back and a lot of clinging to his chin, she finally settled herself onto his shoulders.
“Ready?”
“I guess I – ” she shrieked as he pushed to standing. Then she began to grasp at her skirt, which had ridden up past her knees.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, placing an arm over her shins and pulling them toward his chest. He felt her straighten, pushing against his neck, centering her weight across his shoulders. “I can’t see anything anyway.”
In fact, he could. He could see quite a bit. Shapely calves, a very fine pair of knees. But he was careful not to let on. He was enjoying the view. And besides, she was a cute little thing. He didn’t want to ruin anything before it had even gotten started.
As he strode down the lane, she felt rather liberated. She’d never ridden on anyone’s shoulders. Not since the age of eight. Or nine. And then, it had been . . . had it been Mauro’s shoulders she’d ridden on?
Mauro!
To Julietta’s credit, she did feel bad about not being at the festa with Mauro. A little bit. A very tiny bit. But in the next moment she sent the thought away. Who wanted to think about Mauro on a day like this? With a man like this one? Mauro would never have been able to hoist her to his shoulders. Some days he seemed too weary to even carry around his old doctor’s bag.
As they came to a curve in the lane, a shack came into view. A shack that Angelo seemed to be headed for. Was it . . . his house? It couldn’t have been big enough for a family. Although the Giordanos somehow managed to fit themselves into their tiny apartment.
She tugged on his chin.
“Ow!”
“Shouldn’t you let me down?” She didn’t want his family to see her like this!
He bent his knees and released his hold on her shins to allow her to slide off his back. He nearly got choked in the process, and Julietta’s gown was pulled up even higher, but neither let the other know of those indignities.
Angelo pushed the door open wide and let Julietta walk in.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The sole window was coated with dusty grime. A table and two chairs sat in one corner. A bed in another. A crate overflowing with pink-colored papers in a third. There was hardly enough room to pass between the furniture. “And . . . where is your family?”
He reached out a hand over her head, shoved the door shut, and caught her about the waist with a hand. He bent his head and kissed her. “Family? I don’t have one.”
20
Julietta had been daydreaming about kissing Angelo, but she’d never imagined that his touch would fill her with fear. He didn’t have a family? But then . . . that meant that she was hidden away with him, in a house that was his alone? Oddio, sono finita! That wasn’t good. That wasn’t at all what she had intended! Sneaking out into an alley with a boy was one thing, but going off somewhere alone with one was another thing entirely!
She had to get out. Now!
“What’s the matter?” He’d drawn her close, against his chest.
“I think I should – ”
He nuzzled her ear.
Oh. My. That felt rather . . .
“You think you should . . . ?”
“I think . . . I should.” What was he doing to her neck? Whatever it was, it felt divine.
“Should what?”
“What?”
He laughed as he rubbed a hand up and down her back.
Oh! Now she remembered. She put a hand to his chest and pushed him away. “I think I should leave.” But there was a hint of regret in her eyes. He was rather good at kissing. . . .
He caught up that hand, tugging her forward until he felt his knees hit the edge of the mattress. Then, embracing her, he brought her with him as he fell onto the bed.
“Angelo!”
The springs squeaked alarmingly as she tried to roll off him. And the mattress sagged under his weight. So much so that she couldn’t scramble away from him; the pitch of the mattress kept tumbling her back to his side.
He stretched out an arm and pulled her to him. Nipped at her ear. Her neck. His hand crept up her ribs.
She shoved at him. Hard. “Don’t – !”
“What’s wrong?” He eased away, propping himself up on an elbow to look at her.
She used the opportunity to push herself to sitting. And then to stand. Her heart was racing, and it wasn’t with ardor or passion.
“You can’t – I don’t – ”
He sat up too and held up his hands as if he were innocent. “I’m sorry. This place isn’t very big. I tripped. I didn’t mean . . .” He shrugged. Held out one of his hands to her. “Come here.”
She straightened her dress, put a hand up to her hair. Then Julietta glanced around the room before finally looking down at him.
He was sitting there so . . . forlorn.
She reached out a hand toward him.
He grasped it and immediately pulled her close. Clasped his arms about her waist and leaned his head against her chest.
She put out a hand and stroked his hair.
“I’m sorry, Julietta. I should know better.”
Sì, he should!
“But you’re just so . . . beautiful.” He felt her relax. Heard her sigh. “I couldn’t help myself.”
She kissed the top of his head.
“Are we friends again?”
He was looking up at her with such hope, such regret, that she couldn’t help herself from leaning down for a kiss.
That first kiss led to a second and the second one to a third. And, really, what is there to say about such things? Except that Mama Giordano would not have been happy. At all. She might have even gone at Angelo Moretti with her spoon. She knew Julietta kissed boys. Of course she did. And though it might shock you to know it, Mama didn’t have anything against a little fun. But Julietta had never kissed any boy with such passion and abandon. And she’d never once before this day lost control. Always before she’d been able to stop things from going too far. With a laugh or a sigh she’d been able to end a kiss and send a boy away with a wink and a smile.
But Angelo Moretti was different.
And if he’d kept his hands to himself just a while longer, there was no telling what might have happened. But he didn’t. So minutes later, Julietta sprang from his lap, straightening her dress once more. She marched to the door, more angry with herself than she was with him. She yanked it open, but stopped short of walking out. Because there was no place to go.
A cold sweat broke out behind her ears in spite of the heat of the day. She couldn’t walk back to the city. Not by herself. It must have taken them an hour to get to this farm, and she had to admit to herself that she hadn’t paid much attention to how they had gotten there. She couldn’t stay – she wouldn’t – but what was she going to do?
“Julietta. Come back. I’m sorry.”
She looked at him, not knowing whether she ought to believe him. He seemed like he meant it. And his kisses! Her scalp tingled with the memory of them.
“Honest. I don’t know what happened. It’s like . . . you’ve bewitched me.” He’d pushed to his feet and came to stand beside her.
Whether she believed him or not, one thing was certain. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
He held his hands up, palms out. “It wasn’t my idea.”
That’
s right. It hadn’t been. It was her idea. The realization caused her to flush in shame.
“I’ll take you home. If that’s what you want.”
What she wanted didn’t matter much. What mattered was getting home before anyone noticed that she’d been gone.
Angelo put a hand to her back as she left the shack. He climbed into the truck on the driver’s side, then leaned across to push her door open.
She climbed into the truck and soon they were bumping back down the lane. But there was an awkwardness, a tension between them that hadn’t existed before. And despite the unease she felt for what had transpired between them, she couldn’t bear to think that he was angry with her. Or worse: disappointed. He must think her nothing but a child. She frantically searched for something to say.
“Is your family still back in the old country, Angelo?”
He scowled. “I grew up in an orphanage.”
Maybe she hadn’t chosen the best of subjects.
“Not from birth. My pa left when I was three. And then Ma dropped me off when I was eight. She decided it was time to move on.”
Julietta’s brows rose. She’d decided it was time to move on?
To where? From what? “I’m so sorry.”
“So was I. They whip you there, soon as look at you.”
She smiled, intent upon lifting his spirits with a tease. “I suppose you were very bad.”
Angelo, thinking about that horrific place, missed her cue. “No. I tried to be good.” If he had looked at her face, he would have known it was the wrong answer, but the past was painful to Angelo, and he had shared it with very few people. Each time he had, when he had taken that risk, he found it easiest to do while he was distracted. He didn’t want to see the revulsion, the disgust he was sure would be revealed in their eyes. So he concentrated on driving instead, keeping his eyes on the road. “Kept thinking if I was, Ma would come and get me out. You know?”
She didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine her own mother, or anyone else’s, abandoning any of her children. What kind of mother would do that?
He fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. Finding one, he put it between his lips and then put his hand to his trouser pocket to search for a match. “Steer for me.”
A Heart Most Worthy Page 13