“They didn’t do it because they were poor, you know.” Angie kept her profile to Connie and her gaze on the dough she was mixing.
“Why did they do it?” Connie asked.
“Because of the Vermont Eugenics Survey.”
Connie did her best not to seem too excited that Angie was ready to talk. “I’ve heard of that, but I don’t know what it is.”
“Was. Supposedly it’s been over for a long time, but it seems the persecution went on for years afterwards. I guess it still does, but in more subtle ways.”
Connie waited, her heart pounding as Angie continued.
“Back in the nineteen twenties, there were people at UVM who believed that poor people were poor because of their genes. And that if they enforced selective breeding—eugenics—they could improve society. So, they set out to find certain families and make sure they didn’t reproduce.”
Connie stopped working on the cookies and silently stared at her.
“They started identifying families that they called ‘degenerate.’ They looked for illegitimate children or alcoholics or people born with a birth defect or epilepsy. They called people feebleminded if they couldn’t read. I guess it didn’t occur to them that maybe the person never had a chance to go to school, that maybe society had failed them.” An edge of anger had come into Angie’s voice. “Sometimes, the families they called degenerate were just different, like native people who didn’t live the same way white people lived.”
“Gypsies and pirates,” Connie whispered, remembering her conversation with the librarian.
Angie’s brow creased as she turned to Connie in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“When you told me you were part Abenaki, I wanted to know more about them. A librarian told me that some people around here call them gypsies and pirates.”
“And sometimes ‘river rats.’” Angie’s voice was heavy with disdain. “Because the native way was not to live in the same place year-round. They moved with the seasons. And some lived on or near the water—either Lake Champlain or the Connecticut River—part of the time.”
“So, the Abenaki were the families the survey targeted?”
“Along with other poor people, like the French Canadians. But the Abenaki were definitely targeted, not only because they weren’t white, but because they were usually poor. And some were alcoholics, and some were criminals.” Angie’s eyes held Connie’s. “And some had children out of wedlock and children with birth defects.”
Francis.
“My parents had so many strikes against them, including being poor. My dad worked as a logger and a trapper, but that wasn’t always enough.”
The dough sat idle as Connie turned to stare at her sister. “So, you said they made sure they didn’t reproduce.”
“They put them in jail or in institutions. And they took their children away. And sometimes they sterilized them ‘for the good of the state.’”
Connie’s heart skipped a beat. “Who? The children or the parents?”
“Whatever they could get away with. They wanted to keep the Yankee line pure and dominant.”
The terrifying reality of Angie’s story was beginning to gel for Connie. “And you were at risk of being taken away?”
“That’s what my parents believed.”
“So, they gave you to Mamma and Papa?”
“They went to their priest for help in finding a family that would take care of me so I wouldn’t be found if they were on a list. Their priest knew Father Ianelli, and Father told him about Mamma carrying a baby that was expected to die. They took a chance that she and Papa would say yes.”
It was all starting to make sense. “And then, because Mamma was pregnant, they just told everybody you were hers. Did they ever really adopt you?”
Angie shook her head. “No. Nonna said Mamma had twins, and I had a new birth certificate.”
Connie took a moment to sort out what she had heard. “Did they ever come for your parents? Or Francis?”
“No.” Angie’s voice went soft. “But they did sterilize my mother’s sister and two of my uncles.”
“How could they do that without their consent?”
“My aunt got pregnant when she was seventeen, and she was put in a home for delinquents. Three doctors signed off on it being medically necessary, and they sterilized her immediately after she gave birth.”
Connie was stunned. “And your uncles?”
“They were told they were getting an operation for something else. A hernia or something.” Angie’s eyes were intent on Connie’s. “That’s when they all stopped admitting who they were. If somebody asked, they said they were French-Canadian and that’s all.”
Connie sat quietly thinking about everything that Angie had said. She understood why native people had gone underground, and why modern-day Abenaki couldn’t prove their continued existence in Vermont. Did Greg know about the Vermont Eugenics Survey? Had UVM professors talked about that in his public policy class?
Her mind was racing. She remembered Angie’s lecture about standing up for things one believed in and protecting the rights of others against persecution. And she realized why her father feared for Gianna’s happiness in a state whose residents claimed to mind their own business when he knew that wasn’t true.
“Vermont wasn’t the only state doing it,” Angie said, breaking into her thoughts. “There were lots of them. The whole eugenics thing was going on around the world. In Europe, it became the Holocaust.”
Connie’s mind went to footage she had seen on TV of the horrors in Europe. But this wasn’t a history lesson, something she could close within a book or walk away from by turning off the television. This was real life for Ethan and Marie LaCroix. And for their daughter, Hope Marie. “So, when your parents came with the meat and the fish, they really were coming to see you.”
“And to contribute what they could. But they never said anything because they could see I was happy and I was safe. And if I didn’t know, and you and Gianna didn’t know, then I would be okay. But then, my mother got Hodgkin’s. And she wanted me to know who she was before she died.”
Connie had forgotten about Marie LaCroix’s illness. “How is she?”
“I think the treatment’s helping. But her outlook isn’t good.”
“I’m sorry.” Connie watched Angie for a moment, her curiosity sparked. “How does that work now, if you don’t mind me asking? Do you love them because now you know who they are?”
Angie smiled. “Yes. Every time I’m with them, I see more and more of myself in them. I see the connections. I understand. And I realize what they did was all about me, about keeping me safe. It was terrible for them, but they did it. How could I not love them for that?” Angie reached out to rest her hand on Connie’s arm. “But that doesn’t mean I love this family any less. I know now, I don’t have to make choices. I can love you all.”
Connie nodded and smiled back at her, a sudden sadness filling her. If only she could say the same thing about loving both Greg and Paul. “Where does David fit in?”
“David? He’s a family friend.”
“So, it’s a coincidence that he knows both the LaCroixs and us?”
Angie gave her a look of confusion. “I guess. Why?”
“Because we always thought Mr. LaCroix was just a family friend.”
Angie grinned. “Well, I can tell you right now, David’s not a relative.” Her eyes danced with delight at her own joke. “But he could be soon, if Gigi says yes.”
Connie grinned back at her. “You know something I don’t know?”
Angie turned away and picked up the dough once more, a devilish smile still on her face. “We’d better get going on these cookies before Mamma and Papa get back.”
Chapter Twenty
Saturday, December 21
Greg came home on Saturday after three days in Providence. He called from Glenn’s before leaving that morning, and Connie waited to share lunch with him, covering the store while the res
t of her family ate together upstairs.
He came through the store’s front door wearing a long dark coat she hadn’t seen before, his cheeks rosy from the wintry mix of snow and below-zero wind chill swirling about outdoors. He looked older somehow, more business-like, less like the blue-jeaned student she rode to school with most days. His soft chestnut curls were shorter and neater, the hair no longer hanging over his collar. But when his gray eyes found her watching him from behind the counter, they lit up with a familiar look of delight, and a grin spread across his handsome face. She stepped out from behind the counter as he approached, and he pulled her into his arms. He smelled of spicy aftershave and fresh air, snowy coldness emanating from him. They were alone in the store, and when he covered her mouth with his, she kissed him back with a hunger that surprised her. They had been apart for five days, but the days had been busy, and she hadn’t consciously missed him as much as she had anticipated. Yet now, having him back, holding him in her arms once more, feeling his lips on hers, she was overwhelmed with love and longing for him.
He pulled back and gave her a crooked smile, his eyes dancing with light. “God, I missed you,” he said, his gaze roaming over her face as though trying to make up for days of not seeing her.
“I missed you, too.” She gave him a teasing smile. “You look different—citified. More like that ambassador to Russia.”
“I was embarrassing Glenn with my country ways.” He held his arms out to each side. “What do you think?”
“You look good.” She was losing herself in his eyes, thinking that maybe lunch was the least of what they needed to share. “So good.”
Greg laughed. “So do you. Maybe we can take a ride after lunch.”
Papa came in to relieve Connie of her duties, and she and Greg went out the back door and up the ice-glazed staircase to the warmth of the kitchen upstairs. Gianna and Angie were putting on their coats to leave, the former for choir practice for Christmas Eve, the latter to go shopping with a friend. Mamma greeted Greg with a smile and pointed out the soup on the stove, then left to join Papa downstairs. Connie and Greg were alone.
Connie led him to the dining room, out of sight of the kitchen door but not too far to hear it open. He hung his coat on the back of a chair, and she moved into his waiting arms. His hands slid over her back as they kissed, down to the curve of her hips. He pushed her from him, his gaze on hers, then ran his hands up to cover her breasts as he watched her face, his eyes full of longing. She wanted so badly for him to undress her then and there. Instead, they stepped apart with reluctant smiles and returned to the kitchen to eat.
“So, Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve,” Connie said as she set two bowls of soup on the kitchen table. “It’s traditional. Then we go to my grandmother’s for a big family party. My aunt and uncle are coming in from Pittsburgh with a couple of my cousins, and there’ll be lots of other relatives from Boston and Rutland and all over. We stay up all night and eat.”
“I can probably handle that.”
Connie settled into the chair across from his and sprinkled grated cheese into her soup, then drizzled it with olive oil from the cruet on the table. Greg watched her with an amused look on his face, then picked up the cheese and the olive oil and did the same.
“Peasant food,” she said as he tasted it.
“It’s good.” He glanced up at her. “Glenn took me to Federal Hill, by the way. A lot of the Italians in Providence live there. Kind of like Boston’s North End. We’ll have to go some time. Great restaurants.”
Connie smiled at the thought that his brother would take him to an Italian neighborhood. Maybe she was over-thinking how his family felt about her.
She sipped at a spoonful of soup, then said, “What do you know about a Vermont eugenics project?”
Greg shook his head as he ate. “Never heard of it. What is it?”
“You never talked about it in a class?”
Greg’s eyes came up to meet hers. “Nope. Why?”
“It was a social engineering thing that started in the nineteen twenties, a move to rid Vermont of certain types of people. They sterilized them and took their kids away.”
Greg sipped at his soup. “Who told you that?”
“It wasn’t just in Vermont, it was a movement all over the world. It became the Holocaust in Germany. But it did happen here. I thought maybe they would have talked about it in your political science courses.”
Greg shook his head, his eyes still on hers. He seemed genuinely confused.
“It was called the Vermont Eugenics Survey,” Connie said, “and it started at UVM.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“Angie told me.”
“She learned about it in school?”
“No.” Connie kept her gaze on his. “It happened to her family.”
Greg stared at her, his spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“They were a potential target. That’s why they gave her to my parents—to keep her safe.”
His frown deepened, and he set down the spoon. “Because she’s Abenaki?”
“And French Canadian. And because they were poor and they already had a boy with a birth defect—a cleft palate. She told me her aunt and two of her uncles were sterilized by the state.”
“How could they get away with that?”
“I don’t know, but she’s not making it up. Remember what you said about the Abenaki not being able to prove they’ve always lived here? They went into hiding because of the eugenics survey.”
Greg’s face took on a troubled look and his gaze went distant; he was thinking about something disturbing, something that drew him away from her and their conversation.
“Greg?”
“I had no idea,” he said, his eyes coming back to focus on her. “That’s terrible.”
“What were you just thinking about?”
He looked down at the spoon he was swirling aimlessly in the soup. “Angie. About how sweet she is and how awful that is.”
Connie frowned as she watched him; something about his answer felt disingenuous.
They finished eating without further conversation. Greg carried his bowl and spoon to the sink, then went into the dining room for his coat. When he returned, his smile was apologetic. “I guess I should go home and see my folks,” he said as he slipped his arms into the coat sleeves. “I haven’t been there in five days.” He leaned forward and quickly kissed her lips. “They have some kind of round-robin cocktail party with their friends tonight, so they’ll be busy later. I’ll pick you up for dinner around five-thirty, okay?”
Connie followed him to the kitchen door. The sudden change in plans worried her. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you with that story about Angie. It was just a question.”
“You didn’t disturb me.” He gave her a smile as he pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll be back. I love you, Connie.”
He hurried down the stairs into the icy wind before Connie could answer.
***
The eugenics survey and Angie’s story did not come up again for the remainder of the weekend. Greg was in a good mood when he returned, and they enjoyed their evening out together. He came to dinner at her house on Sunday, and on Monday they went to Barre for last-minute Christmas shopping. Tuesday was Christmas Eve, and he joined her family for dinner that evening before going to Midnight Mass, his first experience in a Catholic church.
“You’re going to love it,” Angie reassured him as the family gathered around the dinner table. “It’s so beautiful. The altar’s full of flowers, and the priest wears his most beautiful robes, and the music is all joyful. Christmas and Easter—they’re the best.”
Greg gave her a slow smile, his amusement at her enthusiasm evident in his eyes. He had taken off his dark suit coat but kept his tie, and Connie watched him from across the table, marveling at how heart-stopping handsome he was in a dress shirt and tie.
Nonna and Mamma broke her train of thought
as they entered the room carrying platters of steaming seafood. Nonna spoke to Greg in Italian as she set her platter in the center of the table, and Gianna, who was seated beside him, translated. “She says she hopes you like seafood. Tonight we celebrate the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”
Greg grinned. “So Connie tells me. I’m not sure I could name seven fishes.”
“Well, as you can see, they’re not all fish.” Gianna’s smiling eyes traveled to David, who was seated next to Connie. “David brought the octopus and the mussels from Boston. And the eel.”
Greg’s eyes widened, and several people at the table laughed.
“You’re a New Englander; you’ll like this.” Connie passed a casserole to him. “It’s salt cod—baccalá. It’s baked with potatoes, olives, and tomatoes.”
“And the lake trout are from mon père,” Angie said proudly.
“That’s five,” Greg answered, eyeing the platter with caution.
“Calamari.” Connie pointed to the clusters of deep-fried squid tentacles and body parts. “And shrimp scampi over here.”
A grin spread across his face. “And this is supposed to be a hardship?”
Angie nodded. “We don’t eat meat or dairy on Christmas Eve.”
“Puglia has two seas, the Ionian and the Adriatic,” Gianna said. “Fish is plentiful. Meat is not.” She glanced at her father with an affectionate grin. “Except for rabbit.”
Papa nodded; it was time to get down to eating. Mamma made the Sign of the Cross, and the family quietly bowed their heads to say grace.
***
Dinner culminated in nuts and fruit and cookies dipped in wine or coffee and lasted until almost nine o’clock. Afterwards, Greg and David tried to help in the kitchen, but Mamma shooed them out, telling them to keep Papa company in the living room while the women made short work of the cleanup.
“I like your mother’s style,” Greg said with a grin when Connie finally joined him on the couch. Gianna and David were taking Nonna home to get ready for church, and Angie was in the kitchen helping Mamma and Papa assemble homemade pizzas for the big family party after Mass.
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