“Have you thought about names for the baby yet?” I ask.
“Celestina for a girl. And Alessandro for a boy.”
“Mama will be so happy you’re naming the baby after her.”
“I hope it’s a boy. Just like his father.” Assunta rubs her round belly. “Everyone worried that Alessandro would not be a good man, now look. He saved our family.”
“Just goes to show you: you can marry from the other side.”
Assunta, who never laughs at my jokes, chuckles a little. What a strange friendship we have, so defined by her moods and needs. And it’s odd, because Assunta cannot see that she is the center of the universe. In her view, she is serving everyone else, sacrificing for us, when in fact we are all trying to please her.
Elena comes up from the basement with fresh linens. “This is the last batch of new sheets for the baby.” She goes up the front stairs.
“Nella?” I hear an unfamiliar note of fear in Assunta’s voice. When I look up, she begins to cry.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s not coming back.” She cries for a few moments and then stops. “I have a feeling something terrible is going to happen to him. I just know he won’t ever come back. I’ll never see him again.”
“Assunta, listen to me. You’re just overwhelmed, that’s all. He loves you, he’s coming back to be with you and the baby. Whenever you get these feelings, please try to tell yourself that he loves you. Because I’ve seen it. It’s true. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Really?” She looks at me, for the first time in my life, as though I am a real friend.
“I promise you that he is coming home and he loves you more than anything in the world.”
She nods. “I believe you.”
I have learned how to be a good factory worker. Mr. Albanese has taught me all the tricks: Take your lunch and break time, and while you’re working, do your job. No chitchat. And when you punch your time card and walk out, leave the problems there. You can always fix a mistake the next day. Therefore, I don’t give the blouse mill a second thought after I punch the clock.
We are getting a lot of snow this December, and the pressing job that was terrible in the heat is comforting in the cold. As we get closer to Christmas, Elena and I are looking forward to having Papa, Mama, Roma, and Dianna come into town to stay at Assunta’s. We’ll all go to Mass together, and then have a breakfast that includes biscotti from Marcella’s.
“Wake up, Nella!” Elena says excitedly.
I roll over in the bed and bury my face in the pillow. It can’t be time to get up and go to work.
“Come, it’s Assunta! She’s having the baby!”
I sit bolt upright in bed. “The baby isn’t due for another month,” I tell her.
“She got the pains and her water broke. Come on.”
I get out of bed and jump into my work trousers. “I’ll go get Mrs. Avanzato,” I tell Elena, grabbing my coat. Every baby in Roseto is born at home with the help of a midwife. Mrs. Avanzato’s schedule is as well planned as the baker’s.
“Hurry.” Elena runs down the hall to Assunta’s room. As I race down the front stairs, I can hear Assunta screaming. I fly down Dewey Street and over to Chestnut and bang on Mrs. Avanzato’s door. Her husband answers. He yells for his wife, a small woman around seventy, who throws a coat on over her nightgown and comes with me.
“The baby is early. No good. No good,” she says.
“It’s not that early,” I tell her, though I am thinking the same thing. We walk quickly back to Assunta’s house.
“Elena! Mrs. Avanzato is here!” I take her coat and show her up the stairs to Assunta’s room. Assunta is writhing in pain on the bed. Elena has prepared the bed as Mama instructed us, with clean sheets layered underneath Assunta. Fresh towels and a pan of water sit close by. Mrs. Avanzato goes to Assunta and comforts her, encouraging her to gently roll onto her back.
Mrs. Avanzato whispers to Assunta supportively. She lets Assunta lean against her as she moans.
“Should we go and get Mama?” Elena whispers.
“There isn’t time,” Mrs. Avanzato tells us.
“The baby is coming soon?” I ask.
Mrs. Avanzato seems impatient. “I need your help here. Both of you stay.”
Assunta moans and grabs Mrs. Avanzato, pulling her down toward the bed. This is much worse than Mama said it would be. She carefully explained the signs of labor and the birthing process to Elena and me because we have never seen a baby born. It was Assunta who helped with the births of Dianna and Roma; of course, Mama had a midwife too.
Watching Assunta in labor is not like watching our calves born in the barn. That seems like nature; this is watching my sister in torment. An hour passes as Assunta wails.
The midwife places her hands on Assunta’s stomach and presses gently.
“Assunta, it is time to push,” Mrs. Avanzato tells her.
“I can’t,” Assunta moans, her eyes closed, but tears running down her face.
“You can do it. Push!” the midwife coaches gently.
“Come on, Assunta! You’re so close!” I squeeze her hand.
“You can do it!” Elena says encouragingly.
Assunta pushes, and soon the baby’s head appears. Mrs. Avanzato catches the baby as it slithers out. There is blood everywhere. I unfold more sheets and tuck them around my sister. Elena cuts the long blue cord connecting mother to child as Mrs. Avanzato instructs her. Assunta passes out.
“It’s a girl,” Elena says. We are all so relieved the pain is over for our sister. The baby begins to cry. We smile at one another, happy the baby is safe. I go to Assunta and wipe her brow. But my sister is still. She’s not moving, and her chest barely rises with each new breath. “Something is wrong,” I say. I take Assunta’s hand and squeeze it; she does not squeeze back.
“Mrs. Avanzato!”
She pushes me aside and puts her hands on Assunta. “Go get the doctor! Right away! Dr. Latini,” she tells me.
As I run down the hallway and out the door for the second time that night, I can hear the wails of my niece. I run down Garibaldi to Dr. Latini’s house. His wife comes to the door and quickly calls for her husband. As we wait, I realize I forgot my coat, but I haven’t felt the cold at all until this moment. Dr. Latini grabs his bag and follows me back to Dewey Street. When we reach Assunta’s room, Mrs. Avanzato is holding her hand. When she looks up at Dr. Latini, she shakes her head sadly. Dr. Latini walks over to the bed and checks Assunta’s pulse. I follow right behind him, terrified by Assunta’s awful stillness. When he lifts her eyelids, I see that her brown eyes don’t flicker, and the deep groove between them is relaxed. “She’s gone,” he says quietly. Elena, who holds the baby, shakes in fear. Mrs. Avanzato takes our niece from her.
I throw myself on Dr. Latini. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”
“Calm down,” he says gently, putting his arms around me. “Stay calm.”
“What happened?” I begin to sob.
“She hemorrhaged,” he says gently. “This happens sometimes. I’m very sorry.”
“But why … how …” I plead with him.
“There is nothing that could have been done. Now, please, tend to the baby.” Elena and I look at each other, and then our niece, unable to believe what has happened in a few seconds. Our sister is dead. How is this possible?
Dr. Latini takes one of the clean, folded sheets from the side table and covers my sister. He shows us out of the room. We take Mrs. Avanzato and the new baby down to the nursery. “She needs to eat. Go and get Carmella Menecola. She has milk,” the midwife tells us.
Once again, I go out into the night, but now it is turning to morning. The cold yellow sun comes up over the Blue Mountains, helping me find my way to Jewel Street, where Carmella is fixing breakfast for her husband, who works in the cutting room of Roseto Manufacturing. She puts her arms around me when she sees me; my tears have frozen on my face. “My … my sister died … in
childbirth … Assunta.” My sobs become heaves. This is really happening. My niece doesn’t have a mother and I’ve lost my sister, my complicated sister, for whom everything was a struggle.
“Okay, don’t worry. I’m coming with you.” Carmella grabs her coat and scarf. By the time we reach Dewey Street, the undertaker, John Fiori, with another man to help, has arrived to take Assunta away.
“Dr. Latini sent for me …” Mr. Fiori says impatiently. Elena lets them into the house.
I fall to the ground, unable to comprehend this terrible thing. Elena comes outside and helps me up. “You’ve got to stop. We have a baby to take care of.”
My sister Elena, who has always seemed frail and vulnerable, suddenly has a steely resolve. She puts her arm around my waist and helps me up the porch steps. “I sent for Mama and Papa,” she tells me. “Mr. Avanzato drove out to the farm to get them.” When we get to the baby’s nursery, Carmella holds the infant against her breast. The baby devours the milk.
“She’s hungry,” Mrs. Avanzato says impatiently. “Come, let Carmella feed her.” Carmella looks up at us and smiles.
Mrs. Avanzato leads us out into the hallway. She takes Elena’s hand and then mine. “Listen to me. It does the baby no good to be around your tears.”
“But Assunta …”
Mrs. Avanzato is old. Her hair is white, and in her pale blue eyes, she has the look of a woman who has seen many things in her lifetime and lacks patience with those of us who have not. I can see that she is struggling to find the right words for us. Something tells me she has been here before. “You may cry for your sister. But not around the baby. Understood?” We nod that we understand. “I will get you a cup and dropper to feed her. Carmella can help for a day or two, but she has her own baby to feed.”
“Maybe there’s another lady who can—”
Mrs. Avanzato stops Elena. “Yes, I will ask.” She wraps her scarf tightly around her head and goes. Elena and I hear the murmurs of Mr. Fiori and his helper at the end of the hallway.
“Don’t look,” Elena warns me.
But I can’t help it. I can’t believe this terrible turn of fate, and must see it for myself. Elena turns away, and I watch as the undertaker and his man carry Assunta, wrapped in white muslin, down the stairs. Assunta looks so small, like the morning glories Mama covers in muslin in the autumn to keep the frost away. I wonder if the baby knows her mother is gone forever.
The night after Assunta died is the biggest snowstorm that anyone in Roseto can remember. Mama wants to hold her wake at the farm, but Father Impeciato advises that we cancel the viewing and just have a funeral Mass in church. Everyone within walking distance braves the blizzard, so Assunta has a full church.
Mama hasn’t shed a tear. It is Papa who is destroyed, though Elena thinks that Mama is in shock. We open Alessandro’s most recent letter to Assunta, which gave his itinerary for his trip home to Roseto. We consider sending Alessandro a telegram on the ship, but decide against it. The news of Assunta’s passing would be too devastating coming in a letter, so it is decided that Papa will meet him in Philadelphia and tell him in person, hopefully allowing Alessandro time to adjust to the shock of it before he meets his daughter for the first time.
We call the little one Bambina. I tell Mama that Assunta wanted to name her Celestina, but Mama won’t hear of it. She thinks Alessandro should name his daughter, so we wait for him to make a final decision.
I have gone back to work in the factory, and Elena stays home with the baby. Elena is a good substitute mother. Somehow we’ve all been less worried about Papa and the farm with a new baby in the house. We hope once Alessandro comes home, everything will get better, so Elena’s salary is a sacrifice we can make for now.
The baby is very cranky and sleeps in spurts. Elena feeds her with a cup and dropper when the wet nurse is not available. Carmella has a sister, Beatrice, who was weaning her son, and she has come to feed the baby twice a day. Beatrice is not good-tempered like Carmella, and considers her charity to us a real sacrifice. Elena doesn’t think that Beatrice gives Bambina much milk anyway. The baby seems more satisfied with the cow’s milk that Elena gives her.
“What is that?” I ask Elena as she warms milk for the baby.
“It’s some rice powder.” Elena stirs the mixture. “You know, cereal.”
“Can the baby take that?”
“She loves it. Just a little bit, though.”
I take off my work shoes and socks and put them by the fireplace to dry. I stretch out on the floor near the warmth. “How did this happen, Elena?”
“Are you talking about Assunta?”
“All of it.” I roll over on my side and look into the flames as they crackle on the dry wood.
“I don’t know. We have to thank God the baby survived.”
“I know.”
“I can’t imagine the world without her in it.” Elena sits down in the rocker as she holds the baby. “What do you think will happen when Alessandro comes back? Do you think he’ll let me take care of the baby?”
“Somebody has to.”
“I really want to.” She kisses the baby tenderly.
“You must tell him that.” I sit up and watch Elena rock the baby. “He’s going to be so devastated.” I imagine Papa telling Alessandro the news and close my eyes, as it is too painful to think about.
“Doesn’t it all seem like a dream?” Elena says softly. “She was gone in a moment.”
“And you know, all my life I wanted her to go.” At long last, I say my innermost thought aloud.
“Don’t say that,” Elena says quietly.
“No, I did. No sense lying about it now. But then, when I came here to help her with the chores, I started to see her in a different way. I saw how she loved her husband and her home, and how she just wanted everything to be nice. It was hard for her all those years on the farm, working outside, doing chores that men should do. She hated it, and yet she did what she was told. Maybe she didn’t have a sweet disposition, but she always did her duty.”
“Yes, she did.” Elena holds the baby close.
“When she died, I felt like I saw her for the first time. Assunta’s face in repose was so gentle. She was beautiful, and I never saw her that way. Why is it that I learn everything too late?” I roll onto my back and look at the ceiling.
“You’re only fifteen.”
“Almost sixteen. Mama had Assunta when she was sixteen.”
“So maybe you’re not wise yet. You’re other things.” Elena looks at the baby. “She’s just like her.”
“What do you mean?”
“The baby. She’s just like Assunta. She struggles with everything.”
“You can tell already?”
“Mama says that people come to be as they are the day they’re born.”
“Is that true?”
“We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.”
The creak of the rocker and the crackle of the fire are all we hear. This house has become home to us, despite all the sadness. Maybe the place where you feel that you’re building something is home. There is a knock at the front door. I get up to answer it.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” says the small man who stands in the doorway. He has short gray hair and a white mustache. And I recognize his deep blue eyes. Renato has them too. I’ve seen Mr. Lanzara from a distance at Mass, and when I pass his barbershop on Garibaldi, but we’ve never formally been introduced. “You’re Nella?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. Please come in.”
“No, no, I don’t want to bother you at suppertime. I am simply acting as a mailman for my son, Renato. I have a letter from him for you.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Lanzara hands me a pale blue envelope, just like the ones Mama gets from her family.
“Renato is with my sister in Connecticut,” he explains. “I send him the newsletter from church each week, and he saw the announcement about your sister.”
“Thank you.” I force the words out, though I am ne
arly speechless with surprise.
Mr. Lanzara graciously says good-bye and goes. I look down at my bare feet and sigh. I’m never at my best when meeting Lanzaras, it seems. I take the letter back into the living room and sit down by the fire. Elena has taken the baby upstairs, so I have a moment alone. I open the back flap of the pale envelope carefully.
Carissima Nella,
I am sorry to hear the terrible news about your sister Assunta. Papa wrote that you have a new niece, which must give you great joy amidst your grief. Please tell your father and mother that I am praying for them, as I am for you and your sisters, and the new baby. I can tell you that it is very hard to grow up without a mother. My heart breaks for your niece, because she will be searching her whole life for the love that has been denied her. I still have many moments in the day when I long for my mother, for her affection and advice. This need does not lessen with age. But aunts and uncles and grandparents can help fill the void. The baby will need a close circle around her, and I know you will be an invaluable part of that circle. I wish I could be there to be of some help to you. I trust you are working hard in school. Don’t forget what I told you on the Ferris wheel, for I meant it with all my heart.
Your Renato
I reread the last line of the letter over and over again. So little has changed for him since last summer. But for me, nothing will be the same.
Mr. Albanese was right: I’m pressing double the bundles I did when I began. I don’t like the work any more than I did on the first day, but I do take pride in mastering my job. I have stayed after work to learn how to operate a new machine. Elmira has been pleased with my progress, and soon I’ll be a collar setter, considered to be one of the hardest jobs in the factory. And I often pick up a little extra money doing piecework.
Each worker is paid by the bundle. We get a penny per bundle, if we complete our task perfectly. If a girl is fast and diligent, she can earn a nice paycheck. The best machine operators have a second language with their machines; the foot pedals and the knee pedals are extensions of their bodies. The best workers never talk, stop, or stretch. They keep their eye on the needle and stitch and pull, stitch and pull, until their bin is empty.
The Queen of the Big Time Page 11