Under Copp's Hill

by Katherine Ayres

  From upstairs she heard the sound of children’s voices. That was good, for Innie remembered Matela talking about her little brothers. She started up the steps. In the second-floor hall, Innie noticed some small flat boxes with bits of straw stuck to the sides. They looked like egg boxes. Matela’s egg boxes? Innie wondered. She knocked at the door. A woman in a long black dress answered. Her hair was tied back in a scarf, and she said something in a language Innie couldn’t understand.

  “Matela? Matela Rosen, please?”

  The woman shook her head and pointed upstairs, holding up three fingers.

  “Thank you,” Innie said. She climbed another flight of stairs and knocked on the door. A thin woman answered, also wearing a long, dark dress and a scarf.

  “Is Matela at home, please?”

  The woman studied her for a moment, then called out, “Matela.”

  When Matela came to the door, she seemed surprised to see Innie there. She was carrying a little boy in her arms. She and her mother spoke for a moment. Innie thought she heard her name mentioned, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t like it when people spoke and she couldn’t understand. Finally the woman nodded.

  “Come in, please,” Matela said. “Avrami spills his milk, and I must clean him. Come.”

  Inside, the Rosens’ tenement looked much like the Morettis’, crowded with beds and furniture. Innie thought she smelled chicken cooking along with cabbage. In the back room where Matela led her, two slightly older boys sat on the floor between the beds, playing a game with stones. All the boys wore little caps on their heads.

  “You come to visit me?” Matela asked.

  One of the boys edged toward Innie and peered up at her. “Hello?” he said.

  Matela pulled him back. “Please, excuse. This big nosy one, he’s Yankel. The middle one is Daniel. Avrami is the baby.” She scrubbed at the baby’s face with a rag.

  Innie wasn’t sure what to say. She wrinkled up her nose at the middle brother, Daniel. He laughed. The oldest one stared at her.

  “I found something I want to show you at the settlement house,” Innie began.

  “I can’t come out,” Matela said. “Mama washes the clothes, and I must keep the boys away from the hot water.”

  “Could you come with me after school tomorrow?” Innie asked. She lowered her voice to a whisper so Matela’s brothers wouldn’t hear. “It’s that old door. I pried it open. I found the thief’s hiding place. It’s a hiding place for a real person, not a ghost or mazik, and I want to show you.” She removed the walnut from her pocket. “Proof. Will your mother let you come out tomorrow?”

  “I think so,” Matela said, a serious look on her face. “If I do tomorrow’s work tonight, she gives some time after school. Yankel can watch the little ones. We meet at the school steps?”

  “Sure.” Innie paused, then added, “I didn’t mean to bother you when you were busy.”

  “No bother,” Matela said quietly. “I tell Mama about you already.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Innie said as Matela walked her to the door.

  On the way home, Innie took a short detour to Saint Leonard’s Church. While she walked, she thought about her visit to Matela’s. After a few minutes, it hadn’t felt so strange, even with Matela’s mother speaking a different language. Innie wondered if she might sometime bring Matela home to her house for a visit.

  As she ducked into the church through the side door, she remembered Antonio and his threats to tell. Maybe Zio Giovanni wouldn’t like it if Matela visited. Nonna might not, either.

  Innie thought it over. Maybe she’d ask Carmela what to do. At the settlement house, it didn’t seem to matter whether girls were Italian or Russian, Catholic or Jewish. Carmela painted pottery with a friend named Esther Swartzman on one side and a friend named Angelina Rossetti on the other. Innie and Teresa liked Matela, so why not invite her to visit?

  At the front of the church, Innie knelt before the Holy Mother’s statue, but she didn’t pray. Instead she dropped coins into the box, then looked around to make sure nobody was watching. With quick fingers, she reached for three unlit candles and stuck them in her pocket. Then she slipped back outside and headed home, still wondering about Matela.

  As far as Innie could tell, most of the families in the North End worked hard, lived in tenements, and watched out for their families. So what did it matter if they came from Italy or Russia, went to pray on Saturday or Sunday?

  CHAPTER 10

  UNDER COPP’S HILL

  The gray morning dampness had given way to a bright, warm afternoon. Innie and Teresa sat on the school steps soaking up the sunshine as they waited for Matela. As soon as she arrived, they’d head to the settlement house, to the room behind the old door.

  Matela had already agreed to Innie’s plan, but Teresa was still uncertain. “Oh, Innie, we shouldn’t go to Hull Street today,” Teresa said. “We’ll get in trouble for sure. I just know it.”

  “What trouble? You brought your library book, didn’t you? We’re just going so you and Matela can take your books back. That’s what I did yesterday. Nobody scolded.”

  “And you broke into that door. Innie, you’re bad.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Not what?” Matela asked, coming up behind them. “you don’t change your mind, do you?”

  “No. Let’s go before the Tuesday girls start their club meeting.”

  Innie and Matela started walking, but Teresa hung back.

  Innie turned to her. “You can go home if you want. I’m going to the settlement house.”

  Matela pulled The Brown Fairy Book from the worn cloth bag she had slung over one shoulder. “I also want to borrow a book. So they won’t guess.”

  “Oh, all right,” Teresa grumbled.

  When they reached the settlement house, younger girls were already arriving for the Tuesday club meeting. Innie, Teresa, and Matela went in with them and hurried upstairs to the book-borrowing table. After choosing a new book and signing it out, Matela winked at Innie and they slipped back into the hallway. Teresa followed.

  “Is there a message we have for Carmela?” Innie asked Teresa as they edged toward the stairway. “Just in case.”

  “In case we get caught, you mean. I can’t think of anything. But if we get caught, you can bet Carmela will have plenty to say to us.”

  “So we won’t get caught, then. Come on.”

  The girls crept quickly to the basement. In the corner of the kiln room, Innie tried the old door. It wasn’t stuck. “Yesterday, a piece of wood held the door shut, but I took it and threw it away,” she explained. “So we can go in now.”

  “Wait,” Matela said. “What if somebody hides there?” She took a step closer and put her ear against the door.

  “You hear noises?” Teresa whispered.

  “No.”

  “Let’s go in then,” Innie said. She turned the knob. As the door opened, a smell of dirt and rotten dampness poured out.

  Teresa clutched Innie’s elbow, and even Matela said, “Oh, Innie! It stinks, and it’s so dark.”

  “Not for long.” Innie reached into her pocket and pulled out a candle and a match. She scratched the match along the rough wood of the door, then touched it to the candle’s wick. The flame caught, shedding a soft yellow light.

  “Innie, what have you done? Those are church candles!” Teresa said.

  “We need to see.” Innie reached into her pocket and pulled out two more candles, lit them, and passed them to the other girls.

  “But you took them from Saint Leonard’s. That’s a sin.”

  “I put money in the box.”

  “The candles are supposed to stay at church. It is a sin, and God will punish you. You and your fire, Innie—it’s not right.”

  “Don’t start that again. Not now. we have to see what’s in this room.”

  “The light, it helps,” Matela said. She stepped through the doorway. “It is not so scary with a candle. Come, Teresa. We don’t want someone to ca
tch us in the basement.”

  Teresa took one step and coughed.

  “Hold the candle up to your face,” Innie said. “If you breathe the smoke, you don’t smell the bad air so much.”

  Matela and Teresa stepped farther into the narrow room. Innie joined them and shut the door. Flames from the three candles cast wavering shadows. In the flickering light, the earthen walls seemed to close in on Innie from both sides. The space was so narrow the girls had to walk single file. Ahead of Matela, Innie could see only darkness. The damp, rotting smell surrounded her, and she held her candle closer to her face.

  “Keep going, Matela. Let’s see how far back it goes,” Innie whispered. “Do you see that bowl of walnuts?”

  “Here,” Matela said. “I see the bowl. Shall we bring it?”

  “Let’s get it on the way out,” Innie said. “I want to keep going.”

  As they crept on, the walls grew closer together and the ceiling lower. In places, Innie had to duck her head. The smell got worse. There was nothing to see but dim, flickering light, nothing to hear but soft footsteps and her own breathing.

  “I think …” Matela began in a whisper.

  A cobweb brushed across Innie’s cheek, and she swatted it away. “What?”

  “I think it is not a room you find, Innie.”

  “What is it?” Teresa’s voice sounded high and scared.

  “I see no end. We come a long way already. I think it is a tunnel.”

  A tunnel! Matela had to be right, Innie thought. She wondered where it went, and who had made it, and why. They walked on carefully. Innie held her hand over her nose, but still the foul smell was everywhere. The cold dampness made her shiver.

  Ahead, she heard a scraping sound. Then Matela and Teresa stopped walking.

  “What?” Innie asked. “What happened?”

  “My foot,” Matela said. “I step on something hard.”

  “Innie, let’s go back,” Teresa said. “Think about where we are right now. We must be walking right under the burying ground.”

  “Copp’s Hill? Maybe. So what?” Even as she said the words, Innie felt a chill creep down the back of her neck.

  “So that awful smell could be from—”

  “Stop that, Teresa. What did you find, Matela?”

  “Something metal—a handle maybe. Partly stuck. I can dig if you will hold my candle.” She passed the candle back to Teresa, whose shaking hands made the shadows jump even more.

  Innie tried to peer over her cousin’s shoulder, but she couldn’t see much, only Matela kneeling on the ground pulling on something.

  “Ah, I see it. Oy vay iz mir!” Matela’s voice trembled.

  “Oh, Innie! It’s a sword,” Teresa breathed. “Matela found a sword.”

  “Is it from the thief?”

  “I don’t think. Too deep in dirt for that. Come, look.”

  Innie edged closer, holding her candle high until she could see. The handle and part of the blade showed. If they dug the rest out, the sword would be nearly as big as she was, Innie thought with a shiver.

  In the flickering light, she could see rust around the handle and the blade. Why would such a thing be hidden here? “Let’s leave this too,” she said, swallowing hard. “For later.”

  As they walked on, the tunnel seemed to wind and twist. Innie sniffed the air. It might have been her imagination, but suddenly it seemed a bit fresher, and saltier.

  “Blow out the candles,” Matela said from a few feet ahead.

  “It will be too dark,” Teresa warned.

  “I don’t think so,” Matela said. “Blow them out.”

  Innie heard the others suck in breath and blow out their candles. She did the same, turning the shadowy tunnel into a black pit. A black pit with a sword in it, she thought. Her stomach tightened.

  “Look. Up there. I am right.” Innie could hear Matela’s footsteps, walking faster.

  Stuck at the end of the line, Innie couldn’t see much, but she followed as quickly as she could. Sure enough, the air smelled cleaner, and salty. Fishy. Ahead, a soft gray light shone. A few steps later, she was standing on a stone pier at the waterfront, looking out on the harbor and Charlestown beyond. Two ancient wooden posts framed the narrow slit where she stood. There was a rotting fish head by her shoe. Out in the harbor, boats of all sizes bobbed on the tide. If she squinted, Innie could even see men working on some of the boat decks.

  “Now we know,” Matela said in a strong voice.

  Teresa turned to Innie. “I can’t believe it. We’re outside again. Now we can tell the ladies how the thief is getting in and out. They won’t think it’s you anymore, Innie.”

  Innie leaned against one of the wooden posts and shook her head. “Don’t be so sure. Yes, we found the way in, but that doesn’t prove anything. The ladies could just say I was using the tunnel to sneak in.” She frowned. “Unless we find the real thief, they’ll still blame me.”

  “I don’t like the sound of your voice, Innie Moretti. What are you planning now?”

  “She will catch the person,” Matela said, grinning. “She will set a trap. Like for a mouse.”

  “Exactly,” Innie agreed. “Here’s what we’ll do. First, we keep our candles. Next, we come back here to these exact same wood posts …” She picked up a loose rock and scratched a line into one of the posts.

  Teresa put her hands on her hips. “You’re crazy, Innie. I’m not going back in that tunnel.” She turned and pointed toward the burying ground. “It goes right under the graves. It smells like dead people in there. Some people call it Corpse Hill, you know.”

  “Coward.”

  Teresa’s face darkened. “You’re always getting us in trouble. Well, this time it’s too much. I quit.” Teresa flung her candle on the ground.

  “Fine. Just go home then. Coward!” Innie picked up Teresa’s candle and shoved it in her pocket.

  “Troublemaker!” Teresa spun and ran along the harbor.

  Innie stood and watched until her cousin had run out of sight.

  Matela cleared her throat. “That is not so nice.”

  “La vità è cosi,” Innie replied.

  “But you and Teresa. You are like sisters. Now you are like enemies. Not good.”

  “Sisters fight too,” Innie said. “Besides, it’s better this way. Teresa can’t keep secrets. So if she doesn’t know when we come back to find the thief, she can’t tell anyone.” She straightened her shoulders. “We’re better off without her.”

  “Innie, you do not mean this. I see you together. You laugh, you whisper. I wish for myself such a cousin. You hurt Teresa.”

  Matela’s words carried the sting of truth. Innie pushed it away. “That’s because I’m a bad person. Just ask anyone. I’m always making trouble.”

  Matela took Innie’s hand. “And why is that? Why make trouble? My papa says trouble comes plenty without we go look for it.”

  “Maybe I like looking for it.” Innie pulled her hand from Matela’s. She bent and picked up a pebble, then tossed it in the water.

  Matela stood beside her. “I too am a coward in that tunnel,” she said in a quiet voice. “That sword. It makes me remember …”

  “What?”

  “The soldiers. They ride those big black horses and wave swords and shout …”

  “Back in Russia?”

  “Yes. The swords and the fires, I can’t forget. Sometimes at night …” Matela turned her face away.

  Innie reached out and touched her arm. “Fire—that’s … that’s part of the reason for me,” Innie began. Her throat felt so tight it was hard to get the words out. She’d never talked about this before.

  “If you tell, I can listen. I do not repeat secrets,” Matela said softly.

  Innie looked out on the choppy water where a lone white seagull bobbed. She turned to her friend. “This is a long story, Matela. It starts back in Italy, before the fire, before I was even born.”

  Innie paced along the stones of the pier as she told Mate
la the story Nonna had whispered to her so many times. About how Innie’s mama had prayed and prayed for a child, but always the babies were born too early and died. How once Mama came to America, her luck changed and she had a baby who lived.

  Matela’s eyes went soft. “You?”

  “Me. Mama was so happy, and so grateful to God. On the day I was taken to church to be baptized, she lit candles to the Holy Mother and promised my life to her.”

  “I don’t understand. We Jews don’t have this.”

  “Nonna says Mama promised me to the Holy Mother and—and to the Sisters. You know, the nuns. They wear long black dresses, and veils on their heads. They never get married, and they pray all the time.”

  Matela nodded. “I see those ladies. But what does this mean? Promise you to the Sisters?”

  “When I grow up, I have to be a nun. One of those Sisters. I’ll have to wear a long ugly dress and chop off my hair and pray all the time.”

  Innie looked away from Matela. The hardest part was still coming. She scuffed the toe of her shoe against the stone pier and spoke fast, to get it over with.

  “Anyway, when I was two, I woke up early one morning, fussing and crying. Nonna took me outside to walk by the harbor so Mama and Papà could sleep. When we got back, the tenement was burning. Mama and Papà died.”

  An arm came around Innie’s shoulder. “Oh, Innie. This is so sad. And you are just a baby then.”

  Innie swallowed and went on. “After the fire, Nonna decided that the Holy Mother had been the one to make me wake up and cry on that day. The crying saved her life and mine. So she took me to church and again, she promised me to the Sisters. My life got promised away twice.” Now she’d said it all. Innie was afraid to turn and see what Matela thought.

  “Can somebody promise you like that?” Matela asked. She scowled and shook her head. “In Russia, parents and matchmakers, they try to marry you off. But even there, if the girl says no, there is no wedding.”

  “So?”

  “This is America. A girl can choose her life here, can’t she?”

  “You don’t understand—you’re not Catholic.” Innie’s voice got small. “The best I can do is act so bad that the Sisters won’t want me.” It wasn’t that Innie woke up every morning and thought about what mischief she could get into; she just didn’t make the effort to be good. If naughtiness came upon her, she’d shrug and say Sure, why not, who cares? But how could she explain that to Matela?