“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.” Papa squinted at the windows of the house. “Is Rosa okay?”
“I asked her to wait in the kitchen.” Uncle Enzo lowered his voice. “Until I made sure everything was all right.”
“We can’t say anything to her about the shooting,” Papa said to Uncle Enzo.
“Whatever you think, Gianni.”
Papa turned to Sal. “This is the most important secret you’ve ever had to keep.” He took hold of Sal by both shoulders. “Promise me you won’t ever tell Mama—or anyone—what happened tonight.”
Fear gripped Sal’s heart and squeezed it tight—fear that was reflected in his father’s eyes. “I promise.” He meant it.
The evening’s events settled into reality. Sal trudged through the yard and into the house, his nerves raw. Before now, choices had always been either right or wrong, and he’d always been able to tell the difference.
Chapter 4
Keeping Secrets
A rap at the side porch door awakened Sal in the semi-darkness. He rolled over and groaned. One of Mr. Domiano’s cows must be loose again. He’d have to get up and help. The aroma of bacon cooking meant Mama was in the kitchen, so Uncle Enzo was already out tending their animals. Sal opened his eyes and rubbed them.
Boy, he’d be glad when he didn’t have to wake up so early. First he’d have to finish grammar school and then some high school, if Mama made him. But afterward he’d get a job—a good one, maybe at a factory in a town far away from the farm.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The chamber pot would have to wait. He pulled on a pair of overalls and dragged himself to the washbasin. He splashed his face and then reached for a towel near the window that overlooked the porch—and stopped, his face dripping. Something moved out there, but it wasn’t the short and stout Mr. Domiano.
A man stood on the porch, but even with his hat pulled down low, he nearly reached the top of the doorframe. His body held open the screen door as he waited in front of the closed wooden one.
The wooden door opened, and Papa stepped out onto the porch.
“What do you want?” Quiet words, the way Papa spoke in the early mornings.
“The boss is not happy with the way things went.” The voice was ice.
Angelo! Sal sank to the floor beneath the window and held his breath.
“I did everything you asked. Now please leave us alone.” A polite request, like placing an order at the Feed and Seed.
“Boss is concerned that you might think of going to the police.”
“I won’t. What would I have to gain by doing that?”
Angelo laughed. “You’re a pretty smart guy, Scaviano. Probably smart enough to know we didn’t pick you out by accident. Our connections recognized your name. You were just a little kid—a bambino—when your older brother worked for them in the old country.”
Papa had an older brother?
“What are you talking about?” Papa’s voice lost its calm.
Angelo clicked his tongue. “Poor Paolo. Too bad what happened. I guess that’s why your mama and papa brought you here.”
Sal’s throat went dry.
“You’re a liar.” Papa’s voice trembled.
“The Scavianos were never forgotten, though. We thought maybe you’d like to pick up where Paolo left off. You can’t be doing well for your family with this little farm.”
“Get off my land.” Papa growled the words.
“Just remember that we have connections.” Angelo paused. “And those connections bought one of your cops.”
“Then you already made sure I wouldn’t turn you in, didn’t you?”
“Well, you’d better talk to your little brother and make him see your point of view.” Angelo’s voice rumbled, low and threatening. “Boss wouldn’t want something to happen to your boy—or that pretty little wife of yours.”
Sal stifled a cry and hugged his knees. The cedar planks of the porch creaked and groaned under Angelo’s departing feet.
All was quiet for a moment, and Sal stood up. Angelo walked through the grass around the corner of the house and disappeared.
Uncle Enzo emerged from the barn with Bruno on his heels. They trotted through the chicken yard toward the rising sun and their breakfast.
Papa jumped off the porch and met Uncle Enzo at the gate. Bruno bounded toward the house where he picked up Angelo’s scent and followed it around the corner.
“Who was that?” Uncle Enzo pushed hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
Papa motioned Uncle Enzo farther away from the side door but closer to the window—and to Sal.
Sal stepped back a little, to see but not be seen.
“That was Angelo.” Papa spoke slowly and calmly, as though fearing his brother’s reaction.
Uncle Enzo spat on the ground. “I’ll teach him to show his face around here again.”
Papa raised his hands. “Take it easy, Enzo. We don’t want to cause more trouble for ourselves.”
Uncle Enzo took a deep breath and rubbed his neck. “Okay, Gianni. Okay. What did he say?”
Papa paused a moment. “He threatened again to hurt Rosa and Sal if we go to the police.”
Uncle Enzo roared and tightened his fists. “I’m sick of his threats. You stay here with Rosa and Sal. I’ll take care of Angelo. Then I’ll go to the police and tell them everything.”
“No, Enzo. That’s not all.” Papa grabbed his brother’s arm. “I don’t know if he was telling the truth, but he said they have connections that knew our brother Paolo. That’s how they found us. They recognized our name.”
“Paolo? That was before I was born, but I can’t believe Mama and Papa would have let him—”
Papa released Uncle Enzo’s arm. “I don’t think they did, but they never explained to me how Paolo died. And they brought me to America right afterward.”
Uncle Enzo hung his head. “We may never know for sure.” He spoke so low Sal barely heard him.
Papa sighed. “Another thing. Angelo said they bought off one of the cops.”
Uncle Enzo’s head jerked up. “But only one?”
“All it takes is one for Angelo to find out we talked to the police.”
“Then we wait. Maybe nothing will happen.”
“Except I’m sure the police have my tools.”
“So?” Uncle Enzo’s voice rose again. “You were forced to help those crooks because they threatened our family.”
“I didn’t think the authorities would be able to protect us then, and I don’t know if they would believe us now.” Papa shook his head. “Even if someone in the Freedom Police Department did, would the sheriff? Would a jury? It’s different once you get outside Freedom. You know that. You know what most people in other towns around here think of Italians, especially Sicilians. We’re Dagos. Liars. Thieves.”
Sal chewed his lip. And what if it were true that a Scaviano was involved in criminal activities before their family came to America? What would that mean?
“I think we have to take our chances and do the right thing.” Uncle Enzo’s voice grew insistent. “You didn’t try to break into the bank, and you didn’t shoot Mr. Costa. You had no idea that was going to happen.”
“Italians in this state have been lynched for crimes they didn’t commit,” Papa said gently. “You’ve read the papers.”
“But we can’t let those hoods get away with this.” Uncle Enzo covered his mouth and paced for a few seconds. Then he stopped and faced Papa. “If we turn them in, the police will recognize what kind of men they are. And a jury will see that you’re not like them.”
“That won’t matter if I don’t live to defend myself.”
Sal sank to the floor again and buried his face in his hands.
That evening, Mama marched up to Papa outside the barn as Sal unhitched the mules from the plow. Except for her labored breathing, Mama stood in silence, one arm
across her front and gripping the other at the elbow.
“What’s wrong?” Papa eyed her but continued to knock dirt from his dungarees with his hat.
“You didn’t tell me everything.” Mama’s eyes accused.
Papa took a deep breath and straightened his back.
Sal led the mules to the water trough and prayed Papa wouldn’t make him lie to his mother’s face.
“Who killed Mr. Costa, Gianni?” Mama clutched her throat and choked back a sob.
“Rosa, please, not here.”
“Who, Gianni? Tell me!” Mama clenched her teeth, her face red and quivering.
“Sal, take the mules in,” Papa said without looking at him. Sal didn’t move, and Papa yelled “Boy, do what I said!”
As Sal pulled the mules away, Papa crooned to Mama, “Let’s go into the house and talk about this, Rosa.” He wrapped an arm around her and mumbled more words against her temple.
With the mules safely inside the barn, Sal closed the doors. Mama leaned against Papa like a wounded soldier, and he eased her toward the house. Sal followed behind them.
Inside the kitchen, what was left of Mama’s composure dissolved. “Lena is my friend! And now her husband …” She screamed and gathered the collar of her housedress in her fist.
Uncle Enzo rushed into the room, buttoning a clean shirt, his eyes darting between the two other adults. “What’s going on?”
“Francesco.” Mama broke the sentence into bits with her heaving sobs. “Is.” She convulsed, her face contorted. “Dead.”
“Oh, no.” Uncle Enzo clasped his hands and held them to his forehead.
“Rosa, sit down.” Papa led her to her chair, but she wouldn’t sit. “Sal, get Mama a wet cloth.”
Sal pumped some water at the sink and held a clean dishcloth under the stream.
“Rosa, listen to me.” Papa held her arms while he looked into her eyes. “I didn’t do it.”
“But he’d still be alive if you hadn’t helped those men.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Papa’s voice softened, and he sighed. “Tell her, Enzo.”
“He didn’t, Rosa. Honest.” Uncle Enzo held a hand to his chest. “They threatened to hurt you and Sal if we didn’t help them.”
She swallowed and wiped her nose with her apron. Her red face faded to pink.
“And they made me take Sal so I wouldn’t cause any trouble at the bank.” Papa let go of her and allowed Sal near.
“Sit, Mama.” Sal tugged his mother’s elbow to coax her into her chair. She sank and wrapped an arm around him. He wiped her face with the wet cloth, brushing away curls that were damp with tears.
“Rosa, we didn’t know Mr. Costa was dead until you told us.” Papa’s eyes pleaded. “All we knew was that the boss of the gang shot him.”
“And Sal saw it?” Mama pulled Sal closer to her.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about it, Mama.” Sal kissed her on the cheek. “But I’m okay.”
“You have to go to the police now, Gianni.” Mama inched forward in her chair, urgency in her voice. “How can you not?”
Papa pulled a chair near to hers. He took her hand in his and caressed it. “Rosa, that was one of the men at the door this morning.” He took a deep breath. “None of us is safe if we go to the police.”
“Then we’ll leave.” Mama’s eyes grew wide. “We can go to my sister’s house.”
“We can’t leave the farm.” He laid the words tenderly over her. “How would we live?”
Mama sighed, the air releasing in short bursts that rattled her shoulders.
“Besides, if either the gang or the police found us there, then Delia and her children would be in danger, too.” He kissed her hair. “Enzo and I will figure something out.”
Mama fingered the crucifix that hung around her neck. “Jesus, please show us what to do,” she whispered.
Chapter 5
Death of All Kinds
“I’m not letting Sal go.” Mama stepped in front of Papa at the kitchen table, both hands on her hips, and glared at him.
Sal gulped his milk and didn’t look at either of his parents. Dressed in his church pants, shirt, and dress shoes, he was ready except for his tie. He’d be happy to stay home—or go. If they just wouldn’t argue again.
“Rosa, we must act normally so we don’t draw suspicion—from the gang or the police.” Papa sunk a spoon into his breakfast of oatmeal and fig preserves.
“Sal will be with us the whole time,” Uncle Enzo said to Mama. “You wouldn’t want him to stay here alone, would you? Nobody on this road will be home.”
Mama dropped her hands to her sides and stalked out of the room. She returned in her black mourning dress and hat, carrying her black gloves and handbag. She sat in her chair and stared straight ahead.
Sal got up and hurried to his room. In front of the mirror, he draped his tie around his neck and made the knot. Before sliding the tie tight, he stopped. What was wrong with his eyes? He leaned in. These were someone else’s eyes, dull and sad, not his at all. Was he different on the inside now, too? Before last week, he was like every other boy he’d ever known. Since then, he’d kept secrets about robbery and murder. And worried about who might find out about them
After breakfast, all four family members climbed into the car. Mama settled in front with Papa, and Sal joined Uncle Enzo in back.
If only Sal could go back in time, like the Time Traveler and his machine in that book Mama got from the library. He would come out from behind the packing shed while those men were talking to Papa and tell him not to listen to them. Or better yet, he would go home with Papa and Uncle Enzo instead of remaining behind in the fields that day. At the train station, he would stay with Papa instead of going to Antonina’s house.
Papa, Mama, and Uncle Enzo sat quietly as Papa drove, but not the respectful kind of quiet for attending a funeral Mass. This was a different kind, as if each of them was alone even though they were in the same car. Sal had never before been lonely while being with any of them. Would they ever talk and laugh together as a family again?
And Mr. Costa was dead. Mr. Costa, who always smiled at him when he came into the grocery store and who let Mama buy on credit when Papa’s crops didn’t do well.
The small amount of breakfast Mama had forced Sal to eat lumped in his stomach.
At the Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Sal slouched on the hard bench of the seventh row on the right, between Papa and Uncle Enzo. Two rows up, Antonina sat with her parents and older brother and sister. Sal barely recognized Antonina in a dress, with a black veil worn over smoothly brushed red hair.
At the end of Mass, Father Clement gave the final blessing.
Mrs. Costa let out a wail that jolted Sal in his seat. The sound grew louder, the cry from a milk cow in pain.
Everyone stood at once. Six men in black suits lifted the casket. They carried it down the aisle, followed by Mrs. Costa, who struggled to stand. Carlo gripped his mother’s arm, and his two weeping sisters held hands.
Mama began to sob, her shoulders shaking up and down. Papa circled his arm around them, and she hid her face in his shoulder.
The Scavianos followed a trail of people winding out of the church and into cars that drove a short distance to the cemetery. There, everyone traveled on foot around the above-ground tombs that populated the little city of the dead. Like tiny houses, some of them were fresh and new, some of them dirty and unkempt with peeling paint and vases filled with decaying leaves.
Sal didn’t listen to the words Father Clement or the Costa children spoke at Mr. Costa’s gravesite. His eyes were glued on Antonina. She looked so much like a girl with her hair down like that. She caught him staring at her and stuck out her tongue. Embarrassed, Sal turned toward Uncle Enzo.
Uncle Enzo’s eyes scanned the crowd and then searched the far reaches of the cemetery. What was he looking for? Marie and Hiram, who’d come in Papa’s truck, stood a few yards away with their heads bowed.
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Uncle Enzo stayed behind at Mr. Costa’s grave. He joined Matilde and held her hand as Sal, Papa, and Mama walked slowly to an older area of the cemetery.
Under an oak tree, the tombs of Grandma and Grandpa Scaviano rested next to each other. Papa took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Then he swiped the cloth across the engraved names on the tombstones, Salvatore Scaviano’s now darkened with age.
Sal couldn’t stand to see Papa cry. It had happened only once before that Sal was old enough to remember, the day Grandma was buried. Sal looked away, squinting into the sun in the direction of a large tomb nearby.
Someone—a man— quickly stepped back behind the tomb. Sal’s heart quickened. Was that one of the gang? No, it couldn’t be one of the criminals. This figure was slimmer and younger—and blond.
Chapter 6
The Plan
Where could Angelo, the boss, and the rest of the gang be? Not knowing gave Sal the shivers. He checked over his shoulder every few seconds as he scattered dried corn for the chickens in the barnyard, all the while avoiding the ornery rooster that ruled over the hens.
It had been several days since Angelo appeared before daylight at the farm. He must have walked from somewhere during the night when he showed up on their porch that morning. There’d been no sound of a car or truck engine. Unless the men had stolen one, they probably had no car and not much money to get one either. And they didn’t appear to be smart enough to earn money honestly.
Maybe they’d found Mr. Robinson’s shack on their own and were using it as a hideout. If they’d run all the way through the woods to the other side after fleeing Papa’s car the night of the crime, they would’ve seen the shack easily come morning. But if they weren’t there, maybe they’d moved on to another town. Then Sal wouldn’t have to be afraid for his family any more.
The Other Side of Freedom Page 3