He whacked the passenger door with the side of his fist. Hiram cut his eyes toward the sound.
Now Sal was the only one left to tell Mama everything that had happened and see what she could do about it. If he were lucky, she wouldn’t be mad at him for taking the truck on his own. Or be upset because Uncle Enzo and the car were gone.
Hiram pulled the truck into the drive. Still no car out in front of the house.
Hiram stopped next to the barn. “I’d better get to work. Can’t let the farm go to pieces.” Hiram clapped Sal’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need me.”
“Thanks for everything.” Sal turned toward the house. What would he say to Mama? How could he explain …?
Bruno. He’d forgotten to feed him. He walked to the pen but it was empty, the gate open. Maybe Mama or Marie remembered.
He ran toward the back porch. Without any of the men to follow around, Bruno was probably there.
Sal reached the steps and gasped. The ground in front was splattered with blood. If anything happened to Bruno—or Mama.
Afraid of what he might see but terrified of waiting a second more, Sal burst into the kitchen.
Mama sat at the table, Bruno standing at her side and wagging his tail. She looked up, and her lips formed a weak smile. “I let him in. Marie and I didn’t think Papa would mind, considering.”
Sal took a deep breath and exhaled. “No, I don’t think he would.” He kissed her cheek and patted Bruno’s rump. Neither was injured, but Mama’s pale complexion frightened him.
“I read your note.” She stroked Bruno’s back and spoke so softly Sal strained to hear her. “Did they let you see Papa at the jail? Is he all right?”
“Yes, Mama, he’s fine. He was having breakfast that Mrs. Labato brought him.”
“That’s nice.” Lines on her forehead relaxed, but her hands trembled as she continued to stroke Bruno. “I want to go see him, but Uncle Enzo has the car.”
“I’ll take you in the truck tomorrow. I promise. Hiram is by himself on the farm today. We should help him, don’t you think?”
She nodded.
“Mama, where did that blood outside come from?”
She didn’t look up. “Uncle Enzo was here for a little while,” she said as if she read a grocery list. “Somebody shot him in the arm.”
A wave of nausea struck Sal, and he ran his hands over his face. “Who did? Where is he? Did he go to the hospital?”
Mama lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head slowly. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know anything. He couldn’t stay, because he was worried they’d come here looking for him. He was afraid for you and me, so he’s going away.”
The police were looking for Uncle Enzo, thanks to Sal. Is that who shot him? Or was it Angelo or someone in the gang—or a bigger mobster?
Mama needed Sal’s protection. She was upset enough, worried about Papa. He’d keep his big mouth shut for once.
Chapter 17
No Sale
As Sal had promised, he and Mama drove the truck into town the following morning to visit Papa together. Mama asked for one stop on the way—Costa’s Grocery.
Carlo Costa folded hairy forearms across his chest and stood outside the front of his store.
“Good morning, Carlo. I’d like some ricotta, please.” Mama stepped closer.
Carlo moved in front of the door, next to the flowers Mama had helped Mrs. Costa and Matilde plant there, and blocked her entrance. “You’re not welcome here, Mrs. Scaviano.” Dark hatred filled his eyes.
The hair on Sal’s neck stood on end. Carlo was three times his size.
Mama blushed. “Carlo, surely you don’t think—”
Sal tugged on Mama’s arm. “Never mind. We don’t need any.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Carlo. He dragged her along the sidewalk like a hooked catfish at the bottom of a lake, dodging a couple of other pedestrians in their path.
“And don’t bother bringing any of your corn to sell, either!” Carlo shouted so loud all of Freedom must have heard him. The shopkeeper next door poked his head out but drew it right back in.
Mama raised a trembling hand to her lips. “Sal—oh, my goodness.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I need to talk to his mother. Let me go!” She wrenched free of Sal’s grasp and turned back toward the grocery. Her handbag slipped from her arm and fell to the sidewalk with a thud. Inside it was a jar of strawberry preserves.
“No, Mama!” Sal grabbed her again but lowered his voice. “Please don’t. We came to see Papa, remember? We’ll find some ricotta somewhere else to surprise him.” As he picked up her bag, Sal hung onto Mama’s small loaf of bread wrapped in a dishtowel and tied with string.
“I should have made him some ricotta myself last night, like a good wife.” Mama’s face remained flushed as she blinked away her tears.
Sal shook with anger. How could Carlo be so mean and embarrass her like that, in front of the whole town? Mama—always so kind to everyone, including that stupid oaf. “Look, we’ve almost reached Labato’s Restaurant. They’ll have some we can buy.”
Mama cast her eyes downward and smoothed her hair with her free hand. The hand remained against her cheek, shielding her from stares and whispers as they approached the restaurant.
Mr. Labato’s face showed no emotion when Sal and Mama entered. “Sal, I think you should take your mother home.”
“She’ll be all right. We want to take my papa some ricotta. Do you have any you can sell us?”
“No.”
Sal blinked. “Not even a little?”
“I can’t spare any. Sorry.”
Antonina emerged from the kitchen in back and headed toward them.
“Girl, get back there and help your mama and sister.”
Antonina stopped, her brows raised. “But I–”
“Do what I tell you!”
Antonina’s eyes held an apology for Sal, but she spun on her heels and obeyed.
“If there’s nothing else, I think you should go now.” Mr. Labato set his mouth in a grim line.
“Mr. Labato, please. My mother didn’t do anything wrong.” Defiance edging his tone, Sal stood a little straighter. “And neither did my father.”
“I don’t know whether he did or not, but a lot of people in this town think he did, and I have to worry about my business.”
His business. It wouldn’t be so good if it weren’t for the Scavianos’ fruits and vegetables. They gave him only the best for his rich customers and at the best prices, too. Sal took a deep breath and sighed. “Mama, let’s go.” He turned around, but she was gone.
She leaned against the outside wall of the restaurant, hugging herself and whimpering.
“Mama, it’ll be all right.” Sal didn’t really believe that, but it was what Papa or Uncle Enzo would’ve said. “Do you have a handkerchief in your bag?”
She nodded and withdrew one, along with a mirror.
Sal held her bag for her. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go see Papa. He’s waiting for us.”
Officer Hammond took the loaf of bread from Sal and set it on a desk, patted Sal down the length of his body, and handed the bread back to him. Then he flipped through the contents of Mama’s bag. “Okay, follow me.”
Mama ran through the cell door to Papa and collapsed against him. He squeezed her so tight Sal was afraid her bones would snap.
“We brought you some good things from home.” Mama smiled and gently pulled back.
Papa caressed the red blotches still fading from her face. “Do I smell fresh bread?”
“Yes, and I have strawberry preserves, too. I’m sorry I didn’t make you any ricotta.” Mama extracted the jar from her purse and cried out. “Oh, no! It broke!” Her eyes filled with tears again as she held the cracked jar in front of her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Papa took the jar leaking red juice onto the floor and handed it to Sal.
“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “Everything in our lives has gone wrong.
” She wiped her tears with the back of one hand.
Papa held her by the shoulders. He looked into her eyes and smiled. “No, Rosa. Not everything.”
Stacks of papers covered the kitchen table when Sal came in for dinner.
“Sal, I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep the farm going without Papa or Uncle Enzo.” Mama covered her mouth with her fist, a cup of coffee growing cold in front of her.
Sal sat down in the chair next to hers. “But Hiram and I are still here. And Marie.”
Mama offered him a thin smile and patted his arm. “Even if we were strong enough to grow and harvest the crops all by ourselves, we still have to sell them.” She threw an envelope on top of a pile of bills and sighed. “That was another order cancelled. It didn’t take long for word to get around.”
Sal had never wanted to work the farm, never wanted to continue living on it any longer than necessary, but this wasn’t what he had in mind. For Papa to lose his beloved fields? Or for Mama to be beaten down like this? “I’ll find more customers for us. I don’t have to go to school in the fall. That will give me more time.”
“Sal, Papa wouldn’t want that. And neither do I. We want better for you.”
“Please don’t say no right now. Let’s wait and see. By then Papa might be free anyway.”
Mama shook her head. “I wish I could believe that. I really want to, but I have to think about your future. So, I’m going to talk to Aunt Delia and find out if there are any jobs near her house. We could stay with her.”
“What about Hiram and Marie? What will happen to them?”
“They can stay here as long as they like—or until we don’t own the farm anymore.”
Sal had no energy to argue. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his life.
He loved and respected Mama, but he needed to figure out for himself what he should do. For right now. And tomorrow morning. And the next day. And the day after that.
Chapter 18
The Porch
Something tapped against Sal’s window in his dreams, awakening him as thunder rumbled in a night as black as creosote. The police are here to get Papa.
No, Papa was already in jail. He sat up in bed, and the sound grew impatient. Could it be the hydrangea bush knocking against the glass?
He squinted in the dark. There, in the window—a head, wearing a hat! Sal gasped and reached for his baseball bat. Wait—Uncle Enzo? Lightning crackled high in the clouds and illuminated the outdoors, revealing a face—but not a man’s. Antonina!
He dropped the bat, ran to the window, and yanked it open.
“Meet me on the porch.” Antonina pointed in the direction of the side porch, the farthest place from Mama and Papa’s room.
What time must it be? Sal pulled on his pants and tiptoed on bare feet to where she waited.
“How did you get here? Is anything wrong?” He pulled his pants a little higher. He’d forgotten his belt.
Antonina removed a battered felt hat covered with rain sprinkles. Her hair hung loose down her back. “I’m fine, but this was the only way I could talk to you. Unless you had some other idea.” She cut her eyes at him.
He rubbed his head and tried to contain a chuckle. “No. I’m glad you’re here. You walked all this way?” He took the hat from her hand and set it on a small table in the corner of the porch.
“Yeah, but I think it took less than an hour. What time is it?” Without waiting for the answer, she sat down on the porch with her back against the wall. Settling, she stretched her legs out in front and arranged her skirt neatly around them. Socks and sturdy boots covered her feet.
“I don’t know. Late? I was already asleep.” He was suddenly aware that only an undershirt covered his chest, and he crossed his arms.
She giggled and shook her head.
He shrugged and sat beside her, propping his elbows on bent knees. Antonina’s hands rested at her sides. Together they watched the rain come down until it softened and glistened in moonlight from behind fractured clouds.
“Something funny is going on behind the grocery.” Antonina stared straight ahead and spoke softly, as though reluctant to disturb the mood.
He spun around to face her. “What do you mean?”
“After my parents went to bed tonight, I couldn’t sleep, so I went out on the balcony.” She drew her legs in and turned toward Sal. Wide, glowing bands of white surrounded the green of her eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Carlo cracked open his back door, nice and easy, and peeked into the courtyard. When he came out, he stood there and looked around for a minute. Then he pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the doors of that storage pit built in the ground. He took out a wooden box and carried it inside.” She bit her lip and waited.
Sal’s eyes darted about like a wild bird’s as he tried to make sense of the information. “What could be going on?” He asked the question more of himself than of her.
“Could Carlo be doing something illegal?” Wrinkles formed between Antonina’s red eyebrows.
“That’s a good question.” Everything he and Antonina had seen Carlo do concerning that storage pit had been done secretively. There had to be a reason for that. And why hide boxes in the ground, surrounded by shrubbery? Why not build a small shed to store extra supplies? There had to be a way to find out what was in those boxes.
“I wish you could come up to the balcony with me like you used to.” Antonina held Sal’s gaze with her own. The rain had stopped, and a breeze ruffled her hair. A strand of it crossed her face and rested on her lips. She blew a whiff of air and smoothed the hair back with her hand.
He swallowed and looked away. “But you know I can’t. Not with the way your papa feels about me and my family.”
She sighed. “I know.”
He turned toward her again. “Would you keep watching the back of the grocery—for both of us?”
“Sure.” She stood up and snatched her hat from the table. “I miss you.”
Before Sal could recover from her words, she jumped off the porch and was gone.
Chapter 19
A Big Operation
At the rooster’s morning crow, Sal struggled to lift his head from under the weight of sleep. Did he hear Uncle Enzo’s voice, or was it another dream? Waking required too much effort, and he slipped beneath the weight again.
He awoke once more, wide-eyed. The clock read a quarter past six, and faint sunlight broke through his windows. Mama rattled pots in the kitchen. He was late for all the chores that were now left to only Hiram and him. He’d have to eat breakfast when he returned.
Hiram was already in the barn milking the cow, so Sal fed and watered the mules. He fitted the team for hauling the harvest wagon, and Hiram led them toward the fields. Sal released Bruno from his pen and headed toward the house, the dog running ahead of him. When Sal was almost there, he stopped short.
The family car was back. Another black sedan was parked behind it.
Sal’s heart lifted but then plummeted to his empty stomach. Had Uncle Enzo returned? Who followed him?
Oh, no—Mama. Sal ran to the porch, took two leaps up the steps, and burst through the kitchen door. “Mama! Uncle Enzo!” His heart thumped against his ribs.
The kitchen was empty, with two plates of over-easy eggs on the table. Voices drifted from the front room.
Four figures were silhouetted against the light coming through its windows. One was Mama’s. Sal inched forward while trying to make out the other faces. Then one of the male figures moved in his direction.
“Sal, Officer Kentwood needs to talk to you,” Mama said as Tommy’s features became recognizable.
Tommy in plain clothes. No police car, only an unmarked black sedan. Instead of Uncle Enzo, two other men.
“Where’s Uncle Enzo? Our car is here.”
Tommy ignored his question. “Sal, this is District Attorney Cranch. And this is—”
“Sheriff Husser.” Sal extended his hand. “I’ve seen your pict
ure in the newspaper.” Sal shook hands with him and then with Cranch.
“Sal, we want you to know that your uncle is safe.” Husser didn’t smile, but Sal had always trusted his face, its sunburn extending across the top of a balding head.
“Where is he? He was hurt when my mother saw him.”
“It’s better for you not to know where he is. That’s for his protection, as well as your mother’s safety—and yours.”
Mama’s eyes were soft but her mouth firm. She’d already heard this.
“Just in case, I’m going to assign a deputy to stay here at your house. I’ll bring him by this afternoon and introduce you to him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tommy placed a hand on Sal’s shoulder. “From now on, we’ll talk to you here about anything concerning your family or the crime.” He raised an eyebrow. “Stay away from the police station, okay?”
Sal hesitated. “Okay.” That meant staying away from Papa, too.
“Stay away from town altogether, as much as possible.” Tommy clenched his jaw.
Sal blinked and frowned. “I guess I can do that.”
Cranch, who’d stood silent while the others spoke, stepped closer. “Sal, we know now that your father is innocent. I wish we could let him come home, but we have to keep him in jail a little longer. It’s a way of protecting him and not letting the suspects know we’re onto them.”
Sal took a huge breath and let it out. He’d never been so relieved about anything in his life. They wouldn’t have to lose the farm. They could begin to live again. “I understand, Mr. Cranch. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Sal let Mama wrap an arm around him, and they exchanged a smile.
“But there’s more. We believe that the men who tried to rob the bank are part of something much bigger. We hope they’ll lead us to who’s in charge.”
“Bigger? You mean like the Mob?” That would figure.
The Other Side of Freedom Page 8