But out in the fields, Papa’s face was as blank as a blackboard wiped clean at the end of the school year, as if he were trying to decide whether to be happy or not. He didn’t talk about Uncle Enzo, didn’t mention him at all, at least not in front of Sal. Surely, Papa must’ve talked to Mama about a lot of things in private, though.
Sometimes Papa would stop and prop himself on a post or rest his hand on a mule’s shoulder and stare far into the flat distance, to the edge of the farm where the fence cut a crooked line barely visible on the horizon.
He caught Sal watching him as they harvested squash. Papa wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed. Then he gave his head a quick shake and started talking before Sal had a chance to question what he was thinking about.
“Mr. Domiano offered to go in half with me on a tractor,” Papa said.
This was something Papa would’ve discussed with Uncle Enzo, never Sal. What should he say? A tractor could make working a lot easier, that’s for certain, if they were going to stay long enough to use it for the next planting.
“That’s nice of him, Papa. Not many people around here have one yet.”
Papa sighed and patted a mule rump. “Time for me to go in. You and Hiram finish up, okay?”
“Sure.”
Papa trudged through the fields toward the house.
“Everything okay?” Hiram carefully set an armload of zucchini next to a fine crop of cucuzzi. Bruno ambled to the wagon and sniffed its contents. Hiram patted him on the head.
“Hiram, do you think I should testify?” Sal squinted. His head ached every time he thought about it.
“I think you’re the only one who can make sure those crooks get locked up forever.” Hiram took a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it between his lips.
“Don’t! Marie’s right over there in the shed, and you’ll get in trouble.”
Hiram struck a match and touched the flame to the cigarette’s end until it glowed orange.
Sal gasped. The lit cigarette that day at the shack! “You were there the day Antonina and I found the gang. That was you following us, smoking a cigarette.”
Hiram shook the match and the flame went out. “Yeah. I knew you were up to something, and I had to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”
“Did you hear anything they said?” Maybe Hiram could be the one to testify.
“No, I didn’t get close enough.”
“Oh.” Sal’s shoulders sagged.
“Look, I know you wish you didn’t have to do this, but even if I’d heard everything you and your papa heard, I’m not sure people would believe me.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, I work for your family. My mama and I depend on y’all to live.” He paused. “And then there’s this.” He extended arms as dark as coffee toward Sal.
Sal nodded. It was the same for colored people as it was for Italians. Only worse.
Chapter 24
In the Open and Behind Bars
Deputy Jim gave Sal and Mama and Papa the news when they sat down to breakfast later in the week. “They have Angelo in custody at the parish jail. Also, Emilio and the other two.”
Mama drew a deep breath, clasped her hands, and looked toward the heavens. “Thank you, Lord.”
Jim cracked a rare smile.
“Where were they found?” Sal asked, but the answer didn’t really matter. The crooks were locked up. Sal took a bite of grits, tasting it like he hadn’t tasted anything in months.
“You should ask District Attorney Cranch your questions, Sal. He wants to talk to you and one of your parents today. I’ll drive you.”
Mama set the butter dish in front of Papa. “Gianni, I’d love to be able to walk down the street again with my head held high.”
Papa smiled. “You should go, Rosa. I have plenty of work to catch up on. Besides, Hiram and I will be fine. Marie’s staked out in the packing shed with her shotgun in case any of the gang’s friends show up.”
After the short drive, Mama and Sal stepped out of Jim’s car in front of the police station.
Sal grinned as Mama straightened her hat and smoothed her hair with a gloved hand. She sure knew how to get dolled up when she wanted to make a point. She stood still for a moment as an older man and woman gave her an admiring look. Mama smiled at them. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Baiamonte.”
The couple nodded, mumbled some pleasantries, and scurried along.
“Mama? Are you ready?” Sal reached for her hand.
“In a second. I have nothing to hide, to go running into the building like I’m ashamed of what happened to us.” She tossed her head, squared her shoulders, and placed a hand on Sal’s arm. “I’m ready.” She pointed the toe of a high-heeled pump in the direction of the front door. Jim held it open for her.
Tommy waited inside, his face beaming. “Good morning. We set up an office for Mr. Cranch in the interrogation room. This way, Mrs. Scaviano.”
Sal followed them into the little gray room, his third time there.
With an ink blotter, stack of books, fountain pen on a stand, and fancier paper than Tommy’s little notebook, the table somewhat resembled a desk. A lamp on its corner cast a warm glow in the room.
Cranch sat behind the table. “Thank you for coming in.” He rose and took Mama’s extended hand.
“We’re so happy over the good news of the capture.” She looked at Cranch and at Tommy. “Congratulations to both of you.”
Tommy grinned. “Thank you. We couldn’t have done it without the Sheriff’s Department.” He cleared his throat and took a seat. “As happy as we are over the arrests and captures, this is only the beginning. We have to prepare our case and get to trial as soon as possible.”
Mama nodded. “Of course.”
Cranch turned to Sal. “What did you decide, Sal?”
Chapter 25
Say Nothing
It was torture going back to school, but it had nothing to do with being cooped up in a tiny schoolhouse in stifling September heat.
Sal had to remain silent for now. No one other than Mama, Papa, and the authorities could know that he was going to testify. Not even his best friend, Antonina. As Tommy explained, it wasn’t that someone would tell the wrong person on purpose. But something might slip out in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Antonina, happy over the news that all the criminals were locked up, bubbled and laughed like school was the best thing on earth. “Let’s play Ring around the Rosey.” She grabbed two of the smallest children by the hand outside the schoolhouse one morning. Others joined them, forming a giggling human circle that spun under the oaks. If she noticed a sheriff’s deputy lurking, she gave no sign she did. To Sal, she didn’t seem to have a care in the world.
He leaned against a tree with one foot propped against a root as thick as his middle. Squirrels scampered through the limbs above him, knocking acorns around his head and shoulders.
For the first time, Antonina wore girly shoes and stockings to start school. Only last year she’d complained about being forced to wear a dress instead of overalls or dungarees. And that was when she was still barefoot most of the time.
She skipped along with the younger children, her flowered dress billowing and waving around her legs. She let go one hand and pushed the skirt down when it got too high, smiling in spite of the inconvenience. The bow tied to her hair loosened, one end flapping across her eyes. She reached for the ribbon, spotted Sal, and frowned.
He must’ve been staring at her again. He swallowed and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Once the trial began, how would he tell her their days together were numbered? How could he say to his best friend that he was leaving and she might never see him again?
“That’s enough.” Antonina kissed the smooth black hair of the tiniest pigtailed girl. “We’ll play again tomorrow.” She walked toward Sal, out of breath, her cheeks flushed.
Sal ran the heel of his shoe through the dirt.
; She smiled. “Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet since school started.”
He smiled back. “Yeah, I’m all right. Hey, you look nice.”
She grinned and punched his arm playfully.
Their new teacher, Carlo Costa’s sister Matilde, stepped out onto the schoolhouse porch and rang the bell to call them in.
Chapter 26
The Trial
Four ceiling fans whirred and clacked overhead, drawing air through the crowded courtroom’s yawning windows. Still, Sal could hardly breathe as he took the witness stand and swore on the Bible. If it weren’t for Mama and Papa sitting across from him in the first row behind Cranch and the prosecution team, and Antonina and her entire family behind them in the second row, he would’ve fainted dead away.
Carlo, along with Angelo, Emilio, and the other two remaining gang members sat at the long defendants’ table flanked by their lawyers. Instead of their usual black, the accused dressed in blue, tan, and beige suits. Emilio wore glasses. Whether real or not, they didn’t make him appear the least bit innocent. Angelo glared at Sal with open hatred, sending a shiver down his sweaty spine. Carlo rested his head on his hands and didn’t look up from the table.
If Sal hadn’t already known the criminals, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish them from their lawyers: a pair of men with slick black hair and mean eyes under bushy brows, their gaze hard, whether it fell upon their clients or Sal.
The judge took a long look at Sal and said, “Counselors, approach the bench.”
Cranch, his assistant district attorney, and the two defense lawyers met below. The judge leaned toward them, jowls dangling from a face as pink as Grandma’s camellias against his white hair.
As if the situation he found himself in weren’t bad enough, Sal’s new clothes were causing him fits. He tugged at his shirt collar, trying to get some air between it and his neck and jiggled his legs to relieve the itch from his pants.
The judge and lawyers argued in whispers, the word “child” drifting repeatedly toward Sal. At last, the judge sat back in his chair and the lawyers retreated to their tables. The eyes of the defense team narrowed to slits.
The prosecution would question Sal first. He reminded himself that when asked, he would only have to repeat what he’d already told both Tommy and D.A. Cranch in private—and practiced a thousand times. Problem was, Angelo and the other gang members would hear it from his mouth for the first time.
“Sal, did anything unusual happen on the night of …” Cranch began.
Although he sensed every eye at the defense table boring holes into him, Sal didn’t look anywhere but into Cranch’s eyes. Just as he was told.
When Cranch finished his questioning, Sal wiped his palms against his thighs. His knees quaked, and his throat went as dry as the fields in the last drought. He swallowed a few times and prepared for the first question from the defense.
“How old are you, Sal?” The older defense attorney smiled with his lips, like a friend of his parents would, but his eyes told a different story. Sal knew his name to be Ruffino.
“I’m thirteen.”
Cranch had trained him to look the defense lawyers in the eye when they spoke to him, too, even if they yelled. To show no emotion. To look at the jury if he wanted but never at the criminals.
“Are you in eighth grade now?”
“Yes.”
“I guess there’s a lot to remember by the time you’re in eighth grade, isn’t there?”
Cranch rose from his seat. “Objection, your honor. He’s leading the witness.”
“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Rephrase the question.”
“Is there a lot to remember in school by the time you reach eighth grade?” Ruffino smiled his creepy smile again.
“I guess so.”
“Answer yes or no, Sal,” the judge said.
“Yes.” Sal took the handkerchief Mama had placed in his pants pocket and wiped his brow.
“What kind of grades do you get in school?”
The judge scowled, his face now bright red. “Where is this going, Counselor? Better show me quick.”
“I shall, Your Honor.” Ruffino turned his attention to Sal again. “Sal, how are your grades?”
“I do pretty well.”
“According to last year’s report card, you have a little trouble with history. What was your final grade in history last spring, Sal? Do you remember?”
“C.”
“C,” Ruffino repeated. “That’s average, right?”
Sal hesitated. “Yes.”
“What does being average in history mean, Sal?”
Sal opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. He knew what it meant but also what it would mean when he answered. They hadn’t practiced this. He looked at Cranch, who stared back, his only movement a muscle twitching in his cheek.
Sal swallowed the dry lump in his throat. “It means I don’t remember some things.”
He felt sick to his stomach. Why couldn’t he have done better in history? Why didn’t somebody ask him about arithmetic or science?
“What don’t you remember?” Ruffino wasn’t smiling anymore.
Sal took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Answer the question, Sal.” The judge’s voice let him know he felt sorry for him.
Sal opened his eyes. He would’ve yelled the answer if he’d been anywhere else. “I sometimes don’t remember the right dates or names or places.” No! How stupid to say that.
His body shook. A bailiff asked if he needed a glass of water. He accepted one and sipped it.
The rest of the questions and answers were a blur, as though he were swimming against the river current with water slamming in his face and choking him.
After Ruffino finished his cross-examination, the bailiff led Sal on shaky legs to Cranch, who patted him on the back. “You did fine, Sal,” he whispered.
“I want to stay for the rest.” He wanted to be with Mama and Papa.
“I’ve already arranged that.”
The bailiff escorted Sal to a seat between his parents.
“I’m proud of you, son.” Papa spoke under his breath.
But all Sal felt was stupid. His words said to Ruffino played over and over in his mind. He ran a finger behind his collar to try to relax the tightness in his neck but got only a wet finger.
The prosecution called its next witness. “Matilde Costa.”
The crowd of spectators gasped and murmured. Carlo’s profile turned the color of chalk.
Cranch had refused to tell Sal who the other witnesses would be. He would’ve never guessed one would be his teacher, Carlo’s sister.
The double doors behind them opened, and Matilde, wearing a feathered hat, took small but sure steps into the courtroom. With dainty movements, she climbed into the witness stand and perched like an exotic bird.
“Raise your right hand and place your left hand on the Bible.” The bailiff held the worn leather book before Matilde. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” She stated her name, address, and occupation.
“Miss Costa, when did you first learn of the existence of Mr. Angelo La Puma?” Cranch’s voice was smooth.
“When he came to our grocery store in early May and talked with my father and brother, Carlo.”
“Would you identify the man?”
“That’s him. The tall one.” She pointed, her chin jutting forward, eyes ablaze.
“Please let the record show that Miss Costa identified Angelo La Puma.” Cranch continued, “How did you happen to be in the grocery that day?”
“I’d just returned home from the Florence State Normal School in Alabama after finishing my education to become a teacher.”
“‘Did you hear any of the conversation that took place between Mr. La Puma and your father and brother?”
“Yes, I was coming from my room upstairs and stopped when I h
eard a stranger speaking.”
“What was said?”
“Mr. La Puma offered my father a cut in the sale of illegal liquor if he would store and help sell it.”
Spectators shifted in their seats and mumbled, and the judge pounded his gavel once against its block. Sal cut his eyes toward Carlo, who clenched his fists as Ruffino whispered to him.
“How did your father reply?”
“He refused to be involved.”
“Did Carlo say or do anything at that time?”
“Not while my father was present but afterward.”
“What happened?”
“After Mr. La Puma left the store, my father came upstairs, and I continued down. Carlo waited a minute and ran out the front door. I watched through the window and saw him catch up with Mr. La Puma at his car. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but afterward they shook hands. Then Carlo returned.”
“Did you see Mr. La Puma again?”
“A number of times after my father was murdered. He and my brother were in the bootlegging business together.”
“Shut up, you stupid girl!” Carlo banged the table with his fists and jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing backward to the floor. He tried to get out from behind the table as Matilde screamed. Carlo’s lawyers grabbed hold of him, and two bailiffs ran to assist. The crowd roared, a few male spectators rising from their seats.
“Order! Order!” The judge’s gavel made a cracking sound against the block like one or the other was about to split.
Tears flooded Matilde’s face, and she shouted over the noise. “Carlo knew it was Angelo and his gang who tried to break into the bank and that it was their boss who shot our father, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the money. That’s why he let Mr. Scaviano take the blame for the bank job and my father’s murder!”
The blood rose to Sal’s cheeks. He clenched his fists, the urge to rush Carlo and punch him building until Mama’s nails dug into his arm.
The Other Side of Freedom Page 11