Before Bella could ask, Mama shook her head.
Grandfather said, “I was hoping the prosecutors would realize their mistake and withdraw the case, but the judge ruled the charges too serious for bail. All fifteen cigar workers were charged with unlawful assembly, rioting, and attempted murder.”
“Murder! Lola was just protecting me,” Bella said. “The lawyer promised he could get her off.”
“I’ve fired him,” Grandfather said. “I’m getting an attorney from Tallahassee who’s a labor expert.”
“Won’t that be expensive?” Bella asked.
“We have to do all we can,” Grandfather said. “I didn’t always agree with Lola’s politics, but she doesn’t deserve this.” Grandfather’s voice choked up, and Mama gave him a hug. “Lola has a little cash at her house, which should help start her new defense.”
“But that was for—” Bella stopped.
“What?” Grandfather asked.
“Nothing,” Bella said.
Bella didn’t mention Papa’s belt until Grandfather had left. “Have you sold the tobacco seeds to help pay for the lawyer?”
“Tobacco seeds?” Mama marched to the bedroom and grabbed the belt from its hook. “Pedro” was all she said when she saw the empty pocket. Then she slumped onto the bed, sobbing. “He’d been doing so well. What could have possessed him?”
Bella hugged Mama tightly.
When Mama cornered Pedro later that evening, he didn’t lie. “I knew we needed money for Aunt Lola, and Bella wants to go to school, so—”
“So you stole from your own family?” Mama asked.
“A man who works at the Lido offered me fifty chances on bolita. With only a hundred numbers in the game, I thought that in a week or two I’d win for sure.”
“Everyone thinks they’ll win!” Mama said. “This is the last straw! I should go outside and hang my—” She stopped suddenly and got so quiet that it scared Bella.
“Don’t you know the game is rigged?” Bella asked.
“How?” Pedro looked confused as Mama cried silently.
“Do you think those bolita men get rich by being honest?” Bella asked. Tears ran down her cheeks. The tobacco seeds were gone forever, and with them Papa’s hopes and dreams.
“But—” Pedro began.
“Have you ever seen a cigar worker living like the men who run the game downtown?” Mama said.
Pedro stood still. He stared at Mama. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was only trying to help.” Now Pedro was crying too.
Shaking her head slowly, Mama stepped forward and hugged him.
“Won’t it ever stop?” Bella put her head in her hands. She felt as if she was sinking into the same emptiness she’d felt in the black days that had followed Papa’s death.
CHAPTER 22
Like a Thief in the Night
The next morning Mama didn’t say a word about Papa’s belt. Bella thought Pedro would be happy about getting off unpunished, but Mama’s silence made him nervous. “What’s Mama going to do to me?” he asked Bella.
She shook her head. “She hasn’t said anything. I think you broke her heart. That’s all she had left of Papa.”
Thanksgiving was a sad time in the Lorente household. Bella kept thinking of ways to help Aunt Lola. She and her sisters and Mary wrote letters to the newspaper, and they circulated a petition demanding justice for the imprisoned cigar workers. Even grouchy Cesar Hidalgo signed it.
The best idea came from Isabel. “Why don’t we dress up Rocinante with ribbons for the Thanksgiving Day parade and have her pull a wagon with a big sign that says ‘FREE LOLA’?”
On the morning of the parade Bella and Mary helped the girls decorate the goat and wagon. Then they made their way to an alley near the official start of the parade. After a half-dozen floats had passed, Bella told the girls, “Go.”
As the tippy little wagon wobbled out onto the street, the crowd pointed and waved. Everyone cheered, “¡Liberación! ¡Liberación!” Isabel petted Rocinante’s neck. “Good girl. Everyone thinks you’re so pretty.”
At the word pretty Rocinante lifted her head and looked at the people lining La Séptima. She pranced forward like a proud show pony, and the cheers doubled. But halfway down the block a policeman stepped out and led the goat to the curb. As Bella ran over, she heard Juanita arguing with the officer: “You’ll make our goat feel bad if you make her quit now.”
“These young ladies worked so hard to—” Bella stopped. It was Billy Burns, the one who’d let them arrest Lola.
“It’s you,” Bella said.
“I had no choice,” Burns said.
“You knew she was innocent. Now Lola’s the one who has no choices!” Bella turned her back on Burns, then she helped the girls pull their wagon onto a side street. “At least people can read your sign on the way home.”
The Thanksgiving meal was depressing. No one wanted to talk because every subject led back to Lola’s troubles. And Isabel and Juanita were still sad about the parade.
“You tried your best.” Grandfather took each of them on one knee. “It’s my fault for not being able to get Lola out of jail.”
“You can’t help that the courts and police are crooked!” Bella said.
“I’ve preached justice my whole life, yet I’m powerless when it comes to getting a fair hearing for my own daughter.”
The next day Bella woke early. After tending to Rocinante, she brought Grandfather breakfast. As she stepped outside with her tray, the sky was streaked with soft pink light. The air was cool, and small birds twittered on the grass beneath the palmetto. No one on the block had turned on a radio yet, so the old sounds of Ybor—the clang of the trolley and the whistle of the box factory—rang out pure and clear.
When Bella turned up Grandfather’s walk, she saw his kerosene lantern glowing in the window. Just then a voice startled her from behind. “Bella Lorente, is that you?”
Juan Fernandez was running toward her. “Have you heard what’s happened?” he called.
“They haven’t hurt Aunt Lola!”
“It’s the lecterns, Princess.” Juan stopped to catch his breath.
“What?”
“Last night the citizens’ committee ordered them torn out of the factories.”
“No!” Bella nearly dropped her tray.
“Carpenters came in the middle of the night. By today every reading platform from West Tampa to Ybor will be gone.”
“What’s all the shouting out here?” Grandfather stepped onto the porch, holding a copy of La Gaceta.
“Señor García,” Juan began. “I am afraid I must bring you bad news. I am very sorry to say this . . .” Juan paused a long time. “... but the lecterns have been removed from the factories.”
Grandfather frowned. “All of them?”
“Yes, señor.”
“It’s so like those cowards to do their mischief at night.”
“We’ll fight them with all our hearts,” Juan said. “They have no right to do this to you.”
“I’m not the issue, Juan,” Grandfather said. “Remind your people that this is not about the lectores but the workers’ right to a free discussion of ideas.”
“Well said as always, Don Lector.” Juan tipped his hat. “I must go and meet with the union officers.” Then he turned to Bella. “Will you be coming to our special meeting at the Labor Temple later this morning?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“In the meantime”—Grandfather nodded at the tray in Bella’s hands—“my granddaughter and I have a breakfast to enjoy.”
Grandfather took a seat and tried to smile. His hand trembled as he sipped his coffee.
“We’ve got to tell everyone!”
“That’s up to the union. My job is to serve the members.”
“I can speak up, because I’m the union,” Bella said. “Tía Lola has always said so.”
“Look where Lola’s union got her.” Grandfather sounded as if a great weight had been placed
on his shoulders.
“Lola would want us to fight too,” Bella said. “Your readings have been a gift to all of Ybor. And one day I hope to share stories of my own.”
Bella expected Grandfather to argue, but he sat in silence. Finally, he looked into her face and smiled weakly. “Bold dreams are the province of youth.”
The children were sitting down to breakfast when Bella got home. “You’re going to be late for work,” Mama said.
“No one is working today,” Bella said.
“Why is that?” Mama frowned as she wiped Julio’s face.
“The factory owners tore out the lecterns last night, and the union is holding a protest meeting.”
“But not your grandfather’s!”
“Juan Fernandez said every lectern in the city is gone.”
“First Lola, then this.” Mama clutched the edge of the sink and bit her lower lip. “We’d better watch out if the old saying is true: No hay dos sin tres—misfortune always come in threes.”
“I think we’ve had our third misfortune, Mama,” Isabel said.
“What?” Mama turned.
Isabel pointed at Julio, who had just tipped his oatmeal onto the floor.
By the time Bella arrived at the Labor Temple meeting, the street was crowded with cigar workers. The men, in their neat white shirts and ties, were grim. The gathering felt more like a funeral than a union meeting.
“Bella,” a soft voice called.
She turned and saw Lorena.
“How’s your grandpa doing, honey?” Lorena gave Bella a hug.
“He’s more worried about Lola.”
“Let’s hope we can accomplish something,” Lorena said as she and Bella took their seats.
Bella stood up. “I need to talk with someone.” She started toward the stage. She’d been thinking about this all morning. Her legs felt weak as she climbed the steps. Even if it didn’t work out, she had to try.
She approached the president and asked, “Would you mind if I said a few words about my aunt Lola?”
“As soon as I call the meeting to order, the podium is yours.”
Moments later Bella found herself standing in front of a crowded auditorium. Her knees trembled. What have I gotten myself into? She tried to remember the speech she’d planned on the way over, but her mind was blank. The workers who had been so rowdy were now eerily quiet.
“Many of you know my aunt, Lola García.” Bella’s voice was shakier than her legs. As the crowd nodded, Bella reminded herself to breathe. “Three weeks ago Lola was standing outside this very hall. So were most of you.” Bella found Lorena’s eyes. “Without warning, the police charged us and clubbed Lola to the ground. She was arrested along with our other compadres. Now the attackers have the nerve to charge these innocent men and women with assault!”
Cesar Hidalgo raised his fist and shouted, “A great injustice!”
“Not only do our friends remain in jail,” Bella continued, “but last night those in power took it upon themselves to tear the lecterns out of our factories.”
“More crimes!” a second man called.
“No matter how many platforms they rip down, the lectores cannot be silenced without our permission. For the voice of the lectores is our own voice. We must fight for the right of everyone to speak freely. And we must not rest until our friends are with us once again.”
Bella was amazed when the crowd stood and applauded her.
At the end of the meeting, the cigar makers voted to hold a seventy-two-hour strike. Lorena turned to Bella as they made their way toward the front door. “Lola will be so proud when she hears about your speech.”
“I can’t remember a word I said.”
“You were great.” Lorena laughed. “And when we put seven thousand workers on the street, it should send a message to the owners.”
“And the court will free Lola.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Bella stepped outside, ready to duck if a pistol shot cracked over her head. Workers filled the street and spilled onto the lawns. When a newspaperman raised his camera to take a photo, everyone waved, and the man beside Bella clenched his hands over his head like a prizefighter. Luckily, there was no violence.
On the way home Bella was pleased to see that many of the shops were already closing to show their sympathy for the strikers. She stopped by Grandfather’s house. “Not only have we walked out,” she said, “but businesses all over town are shutting their doors to show their support.”
“This doesn’t bode well.”
“But why?” Bella asked.
“Small businesses don’t matter to the Anglo elite,” Grandfather said.
“But if we stick together, the companies will have to agree to our terms.”
“Things looked good for the cigar workers in 1910 until a group of vigilantes lynched two innocent Italian men in West Tampa.” Grandfather shook his head. “The picture of those fellows hanging from a tree branch haunts me to this day.”
“But surely if the workers are right—”
“Let’s hope they’re not dead right.”
CHAPTER 23
The Lockout
On the morning of November thirtieth the seventy-two-hour strike ended. Before Bella left for the factory, she went outside to feed and water Rocinante. To her surprise, Pedro was already filling the goat’s watering pan.
“What are you doing up so early?” Bella asked.
“I thought I’d take care of Rocinante, since you have to get ready for work.”
“How nice of you.” Pedro was growing up at last.
Once Bella started up the street toward the factory, she was reminded of how much she missed Lola. Though Grandfather and Mama said Lola joked about how nice jail was, with its rent-free lodging and three square meals, Bella couldn’t forget the sadness she’d seen in Lola’s eyes.
As Bella turned the corner she saw a half-dozen workers standing by the factory steps.
“They locked us out,” Lorena said.
“Why would they do that?” Bella asked.
Ruby said, “You remember how hard they pushed us before Thanksgiving?”
Bella nodded. “We had lots of Christmas orders.”
“And we worked real hard to fill every one,” Lorena said.
“So—” Bella said.
“So that means they won’t have to worry about paying us for a good long while,” Ruby said.
“Of all the low-down, dirty tricks . . .” Bella turned down the sidewalk toward home. Grandfather had said the factories would try anything. But losing her job right before Christmas? She felt as useless as the piles of soggy tobacco stems that she’d tossed on the floor of the stripping room.
Bella marched angrily up the street. What more could go wrong? She walked without caring in which direction she went. In her mind she kept ticking off the list of all she’d lost: Papa, Lola, the tobacco seeds, her job. The seeds! It was so unfair that her family’s dreams could be taken away by the stupid mistake of one little boy.
It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and do something. She walked down Fourteenth Street and stopped in front of the Lido. The casino was as quiet as a church that morning. Freshly laundered tablecloths and towels hung on a clothesline out back, and the front door was open.
Bella stepped inside and waited while her eyes adjusted to the dim light. As the plush curtains, polished brass, and gilt mirrors came into focus, a low voice said, “May I help you, miss?”
Bella turned. The bartender was staring at her. She looked down and blushed when she realized she was still wearing her tobacco-stained apron and work dress. “I’m looking for Nick Bonnicotto.”
“Help yourself.” He pointed to a side room and went back to polishing a glass.
Bella stepped through the doorway and into an even darker room. “Is Nick here?” she asked. The room was empty except for a group of men at a table in the far corner.
One of them got up and walked toward her. “Who wants to know?
” he asked.
“Nick.” Bella was relieved. “You and my aunt Lola—”
“Hey,” Nick said. “You’re Lola’s sister’s kid. All growed up.”
“That’s right,” Bella said. “I’ve come because my brother, Pedro, lost some tobacco seeds, and—”
“That ain’t none of my business.”
“But the seeds were my papa’s dream. Now that he’s gone—”
Nick dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’d better get if you know what’s good for you.”
Bella stood straight and proud, the way Lola had taught her. “Those seeds were all my family had left after my father was murdered. Murdered! And Pedro’s just a kid. He didn’t know any better. We don’t deserve this.”
“Look, kid—”
“Nicky boy,” a gravelly voice called from the table. “What’s the commotion?”
“No problem, Mr. C.,” Nick called over his shoulder. Then he hissed at Bella, “These boys ain’t nothing to mess with. You better—”
“C’mere, Nicky,” the voice commanded.
After talking in low tones to the man at the table, Nick walked back to Bella. “Wait right here. And keep your mouth shut.” He stepped into a side room. A minute later, he came back with the pouch of seeds.
“Thank you so much. Oh, thank you.” Her hands were trembling.
“Keep it down!” Nick said. “You got no idea how lucky you are. If Mr. C. had been in a different mood, there’s no telling what—” He pushed the pouch toward her. “Just get.”
Bella didn’t notice how hard her heart was beating until she stepped back outside. She felt dizzy as she squinted in the bright light. As she started up the sidewalk she realized that she’d just escaped from a place more dangerous than any jail.
Bella hurried home to share the good news with Mama. Halfway there, she heard the sound of an ax chopping.
When she reached El Paraíso she saw that two workmen were cutting down the paradise tree. One man held a saw while a second man tied a cable from the tree to the bumper of a truck.
As the man climbed into the truck and started the engine, Bella ran up. “You can’t cut that tree down!”
“What?” The man cupped his hand behind his ear.
“You can’t cut down the paradise tree. The factory was named after it.”
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