His dog had waited patiently. “Sorry it took so long, Lu. Here, maybe this will help.” He handed his dog the Italian cookie.
The unsettling visit to Little Italy had at least turned up one bit of information: a name. Perhaps Sofia or her aunt would recognize it. When he found the other bank, however, it was closed. He would have to come back.
As he prepared to board the el, he glanced down to the street below. A young woman stared up at him. When he waved, she darted off out of sight.
Chapter 19
Once again Sofia had needed to race to work as though wolves were on her heels. Last evening’s conversation, poetry recitation, and exhibition of Grace McNulty’s photographs were proper evening pursuits in an English woman’s boarding house, but Sofia had been exhausted and was worried about her mother, and would have preferred to be excused. She hadn’t asked, however, because she did not want to appear unmannerly. To make matters worse, she’d missed another session of night school in the process.
Claudia whispered to her as they walked to their stations. “Mr. Richmond is afraid we will form a union and if we do, he won’t be able to replace us. And he should be afraid unless working conditions improve. People deserve to be treated with respect.” She lifted her brows menacingly. Americans, along with the Irish and other fair skinned people, seemed so expressionless to Sofia that they were hard to discern. Just the eyes. How odd. She preferred the passion of the Italians. That she understood. No mistaking an Italian’s melancholy or pleasure.
When Sofia went to her dark corner the wheels of her imagination cranked up. People could join together to convince others to do what was right. She might find a team of people to support her belief that Mamma should get proper help. She wasn’t sure about a union at the factory. If things were so bad here, why didn’t people leave and get other jobs? Claudia could not have been serious. Nellie Bly had not come snooping. Still, she did not like knowing that Mr. Richmond could fire her on a whim. She supposed a union could be useful.
Sofia did not see Claudia later. Sofia had been forced to work through her lunch break because her reflecting had resulted in her falling behind. When she punched the clock and readied to go home, she turned to find Mr. Richmond blocking her way.
“Miss Falcone, I have heard the rumors, as I am sure you have.”
“I…uh…I do not know what you mean.”
“Unions. Protesting in hopes of gaining high wages and shorter hours, which could mean ruin for the company’s profits, which in turn would cause people to lose their jobs. Those Progressives even want to take away my floor boys. They are twelve years old, not six. Well capable of the work I ask of them. I will not have rebellion on my floor, Miss Falcone.”
“No, sir.” She knew the boys were younger than twelve, but children working to help their families was not something she ever considered improper.
“You understand that I have been disappointed in your performance as late.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Richmond, but I will make up, catch up.” She was unsure how to explain.
“Yes, well, come to my office. I have a little proposition for you.”
“I must check on my mother. And then night school.”
“I promise this will only take a moment.” He took a step toward her, forcing her to turn around and walk toward the open door to the room where he smoked and shuffled through papers most of the day.
He shut the door behind them, something he never did. The door had always been open. He leaned against the desk, letting one leg dangle over the corner, and folded his hands in front of his belly.
“What do you want to tell me?” She managed to blurt out. The secretiveness of the meeting made her nervous.
“I want you to be my ears on the floor. All you have to do is tell me what the girls are talking about.” He laughed. “Not fashion or gossip, mind you, just whatever they say about unions or striking or any kind of disgruntled talk so long as it has to do with the factory.”
How could he ask this of her? A woman of character was loyal to family and to friends. “I do not think—”
He slid his foot back to the floor and banged a fist on his desk. “You will do this, Miss Falcone, in order to stay employed here.”
She jumped involuntarily. So he wasn’t asking at all. Her hands began to tremble as nippy air whisked down from the paddle fan on the ceiling.
“Besides, in accordance with our arrangement, I will see to it that you once again regain your position in the middle of the floor. You will need to be there to listen, of course. I will make sure you get an extra fifteen minutes for lunch.”
“I…uh, Mr. Richmond, this is a difficult thing for me—”
“Of course it is. I will increase your pay two dollars a week. But that is just between us, you understand.”
“Taking money for this?” Her head began to ache.
“All right. Don’t take the increase if you insist against it. But Miss Falcone, you understand the choice here is simple, don’t you? You do the job I’m asking of you, or you collect your final pay and don’t come back. Those have always been the terms.” He stood too close to her and touched his index finger to her sleeve, stroking her arm.
Every muscle in her body tensed. She couldn’t move, though. She must not lose her job.
“There could be more benefits, my dear.” He withdrew his hand. “If you handle this well, I will find more pleasurable tasks for you. You would like that now, wouldn’t you?”
She agreed. She wanted him to like her. She did despise that dark corner. “I understand. But Mr. Richmond? I do not think anyone is serious about unions.”
He stood and opened the door. “See that it stays that way, Miss Falcone.”
As she walked away she felt as though she’d done something terribly wrong, when in fact she had done nothing but listen to her boss. If she had understood him correctly, he wanted her to give him information. There would be nothing to tell, but by being agreeable she hoped to save her job. He had touched her, though, and she had not wiggled away. Thoughts of that house of ill repute she’d stumbled into and the man who had forcibly accosted her came rushing back like a bad dream.
Out of breath when she reached the Russo’s apartment, she paused to regain her composure before entering the building. Joey found her there.
“Sister, I thought you had to stay away. Papà should not find you here.”
“He doesn’t want me inside the apartment. I want to talk to the healer. Is she back at her home now?”
“She is.” He turned to walk away.
“Where are you going?”
“Banca Stabile. I need to see the padrone.”
“Padrone?” She remembered her aunt’s rambling, a warning about a padrone, the man who finds work for Italian men for a price. She’d heard rumors that the cost was often equal to being enslaved. Not only do you pay a fee, but you pay for transportation to the job, buy food from the company store at inflated prices, and even pay to have your clothes washed. At the end of the day there was not much left, and some were even indebted to the padrone and the company they worked for. “You do not want to do that, Joey. Do not work for that man I saw with you the other day. Some of those bosses are not fair and take advantage.”
He hugged her. “Some, but not all. I will be careful. You were right, Sofia. I should find steady work.” He smiled and waved as he left her.
She shouted after him. “Maybe you should try the Free Library. Signor Arrighi sometimes helps men find work. You know, where the children go sometimes. Luisa is always over there. She likes it.” It would be better for her brother to be converted to another religion than to be enslaved. She didn’t know if he heard her but she had to hurry. She turned and rushed up the stairs.
Chapter 20
After Antonio and his dog returned home and finished breakfast, Antonio realized Lu was staring at him.
“I know. I should go look for Uncle.”
As he completed shaving, he realized he had hardly
considered the suggestion the author he’d met had made, although he had kept the name and address, just in case. A benefactor was a long shot, though. Antonio wasn’t good at imposing himself. If the man had come to him it would be different.
He turned to his Bible before heading out the door and read in Psalm 10: “Thou art the helper of the fatherless.” He shut the book. He wasn’t sure what help he had. He didn’t seem to have any, truly. He knew what his gift was, but for some reason God was not guiding the way. He thought a moment. He would do what he could not only for himself, but also for Sofia. And his uncle. Even if he received no help in his endeavors, he could still serve others.
He found Nicco eating scrambled eggs with five other men and two boys. He waited at the door while they finished.
“Saluti, Signor Baggio,” the cook called to Uncle as he headed out the door with Antonio. “Stay out of trouble!”
Nicco lifted an arm, either to say farewell or mind your own business. Antonio opened the door to allow him to exit.
“Tony, my boy. What brings you to St. Anthony’s mission? God bless ‘em.”
“Antonio,” he whispered. “Call me Antonio.”
They paused outside Antonio’s building. “You better come inside. I think Papà had a coat you might want for winter.”
The man didn’t argue and followed Antonio up the stairs to his apartment. When Antonio opened the door, Luigi yelped at Nicco as usual.
“Crazy mutt.” Nicco nudged Lu away with his shoe and then slouched on Antonio’s bed, reaching for the accordion case and placing it onto his lap. “Your papà, he did not want you to know his business, Antonio. He did not want me to know, for that matter. So I only know a little bit, but what I know, I tell you.”
“I would hope so, Nicco. I am not the neighborhood gossip. I’m his only son. Now, what is it?” He sat on the piano bench and Luigi leaned against his leg.
“I only know he visited a lawyer, the day he was shot.”
“What lawyer? What’s his name?”
“Now, son, do not go looking. It is not safe.”
“You let me worry about that. What haven’t you told me?”
Nicco’s eyes filled with tears. “I do not know. If I did, I would tell you. Your papà, when he give me the accordion, he say, ‘Keep this until Antonio comes home from organ practicing. Give it to him.’ Then he mumbled something he thought I did not hear. Something about the Union and that high priced lawyer better be worth the dough.”
“Cooper Union?”
“I suppose so, since that is where he died. I did not know what he meant at the time. I tell you the truth when I say I just remembered about the lawyer, Antonio. I forgot before.” He rubbed his eyes. “I forget a lot.”
“Anything else? Think hard.”
“No.”
Luigi sat and perked up his ears.
Antonio almost felt sorry for the man. Hard drink had a grip on him nothing on earth seemed to be able to break. “It’s okay, Uncle, but if you remember something later, you must tell me.” More clues. Nothing adding up.
When Nicco Baggio was sober and smiling he almost looked like a regular fellow. Hoping to encourage this state of being, Antonio invited him to go out with him. “I’ll give you one of Papà’s coats, a shirt, too, and you can use my razor in the washroom down the hall.”
“Where are we going?” He seemed delighted. Perhaps there was hope for the man.
“Want to come to Longacre Square with me? I’m looking for work.”
“Fine, fine.” He scurried out to the hall washroom with a pan of warmed water.
***
It was early evening when Nicco and Antonio arrived at Healy’s Cafe where Antonio had earlier met the writer. No sign of him now, however.
“Are you sure you can afford to feed us here, Antonio? You, out of work?”
“I am not entirely unemployed, Uncle.” He would have to pay his bill this time but going to new places, like that Italian eatery he had been to in Sofia’s neighborhood, could be unsettling. You never knew if you’d like the food. He preferred to return to restaurants he’d already visited.
“I remember you,” the barman said, setting two glasses in front of them. “Nice to see repeat customers. What can I get you?”
Antonio noticed Nicco staring at the glass bottles filled with golden liquid lining the shelf behind the man. “Uh, mind if we take a booth?”
“Not at all. We do have a dining room in the rear, though, if you’d prefer it.”
Antonio pointed to the booth where Mr. Porter had said he’d written stories. “We will sit over here.”
The barman checked his pocket watch. “It’s available until about nine o’clock. That’s when he comes in.”
“I understand.” They sat and looked at the paper bill of fare a waiter brought them. There were only a few choices, but the prices would not send him to the poorhouse. Not this once. He had been paid well at the Roman Athenaeum. The entire menu was a la carte. Both of them were famished, having not had anything since breakfast and then spending hours searching for piano engagements. Antonio decided to order two pork chops, the vegetable d’jour, and bread.
“Mighty nice of you to bring me here,” Nicco said, still eyeing the bar.
“We will not be drinking. Just coffee.”
Nicco looked down at his hands. “Of course. Coffee’s fine.” He was perspiring.
“Here.” Antonio handed him his handkerchief. “It is hard for you, isn’t it?”
Nicco lifted his head with an expression that was a mixture of grimace and grin. “I am fine. Do not worry about me.”
Antonio chose to redirect the conversation. “Looking for work took much longer than I expected.”
“Sì. Well, my boy, you did find work.” Nicco lifted himself from the seat to lean over and pat Antonio on the arm.
“I did.” With Mac again. He prayed it would last awhile.
“I just hope those fellas don’t come around when you’re there. God himself only knows what they want.” He chopped at the air with his hands. “Are you sure you have to go over there?”
“I will be fine, Uncle.”
“When we first come over, many years ago, we worked in that neighborhood, me and your father. Of course, there were not so many Southern Italians then. It was not bad. I was younger. More vigorous.”
“And then the drinking?”
Nicco gazed at the corner of the ceiling behind Antonio. You do not lock eyes with a man when you are feeling guilty.
“Uncle, if you just try to be more diligent. I mean, God will help you if you try to help yourself. Stay out of the saloons. Give up begging and rag-picking for beer money. You know I will help you however I am able.”
A lone tear rolled down Nicco’s cheek. He ignored it. “I will tell you, although it is my shame. You are my only family. You should know, now that my brother is gone.” He held a hand to his heart. “I could not keep working. I was not well. But I owed the padrone still. The reason times were very hard then, the reason your father never took a day off? He repaid my debt. It took a long time, but he did it. He paid it free and clear. There is a receipt at the bank. Those Benevento men know it, too. They had the same arrangement. We saw them at the bank those many years ago. I remember it because I went with your father, so that he could vouch that he was doing this in my stead and it was paid off. Afterward, we drank ale with those others. At an Irish pub, I think it was, McSorley’s.
“Truly? Why there?”
“I don’t recall now, but I tell you the truth, I have not been there since.” He chuckled. “I remember your father was miffed with me, but it was only one pint. I confess, Antonio. Only one.”
“I see. Well, my father was a good man to pay off your debt.”
“He was, God bless ‘em. And this is how I repay him now? I am a miserable gutter rat.” He mumbled under his breath. “Hobo. Bum. Drunkard. What people say is true.”
“No.” Antonio reached for his uncle’s arm, but the
man pulled away. He thought about how he had enjoyed what people said about him—talented, gifted, blessed. Words float over people’s heads sink into their minds and remain, good or bad.
Nicco wagged his head. “But…our companions that day were Benevento men. And those who asked after you at the theater? They are, too. Some things I forget, but this I remember.” He sucked in a sob. “I would pay Ernesto back today if I could. But I can’t.” His eyes brightened. “But I can get sober, Antonio. For you, Antonio.”
“I would like that very much.”
The waiter brought their meals. Thick pork chops smothered in gravy, creamed peas, and generous slices of bread smeared with butter and garlic. They ate in celebration. It was a new start.
Chapter 21
“She is gone, Sofia.”
“Gone? Where?”
Carla Russo stepped out into the hall to talk to her. Apparently her husband was at home but Sofia didn’t care. How could the healer leave her mother?
“Your father took her to Bellevue for an evaluation. I think it is for the best. She is so bad.”
“No.” Sofia grabbed the woman’s arms, shaking her before she realized what she was doing. The fear in the woman’s eyes made Sofia release her. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself. “Signora, please. I tried to take her there myself. They would not help. They just wanted to cart her off to a terrible place. You must tell me. When did they leave? I must go right over there.”
“No, child. You know tua famiglia has no money. If you can’t pay and you are that bad, they send you to an asylum. But we light a candle. Together. Let’s go.” She turned and looked at the closed door to her apartment and then led Sofia down the stairs.
Sofia was happy to not be alone as she struggled to find options. Hopefully, Carla Russo accompanying her would not come at a cost to the woman’s safety.
Sofia's Tune Page 16