Chapter 27
Sofia woke the next morning shivering. No matter how many quilts she covered up with she could not get warm.
“Good thing the factory’s closed down for flooding,” Aileen said, patting the foot of Sofia’s bed. “You are too sick for work.”
“I am not sick. I feel fine. All but my heart.”
Aileen turned up the oil lamp. “Can I do something for you?”
“Thank you, no. I must go see my father today.”
“How far?” She peered out the window to the street below. “The streets are still flooding. ’Tis an awful storm, so much rain.”
“Mulberry Street. I am sure I can make my way there.”
Aileen clucked her tongue. “Not a good idea when you are sick, lass.”
Sofia threw off the covers and slid on a robe. “I am not sick. I just…you would not understand.”
“I would be happy to try.”
Sofia grabbed her hairbrush. “I get cold sometimes. It is…a matter of the heart not of the blood. I miss my twin.”
Aileen sprung to her side and took the brush. “You have a twin? I didn’t know. She lives with your father, I imagine. You Italians have such big, wonderful families. The Irish do too, mostly, but not me and Annie.”
Sofia was not up to Aileen’s blathering. She took back the brush. “I have to hurry.”
Aileen was waiting when Sofia returned from the washroom. Normally Sofia enjoyed the company. She didn’t like being alone in a room. Today there was too much to explain and she did not have the fervor to try.
Aileen seemed more than happy to fill the silence. “Annie and Stephen have a good start on a big Irish family. I’m looking forward to being an auntie.”
“As you should.”
“Are you going to tell Mrs. Hawkins you are going out again? She was as worried as a cat up a pole, Sofia. You gave her such a fright running off yesterday.”
“Sì, I will talk to her.”
Sofia found The Hawk in the kitchen placing the teakettle on the stove.
“Ah, there you are, love. You had me concerned you’d catch your death of a cold out there yesterday. Did you get to see your mother?”
“I did. She even talked to me.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. The treatment is helping, then?” She retrieved two teacups from the cabinet Aileen called a dresser and then filled her teapot with the steaming water.
“They are not helping her, Mrs. Hawkins. I wanted to bring her home, but they wouldn’t let me. Finally Signor Baggio insisted we come back.”
“That young man Antonio? He went with you? It’s good you weren’t alone. I wanted to come, you know.”
“I am sorry. I was so distraught. I went alone but happened to see Signor Baggio there.”
“Truly? Whatever would a musician like him be doing at Ward’s Island?”
“I am afraid it was required for him to…uh, he needed to escort his uncle home.”
“His uncle was there, too? And he was able to bring him home but they would not release your mother?”
“His uncle was in the Inebriate Ward.”
“What? That place closed decades ago. Are they taking men there again?” She pounded her fists together. “I will certainly consult with Dr. Thorp and The Benevolents. This wiping the streets clear of the poor people is ill advised. It aids no one and offers no solution.”
Sofia had heard the woman talk about these people, Dr. Thorp and the committee with the odd title. They were a kind of family that didn’t share bloodlines. She was beginning to understand that relationships could be formed even if you weren’t born with them.
Mrs. Hawkins handed her some tea. Sofia poured as much milk in the cup as would fit.
“But he did retrieve his uncle, you say?”
“He did.”
“So kind of him to see you home. I am sorry I did not realize he was the one who did so. I would have come outside to thank him.”
The rain had slowed but it was still coming. Thankfully the water on the bottom floors at Hawkins House had been contained. It would take a few sunny days to dry things out completely.
“You should not have been out in the storm, Mrs. Hawkins. I am sure he understands.”
“Well, now, let’s ponder the situation with your mother. I am sure there is something to be done. That’s what The Benevolents do, love. Give aid wherever God leads. We will get your mother the help she needs.”
“No. I mean, grazie, signora…uh, Mrs. Hawkins, but my father will not allow it. It is a family matter.”
“And we are family.” She smiled and chose a gingersnap from the tea tray.
“I still do not think—”
“Do not worry a minute about it, Sofia.”
Sofia began to cry, unloading the day’s frustrations. “They are going to do a treatment. I mean…the doctor promised to wait, but I fear he won’t. Why, Mrs. Hawkins? Why will God, who hears all prayers, not answer mine? I have been to mass. I have confessed my sins. I’ve said my rosary every morning and night and still my mamma does not return to me.” She could not hold back the dam of emotions now that she’d allowed some of it to seep out. Her despair flowed unstopped like the gutter water outside.
Mrs. Hawkins rose from her chair and stood next to Sofia. The sisters returned from mopping the hall as Aileen entered the kitchen from the back stairs.
“What’s the matter?” Aileen stroked the back of Sofia’s neck.
Sofia heard the sisters’ lyrical murmurs as they offered sympathy in their language. They were considerate but none of them could truly understand. They had family. None of them were twin-less twins as she was. Their mothers were not facing electric shock to their brains or, worse, an operation the doctor called a lobotomy. Sofia feared leaving her mother on that island only to return to find her catatonic and completely lost to her.
She waved away their clucking. “I don’t understand.” She covered her face with her hands. Why was God refusing to help Mamma?
***
The papers were calling the rains an epic storm of inconceivable proportion. Some even compared it to the infamous blizzard of ’88. “If it were winter New York would have been blanketed in one hundred inches of snow last night,” one declared. Well, Antonio was happy it was not yet winter. A blizzard shuts down theaters. A blizzard would mean several months, unproductive months, had passed and time was running out in order to get accepted into Oberlin. If he didn’t get out of the city by the new term, he feared it would never happen. He would take October rains in stride knowing he had time to put his plans into motion.The prevailing thought of the musicians he knew was that whatever you were doing by age twenty-five would be your life’s work until the day you died. Antonio did not want to be playing ragtime on his twenty-fifth birthday.
Nicco stirred on the makeshift bed near the stove. He’d adamantly refused Antonio’s offer to take his bed. “I should be on my way, nephew. I washed up down the hall when you were asleep.”
Antonio motioned for him to stay. “It’s storming out. You’re better off here.”
“No.” He rose and batted his hands at the wrinkles on his trousers. “I do not want those men to find me here. If they are watching, they will follow me away from you.”
“What do you mean?” Antonio blocked the door. “No one has followed you. I went to talk to the padrone, but he wasn’t there. I’ll go back. I will get this straightened out, Nicco. You can’t go out there. Look.” The two of them turned toward the window where rain covered the outside panes like a clear, liquid curtain.
“Who do you think took me to that island, Tony? They knew you’d come after me. I am a worm on a hook, son. I suppose the only reason they didn’t catch you there was because of the rain. Makes it hard to keep watch so long. Now, move away.”
“Nonsense. You are talking foolishness, Uncle. I’ll make some coffee. At least wait that long.”
The man sighed and slumped onto Antonio’s bed. “Only a moment. I must go.” The
accordion case made a sound against the wall when Nicco flopped down on the bed. He turned to look at it. “Is it safe there, son?”
“Of course.” Antonio was beginning to wonder if years of drinking had deteriorated Nicco’s brain.
Later, when Antonio handed Nicco a steaming cup, his uncle offered to explain himself.
“You do not believe me, but it’s true. I was minding my own business. I was not even intoxicated. Yet.” Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. “I was trying hard, Tony. For you, I try very hard. But I was weak. Some men approached me as I came out of the saloon. I had just bought a jar of whiskey. Business was slow, because of the rain, and the proprietor let me buy it with the coins folks gave me that day.”
“It’s okay, Uncle. You don't have to—”
“It is not, Tony. Hear me out.”
“Go on.”
“I should have realized something was wrong when they took a look at the wrapped bottle in my hands and told me they would buy me ale at the corner pub. I should have realized that did not make sense. But…” He tapped a finger to his head. “I do not think so well when I have been long without a drink. A sad fact.” He toasted with his coffee cup. “You stay away from strong drink, nephew.”
“I intend to.”
“Well, the next thing I knew I was on the ferry to the island. They told me you would be coming for me but probably not for a few days. I thought they were taking me to St. Anthony’s, but now as I think back I realize I had been on the train for some time. It just got all mixed up in my head. They brought me to that place, Ward’s Island, and waited. There were no doctors. Not that I saw. They just put me on a cot and told me to sleep it off. You did not come that night.”
“I thought you were at St. Anthony’s.”
“Of course you did. I did not see the men when I woke. They probably gave up. This time. But if they see me again, if they take me again, you must not come after me.” His gaze flew to the accordion. “And you must not lose that.”
Antonio scratched his head. “This doesn’t make sense. At St. Anthony’s they knew you had been taken to Ward’s Island.”
“Who knew? Signor Mudazo?”
“No, not the attendant. He just knew you had not come in. A man named Paulo in the alley.”
Nicco set his cup down on the table. “Maybe he was a Benevento man?”
“Uncle, if they really wanted you to lead them to me, they would have camped out on the steps of the shelter. I am always coming there to get you. Or the theater, for that matter.” He considered the notes. Someone was trying to lure him away, perhaps to a place where no one would know him. Nicco may have been right when he warned him to stay out of Little Italy.
“Maybe they don’t know this?” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “They incubate a plan after they just happen to learn you are there looking for me.” He jumped to his feet. “I must go now!” He pointed to the accordion. “Get a safe for that thing. Lock it up.”
“Uncle!”
Nicco scrambled out the door and jolted down the stairs. Antonio leapt after him. When he got outside he saw his uncle jump up on the foot rail of a sanitary wagon—the kind that collects garbage. Nicco put one hand on a shovel that was affixed to the side. With his free hand he pounded on the wagon. He was volunteering to work as the wagon clattered off down a side street. It was too late. Antonio had to let him go. Perhaps he would have been better off at Ward’s Island where he would be safe, dry, and fed. One thing was certain.
He turned to go back inside when someone called to him.
“Signor Baggio, sì?” A thin young man leaned against a lamppost, rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
“Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you. That was your uncle you were chasing after, sì?”
Antonio studied the fellow’s face as well as he could in the downpour. He thought he recognized him. “Won’t you come into the hall out of the rain?”
They stepped inside when suddenly the man pushed Antonio to the wall. Pulling upward on Antonio’s shirt collar, he blurted through his teeth. “Where is the money?”
“I haven’t got any money.” He tried to still his chattering teeth. “If you’re hungry I can get you a meal. I have a tab at the place across the street.” Because he didn’t see a weapon, he told himself this was just a misguided youth.
“The money. I have been sent here to get it. You hid it somewhere after your father took a bullet to the head. Isn’t that right?” The fellow spoke in a heavy, stunted Italian accent.
“What? Who are you?”
“One of the men who took your uncle up the river. My boss told me to tell you that if you don’t hand it over by midnight, this time your uncle will not be floating on the ferry. He’ll be floating face down in the East River.” He let go and then gave Antonio a shove.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He returned the evil gaze. “What do you know about my father’s death?” The fellow was young, unsteady. No reason to let him intimidate.
“I will be back. With others.” The thug darted out the door.
“Fine!” Antonio shouted. “I will be at work!”
This kid knew nothing. He looked an awfully lot like the dishwasher at Giovanni’s. What a shame he stooped to such ill-advised behavior. He heard Lu barking as he climbed back up toward his apartment. He would put on his MacIntosh and go ask questions over at St. Anthony’s.
After donning his raincoat and gathering up his dog, who at least served as a watchdog should someone try to surprise him again, Antonio paused with his hand on the doorknob. Nicco might seem like a crazy old coot, but he’d been right about someone looking for him. He glanced back toward the bed. “What do you think, Lu? Since the thugs know I’m here, should I bring it along? For safekeeping?”
The dog gave an approving bark.
Antonio hurried to the bed, leaned over, and retrieved the accordion case. “Might be foolish, but it’s the only thing my father hung on to. Might be made of money or something.”
Nicco wasn’t at St. Anthony’s and neither was the regular attendant.
“Mario’s got the night off,” a man with a walrus mustache said.
“Do you know who the janitor was last night?”
“Davy.” He nodded to a Chinaman who was picking up discarded newspapers and stuffing them into a barrel. “He’s the only janitor I know of.”
“His name’s not Davy.”
The man picked up his damp copy of the Times. “Is to me.”
Antonio called out to the janitor. “You there.”
The man looked up, surprised. “You here last night? You see another fellow pushing a mop around the lobby here?”
The mustached man chuckled. “That won’t do you no good. Davy doesn’t speak English.”
The janitor shrugged and went back to his work.
Frustrated, Antonio put a hand on the newspaper to pull it down from the man’s face. “Well, how do you talk to him?”
The man grimaced at the wet handprint Antonio made across the front page. “Good thing I already read that part. Blasted weather we’re having.”
Antonio clicked his tongue and Lu followed him to the door.
The attendant called out to him. “I just point and he does what I need. I’m telling you, there’s no other janitor.”
A spy then. Antonio had been gullible. He wanted to go back to the Italian bank and have a word with the padrone there, get him to fill in the holes in what Nicco had been saying, but what would that do other than get him a bloody nose? He would not fall for a trap, having surely escaped one at Ward’s Island without knowing it.
His father had no money. Someone was after him for no reason, or for misguided reasons, and he was helpless to stop them without more information.
His father’s mysterious death.
A handful of nonsensical clues from his often drunk uncle.
A few puzzling anonymous notes.
A worthless accordion th
at seemed to be the most important but most ridiculous clue.
A beautiful young woman who had her own mysterious connection to the Italian padroni.
A nun who was so distracted all the time that if she did know something Antonio would have a devil of a time getting it out of her.
“Come on, Lu. We’re going to see the sister again in her nice warm kitchen.” He patted Lu’s damp head. At least he had a smart, obedient dog. Lu let out an approving yip and they went back out into the rain, the accordion case thumping against Antonio’s thigh, making him feel like a fool on a fool’s errand.
That nun knows more than she is saying.
Chapter 28
Mrs. Hawkins hung up her apron on a kitchen wall peg. “I will go next door right now and telephone. I’m so pleased that Annie and Stephen are close by. That nosey neighbor on the other side, whose telephone I used to borrow, was turning into a busybody. Even if she is an excellent baker, I prefer the company of those young people.”
Aileen collected the teacups. “You should get your own telephone, Mrs. Hawkins. They really are quite handy contraptions.”
“So your cousin Annie likes to remind me, love. But, she has one so why go to the trouble?”
After she left, Sofia helped Aileen wash up from tea. “My priest says there are doctors on Long Island that are very good with…uh, that can help people like Mamma. Perhaps Mrs. Hawkins or her doctor know of them.”
Aileen flipped a ticking-striped towel over her shoulder and headed to the dish cabinet. “It always amazes me how many people The Hawk knows. She’s quite a wonder. Sofia, do you mean to say your mother is suffering from what people in America call poor mental hygiene?”
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