Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [114]
“Happy birthday, my beautiful big four-year-old girl!” cried Giovanna, taking Angelina and kissing her. “Your Nonna and Nonno won’t believe how much you’ve grown in a year when they see your picture.”
“Will it hurt my eyes?” asked Angelina.
“No, not at all. And when we’re done we’ll eat pizza at Lombardi’s, just the two of us.”
“Mamma, I love you!” exclaimed Angelina, hugging her mother.
“That’s not all. Tomorrow, your cousins will come for Sunday dinner and we’ll have a party.”
Angelina practically danced all the way to the photographer’s studio on Grand Street. Her white dress bounced around her, but whenever it was in danger of touching a building or another person, she protectively held her dress close so that it wouldn’t get dirty. The ringlets were nearly gone, but her hair shone.
Once inside, a kindly man with a waxed mustache stood her on an elaborately carved oak chair. A screen painted with a landscape was the backdrop. Angelina kept fussing with her dress, frustrating the photographer, who was trying to keep her hands still.
“I think she should hold something,” he mumbled to Giovanna.
Looking around his studio, he grabbed a flag that he had gotten at a parade. The photographer liked to put American objects in the portraits, knowing they would impress the sitter’s relatives in Italy.
“Here, Angelina, I want you to hold this flag.”
It worked. Angelina, statue still, held the little white flag that said ERIN GO BRAGH. Giovanna shuffled behind the photographer’s umbrella as he covered himself with a big black cloak. A muffled voice came from beneath the black fabric.
“Angelina, don’t move anything, not even your face. Pretend you’re a doll, and look right here at the camera. You’re going to hear a pop and see smoke, but stay still.”
“Cosí bella, Angelina!” exclaimed Giovanna.
“Uno, due, tre…”
THIRTY-THREE
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 1909
The early morning sun streamed through the stained glass, making colored patterns on the pew that Angelina used as stepping-stones for her fingers. Her mother was kneeling, so Angelina’s fingers walked behind her mother’s back to tickle Mary, who sat on the other side. Mary gave her a stern look. Rebuked, Angelina leaned against the pew and clasped her hands in prayer. Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered, “God, please make this mass over, and bless Mamma, Papa, Mary, Frances, Clement, and everyone who is going to visit me today. It was my birthday yesterday. But I guess you know that. Grazie. Amen.”
Giovanna stirred a pot on the stove. “Angelina, you’re making me crazy. Only five minutes ago you asked what time it was.”
“Mamma, that was more than five minutes.”
“Mary, see if there is something in that room to amuse her.” Giovanna needed Mary and Frances to help with the preparation of the meal; otherwise, she would have sent one of them outside to play with the anxious Angelina.
“Can I put my dress on, Mamma?” pleaded Angelina.
“No, it’s too early. It’s at least two more hours before anyone will arrive.”
“Come on, Angelina. Take a look at this,” encouraged Mary, showing her one of her schoolbooks. It was not often that Mary let her touch her books, and Angelina jumped at the opportunity.
Giovanna peered over her stomach and down at her swollen feet. She would have to remember to sit down as much as possible. Sprinkling the table with more flour, she leaned into the dough, which was nearly up to her elbows, when there was a knock at the door.
“Frances, please.”
Frances opened the door to their neighbor Limonata and her daughter.
“Ciao, Giovanna. I hear you are already so busy. I’m taking Carmela for a walk. Do you want me to take Angelina with us?”
Giovanna looked at Limonata with surprise. It was not like Limonata to take a walk or to make such an offer. She was even wearing Sunday clothes and a hat. Maybe things were looking up for her.
When Giovanna didn’t answer right away, Limonata stammered,