Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [122]
The front door slammed, and Angelina waited anxiously for her own door to open. When it didn’t happen quickly enough, Angelina moaned through the door, “Signora, please, please, the men are gone. I’ll be good.”
“Stop your begging.” The door opened abruptly. “Okay, out.” Angelina moved around the older woman’s skirts. Halfway out the door, she grabbed her. “Get your chamber pot. No reason you can’t empty it yourself. I’m not your slave.”
“Sì, signora.” Angelina headed back into the room for the bucket that was her toilet. “Where do I empty it, signora?”
“So, the principessa has never emptied a chamber pot?”
“No, signora, we have a toilet.”
“Yes, of course, you’re a principessa. It’s only pee. Throw it out the back door.”
Angelina opened the back door and squinted; she couldn’t see. Her first glimpse of sunlight blinded her. Before her eyes could adjust, the other woman pulled her back in by the shoulder and shut the door. “What are you doing?”
“The signora told me to empty the pot.”
“Are you crazy?” The woman turned to the other. “You’ll be beaten again if she goes outside.”
“They are such big shots! But who has to feed her and take care of her? And where is this fortune? Where?”
Angelina cowered against the wall. She feared the anger would spill over to her. The woman who was yelling looked older, although they were nearly identical.
The four children said little. They would often just sit and stare or become amused by the simplest of things. During the first few days they would poke her, giggle, and run away. As dismal as the company was, it was much better than being locked alone in the room, so Angelina did everything she could to please the women. She didn’t cry. She barely made a noise, and she helped with the two littlest children.
After her outburst, the woman calmed down and went about her chores. The oldest child, a boy nearly her age, was drawing on the kitchen wall with a charred piece of wood. The first day, when she had asked the child’s name, the younger woman smacked Angelina’s face, so she knew to tug on a sleeve to get attention. Not wanting to share, the boy pointed to another piece of wood, and Angelina settled herself next to him and began writing her letters. His curiosity got the best of him, and when he asked what they were, Angelina was thrilled with the opportunity to play teacher. For the next hour she forgot her fear, hunger, and sadness.
THIRTY-FIVE
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1909
Giovanna had spent all day Thursday pacing the small apartment waiting for word. The second she heard a sound in the hall, she would throw open the door, only to startle a neighbor. At the call of the iceman, she ran to the window and asked if he had anything for her.
“I have a big block of ice.”
“No, I mean an envelope.”
“Signora, I am the iceman, not the postman.”
Today, Rocco had left the house at dawn, only to return minutes later. Handing the letter to Giovanna, he said, “It was in my empty cart.”
Giovanna shook and wept. Rocco tried to comfort his wife, his large hands patting her shoulders.
“What about going to that lawyer and getting the rest of the money?” asked Rocco.
“I tried, yesterday. Signore DeCegli became suspicious. He showed me in the contract where it said that the money can only be paid on the dates in the agreement.”
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1909
Padre Luongo exited Our Lady of Loreto and was surrounded by a gang of children tugging at his vestments. Mary noticed the group from afar and watched them come toward her. One little boy was shouting, “Padre, Padre, it’s my birthday!” The priest stopped, dug into his robes, and produced a gleaming nickel, which he placed in the boy’s hand. The children surrounded him and then ran off together in the opposite direction.
The priest, now alone, passed Mary. She ran a couple of feet to catch up.
“Padre, you give all children a nickel on their birthday?”
“If they ask.”
“It’s my birthday, Padre.”
“Well then, here’s a nickel for you. Happy birthday, my child.”
Mary made the sign of the cross. The priest smiled at what