Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [128]
“What are you talking about?” Leo was agitated.
“Nothing, Leo. Calm down.”
“That strega needs to just come up with the money.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have it,” commented Inzerillo, who was beginning to believe Giovanna.
“Are you kidding? Lupo said she sent a grand to Italy. And besides, everyone knows how cheap and stubborn her husband is. Those other guys had to blow up his store. They have it.”
“Well then, Leo, I’m sure you’ll get it,” commented Inzerillo, getting up.
“Make sure that crazy strega knows that if she follows me again, I’ll kill her and the kid.”
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1909
The festivities of the Hudson-Fulton celebration had made it to the Lower East Side.
“Zia, I need another pin here,” instructed Mary.
“Mary, let me finish with Frances first,” said Giovanna, wrapping the skirt around her stepdaughter’s waist. “There.”
Frances swung around, swirling the skirt. “Is this really what Italian girls wear?”
“I would wear skirts and blouses like this, but only for special holidays.”
“Zia, I need a pin!”
“Mary, patience!”
“The teacher said we had to meet in front of the school on Mott Street at noon.”
“That’s nearly an hour away. Patience.”
Giovanna had spent the entire morning making the girls costumes and replaying her conversation with Inzerillo in her head. By reprimanding her for following Leo, Inzerillo had confirmed that Leo was one of the culprits.
“If Clement was still in school, he could have played the slide trombone,” moaned Mary.
“Is Papa coming?” asked Frances.
“You heard your father say he’d be there.”
“I know it’s early, Zia, but can we go?”
Nodding her head, Giovanna watched the girls descend the stairs, trying to conceal their excitement. How strange this was, seeing her stepdaughters off to a parade. All of New York, including her own family, was celebrating as if nothing was wrong, as if Angelina wasn’t being held captive by criminals in this festooned city.
At one o’clock Giovanna headed for Mulberry Bend Park. Already the streets were jammed, and she could hear instruments being tuned in the distance. In the center of the park was a small stage decorated with flags surrounded by empty, roped-off benches.
Regiment after regiment of schoolchildren arrived until the park and benches were packed. Each child carried a little furled flag. A bugle sounded. The children fell silent. At the second blast from the bugle, all the children whipped American flags over their heads, converting the park into a waving sea of patriotism that was greeted by thunderous cheers. At a third signal, the youngsters recited the “Pledge of Allegiance” and then, accompanied by the school bands, they sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
With this homage to their adopted homeland complete, the performances began. The first featured a Jewish girl dressed as an Indian doing a dance to attract the attention of an Indian buck, played by an Italian boy. Giovanna was certain he was Italian by his appearance, and she knew the girl was Jewish when she stopped midperformance to shake her fist at the bandmaster and scold him in Yiddish.
After the Indians came the Dutch. As each school finished, a file of policemen escorted the children, giddy with pride, home.
Last on the program, Italian girls dressed in costumes from southern Italy mounted the platform. The crowd had thinned, and Giovanna was able to maneuver to a bench with a perfect view of Frances and Mary. The boys on trombone struck up a tune, and the dance started.
Giovanna was clapping when a woman handed her an envelope. “Signora, your husband said to give this to you. He had to leave.”
Giovanna recognized the paper at once. But Rocco would never give this letter to someone else to deliver.
“Where was my husband?” Giovanna quizzed the woman.
“Over there,” she said, pointing. “I don’t see him now.”
“What did he look like?”
“Signora, you don’t know what your own husband looks like?” chided the woman.
“It wasn’t my…” Giovanna stopped. “Yes, of course,” she said, jumping up and quickly surveying the crowd.
Every face looked familiar,