Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [52]
Giovanna was happy to go along because she didn’t want to be alone. However, when they arrived at the woman’s apartment she could tell something was not right. The laboring woman was moaning that the baby shouldn’t be born. Seeing Giovanna’s concern, the woman’s sister explained that her brother-in-law had been killed building the Manhattan Bridge two months after his wife conceived their sixth child. Giovanna’s head snapped up and looked at Lucrezia, who looked away, unable to feign innocence.
When the baby was delivered, there were no tears of joy from the mother, only laments and sobs as the mother wailed to her newborn, “How will I feed you?” Looking at the midwives she cried, “His poor brother, only eleven, works the job and returns home, his little body broken, and there is no food on the table.”
Lucrezia and Giovanna said nothing to each other for the rest of the evening.
“Signore DeCegli, this is Giovanna Pontillo,” Lucrezia said as they both sat down. They had walked up five flights in a Mott Street tenement to Signore DeCegli’s office. They took their seats amid the piles of papers threatening to submerge his desk and file cabinets. A telephone sat on his desk. Giovanna hoped it would ring; she was fascinated by telephones and hadn’t used one yet.
“Signora Pontillo, I reviewed the newspaper articles and death certificate that Signora LaManna brought to me.”
The lawyer’s Italian was perfect. So perfect that Giovanna sat up straighter and took her mind off the telephone. He was looking right at her, and she realized that this man was handsome. It was something she hadn’t noticed about a man in a long while.
“I think there is no doubt that you have a case against the construction company. And although I am quite sure we could not win a case against Brooklyn Union Gas, it would be to our advantage to sue them as well.”
Giovanna looked at Lucrezia, who motioned with her eyes to ask.
“What do you mean, signore?”
“What I mean, signora, is that I believe in all probability that negligence led to your husband’s death, meaning that we can sue the company that is responsible.”
“Signore, I have little to pay you.”
“You do not have to pay me anything before the case is settled. I believe you will win your case and you will be compensated. My fee will come from your settlement.”
Seeing Giovanna’s puzzled look, Lucrezia stepped in. “Signore, we need to start from the beginning.”
More than an hour later, when Signore DeCegli finished explaining the American legal system and Giovanna’s options, he began asking questions of his own. Changing his tone, he said, “Tell me about Nunzio.”
“He was my husband,” murmured Giovanna, voice cracking, as if that said it all.
“Well, did he read and write?”
“Yes,” answered Giovanna, indignant. “He was a maestro. An engineer.”
“That will help. My guess is that if your husband had questions about the safety of this project, others did too. After we file, I intend to subpoena the supervisor and other workers.”
“But they will say what the company wants them to say.”
“Possibly, but generally I’ve found that Americans take truth in the courts seriously.”
“What happens now, signore?”
“You wait while I prepare the case. It may take months. If I need anything I’ll contact you, but don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a while.”
Signore DeCegli walked them downstairs. When the door closed, Lucrezia quipped, “It’s a shame he was just married.”
“Lucrezia, stop it. I told you I’m not interested.”
Lucrezia let it go, but she was certain that she saw a flicker of disappointment in her friend’s face.
FOURTEEN
“Wake up, Zia! It’s Sunday! Can we go to the cemetery and stop for nuts? Please, Zia?”
Startled, Giovanna sat up groggily. But before she could answer, Teresa cut in. “No trips today. We’re having company.”
The children groaned and Giovanna, still sleepy, asked, “Who? The DiFrancos?”
Teresa was already ensconced in the kitchen. “No. Children, get dressed; I need your help. Giovanna, you will be here for dinner?” It was both a question