Elizabeth Street (29 page)

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1909

Hollow-eyed and silent, Giovanna and Rocco sat at the kitchen table. Neither had changed nor slept. Rocco had spent most of the night walking the streets looking for the square-headed man who had come to his cart. The children, bleary-eyed themselves, woke up slowly. Mary filled the coffeepot, and Frances lit the stove to toast the bread.

Clement slid into a chair next to his father. “Papa, what do we do now?”

“You put on your clothes and go to work. Even you, Frances. See if you can get sewing work from the signora down the street. Or ask Zia Teresa about factory jobs.”

Mary stood at attention, waiting for her assignment. When her father didn’t address her, she asked, “Papa?”

“You go to school. People will be suspicious if we take you out of school, but Frances should have been out long ago.”

Rocco had heard from Teresa that Giovanna hadn’t spoken for many months after her husband’s death; he wondered if it was going to happen again. Giovanna hadn’t said anything since last night, and she didn’t protest when Rocco ordered Frances to work. He was thinking it might not be a bad thing for Giovanna to lose her speech—but then she spoke.

“Mary, I’ll get piecework for you to do after school.”

Rocco assumed this was Giovanna’s way of saying she approved of what he was doing. He was grateful for this little bit of recognition.

Rocco got up. “Let’s go. I’ll take Mary across the street and tell the principal it is time for Frances to go to work.”

Giovanna remained seated as the family bustled around her. While her body and lips were motionless, her mind was reeling. Her husband’s solution to everything was to work. While she was grateful he at least took action, did he really believe that the money the children brought in would make a difference? She wanted him and everyone else out of the apartment so that she could leave before Teresa showed up.

Last night, Rocco described the big man who had come to his cart, and Clement said that he was the same man he saw in the Star of Italy and that his name was Tommaso. Giovanna was anxious to walk through the neighborhood. There had to be something she could find that Rocco didn’t.

The moment that everyone was gone, Giovanna removed the clothes she had been wearing since the day before, washed her face, and dressed. In the hall she heard the calls and burdened footsteps of the iceman. The doors on the second floor were opening and closing. Looping string through the buttonholes on her skirt to accommodate her belly, she was knotting it together when outside her own door the man called,
“Issaman!”

“I need no ice,” answered Giovanna, opening the door a crack. But instead of a block of ice on his shoulder, the iceman held out an envelope.

“Signora, a man downstairs asked me to bring this to you since I was coming up.”

Giovanna did not move to take the envelope from the iceman’s outstretched hand.

“Who gave you this?”

“I told you, a man outside.”

“What man? Show him to me?” pleaded Giovanna, flinging open the door and running to the window.

The iceman reluctantly went to the window and looked. “I don’t see him. I made two deliveries before I came to your door. Signora, are you going to take this?” he asked once again, stretching out his hand.

“Sì, sì.” Giovanna glanced at the envelope. “What did he look like? Big chest and square head?”

“No, short, a mustache.” The man got frustrated. “I don’t know, signora. You put two hundred pounds on your shoulder, and the only thing you notice is that your back hurts.”

The frantic expression on Giovanna’s face finally caught his attention. “Signora, what’s wrong?”

His question stopped Giovanna’s mind from racing, and she tried to cover, “No, no, nothing.” Walking him to the door, she said, “I was hoping it might have been word from a woman whose child I must deliver. Thank you.” She closed the door. The sweat from Giovanna’s hand had already stained the envelope. Lifting the flap, she removed a coarse piece of brown paper.

Giovanna steadied herself against the wall at the confirmation of what she already knew. She moved in fruitless circles from the window to the table. Reading about the earthquake had given her experience at feeling powerless, but this was worse. Her child was frightened, maybe hurt, or worse, and there wasn’t anyone running to rescue her. It was like the type of nightmare where you try to move but nothing happens. Both she and Angelina were imprisoned.

When she caught her breath she took in the words of the note. Four thousand dollars! Disgraziati! What made these thieves think that they had such money? What could she possibly put in the envelope to satisfy them?

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1909

Angelina awoke from her second night spent on the floor. She was able to figure out that there were two women, two men, and two sets of children in the little house. One of the women, the younger one, had brought her rags and hay that she had used to cover the cold floor tile. The hay was the only thing she had to amuse herself with when she was locked back into the room before the men came home for supper. Doll-like shapes that she had braided and twisted from the straw the night before were lined up against the wall.

She could hear them eating breakfast. She didn’t understand all the words because they spoke in a thick dialect that sounded like the Sicilian neighbors on her block. Picking up and braiding more straw, she had nearly tuned them out when one of the men thundered, “What do you mean you went together to the market!”

“There was too much to carry!”

“Merda!”
Angelina heard a hard slap.

“What if she screamed and someone had heard her?”

“She didn’t scream.”

“How would you know, you weren’t here! Only one of you goes shopping and the other stays here with the children.
Capisci?”

Angelina’s silent tears began to flow, although this time it was not because she was frightened but because she was mad at herself. She hadn’t thought to scream. Why hadn’t she screamed? What a stupid girl she was! She wasn’t smart like the principal said! If she had screamed, someone in that office across the street with the blue shade could have heard her. She pinched herself in anger and frustration. She had lost her chance to get away.

“And don’t you let the bambini play with her! They could tell someone!”

“Who would they tell? You won’t let us out!”

Angelina heard another whack and then crying. She drew her knees to her chest and slid as far as possible into the corner.

Looking down from her window, Giovanna saw three women from the building talking outside the front door. Their building had no stoop, making it difficult to congregate, so conversations didn’t last long. She quickly grabbed her basket and headed downstairs.

“Buon giorno,” greeted Giovanna, opening the door.

“Buon giorno,” answered the women, who, because of Gio vanna’s midwife status, treated her respectfully.

Not one to stop and chat, Giovanna used her own pregnancy as an excuse. “Those stairs are getting difficult,” she complained, rubbing her belly.

“Can’t one of the children do the shopping?” the neighbor asked.

“Between work and school, they don’t have the time. I was going to ask Limonata to help me,” fished Giovanna.

“You know that she up and left without paying the rent?” exclaimed the other woman.

“I heard she was gone. Did anyone know she was going?” Giovanna asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Who knows? I never liked her. No father to that child. She said he died, but with all those boyfriends, who could believe her!”

“Maybe she left with her boyfriend,” offered up Giovanna. “Wasn’t she seeing a man with red hair?”

“No, that was ages ago, signora. Her latest was dark with a lidded eye. He looked like a dead fish!”

“Oh, I think I did see him. He was heavy, yes?”

“No, that must have been another one. This one was tall and bony. Like a mackerel. I heard her call him Leo.”

“Well, if you see this Leo or Limonata, will you tell me? She left with my beer pitcher!”

“That puttana!” exclaimed one of the ladies. “I saw you give her food, signora, and she stole from you!”

Giovanna could feel her eyes welling up and her body quaking. “Sì, well if you hear…buon giorno,” she stammered, rushing off to her nonexistent errands.

Giovanna saw that Inzerillo took notice when she entered his Café Pasticceria. Pretending to look at the pastries, she waited until there was no one else near the counter.

“Signore, I was wondering if I could get your advice.”

“Why, of course, signora.” Inzerillo motioned someone into the back room, which was quickly emptied of four men holding cards.

Closing the door behind them, he asked, “What can I do for you, signora?”

“Signore, I need to communicate with some men who I do not know. I need these people to understand a few important things.” Giovanna paused, trying to gauge whether his expression registered any recognition of what she was saying. But he was either clueless or playing it smart.

“Go on, signora.”

“I need these men to understand three things. First, they must know that I do not believe you can ever work with the police. Second, they should know that there is no money under my mattress, but I will get what I can. And third, signore, they must understand that if anything ever happened to anyone in my family, I would hunt them down and slit their throats.”

“Signora, I assure you that I have no knowledge of what would prompt you to deliver such a message. But without putting anyone at risk, I will do my best to find these men and communicate this information.”

“One of the men might be large with a squarish head. Another, short with a mustache. And perhaps one is tall and skinny with a lidded eye.”

“Don’t worry, signora, I will find them,” assured Inzerillo.

It had taken every bit of Giovanna’s strength to say her piece without breaking down. She felt her facade crumbling, and she wanted to collapse into this man’s arms, who she knew was a murderer. With her last ounce of fortitude, she said, “Grazie, signore,” and got up quickly to make her exit.

“Signora,” Inzerillo called. Giovanna stopped but did not turn, not trusting that she could control her tears. “Signora, you did the right thing by coming to me. I will see that your message is delivered.”

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1909

Giovanna started the day by buying the paper, for while Rocco’s weapon and solace was work, Giovanna’s was information.

After scanning every headline for anything relevant, Giovanna went back to page one.
PEARY GETS TO NORTH POLE
. Giovanna bristled with resentment at the irony. Some man had managed to find the end of the earth, and she couldn’t find her daughter.

Picking up a pencil, she copied the note she had written to the kidnappers for the fifth time, making sure it was perfect.

In this envelope is $507. This is all the money that we have in the world. You are mistaken if you think we have more. Please take it and return our daughter and we will never speak of this. She is only a little girl, please.

She would deliver the note tonight. With Angelina’s birthday dress in her lap, she prayed that all would go well and this would be over. She had picked up the dress yesterday and hadn’t put it down since. Initially, she held it to her face, searching for a scent of her daughter—the sweet smell of her skin after her bath or the soft whisper of her breath. There was no vestige of Angelina to be found.

At supper she didn’t eat a thing and picked up the plates from the table before the others finished. Rocco and Clement rose to put on their boots.

“Why are you getting dressed?” Giovanna’s blue eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going there alone.”

“We spoke of this! We can’t frighten them!”

“They’ll only see you. But Clement and I will be near in case you need us.”

“If this is what you wanted, you should have told me earlier! What makes you think they’re not watching! If they see you leave they’ll think you’re meeting the police.”

Rocco wondered where his wife had learned to think this way. “Okay, Clement and I will go to the roof and leave from another building,” he said, continuing to put on his shoes.

“If I wanted to watch the front door of a building, I would watch it from the roof.”

“What do you want?” Rocco shouted in exasperation.

“To do this as we planned. I’m in no danger. There’s no money for them without me.”

Rocco knew she spoke the truth, but he couldn’t let her leave without protection. He went into the bedroom and called Giovanna to join him. Closing the door behind her, he went to the bottom drawer of their one bureau, where his two extra shirts were stored, and from beneath the shirts drew out a pistol.