Sofia's Tune (4 page)

Antonio began to speed up the pace and the singers followed. Then, when they got to the chorus, Antonio lunged into the song, hitting the keys with a syncopated rhythm he didn’t know he had in him.

When the song ended he could hear the audience cheering and whistling. The quartet took several bows as Antonio packed up his things. The regular pianist had arrived. Even he applauded the performance. The four singers marched past them, out of breath.

“Bravo,” Mac cried, handing Antonio his pay.

He’d earned it, all right. Antonio glanced toward the door and thought about his dog. “No one came looking for me tonight, Mac?”

“No one but your pooch.”

“Thanks. You’d tell me, though, right? I mean if someone was here asking for me.”

“I would. I owe ye that.”

Antonio studied the manager’s expression. He seemed sincere. He thanked him and hurried out. Later, as Antonio and Luigi hurried home with scraps he’d gathered for Luigi from behind a restaurant on Grand, Antonio paused, glancing in the direction of Mulberry. Nicco had warned him not to go there, but if the men from that neighborhood knew more about Antonio’s father’s death, why shouldn’t he ask around?

He closed his eyes as an unwelcome memory rushed back. His father’s body lying on the coroner’s gurney was as gruesome a sight as he ever hoped to see. A bullet had traveled through Ernesto Baggio’s head, an image that could not now be erased from Antonio’s mind.
I’ll find out, Pap
à
. You had a reason to go to the Union that night, something you didn’t tell me, but whatever it is, you did not deserve what happened to you.

Perhaps the only way to erase the horror in his head and remember Papà as he’d truly been, a hardworking, generous man, would be to find answers. It was up to him. Papà would have wanted Antonio to find justice…and peace.

Antonio reached down and rubbed Luigi’s head before urging him on toward home. “We have a tough task ahead, Lu. At least I’ll have you with me to help charm folks.”

Chapter 4

The next morning Sofia handed Papà a cup of coffee. “How is Mamma?”

“Bad, so bad.”

“Should I bring her a tray? I could boil an egg quickly.”

“I do not think so.”

“Did you talk to her? Did you tell her nothing has changed?” At least for Mamma. “This happened so long ago. What has made this worse?”

“I do not know, Sofia. You better forget night school this time and fetch our doctor when you leave the factory.”

“Can’t Gabriella?”

He glared at her. “She has the children to look after. Do not argue, Sofia.”

Gabriella tended the neighbor’s children while their mother worked. “I don’t see why she can’t just ask
Signora
Russo to watch—”

Papà made grunting sounds, waving his hands about.

Sofia swallowed a sour taste in her mouth. She knew she should obey. She had no choice, truly, but her respect for her parents was waning because they had treated her as a simpleton when all along they knew she missed her twin. She took a deep breath. Mamma needed her now despite it all. Sofia did not think their doctor—the healer from their village who lived in their building—could help. Perhaps she would also call on the priest.

The mantel clock gonged. Sofia was late. She’d lost sleep thinking about the accident, wondering how exactly it had happened, if Serena had suffered. And she’d prayed to remember it, but she had not.

Sofia paused on the stoop outside and turned to see her mother peering from the upstairs window, round-faced, white-streaked black hair pulled back in a bun, scowling. At least she’d gotten out of bed. Sofia raised her hand to wave. “I’ll bring home the roasted peanuts you like, Mamma!” Mamma’s face drew back from the lace curtain.

She bumped into Joey as she turned in the direction of the trolley. “Off to work?” he asked, tipping his cap away from his forehead.

“Of course. You?”

He frowned. “I do my best, Sofia.”

She patted his arm. “Keep it up. We must all do our best.
Addio
!”

When Sofia stepped off the elevator, her boss, Mr. Richmond met her. “You’re late, young lady.”

“Sorry, Mr. Richmond. It will not happen again.”

He bent his thick brows to a point. “If it does, Miss Falcone, you will be dismissed.”

Sofia made her way to her sewing machine. She’d been fortunate to have this job. Much was expected of her by
la famiglia
. No one earned a lot of money. Living in America cost more than living in Italy, although there was work available, so everyone could contribute. Everyone but Mamma needed to earn money. Thankfully they had Mamma to cook, mend, and clean their tiny American
casa,
just a couple of rented rooms in an overly populated tenement building. Papà had sacrificed the bulk of his savings to bring them to New York in hopes that Mamma would forget her sorrow.

Mr. Richmond was too stern, too focused on productivity and efficiency, as he liked to say. But Sofia needed her position at the shoe factory, so she must be more careful. Now more than ever she needed employment, both for the money and for an escape.

As she examined the leather she was about to stitch, Sofia decided that on her way home, once she’d inquired after the healer and the priest, she would stop to speak to Sister Stefania. Her aunt would remember what happened.
Please, God, let the answers bring healing.

All day long it seemed her supervisor stared at her. Several times she had to take deep breaths and remind herself that he had no reason to dismiss her. She was a hard worker. Still, her hands trembled as she worked.

***

Sofia rushed outside when the work whistle blew. She set off to find the doctor first, since that’s what Papà had instructed her to do. Not the kind of person Americans called a doctor, though. The Falcones would trust their own before others. She would stop by the Russo apartment and beg
Signora
Russo to come see Mamma. Carla Russo had been a healer back in Benevento, and at times she continued the practice against her husband’s wishes, who thought an American city was no place for the old ways. He never refused the healer’s pay, though. Sofia quickened her steps, dodging dawdling walkers and boys with hoops. Perhaps
Signor
Russo had not returned home from work yet. If Sofia was quick enough, she might avoid the unpleasant man.

She shooed two cats away from the indoor stairs leading to the Russo residence and trotted up three flights. Reaching the Russos’s door, she paused to pray the master of the home would not be there because he might not let his wife come. She rapped twice before the door creaked open.

“
Signora
Russo, are you all right?”

The door opened wider. “Oh, Sofia. What are you doing here?” The woman’s face was partially shielded by a scarf, but Sofia could see purple marks at her left temple. She bit her lip and sucked back the disparaging words she wished she could voice about the man who beat his wife. No one talked about it. No one confronted him. It was just not done, but Sofia wished things could be different. “Mamma,
signora
. She needs your help.”

“I can’t help anyone today.”

Sofia whispered. “
Signor
Russo is at home, then?”

“He is not, but I cannot help.”

“Oh, please. It is the autumn melancholy and she is very bad this time. Much worse.”

The woman’s ample bosom rose as she took in a deep breath. “Tell her to drink the elixir. All a woman needs most times is a drop of grappa and soda water.”

“Brandy? No, no,
signora
. This is different—”

“She will be fine.” The door started to close.

Sofia grabbed the edge to stop the woman from shutting her out. “No, wait. You do not understand.”

“It is you who does not understand, girl. I cannot come. Do not ask it of me.”

“But, can I help you? Are you all right? Has something happened?” She asked even though the woman would never tell. At least
Signora
Russo would know someone had noticed what was happening to her.

“Go along, now.” When Sofia pulled her hand back the woman shut the door.

Sofia closed her eyes a moment, praying the woman’s husband might stay away forever. The sound of the cats fighting below jolted her. She scrambled down and hurried toward the church.

The Most Precious Blood Church was still under construction. Only the part below ground was finished and construction workers had scaffolds across the entrance. “Go next door,” someone from high above called to her. “You can’t come in here.” They rambled on about how no one should come to church on a Thursday. Had they never heard of confession?

Sofia grabbed on to the iron fencing as she hurried to the lower level. First she would find Father Lucci and urge him to come see Mamma. Then she would seek out Sister Stefania at the convent house next door. She let herself in quietly, knowing people were lighting candles and visiting the confessional after their workday. She sat a moment in a pew, relishing the calmness she always felt when she entered. Ever since Sofia was young Mamma had told her the church was God’s house, and Sofia had always felt a spiritual presence there. And now, entering her church, Sofia had managed to momentarily put aside the emptiness, what she now understood to be the absence of her twin. She gazed up at the altar, at the crucifix, candlesticks, vessels, and of course the reliquary of Saint Gennarro. When the upper church was completed, it would be more like the churches of Italy—white walls, fresco painting, life-sized statues of Jesus and Mary. The tradition and history of the church was precious to her, and even though she loved it for the way it connected her to her ancestors, she often pondered if the new church would still possess the specialness she experienced here in the temporary sacred space. Was that even possible? For a sacred space to lose its holiness once a grand chapel is built to replace it? In this lower church, Sofia felt as though she could almost touch heaven. Here in God’s house.

The sound of someone leaving the confessional made her look up. She recognized Luisa Russo, the teenage daughter of the healer. She hurried over to the girl. “Is Father Lucci in the confessional, Luisa?”

“He is.” The girl blinked. She had been crying.

“What is it?”

One of the old women lighting candles hushed them. Sofia ushered the girl toward the door.

“If Papà never comes back, it will be too soon. I hate him.” She sighed and stomped her foot. “Now I have to go back to confession.”

“God will forgive you.”

The girl raised her black brows.

“Come now. You know He will. Go check on your mother, though. I think she needs you.”

Luisa nodded and tugged her nutmeg-colored scarf over her head before she opened the door to leave.

Sofia turned back to the confessional. She would have to go in to talk to Father Lucci. The other priest might be available but she did not like him as well.

She peeled back the red curtain and ducked inside. She knelt, and when the door slid open she stared at the profile of the priest dappled by the wooden screen. She did not speak.

“Go on, child.”

She asked for forgiveness because she was in the confessional for a different purpose. Then she stated her reason for coming.

“Sofia, you know what I am doing here.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Go on, now. I will come as soon as I get a replacement.”

Satisfied he would, she asked for forgiveness for feeling angry her parents had kept a secret from her. He gave her a penance and told her to repeat the Act of Contrition, which she did as rapidly as possible. After he absolved her, she rushed out.

Darting up one set of stairs, Sofia swung past the iron fence to the door of the convent house. Sister Stefania happened to be on greeting duty.

“Sofia,
bella ragazza
!” She hugged Sofia tight and then drew back. Pinching Sofia’s cheeks, her aunt clucked her tongue. “You are as red as a pepper. What is wrong, girl?”

“Mamma.”

“Oh,
sì
. It is that time of year. Come in, I will pour you coffee.”

Sofia followed her to the small kitchen the nuns used.

“The sisters are at prayers, but I am to offer hospitality to whomever comes by. And today it is you. You make me so happy.”

Sofia had had few conversations with the woman, and never before alone. Sister Stefania was different than Mamma. Her heart was light where Mamma’s was heavy. She smiled while Mamma seemed to prefer to frown, even when she and Sofia had enjoyed happier days. “I…I want to tell you something.”

“What has happened? Frankie and Fredo? An accident on the job?” She lifted both hands beside her head. “They take too many risks, your brothers.”

“No, it is not the boys. It is Mamma. And me. I…” She wasn’t sure how to confess that she’d been snooping in her aunt’s belongings. “Well, the truth is, I took a peek into that box you brought by. The one you had no room to keep here.”

The sister busied herself pouring cream into a small pot. “Ah,
sì
. You probably wondered about that music recording. Annabelle gave it to me.”

“Who?” Sofia took a steaming cup from Stefania.

“The gardener’s wife. That’s right. We have a small patch of roses and lavender, and the Father hires a gardener. The poor man needed a job, that’s why. I suppose that’s all right now, isn’t it?”

Sofia bit her lip. She loved her aunt, but talking with her was usually difficult because she could be
capriccioso
, flighty, as the Americans say. “Sister Stefania, about the box, the one covered in floral paper?”

“Ah,
sì
. The gardener’s wife. She has one of those music machines. I will show you if you come by on Friday.” She smacked her lips. “That is tomorrow, now isn’t it? That is when I have my leisure time.”

“I…uh, I have to work. Sister, there was something else in that box. Something that upset Mamma. And me as well.”

Sofia’s aunt didn’t seem to hear. She must be thinking about the record still. Stefania began singing a tune Sofia didn’t recognize. Certainly not a Latin hymn. “Sister?”

She seemed to float back from the clouds. “Hmm?”

“The box. There were other things in there.”

Stefania shrugged.

Someone knocked at the door. Stefania sprang from her chair and rushed out to answer it.

This was why Sofia had rarely conversed with the woman. Her mother’s sister was distracted by anything that moved in her peripheral vision. Flies, honking horns, bicycles, scurrying children. Just about anything could get Stefania to switch directions and lose track of what she was supposed to be doing. Perhaps this was why the sisters had given Sofia’s aunt this duty. She was always noticing people. She would be the perfect choice to greet people and even pull lost souls in off the street.

As she waited for her aunt to attend to the new visitor, Sofia shifted uncomfortably on the spindly kitchen chair. The convent was too quiet. She did not like being alone in the kitchen. She picked up her coffee cup and moved to the doorway that led to the entry. She watched as Stefania put something into the hand of the man who had knocked, a beggar she supposed, and then blessed him as he hurried away. She turned and smiled at Sofia.