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“And from there? What then, Alberto?”
“I have already been directed to where we can catch the train called the ‘National Limited’ that will carry us to Papa's town,” he said, beginning to move forward, anxious to be away from the drudgery of this large room, where children shrieked and women babbled so with one another.
Maria panted by his side, trying to keep up with the pace of his long legs. She knew that she was almost as tall, but her energies had almost been drained from inside her. As a man brushed against her left arm, she recoiled in pain. “My arm . . . it aches so, Alberto,” she whined. “It feels so heavy. As though it might even drop off. Does yours feel the same?”
“Mine? It feels as though a knot has formed beneath the pit of my arm,” he grumbled, inhaling deeply the freshness of the air as he finally reached the outdoors. “But that doesn't matter, Maria,” he quickly added. “Let's get away from this place. Come. Hurry along now. We must reach the ferry before it leaves us behind. I wouldn't want to spend a night on this wretched island. I imagine the rats swarm thicker than even the people once nightfall comes in its total black-ness.”
Maria stepped gingerly along the wetness of the rocks beneath her feet, remembering having almost fallen earlier. Then when they reached the ferry, she followed alongside Alberto as he stepped high and climbed aboard. As was the boat that had carried them to this island, this ferry was crowded with immigrants who were as newly Americanized as Alberto and Maria.
Maria smiled to all who squeezed in around her, glad finally to see hope flashing in their eyes once again. Their ordeal of Ellis Island was being left behind them, and only a bright future lay ahead of them.
Shivers of delight rippled along Maria's flesh, now being able to see and enjoy the tall buildings of New York without having to fear anything. Her neck craned, trying to see to the tops of the ones closest. She so longed to go inside on'e of these, but she was too anxious to get to her Papa. Maybe one day, later on in her life, she could return and fully explore the expanses of New York and its people's ways of living.
“Now stay close beside me, Maria,” Alberto urged as the ferry moved next to a pier and was secur
ed by a rope. “New York is almost another country in itself, it seems. It must be even as large as Italy. Now don't take your eyes off me for one second. Do you understand?”
Maria swallowed hard. “Yes. I understand,” she said. She pushed and shoved her way along, next to Alberto, until they were finally walking along a cobblestone street that lined the waters of the harbor. Maria's heart swelled inside her, wanting to laugh and shout that she had made it. She was in America . . . and had just become an American. “Do you have my papers, Alberto?” she asked anxiously, not wanting to lose the only thing that proved that she had indeed gone through the complete steps of Americanization that were required to be able to stay in America.
“Yes. I have yours with mine. In my inside jacket pocket. Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to those. They could mean the difference between life or death for the both of us. I'm sure of it.”
Maria sniffed, glad to be leaving behind the strong aroma of dead fish and horse manure. She stepped high onto a curbing and then saw that they had reached an area that was mostly horses and carriages and Fine ladies and gentlemen entering and leaving the harbor area. She looked behind her. Not only had they left the unpleasant smells behind, but also the long line of ships and the hectic atmosphere of the waterfront, and had entered an area of business establishments. Small shops lined each side of the street, enticing her to stop and stare. But Alberto just kept trudging along, head held high, ignoring the better class of people that were milling along the streets.
Maria got a glimpse of herself in a large plate glass window of a store and soon felt her face reddening. She had never seen such a sight before as herself and her brother who walked beside her. Their outfits looked even more pitiful than when she had at first hated having to wear them. They now were wrinkled, filth-laden, and her hat had been crunched, leaving the bill of it to hang limply over her forehead.
Feeling so self-conscious of her appearance, she hung her head, not wanting anyone to see her face. She was humiliated. What if even Michael suddenly appeared before her? But she had to remember. Michael had seen her this way. He had even taken her into his room and had made love to her after having seen her look so terrible. She just hadn't known at that time . . . just how terrible . . . she had looked. She hadn't had a mirror at her Gran-mama's house to gaze into, to see the qualities about her appearance that were good … or poor. Now she was even more eager to get to her Papa's house . . . throw these dreaded clothes into a fire … and even laugh as she watched them burn.
“There. Over there,” Alberto said anxiously. “There is the marvelous train that Papa wrote us about, the one we shall ride to get to Papa's town. Hurry. We don't want it leaving us behind.”
Maria's eyes widened. To her, the train looked like some sort of black monster. And the smoke billowing upward from the smokestack reminded her of a dragon, puffing. People were boarding, attired in all sorts of ways. Some were almost as pitiful in appearance as she and Alberto, and some were elegant, the women in fully gathered dresses of silk, and the gentlemen with black frock coats and matching hats and breeches. The thing that grabbed Maria's attention the most about the women she was admiring were the different styles of hats perched atop their heads. Some hats had large feathers blowing in the gentleness of the breeze, and others appeared to be gardens, filled with assortments of beautifully colored flowers.
She sighed to herself. One day she would own such a hat. One day she would look just as lovely.
“Our tickets. I must first get our tickets,” Alberto said, stopping, setting their trunk down beside him. He searched frantically inside his pockets, then smiled broadly when he pulled the two tickets out. They had been somewhat damaged, due to the wet, damp temperatures aboard the ship, but they still represented further adventures for brother and sister. Alberto squared his shoulders, then kissed the tickets. “Let's go, Maria,” he said. He lifted the trunk to his shoulder and moved on along and boarded the train after having let Maria enter first.
Almost breathless from excitement, Maria moved into a car of the train, looking slowly around her, seeing how crowded it was. She recognized the look in many of the eyes, and knew this to be a look of immigrants, such as herself. She noticed that on this particular section of the train, none of the more elegant people were present. They had apparently been directed to finer cars. This particular car was drab, colorless, almost the same as that dreaded Ellis Island that would haunt Maria's dreams for many months to come. This car even stank almost the same, only more so of stale cigar smoke and an occasional whiff of some alcoholic beverage.
“Where can we sit, Alberto?” she whispered, inching her way down the long, narrow aisle.
“Just keep moving until you see two vacant seats,” Alberto said, furrowing a brow. He had expected more from such a fine train. He had expected possibly even velveteen seats and shades at the window. But only dark, ugly, uncomfortable-appearing seats, most of which were already filled with travelers, met his eye.
“I see two. Just up ahead,” Maria said, moving more quickly, afraid someone else might get there before her and Alberto. Breathing hard, she rushed ahead and settled down onto the seat. She placed her violin case on her lap, eyeing Alberto anxiously as he moved next to her, setting his trunk out in the aisle. Maria then watched all around her, wondering where everyone else aboard this moving giant was going. She held her head high. She was going to her Papa . . . Giacomo Lazzaro. How proud she was to be able to say his name . .. and know that he wasn't all that far away, now.
Michael was relieved to finally feel the vibrations in the floor beneath his feet, knowing that the train was moving away from the busy depot. He lit another Cuban cigar. He pulled a green velveteen curtain aside, then stood with hands clasped tightly behind his back, watching the New York skyline pass by him.
At one time, New York had been his playground. He knew all the nightspots. He had frequented them all with the most beautiful of female companions. But he had grown tired of this fast pace and had taken his fortune to the quieter, more conservative city of Saint Louis, Missouri. There, he had discovered the United Mine Workers of America and what the union represented to the poor, and hadn't been able to resist becoming involved, so vividly remembering his youth, and how his own father had slaved in a small shoe shop, barely scraping in pennies.
Michael had learned to hustle early in life. Lower Manhattan became his stomping grounds. His skills became that of a shoeshine boy, and he shined the shoes of the richest politicians and bankers. The tips he would receive were quickly turned into higher earnings when he learned the art of gambling. Dark rooms in back alleys at the age of thirteen had been the beginnings of Michael's wealth. And now? At age thirty-five, he could buy and sell most of those people who had been the recipients of his skills as a shoeshine boy.
A rustle of a skirt behind him made Michael turn with a start. A slow smile curved his lips upward, seeing Alice Moberly standing at his side, waiting patiently for his acknowledgment of her presence in this magnificent private car of the famous National Limited Train.
Michael's eyes wavered as he pulled the cigar from between his lips, realizing that he had ignored Alice. He studied her now and how shatteringly pretty she was, attired in a pale green serge traveling suit that accentuated the smallness of her waist and the soft curve of her breasts, and her blazing red hair circled in a fancy pompadour atop her head. Her facial features were petite and her coloring much too pale, but highlighted with a touch of pink rouge on the shallow slope of her cheeks.
She flashed her green eyes upward, smiling seductively as her tongue wetted her lips. In the past, this would have set Michael's blood to racing, but not this time. Maria, and what they had shared, were too fresh in his mind. An emptiness had been left inside him when she had walked away from him and his offer of marriage.
“Michael, you haven't said two words to me,” Alice purred, lifting her fingers to smooth a lapel of his navy blue, pin-striped woolen suit. She formed her lips into a soft pucker, as though ready to kiss him, then turned and walked away from him, sulking. “Not even a kiss, Michael?” she said, turning on a heel, facing him once again, her eyes now narrow, anger reflected in deeper colors of green.
Michael placed his cigar in an ashtray and went to her, taking only a hand in his. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I've much on my mind.”
