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Maria studied the buildings carefully, and the people coming and going from them. Most of the men were dressed in neat suits and wore hats and exhibited fat, bushy mustaches. The women were dressed fancily in long, flowing dresses, and most displayed the fanciest of hats, each, it seemed, trying to outdo the next by the extremes of design.
Another longing rippled through Maria, hoping one day to be a part of this glamour. But she now knew that more than likely it would never happen. It was meant for her to remain just an immigrant. She was supposed to make life as easy for her father and brother as was humanly possible. The Lazzaro family had to stick together. But anger raged through her now, remembering Alberto, and his carelessness with the Lazzaro money. One day he would sec the wrong of his new way of life. One day….
A seven-story brick building drew Maria's keen attention. It reminded her of some of the buildings she had seen during her brief time in the large city of New York. This had to be the building meant for her to stand in front of. Surely the largest building of this town would be the one most frequently used by the townspeople. And upon closer observation, she read the name Creal Springs City’ Bank on a huge sign that reached across the front. She smiled. This indeed was the place to display her talents as a violinist. Surely people leaving a bank would be the ones to have the most coins to toss away….
Hurrying to tie her reins to a hitching post, she then removed her violin and bow from their case and inched her way toward the street corner nearest the door of the bank building. She eyed the people sheepishly, seeing that just her presence alone was drawing much attention. She blushed a bit, knowing how terrible she had to look in her ghastly chimney sweep costume, but then she only ducked her head, fitted her violin beneath her chin, and began drawing the bow across the strings, letting her mind drift to the words being spoken to her from her instrument… so soft… so soothing. She played harder, until she could even feel the strings beginning to cut into her fingers. It was then that she heard the first tinkle of a coin against another coin landing on fhe brick walk at her feet.
Maria's pulsebeat increased, but she knew to not let herself make eye contact with the people being so generous. She knew that to do so would be to reveal too much. Instead, she tucked her violin beneath her left arm and bowed deeply, keeping her head ducked.
She proceeded to play another song familiar to her, thrilling inside from the audience that she was drawing, and from the money that she was fast earning. She couldn't play fast enough, and the faster she did play, the more she heard the coins being tossed at her feet. Then the chiming of the town clock drew her quick attention to the time of day, and she knew that her fun would have to draw to a close. She had to shop for household supplies before going home. She was anxious to replenish their empty kitchen pantry. She would even get home in time to make a delicious stew. What a surprise for her papa and, yes, what a complete surprise for Alberto. He had known how few coins remained. He would know that she had worked for the food that would be placed on the table this night. She was anxious to see his face … to see the wonder in his eyes.
Not looking upward at the crowd that began to disperse as she began to collect the coins to slip into her pocket, she listened as they moved on away from her, hearing the comments of how fabulously “he” had played the violin. Pride swelled inside her. This alone was worth the disgrace of having to wear such an outfit once again. She would do it again. Yes. Tomorrow . .. she would do it again.. . .
Chapter Ten
A week of playing her violin on the street corners of Creal Springs had passed and Maria was still playing her heart out, hardly believing the response she was receiving. She had hidden ajar full of her earned coins away from Alberto's snoopings. He had guessed her pastime, but had kept his silence about it.
This day, Maria had found some competition. She drew her bow across the violin strings, glancing sideways at another Italian female, seeing her displaying her beautiful assortment of paper flowers that she had made for selling on the streets. The girl held the flowers in front of her for all to see as they passed by. Mana felt a twinge of jealousy when the girl was handed coins in exchange for the paper-shaped clusters of beautiful different colors.
The girl was of the same olive skin coloring as Maria, with dark, imploring eyes that could take the heart from anyone looking into their depths. Her dress was of a thin, fully gathered cotton that would wrap around her ankles as the winds whipped around the corners of the bank building she and Maria were standing before.
Except for the girl's nose that was tiny and tilted, her features were Italian. Maria knew that she was competing with more than artificial flowers for notice. This girl was shatteringly pretty. Maria knew that she had to let the pretty side of her own self be seen, no matter if doing so disclosed to all that she was a woman … not a man. Playing the violin for coins had suddenly become not enough. If she had to show the beauty of her long, flowing hair, and the brightness of her eyes that she had kept purposely hidden as best she could, then be that as it might. She would do just that. She needed the coins. . . surely more than the girl standing beside her!
Leaning momentarily to place her violin in its case, Maria watched out of the corner of her eye as the girl continued to sell her flowers. Haste was needed. Maria was losing out on coins this day.
She reached up and pulled her hat from her head, shaking her hair to come loose from its pins, to cascade lazily down her back in long, dark waves. She licked and sucked on the fullness of her lips, to cause them to darken in colors of reds, then loosened the buttons of her jacket down halfway to her waist, revealing the deepness of her cleavage. She felt a bit wicked but she knew that in such clothes, more than what she would usually reveal to the naked eye was needed. She was a woman. She would display this along with her talents at playing the violin. She had to remember. .. she needed the coins. She would try anything to get them.
Smiling, she looked toward the girl, seeing that she had been watching. “Now I shall be the one to get the coins,” Maria said to her in Italian, picking up her violin.
The girl blushed, then unbuttoned her dress partially down the front, deciding to play the game as well. “We'll see about that,” she whispered, also in Italian, moving closer to Maria. “At least I look the part of a woman. I have never worn breeches. You look disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.”
Maria's eyes snapped with anger. “Then you have never known the true meaning of being poor,” she whispered back, ignoring the gathering crowd watch-ing the feud developing. “I had to wear breeches in Italy. I was a chimney sweep. What did you do in Italy? Make flowers like a weakling? At least I proved my need for lira. By working hard. Ha! Now tell me you have worked so hard yourself.”
“And what have we here?” a high-pitched male voice spoke suddenly from behind Maria, making her whirl around, eyes wide. “Two females on the verge of war?” he said further. “Shame be upon you. Maybe you need an intermediary. Shall I suffice?”
Maria clutched her violin to her bosom, words catching in her throat when she saw this craggy-appearing face staring so knowingly upward at her. She had never seen so ugly a man. His gray eyes seemed bottomless and his briar thicket of eyebrows and bushy, gray moustache bounced as he talked. His hat was held in his hand, revealing a head that shone back to Ma
ria, almost like a mirror, as she looked downward. He was so short, she knew that she could very easily place her chin upon that head of glass. But she chose to not even stand so close to him. He had an air of aloofness about him. As though he truly didn't care about anything or anyone, except himself. Why he had chosen to intervene in this private argument was a question Maria didn't care to hear the answer to.
“No, sir. Your interference is not appreciated,” she said flatly. “Now if you will please excuse me, I have a song I would like to play on my violin.”
The man refused to move. He smiled crookedly as he pulled a fat roll of bills from his front breeches pocket. “Now if I gave you enough money for a full day's playing, would you think you might take time to speak to a lonely man?” he questioned, winking at Maria.
Maria stared open-mouthed at the money, then toward the young girl, whose face had paled. “But. . . sir… I don't know. . . .” Maria whispered, staring once again at the money. She had never seen so much at one time. Never. Oh, how much she could buy with it. Oh, how she ached to reach her hand out… accept it. .. . But she couldn't. She had pride. Coins were earned. This vast amount of money wasn't.
“This is only a small amount of all the money that I own, young lady,” he said, holding the money out, motioning for Maria to take it. “If you wish, share this with the young lady at your side. Then you will no longer have reason to dispute. Money is the cause for your angry words being exchanged, is it not?”
Maria swallowed hard, inching away from him. This was too easy. Nobody gave away such amounts of money .. . unless . . . they wanted more than one was willing to give. “Sir, please be on your way,” Maria whispered, looking from side to side, seeing that all the other bystanders had moved on their way, now that she had ceased playing her violin. Anger made her insides turn to boiling, realizing she had lost her chance at having many coins tossed her way because of this inter fering old man whom no one could possibly enjoy being with. And no way was she so anxious to have extra money that she would have to accept it from the carefully manicured fingers of this gentleman.
She looked at his ruffled shirt and the sleekness of his black waistcoat and breeches. His boots shone back at her also in black, shining as much as his head, as though both had been waxed by carefully trained hands.
The man laughed out of the corner of his mouth. “Surely you are jesting,” he said, placing the money back inside his breeches pocket. “No one refuses Nathan Hawkins anything. Especially an Italian. You are only in America because I was kind enough to pay your passage. Indeed this is true. And you have to know it.”
Maria's face paled. She felt numb … absolutely numb … having heard this man's name spoken. “Did you say .. . Nathan . .. Hawkins . . . ?” she finally gasped, looking him up and down, now feeling like laughing after having visualized for so long that this Nathan Hawkins whom everyone despised and hated would be huge .. . virile . .. even possibly of a giant size for a man. But this man? He was so small… so grotesque in appearance. How could any man … or woman … fear him?
“So you do know of me,” he said, smirking. He leaned closer to Maria, whispering. “And you do know that you owe me much, don't you?”
Maria bit her lower lip, wanting to say so much to him. Hadn't she practiced the words? Over and over again? Wanting so much finally to be able to meet him face to face? But now? They were on a street with too many ears to hear the words she had chosen to use on this man. Then she remembered the other Italian girl with whom she had been competing for space on this sidewalk. What was she thinking at this moment? Why hadn't she spoken her mind?
