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"They won't fit nearly so well, Mrs. Gerbati," the clerk protested.
"So? He wear two pair stocking. Must have room to grow."
They went through a similar scene with Rosa, only this time the clerk knew enough to bring big boots the first time. Mrs. Gerbati pulled a tiny black purse out of a pocket in her voluminous black dress, took out a wad of bills, and paid for both pairs.
"Shall I wrap them or—"
"Take off now. We get stocking first, before we wear. We don't want no blister, yes?"
Reluctantly, the children let the clerk take the shining boots off their feet and replace them with their worn-out shoes. But it was the last disappointment of the morning. They went from the shoe store to a store that carried stockings and underwear, as well as a wool dress with ribbons on it for Rosa, a wool suit with long pants and a shirt for Jake, and overcoats for them both. The crowning touch was a cap for Jake and a wool hat for Rosa. At this point, Mrs. Gerbati let them go back into the dressing rooms and put on everything at once while she paid the clerk.
When they met, walking out of their dressing rooms, they could hardly recognize each other. "You look—you look really handsome," Rosa said.
"You don't look so ugly yourself."
"Ah," Mrs. Gerbati said, beaming like the sun above. "Che bellissimi! My so beautiful childrens, yes?" She turned toward the clerk for approval.
"Yes, Mrs. Gerbati. They look very nice. I hope they're properly grateful to you and Mr. Gerbati. You've been very generous."
Rosa reddened. They'd been so busy admiring themselves that she'd completely forgotten to say thank you. "Grazie, Signora Gerbati, grazie." She gave Sal a stern glare.
"Oh, yeah, thanks, Miz. These are swell."
"Well, that one's a real all-American," the clerk said a bit icily, which caused Rosa to send the boy another one of her looks.
"Yeah, grazie." He'd have to watch it. He mustn't be thought of as too all-American. These people seemed to favor Italian kids.
He had warm clothes and better shoes than Mr. Billy Wood, Jake bet. Now all he needed was money for a train ticket. It looked to him that Mrs. Gerbati's purseful of bills was depleted. She'd spent a fortune on the two of them. He was glad, of course, but it meant she probably didn't have much left, not in the purse, anyway. There had to be a stash somewhere. He must keep alert to see where she got her money from. If he hadn't slept so late this morning, he might have spied her filling that little purse. Oh, well, too late for today, but he wouldn't miss his chance again.
The next morning Jake woke in the dark room with a feeling of dread—a hangover from an unremembered dream, perhaps. He lay for a moment listening. Someone was in the toilet next to his room. He could hear the flush and then coughing and wheezing and clearing of a throat. The old man, no doubt of that. From the sound of the clanging of pots from the kitchen, he knew the old lady was up as well. There were no voices, so she must be in there alone. No need to get up. The bed was warm and he had no place to go. Not yet.
He stretched out full length and yawned. No, not time to go back to sleep. Time to think. First he had to figure out where they hid their money. They had money, there was no doubt in Jake's mind about that. He'd seen how she had pulled that wad of bills out of her pocket and peeled them off to pay for the boots and all those clothes—two pairs of underwear and stockings for each of them—with money left over when she was through. And she hadn't even been expecting two children, just a girl.
Then, abruptly, his mind went back to the shack, waking up there, looking over at Pa so still and peaceful-like, and then, and then....
No. He would not think about that. Nor would he let it scare him into running before he was ready. It would surely be some time before they found him. They? Who would even bother to look? It wasn't as though there was anyone in Lawrence who gave a bent penny whether the man lived or died. Jake was his only child—his only relative, even—and Jake had wished him dead more than once. But wishing someone dead was not the same thing as looking over and seeing them dead, realizing you had slept al
l night with a blinking corpse, not even knowing the man was already stone-cold dead when you got into the bed with him. Warm bed notwithstanding, Jake began to shiver as though he were freezing.
How long had Pa been dead when Jake found him? It had been so cold—it was as though the old man's body had been lying on ice like a great slab of meat. Oh, God, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He had to go someplace far away, where nobody could ever find him. The coppers were bound to ask him questions he didn't want to answer, like how come he hadn't told them when he found his father dead? Or what did he know about his father dying? Oh, God, why hadn't he caught the train to New York City? He should have known which train was which. Besides, there were so many children boarding the New York train, he would have been lost in the shuffle—none of this "thirty-five Lawrence children" talk.
Instead of finding his fortune in New York City, here he was in this hick town with an old biddy clucking over him every minute while her sourpuss of a husband was hating his guts for not being his dead son. Not to mention a prissy Catholic girl who was always complaining about having to lie and sin because of him.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Salvatore. Get-up time. Today is for school."
School? Among all the dangers he'd anticipated, it had never crossed his mind that school would be one of them. How could he go to school? He couldn't even write his real American name, much less the crazy wop one Rosa had given him.
"Are you up? Put on new clothes, yes? And two pair stocking, okay?"
"I don't feel so good," he said in what he imagined was a sickly voice.
"You get up. You eat nice bread and salami, you feel good. Guarantee. Oh, Rosina, you look bellissima! Hurry up, Salvatore. You must see your sister. So beautiful."
Jake slid out of bed and went over to the door, which he opened a crack. Rosa, dressed in all her new finery, was looking his way. He crooked his finger and motioned for her to come to the door. With a glance at Mrs. Gerbati's back, she walked over. "Hurry up and get dressed," she said. "Breakfast is ready."
"You got to come in here. I got to talk to you."
"You aren't dressed," she said.
