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He didn't know how long he'd sat on the granite, but he knew the cold of the stone had overcome even the warmth of his new wool trousers. He stood up and wiggled to restore circulation in his seat. Mr. Gerbati saw him, came to the office door, and beckoned him over. Jake told himself that he wasn't afraid of the old man. Hadn't Duncan just sung his praises? But he couldn't help being nervous. What did the old man want of him?
"Here," Mr. Gerbati said, handing Jake an empty bucket. "The shovel over there, by the door—you see? You clean the grout off the floor. Duncan will show you where to dump it."
That was all, a job to do. "Yes, sir," he said, so relieved that he almost smiled at the old fellow.
Duncan took time from his chiseling to explain that "grout" was all the chips of granite on the floor. "Don't try to fill the bucket—you'll never be able to lift it. And just go to where no one is working. They won't want to stop for you to shovel."
So he had a job after all. Not a very grand one. He shoveled up granite chips and carried them out the door to a pile of stone near the creek. It was hard work—even partially full, the bucket was heavy—but he didn't mind. The men were friendly, and no one yelled at him to hurry or cursed him if he accidentally got in the way.
"Does the train really come in here?" he asked Duncan. The idea of a train coming right into the shed excited him.
"Not in winter," Duncan said. "It's too cold to quarry now. They'll bring our blocks down from the hill when the weather's warmer."
It was a disappointment, but the crane almost made up for it. He watched, his mouth open, as two men down by the machinery put a heavy chain belt around each end of a block of granite. It was raised up off the floor by another chain attached to a metal bar that went across the shed near the ceiling, and then the bar started down a track, carrying the immense stone the length of the room to a stonecutter's station. The first time Jake saw it, he ducked. But there was a man following behind the granite, making sure it didn't swing out and hit anything or anybody. No one else was worried about the stone falling or hitting him, so Jake wasn't scared exactly, but he felt a little thrill of fear every time he heard the movement of the crane over the noise of the shed, and looked up to see the stone riding above them.
At what he later learned was 11 a.m., the whistles wheezed and shrieked once more. "Dinnertime," Duncan announced. The men knocked the dust off their clothes, hung up their aprons, put on their coats, and hurried out. Jake got his coat and waited by the door for Mr. Gerbati. Dinnertime! And there was a warm place to go and food would be there waiting, he knew. What difference did it make if the old man hated him? His pa (he could never suppress the pang that name caused) had beat him. Mr. Gerbati had only yelled. It was a poor fool of a fellow who couldn't take a bit of screaming.
When they reached the house, a red-faced Mrs. Gerbati met them at the door. They had hardly got in the house before she began sputtering. "You don't want to go home, do you, Salvatore? You like it here, si?"
"Yeah, yeah, I like it fine." What was the matter with the old lady? She looked as though she was about to burst into tears.
"The mamma and papa of two of our Lawrence boys say they want the boys home. They say in telegram that papa no give permission. We take—we steal—what you say?"
"Kidnap?"
"Si, kidanapa their boys. But we don't, no? Your papa want you to come, yes, Salvatore?"
"My pa is dead." He watched her eyes shift. What did she suspect?
"Si, si, scusami. I forget. My heart all upset. Mamma sign card, yes? She want you to come to Barre?"
"Uh, yeah. She signed."
Mrs. Gerbati leaned toward him conspiratorily. "We don't tell Rosa, no? She so homesick for Mamma. Don't tell her Colonni boys go home tomorrow, okay?"
He nodded. Rosa would find out, he knew, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell her.
"And we don't make you go to work in the shed, yes?"
"No. I mean, yes, no one made me go."
"We promise, you see, we send all childrens to school, don't make them work."
"But I wanted to work."
"That's what I say to Mr. Broggi. You say you want to go with Mr. Gerbati. No go school."
"They ain't going to make me go to school, are they?"
"I don't know. They don't like you go to shed. Not so healthy, they say, for growing boy." She glanced toward the front window. "Shh. Hush. She coming."
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nbsp; By the time Rosa got in the house, Mrs. Gerbati had taken herself to the kitchen. "Come, come, eat! Zuppa get cold. No good."
They gathered around the kitchen table. Rosa's hair had been freshly plaited with red ribbons tied to either braid. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold, and her eyes were shining. School seemed to agree with her.
"Is good school on Brook Street?"
