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So it was all right, at least for now. She'd gotten the wretched boy through one more scrape. It would be nice to think he was grateful, but she doubted it. She began that night at the kitchen table writing "Salvatore Serutti" in big curling letters at the top of the paper that Mrs. Gerbati had found for her. Then below she wrote the alphabet, first in capitals, then in lowercase. "Now copy everything," she ordered, "while I study my own lessons."
He was sweating, holding the pencil tightly in his right fist. She knew he would have objected if the Gerbatis hadn't been in the next room, Mrs. Gerbati smiling with pride over her two charges working away on their lessons at the kitchen table.
Mr. Broggi escorted the Colonni boys to Lawrence the next day on the afternoon train. The word came back that their mother wept with regret when she saw her sons so well dressed. The mill owners' agents had lied to the parents, had pressured them to demand the boys' return, saying that they were being harshly treated in Vermont, that they were no more than slaves to the rough and drunken stonecutters in that godforsaken place. When the boys told them about the parade and the feast at the Labor Hall and how every meal since had been a feast, even the father begged Mr. Broggi's forgiveness. Maybe more children should go to this paradise in the north, the Colonnis said.
Thursday, Mr. Broggi returned. All the children at school were hoping for word from home. So as soon as the dismissal bell rang, Rosa raced back to the Gerbatis', past Mr. Gerbati reading his paper, and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Gerbati had evidently just given Sal a fat slice of bread slathered with butter to "hold his belly" until supper was ready.
"Did my mamma send any word by Mr. Broggi?" Ro
sa asked by way of greeting.
Mrs. Gerbati smiled and pulled a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket. "She write to Rosa," she explained to Sal. "You learn good to read, she write you, too, yes?"
Rosa unfolded the paper. It had been written not by Mamma, but by Anna. Mamma couldn't write well in Italian, much less in English.
Dear Rosa,
How are you doing in Barry, Vermont? We miss you, but Mr. Broggi says all the children ther are doing fine and we must not lisen to lies from the mill people. Ther are a lot of lies about Lawrence children being kidnaped and carried away to New York and Vermont, but Mamma says we know they are lies, jus like the other lies we been told.
Mamma meenS to Send me and Ricci to Filadelfiaon Saturday. I don't want to go, but Ricci is to Jung to go alone and I have been coffing more and Mamma Says I need to go where I can get good food and a warm place to Stay.
We got the post card you Sent and also the pitchur of you and a boy from Mr. Broggi. Who is that boy? You look good, but his fase was blury. Mamma thought Mr. Broggi Said Something about her Son, but Mamma must have got it wrong. I worry the masheens have made her def like Mrs. Marino. By the way Mrs. Marino has been to jail. She hit a milisha with a pot of Slop from her window. They let her go tho. I think Mrs. Marino is to much troble even for the polees. Rite Soon.
Love,
Anna
I forgot to Say. Olga Kronsky Say to tell you Miss Finch bring breakfast for class every day now.
A large tear rolled down her cheek and plopped down on "Filadelfia," making it a smear.
"Bad news, Rosina?"
"No, Mrs. Gerbati. Just ... Mamma is sending my sister and baby brother to Philadelphia on Saturday."
"Aw, Philadelphia. We want more children in Barre. Why go to Philadelphia? Too big city. Barre nice, lotsa nice Italian family here."
She sounded so much like Mamma that it was all Rosa could do to keep from bursting into tears.
"You don't read your mamma's letter to your brother?" Mr. Gerbati was standing at the kitchen door. "Or don't he care for news from home?"
"Oh, yes, sure, of course he cares. I'm sorry, Sal."
Sal looked up from his plate. Mrs. Gerbati had given him a second slice of bread and butter, so he hadn't been paying any attention to the old woman and Rosa. "Huh?"
"It's a letter from Mamma."
"Yeah?"
"Our big sister Anna and our little brother Ricci are going to Philadelphia on Saturday." She realized, a bit late, that it sounded as though she was talking to a dimwit. After all, Sal ought to know who Anna and Ricci were.
"Yeah? That's nice."
"And Mrs. Marino had to go to jail. She—uh—poured—uh—slop from her window on a Harvard boy's head."
"Yeah?" Sal laughed out loud. "Good for her. That would mess up a pretty uniform."
"They—they took her to jail, but Anna says they didn't keep her long. You know Mrs. Marino. Like Anna says, she was probably too much trouble even for the police."
