Sofia's Tune (20 page)

Chapter 23

Antonio did not wait until he fed Luigi to examine the piece of mail he’d picked up at his post office box. He did, however, check his pocket watch. An hour before show time at the theater. He ripped open the envelope from Oberlin College and thumbed through the pages of a general catalogue containing information on tuition and courses. He sat on his bed to study it and his dog jumped up beside him. “Hey, Lu. There is an elective course for organ now. It must be a sign.” He flipped through the pages until he found the fees. He gulped, sweat forming at his collar. Five dollars a week for room and board. A year’s tuition plus room and board was estimated to be approximately $500. Way beyond his means, and that was only if he completed an acceptable recital, proved that he was of good moral character, and met a few other requirements. He stuffed the book under his pillow. He would study it more carefully later.

There had been another piece of mail but not from the post office. He had stopped by St. Anthony’s to check on the schedule. He wasn’t needed this week, but the janitor handed him a note. It was from the same mysterious informer. This one he had dismissed because he was beginning to think these notes were meant to keep him off the trail. Yes, the person said he was needed on Mulberry Street, and yes, Antonio should find answers, but the note writer wanted something from him. Whatever money had been exchanged, for whatever service Papà had done for the Benevento men, there was none of it left now. This note warned Antonio away from visiting the
padrone
. Perhaps that was where he would uncover the deal that had been made and that would be the end of it. Or, perhaps the
padrone
knew why Ernesto Baggio had been shot, a conflict over something Antonio had no part in. He should go find out.

He sighed as he looked at the message again. There was no time now for a visit to Little Italy. He had to report for work

When he got to the theater, Mac waited in the hallway. “Finally, my lad.”

“What do you mean? I’m not late.” Even under the dim electric sconces, Antonio noticed something different about the man. “What’s wrong with you, Mac? You look like someone’s been handing out free gold dollar coins.”

The theater manager spoke toward his open office door. “He is here now, gentlemen. Thank you for waiting.”

Gentlemen? Not the thugs, apparently. Before he could ask, the writer referred to as O. Henry burst out of the room. He gave Antonio such a big smile that Antonio wondered if they were all inebriated.

“Come to see the show, Sydney, because I have to warn you, it’s—”

The writer held a finger to his lips. “I’ve brought the master to meet you.”

“What master?” Antonio looked at his watch. “I go on in ten minutes.”

He glanced up to see a man with a shocking mass of red hair fill the doorway. Antonio looked back at the writer. “You don’t mean…”

Mac cleared his throat. “Mr. Paderewski would like to speak with you, Tony.”

Antonio nearly dropped his sheet music.

The master pianist waved his long fingers toward the room. “Come in, son, and sit down a moment. The manager can do without you for a bit, can’t you, sir?”

“I’ll say I can.”

They stared at Mac a moment until he seemed to realize he was no longer needed. He scrambled down the hall toward the seamstress’s room.

Sydney leaned against Mac’s desk and motioned for Antonio to sit on one of the chairs while the famous musician took the other. “I hear he is quite talented, a young ragtime pianist,” Sydney offered.

Paderewski crossed his thin legs at the knee and nodded toward Antonio. “What are your aspirations, son?”

“I…uh, I do not intend to keep playing vaudeville. It pays the bills, you understand.”

“I do indeed. What would you like to do? If there were no boundaries, no obligations you are honor bound to fulfill, what would you be doing, Antonio Baggio?”

He gave no hesitation. “I would be playing the organ or the piano in concert halls for a multitude of people. I want my music to bring pleasure, not just passing entertainment. I want people to feel something when I play.”

The musician laughed lightly. “Isn’t that what we all want? Even you, Sydney?”

The writer returned the laugh. “I suppose so, although I want to make enough money with my stories to be able to enjoy the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. Which reminds me, we are expected at the club for a drink.”

“In due time, man.” The master musician turned to Antonio. “Are you following these dreams of yours? Are you doing anything to see them come to fruition?”

The sounds of laughter and bawdy music drifted down the hall. “I am trying. I would like to audition to be admitted to Oberlin College in Ohio, sir.”

“Oberlin, you say?”

Antonio nodded, feeling his throat grow dry.

“You do not wish to stay in New York?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that my father, he’s passed away, wanted me to go to get a well-rounded education.”

“I see. Your father was a wise man. I was in London earlier this year. Have you ever been?”

“No, sir.”

“The world is a big place, son. New York is the largest city in this country. There are many opportunities here.”

“Yes, I understand.”

The older man turned to the writer. “The Academy of Music? Can’t he go there?”

Sydney shook his head. “It’s vaudeville now.”

“The National Conservatory of Music?”

Sydney pinched the bridge of his nose as though thinking was painful. “I would imagine they’ll be closing their doors the way things are there.”

Paderewski drew in a breath. “Well, most unfortunate. With all the wealth in this country, who would have thought?”

“I am sure there are plenty of schools,” the writer noted.

Antonio bit the inside of his lip.

Paderewski pointed a thin finger at Antonio. “This man is set on Oberlin, and it’s a fine school, I dare say.”

“If you like Ohio,” Sydney added. “Personally, I do not.”

Paderewski waggled his head. “This is not about you. I tell you what, young man. Let me hear you play tonight. If I am pleased by what I hear, I would like to help you out, introduce you to some concert musicians, see if you can learn something while you are here in New York. I want to see if I can convince you to stay, not because I do not like Oberlin, not at all. It is a long way off, however. Because you live here, you should see what opportunities are in this city first, in my opinion. Following them could lead you to places like London, Brussels, and Paris. But I’m getting ahead of things. I must see for myself how talented and dedicated you are. If you are willing.”

He stood and Antonio jumped to his feet. “Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you. Your invitation to speak with you has been a great honor.” He had no idea how to perform for a man whose practicing had earlier brought Antonio close to tears of joy. It seemed wrong, that man being here in this place. Like a nightmare of sorts. And Antonio had to go to Oberlin even if someone of Paderewski’s talent believed otherwise. Even if he judged Antonio as not having the ability for Oberlin. Surely the will to do something could supersede shortcomings. He hurried to the stage, praying that Mac had had the piano tuned that morning.

Antonio’s stomach clenched. Why Dolly now?

He arranged his music, shifted on the piano stool, and readied his fingers, telling himself that if folks liked his playing before, he need do nothing different now. He let his fingers hover over the keys while he whispered a prayer.
Just let me do what I know how to do, and do it to the best of my abilities.
He drew in a breath, wondering if his prayers were wasted. He was probably not offering them in an acceptable manner but he had little time.

He remembered scarcely worrying after that. His music brought him to a place of enjoyment, shutting out the world around him, even Dolly.

Chapter 24

“Where have you been, love?” Mrs. Hawkins fussed over Sofia, claiming she would catch a terrible cold if she didn’t hurry to shed her rain-soaked clothing.

Sofia said as little as possible as she went to her room to change. She met Aileen, her roommate, in the hall.

“Well, don’t you look like a drowned rat.”

“Hello to you, too.” The two of them had teased this way since Sofia arrived. They did not see each other much because of Aileen’s job as a nanny, but somehow they shared a sense of humor that Sofia found a delightful momentary escape from her worries.

“Come on, I will help you out of those clothes. The sisters are in the bathroom, cutting each other’s hair.”

“Cutting? Why?”

“I don’t know. They say it’s what modern American girls do. I’ve no need to be a modern American girl.” She rolled her eyes.

Before long Sofia was attired in one of Aileen’s nightdresses. She seemed to have more than enough to share.

Aileen sighed as she drew a brush through Sofia’s long tresses. “Never cut your hair again. ’Tis your crowning glory, Sofia. So shiny and black.”

“I cut it when I started at the shoe factory, thinking it would be easier to manage, but I was wrong. I wish it were thicker, like my sister’s.”

“We all wish for hair different than we have, but yours is so shiny and dark. Very pretty, lass.”

Sofia tried to smile but sadness hung over her like a heavy brocade curtain. “They have taken Mamma away. I tried to get to her, but the ferry had stopped for the night.”

“Where?”

“Ward’s Island.”

“You poor girl. No wonder you look like you’ve been wading in the East River.” She tapped Sofia’s shoulder with the brush. “You haven’t, have you?”

“No.” She couldn’t even laugh at the joke.

“As soon as she gets better, she will come back. Annie, my cousin, you know the library lady?”

“
Sì
, Annie Adams.”

She tied Sofia’s hair with a blue satin ribbon as she spoke. “She had to go away to a place much worse than that when we lived in Ireland. And look at her today. She survived, and she’s more congenial now. I don’t know, perhaps that place even helped her. She was angry about it, of course, but some people need a doctor’s care away from home to get better. You’ll see. Your mamma will be fine.”

“Aileen!” A shriek sounding as though someone had been attacked came from the doorway. They both stood with a jolt and Aileen dropped the brush to the ground. Mrs. Hawkins marched in and picked it up. She pointed it at Sofia’s diminutive roommate. “You are never to say such things in this house. That ‘laundry’ was no place for Annie, and you’d be well advised to remember that.”

Sofia didn’t know what this was about, but her own fears for her mother’s safety escalated with each word her landlord spoke.

“Do not speak of things you haven’t experienced, Aileen.”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Hawkins. I only meant to assure Sofia. I didn’t want her to worry.”

“There are legitimate reasons to be concerned sometimes, young lady. You treat such matters too lightly.” She sat on the edge of Sofia’s bed to face her. “Excuse me, Sofia, but Aileen has broached a painful subject with me. Love, what has happened with your mother?”

“They took her to Ward’s Island, and as soon as the sun comes up I am going there to get her back. Papà? He will not listen to reason. He says he cannot pay for doctors. I am going to stop giving my earnings to him so I can use it for Mamma’s care.” It was a bold idea, and one that rattled Sofia’s mind so much she had to grasp onto the bed frame to steady herself. But she would not be swayed,
l’ordine della famiglia
—the order of the family—or not.

Mrs. Hawkins reached for Sofia’s hand. “Oh, my. Your mother is worse, then?”

Sofia nodded.

“I will go with you.”

“No, I can go myself.”

“Of course you can, love, but at times like this our concern for our loved ones can cloud our reasoning. You need someone with you to clearly hear what the attendants have to say about your mother and to help you make proper arrangements.”

“I am not assuming to bring her here, Mrs. Hawkins. I will convince Papà—“

“Now, now. We will sort all this out tomorrow. That is, if you will consent for me to assist you. I am perfectly willing.”

“
Grazie
. I appreciate your help.”

“Well, then. I will make you some lavender and licorice tea. That will help you rest.” She rose and folded her thick arms in front of her bosom. “Tea calms the nerves and mind.” It was as though she was trying to settle objections no one had made. Mrs. Hawkins paused at the door and turned back. “And I will telephone Mr. Richmond’s residence and let him know you will not be able to report for work tomorrow.”

Sofia gasped. “He will give my job to someone else.”

“Oh, no, he won’t. Don’t you worry. I will convince him it’s an emergency. I have plenty of experience dealing with my boarders’ employers.”

Aileen piped up. “Oh, that’s a fact. Mrs. Hawkins certainly gave our Kirsten’s boss an earful. That’s the girl that was here before you. She was in some awful trouble. And Grace, she married the fine police sergeant, Owen McNulty. She was in some trouble too when she lived here and Mrs. Hawkins always came to her rescue, so I hear, it was become I came over.”

“That will be enough, Aileen.”

Aileen bit her lip. The woman she called The Hawk was forceful yet soft at the same time. On occasion she seemed to be trying too hard to be a matriarchal substitute for the girls. Sofia had a mother and didn’t need another.

The Hawk lifted her eyes toward the ceiling medallion. “Watch your tongue, Aileen. Make sure everything you say is kind and helpful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I will get the tea now. Minnie has the night off and she is staying with her cousin in Jersey. Let us proceed to the parlor, ladies.”

Sofia sighed. No Minnie meant no coffee. She even preferred the Falcone’s weak black tea to the stuff Mrs. Hawkins brewed, but she would be gracious and get it down with plenty of milk. Once downstairs, Sofia fluffed up the sofa pillow and positioned it next to her to wait.

***

Sometime in the night Aileen shook Sofia awake. “Don’t you hear that, now?”

“What?” Sofia sat up as Aileen went toward the window.

“’Tis a gully washer as I’ve never seen before. We’ve had floods, but not rain this hard. ’Tis as if the water pipes in heaven burst.”

Sofia rubbed her face and then listened. Rain was indeed coming down in sheets. “Go back to sleep, Aileen.”

Aileen crawled back beneath her covers. “Makes me happy I work uptown. Down here, the water creeps over land so often that one of these days I’m sure Lady Liberty herself is going to come knocking on Hawkins House’s door.”

Sofia giggled, thinking about the statue. “She doesn’t have a free hand, as I remember, so don’t worry about her rapping on the door.”

Some time later Sofia was awakened again, but by Mrs. Hawkins. “Get up girls, we’ve got to do some bailing.”

“What?” Sofia tossed off her covers. The rain was pelting the window so hard she thought it might break.

The landlady held a lantern and wore her gardening boots. “Throw on your workaday dress. This will be a dirty chore. We’ve got at least half a foot of water downstairs already. The other girls are gathering the buckets and mops. Skedaddle, now.”

Sofia and Aileen sprung to their wardrobe and chose linen skirts and cotton shirtwaists. They tied on their oldest boots and rushed downstairs. Leena and Etti were in the hall. There was not room for them all so Sofia and Aileen stood on the stairs. Water covered the sisters’ ankles. The effort of scooping up the muddy flooding was futile because more rushed in under the door and through the jam. The reek of stagnant river water struck Sofia’s senses like smelling salt. The beautiful parlor and the carefully polished staircase were being ruined. No matter how fast they bailed, they could not stop it.

“Grab what you can save,” Mrs. Hawkins shouted. “Thank the Lord the library’s on the third floor where the books will be safe.”

Sofia picked up a chair, delivered it to the second floor landing and then returned. When the dining chairs were secured, she and Mrs. Hawkins lugged the woman’s favorite overstuffed chair up the steps. The Hawk had to rest in it a moment before scrambling back down to wade through the waters again and gather the quilts from her bed and Minnie’s. Soon they had the lightest furniture, Mrs. Hawkins’s sewing basket, a pile of magazines, and a book or two stored in the crowded upstairs hall.

“Everything else should weather all right, save the rugs. Those will have to be replaced if this doesn’t cease soon.”

“Are we safe here?” Aileen asked, looking at the door that led to the library.

“As safe as can be,” Mrs. Hawkins sighed, holding a hand to her heaving chest. “Thank you all for your hard work.”

Leena shivered as she held a lantern aloft. Her now short stringy yellow hair stuck to her face and her sister’s looked no better. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. They did not seem to have lived through flooding before. Sofia had. Her home in Italy near the river flooded often. They were so accustomed to it that they hung their chairs on the wall. But, of course, the rivers in Italy were much cleaner and smelled more of spring water than fish. And this much flooding? She had never witnessed a rainstorm like it. There was one comforting fact about floods that she could share.

“The water will recede,” she told the others. “In time it will slither back like a fox to its den. Water knows it does not belong on land or in houses and it will go back. We just wait.”

Mrs. Hawkins pressed her fingers together. “You are right, Sofia. Let’s take the most important things on up to the library, girls. Just be careful of the books. Don’t drip on them.”

Sofia grasped the back of a chair.

“No, not that, love. It’s just furniture. We need it, yes, but it’s replaceable. Bring whatever books you have, your Bibles, your rosary, Sofia.” She turned to Etti. “You and your sister, get the tapestries your mother sent over with you.” When they turned toward their tasks she shouted one more order. “And photographs. Get your photographs! Oh, dear. I’ve forgotten Harold.” She rushed down the steps.

Sofia was about to offer to get the portrait of the woman’s long dead husband for her when she saw Mrs. Hawkins slip on the bottom water-logged step and fall face up.

“No!” Aileen slipped past her.

The sisters dropped their crates and papers drifted into the air as they hurried to help.

Etti and Leena sat in the water while Sofia held the woman’s head in her lap. “She’s out cold,” Sofia said. She tapped her palm on the woman’s left cheek. “Check to see if she’s injured.”

Leena examined the woman’s limbs. When she laid her ear to the woman’s chest she waved an arm. “The missus, she does not breathe.”

“Quick, roll her to the side.” Sofia helped the girls push the plump woman so that any water blocking her air would run down her face. Mrs. Hawkins was pale, her chubby arms flopping like a rag doll.

“What do we do?” cried Etti.

“Thump her on the back,” her sister ordered.

Dread encircled Sofia like a bad omen. She made the sign of the cross before putting an open fist between the woman’s shoulders. She smacked the unresponsive woman firmly then held her opposite hand over Mrs. Hawkins’s mouth to check for air.

Nothing.

The room seemed to freeze in time.
She can’t die. Please forgive me for not wanting her to mother me.

Sofia thumped again. And then a third time.

Etti began to cry. Aileen gasped.

Once again Sofia struck the woman, but this time with more force. Water spurted from the woman’s mouth and nose. They urged her to sit up. After a couple of coughs, Mrs. Hawkins blinked her eyes. She was going to be all right.

“What happened?” Mrs. Hawkins brought a hand to the back of her head. “Oh, dear. I’ve fallen.” She turned slowly toward Sofia. “Whatever you did, love, was the right thing. I am fine now.”

“Are you sure?” Leena asked. “Should we get your friend, the doctor?”

“No, love. Not with the tempest brewing outside. I am fine.” She rubbed her face. “Don’t worry.”

Etti continued to pat the woman’s hand.

“Should we move up to the third floor now?” Aileen called from somewhere behind the others.

Mrs. Hawkins allowed Sofia and Leena to help her to her feet. She toddled a bit. “I suppose we better. I’m dandy. Just had the wind knocked out of me for a moment. Now try not to worry, lovies. As the Irish say, 'There's no flood that doesn't subside.'”

Sofia’s hands shook. She had never before thought about how fleeting life could be.

“Let’s start moving things up, girls. Mind the books, and don’t get anything wet near them. Oh, yes, I was about to get Harold.”

“I have him,” Aileen shouted, holding up the framed image of the man in military uniform. She handed it to Sofia and whispered. “Time I started showing the old woman I really do care about more than myself.” She moved toward the kitchen, hollering over her shoulder. “I will get a piece of meat from the icebox for your head, Mrs. Hawkins. Off with you. I will be up shortly.”