Elizabeth Street (34 page)

Giovanna smiled but turned serious again. “Where did he go, Domenico?”

“I’m a failure as a detective.” Domenico’s voice cracked. “I was so close to him leading me right to her. Then I lost him. I lost him, Zia.”

“They are experienced in knowing how not to be followed. You can’t blame yourself.”

Although his aunt’s words were kind, Domenico heard the disappointment in her voice. “Zia, I only know that he went to Brooklyn. Where in Brooklyn, I don’t know, because that’s where I lost him.”

“That’s more than we knew yesterday.”

Domenico’s head was bowed dejectedly. He looked like a little boy.

“Did he see you?” asked Giovanna gently.

“No, I don’t think so. And I don’t think he knew someone was following him, which makes my losing him all the worse.”

“No, Domenico, we did good today. Angelina is safer tonight, I think.”

After a few moments of silence, Giovanna asked, “Domenico, how did the schifoso get into the vestry? Did he jimmy the lock?”

“No, it was open.”

“Open? Who was the last usher out? Describe him.”

“Thick, shiny black hair. The fish seller.”

“Molfetti?”

“I think that’s his name.”

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1909

Triumphantly, Giovanna noticed that there were no drawings of dripping knives or misshapen guns on the letter.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1909

How do I know my daughter is alive? Ask her what she did on her birthday and give me the answer. If you give me this word, I will give you more money.

Giovanna took out the poison tincture and with an eyedropper carefully edged the paper and the envelope with little drops. Hours later when it was dry, she put on her gloves and, wrapping herself in her shawls, headed toward Saint Anthony’s church.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1909

Molfetti’s fish store was crowded. Jostling her way to the front, Giovanna’s eyes fixed on Molfetti’s hands filleting a flounder. They looked red.

“Signora, what are you doing down here?” asked a woman next to her.

Giovanna had delivered the woman’s baby but couldn’t remember her name. It amazed her that if you went an extra few blocks in the neighborhood to buy something, people noticed.

“It’s my stepson’s birthday. I wanted to get a nice piece of fish.”

“He does have good fish,” agreed the woman, sounding privileged that this was her local fish store.

As if to explain the redness, Molfetti thrust his hands into a tub of ice water and, on closer inspection, Giovanna could see there was no rash.

“Good luck to you, signora,” said the woman upon leaving.

“Good luck?” replied Giovanna, preoccupied.

“Sì, with the baby!” nodded the woman, smiling at her stomach.

“Signore Molfetti,” greeted Giovanna at the counter.

“I’m sorry, signora, I seem to have forgotten your name,” replied Molfetti.

“Oh, you probably don’t know it,” said Giovanna cheerily. “I’ll have that piece of flounder,” she indicated, pointing.

As Molfetti wrapped the fish, she continued, “It’s just that I recognize you from church; you’re an usher, yes?”

“Yes, of course, that’s where I’ve seen you,” commented Molfetti, handing her change.

“Signore, you should make a point of locking the vestry door,” whispered Giovanna emphatically as she turned and left.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1909

“Can I dress up tonight?” asked Mary.

Giovanna was making the morning espresso. “We’ll see.”

“Sometimes they give you a penny instead of a treat.”

“Then I suppose your father would consider it work.” The priest’s sermon came to mind. “And God will forgive us.”

Mary had wanted to be an Indian during the Hudson-Fulton celebration, and Halloween gave her a second chance. She borrowed a costume, and before setting out, Giovanna braided Mary’s hair and put rouge from Aunt Teresa in stripes on her face. At Prince Street, Mary headed west.

“Where are you going?” questioned Giovanna. “We know more people the other way.”

“But they have more money in these neighborhoods.”

Giovanna smiled at her stepdaughter.

“Stay on the street when I go in the store, Zia.”

It took Giovanna a few stops to get what Mary was up to. She heard Mary’s loud “Trick or treat!” and when someone presented her with a candy she politely shook her head and pointed inside her mouth to a phantom rotted tooth. Giovanna would see Mary’s feathers nod thanks when she was instead offered a penny.

An hour later, Mary shook her little burlap bag. “Not bad, Zia, and there’s a bunch more blocks we can go.”

“Except next time, you take the candy. You deserve it.” Giovanna bent down, hugged Mary, and got a stripe of lipstick on her shoulder. Her only thought had been how this trauma would affect Angelina, but now she was reminded that, to a lesser degree, everyone in the family would have scars.

At nine thirty, Giovanna had to convince Mary it was time to go home. They met Rocco and Clement on the stoop returning from selling sweet potatoes to the chilled trick-or-treaters.

“Papa! I got many pennies!” Mary held up her bag.

“I think you made more than we did, Mary!” answered Rocco, winking.

When they opened the door, Frances was pacing the little kitchen, holding an envelope.

“Angelina is alive.”

Giovanna tore the envelope from Frances’s hand.

“Frances! How did you get this?” shouted Rocco.

“I was on the stoop. Someone in a mask came up to me, handed me the envelope, and said ‘Trick or treat.’ I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” Frances broke down in tears.

“Frances,” said Giovanna embracing her, “There’s nothing you could have done.”

“The children can’t be alone. Ever,” commanded Rocco.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1909

“Lupo, you’re crazy. Why did you want to meet here?”

“Because, Pietro, I want them all to see me,” Lupo said expansively.

Lupo and Inzerillo were having dinner at Delmonico’s on Beaver Street. The restaurant was filled with local politicians making last-minute plans for the morning.

“I still don’t get it.”

“They need to think I’m more involved in the election tomorrow than I really am. The feds are all over us for counterfeiting, and we need the locals’ protection.”

“But there’s a warrant for your arrest, Lupo.”

“Pietro, who would arrest me tonight?”

“I understand that, but next week? They’ll be forced to.”

“I’ve got it worked out. They want me for fleeing bankruptcy, but instead, I’ll become the victim. I’ll go to the police and say I was blackhanded. By the time they finish the investigation, I’ll be gone.”

Inzerillo couldn’t help but laugh. “Shrewd. What about the Manzella case? There’s a warrant out for your arrest on that one, too.”

“I have a few days; I’ll deal with Manzella.”

“Well, then,” smirked Inzerillo, “a toast to your return.”

“And to All Saints Day!”

After clinking wine glasses, Lupo asked, “What’s the story with the fruit seller?”

“Every few weeks they come up with more money.”

“Good. Tell Leo not to do anything stupid. We need the cash.”

“He said the Gallucci brothers were hysterical the other day, claiming the kid’s mother was a witch and knew too much.”

“The Galluccis are greenhorns. You’ve talked to her, what do you think?”

“She’s smart. But she’s not going anywhere. She’s desperate to get that kid back.”

“Then tell Leo to keep the greenhorns in line.”

“I have. And I will.”

“They should be working the election tomorrow. Everybody we have should be working.”

“They’ll all be out. What about you?”

“I’m going to keep my eye on Leo. I want to make sure he’s not been taking advantage of my absence.”

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1909

Giovanna got out the dropper to add black magic to her note.

Take this $155 and give me my daughter or I will tell Edwin Reese that in addition to being involved in elections you are kidnappers. Or instead, I could threaten Edwin Reese that I will tell his secret to the newspapers. You think your skin is on fire now? Return Angelina, or your skin will fall off the bone!

Much of the election hoopla had escaped Giovanna. She knew the basics: there was a party called Tammany, and their candidate was William Gaynor, and a party called Fusion, and their candidate was Otto Bannard. Earlier, there was a newspaperman named Hearst who was going to run, but didn’t. And everyone said voting didn’t matter on the Lower East Side because the Sullivans were in control.

But she did know that a man named Edwin Reese who worked in an election office had given an envelope, probably containing money, to one of the scoundrels involved in Angelina’s kidnapping. And now the Blackhanders wanted the next payment dropped at the poll.

It was pouring. An American flag hung outside in the rain at P.S. 130, as did all sorts of men with buttons covering their coats. On another corner, under umbrellas, stood three well-dressed ladies draped in sashes that read,
VOTES FOR WOMEN
.

Giovanna could barely walk anymore her legs were so swollen. She entered the school, shook the water from her shawl, and lumbered painfully to the gymnasium. She surveyed the setup and the faces, especially people with ribbons pinned to their chests, and headed to the precinct maps on the wall.

“Signora, can I help you?” asked a man in Italian who was accompanied by a policeman.

“My husband wants to vote, but he can’t read. I came to find out where he has to go,” answered Giovanna.

The official’s voice changed. “Let me help you, signora. Where do you live?”

“At two…at 236 Elizabeth Street.”

“That wouldn’t be here, that would be at P.S. 21.”

“Grazie, signore, but I think I’ll take a look anyway to check for my brother.” Thankfully, the man was pulled away and Giovanna had just enough time to slip the envelope behind the map.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1909

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1909

“Zia, there’s loads of people outside the Elizabeth Street police station,” announced Mary, coming through the door after work. Giovanna was confined to bed. Lucrezia wanted to put her in the hospital, but Giovanna wouldn’t allow it.

“Go to Zio Lorenzo’s house and get Domenico to go with you and find out what’s happening.”

It was nearly an hour before Domenico and Mary returned.

“It’s the Chinese, Zia. I saw Detective Fiaschetti, and he told me it was something called a tong war. Somebody got killed in August, and now the other gang killed someone in revenge.”

Giovanna, who had raised herself on her elbows, fell back onto the bed. Domenico entered her room and half closed the door. “There’s more, Zia.”

From Domenico’s expression, Giovanna could tell that it was serious. With great difficulty she once again lifted her upper body from the bed. “Go on,” she instructed.

“You’re going to think this is a joke, Zia.”

“Any joke now would be a cruel one, and you’re not cruel, Domenico.”

“Detective Fiaschetti told me that Lupo came to the police station today to make a complaint. Lupo said he was blackhanded at his store on Mulberry Street and that’s why he went out of business.”

“Lupo? Here?”

“Yes, Zia.”

“Didn’t they arrest him?”

“No. The detective said something about needing to get a complaint in order.”

“Lupo, on Elizabeth Street? And they let him go!”

“Zia, maybe he isn’t involved.”

“Maybe.”

“But imagine, Zia, he said he was blackhanded!”

“Domenico, do the police still play games in the settlement gym with boys from the neighborhood?”

“I think so.”

“I want you to go, Domenico. We need information on Lupo, but I don’t want anyone to see you go into the police station.”

“I’ll try, Zia, but I don’t think anyone other than Detective Fiaschetti would talk to me.” Secretly, Domenico was thrilled. This gave him the permission he needed to snoop around.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1909

It must be Sunday—they never let her out on Sunday when the men were home all day. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore. The bugs had bitten her badly, and her stomach ached, and the dark of the room was frightening. They had boarded up the window when the winter came; she couldn’t even see the blue shade across the street anymore. The only light in the room came from a little window high in the door. She tried to stifle the sobs. When she cried, they shouted and called her names. But today she couldn’t stop. The more she tried to choke down the tears, the louder she cried. Chairs scraped on the floor, and she cringed against the back wall, but even the threat of the men hurting her couldn’t stop the sobs. They had been meaner lately, ever since they got rashes and tore at their skin.

The window to her door blackened, and she could see the face of an animal.

“Stop it or il lupo will get you!” they called in rough voices. They bounced a stuffed bear up and down. “We said stop the goddamn crying or we promise il lupo will get you!”

“Stupid men,” thought Angelina. “It’s a bear, not a wolf.”

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1909

Rocco sent for Lucrezia. It was the second time in two days that he’d become frightened his wife was going to die. She still wouldn’t go to the hospital. Medically, Lucrezia couldn’t explain why Giovanna was delirious, but she supposed that if Giovanna spoke to her honestly, the reason would become evident. All Lucrezia could do was sedate Giovanna, and her secrets.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1909

“Leo, she’s a witch! Let’s get rid of the kid!” fumed the younger of the Gallucci brothers.

“Stop moaning,” commanded Leo, who had met them on a street corner.

“You’re not the one whose skin is blistered. I’m going to be scarred!” said the older Gallucci brother.

“You got a rash, that’s all,” dismissed Leo.

“Then how come she knows about it?”

“Because she’s probably following you, you idiots. I told you to be careful.”

“Leo,” said the younger brother, trying to play the reasonable one of the two, “we need to tell Lupo everything this crazy lady knows.”

“You want to get killed? You think Lupo would be happy knowing we were followed?”

The older Gallucci looked skeptically at Leo. “What’s going on here, Leo? Who’s Edwin Reese anyway?”

“How should I know? She’s nuts. Lupo said to not touch the kid if we keep getting money. And that’s what you’ll do.”

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1909

“Come on, girl, see the snow.”

The woman was holding the door to the room open. Angelina’s eyes tried to adjust to the light, but she was blinded by the glare on the snow.

With the other children next to her, Angelina gazed out the door, her hands shielding her eyes. A few feet already blanketed the ground, and it was still snowing.

“America is brutta,” scoffed one of the women.

“I like the snow,” replied the other.

“But you can’t go out. You can’t move.”

“Where can we go with this kid anyway?”

“It won’t be much longer.”

Angelina always tried to listen to them but had a hard time with their accents, especially when they spoke quickly, as they were doing now. But she guessed that the conversation had something to do with her, and she tried to make herself invisible.

“Mamma, can we go out?” pleaded one of the children.

“Let them go,” said the younger woman.

“I’ll light a fire. They won’t last but a few minutes.”

She opened the door and shooed the children out, leaving Angelina behind.

“Signora, please, can I go, too?”

Ignoring Angelina, she turned to the other woman and shrugged. “She can’t run away, she’ll sink in the snow.”

“Va bene. Go, go,” she commanded, pushing Angelina out the door and closing it.

The other children giggled, trying to walk. Angelina threw herself into a drift. Her skin always felt like it was on fire. The snow stopped the itching of the bug bites and put the fire out. She was clean in the snow; it didn’t matter to her that she was frigid and shivering. Opening her mouth, she gulped in great swallows. She rubbed her hair and scalp, which also felt like it was aflame, in the icy crystals. Rolling back and forth, back and forth, she cooled and cleaned her body until a strong pair of hands gripped her waist.

A wet slap landed on Angelina’s face. “What are you, pazza? You can’t get sick. We didn’t feed you all these months for nothing.”

“Get her inside,” shouted the other woman from the door.

The women stripped off her clothes in front of the fire. It was the first time they had been removed, and her petticoat was nearly shredded. Hanging her clothes near the flames, they shooed her naked into her room and slammed the door.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1909

A savage wind whipped at the windows of 202 Elizabeth Street. After two days of snow it was beginning to rain, but rather than melt the snow, the rain covered it in a crust of ice.

The baby was coming. Giovanna wanted to hold out as long as she could before calling Lucrezia; she was worried that the more time Lucrezia spent in the apartment the greater the risk that someone would slip and say something. Finally, she could wait no longer, and Rocco left to get the midwife.

The weather was too horrid to send the children down the block to Lorenzo’s apartment. Instead, everyone, including Rocco, huddled in the children’s tiny room and left the kitchen and bedroom to the laboring woman and midwife.

Lucrezia didn’t see the same kind of determination in Giovanna’s labor that she had with the first baby. Although that could be explained by the sedatives and two weeks in bed, she figured it had more to do with the unspoken horror that had made Giovanna construct this strange altar in the bedroom topped by Saint Anthony. Lucrezia found the story about Angelina being in Italy hard to believe. But the idea that Angelina had been taken from Giovanna was also too terrible to fathom.

Because pain makes truth harder to hide, many times in the middle of a contraction Giovanna wanted to confess to Lucrezia the inner torment that had nothing to do with pushing this baby out of her body. She longed to birth her baby and her secrets at the same time. The pain of needing Lucrezia so badly was indistinguishable from the labor. But between contractions, it didn’t matter. Lucrezia was not family. No longer could they trust anyone who was not of their flesh and blood.

It was nearly dawn when her son emerged. Her long, difficult labor had mimicked the storm raging outside the windows. Giovanna had been so certain that the baby was a boy that she was taken aback by Rocco’s surprise and excitement. After Lucrezia had cleaned the child and the birth area, the children crowded around the bed. From the moment Lucrezia put the fair boy in Giovanna’s arms she was heartened. No one was trying to replace Angelina. At the foot of her bed, the candles on her makeshift altar flickered. At least twice in the night they had gone out, and she had begged Lucrezia to relight them.

“So, children, this is Nunzio,” announced Rocco. Giovanna smiled at Rocco for remembering his promise, but she had prayed to Nunzio and the angels all night long and knew what she must do.

“No, the child will be called Anthony,” Giovanna whispered.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1909

“Domenico, come see our new brother,” greeted Mary when Domenico stepped in the door.

Domenico was so anxious to speak with his aunt that he hardly glanced at the infant.

“Zia, they arrested Lupo today. He’s in the city jail.”

Once again, Giovanna was left wondering what this would mean for her daughter.

“Do you know on what charges?”

“For blackhanding a shop owner named Manzella.”

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1909

“Lupo had this all planned. There’s nothing to worry about, Leo,” reassured Inzerillo.

“You should of told me is all. I was real surprised,” complained Leo.

“Leo, speaking of telling each other things, Molfetti stopped by to see me and said that the fruit seller’s wife knew that he unlocked the vestry door. How did she know that, Leo?”

“How should I know?”

“You said the Gallucci brothers were nervous she knew too much. What else does this woman know, Leo?”

“I told you, she knows my name, and she knows what those idiots look like. That’s all. Hey, we’re getting the money aren’t we? Just like I told you.”

“That’s right, Leo, you’re getting the money and you need to get more. With Lupo in jail, we need cash.” Turning to leave, Inzerillo warned, “And Leo. Nothing can go wrong, Leo.”