He grunted and pointed at a table across the hall. “Italians there. Polish here.”
Flushing, she swallowed a dry chunk of bread, wishing with all her heart that Maria were here. Somehow, this would all be less mortifying if her sister were at her side. Though she had as much a right to be here as the next person, Francesca stood, carried her tray to the other side of the cafeteria, and found an empty spot at an “Italian table.” When the familiar strains of her native Sicilian dialect floated around her, she felt her mood sink further. She thought she’d come to America to start over, to be better somehow. To be different. Yet everyone urged her to stay with her own countrymen. How naive she’d been.
She finished her lunch and was walking to the door when the stern matron with the cross necklace headed her off.
“Miss Ricci…” The woman continued, but Francesca didn’t understand much of her speech.
When she stared blankly back at the matron, the woman tried again.
“You haven’t heard from your uncle? Do you have any other family?”
Francesca swallowed hard. “No, but I—”
“Fine. You’ll be booked for the next steamer to Naples on Thursday,” the matron said firmly.
“In two days?” she choked. In two days, she’d leave America. Depart for Napoli. Two days.
She’d failed Sister Alberta, failed Maria. She’d failed herself.
“Can I… Can I speak to Alma Brauer?” she asked, voice hoarse.
The matron’s brow arched in surprise. “Miss Brauer can’t do anything more for you.” When she saw Francesca’s expression, she added hastily, “However, she’s in the registry office. She might have a quick minute to speak with you. Actually, you’re in luck. There she is now.”
Alma looked harried, as if she’d been running all day. A pretty blond woman was at her side.
Francesca crossed the room hurriedly to greet her.
“Buongiorno,” Alma said, her voice tight. “I haven’t had a chance to find you yet today, but I had planned to after lunch.” She looked down. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Francesca looked down at her hands. More bad news then. She gazed across the room, unseeing. In a flat voice she said, “I leave in two days.”
“Yes,” Alma replied softly. “I’m sorry.”
“The mean woman said my ticket is booked.” Her eyes blurred, and she blinked rapidly to regain her composure. “There’s so little work at home, I don’t know what I’m going to do. And I can’t go back to Papa.”
Alma touched Francesca’s shoulder lightly. “I asked my family to sign for you as an employee, but they declined. I’m so sorry, Francesca. I wish there was something else I could do.”
She looked at Alma, her plain face and vivid blue eyes. Although unlike her in every way, Francesca liked this woman. She was earnest and thoughtful, and she had never spoken to Francesca like an inferior. She was sincere and trustworthy, something Francesca couldn’t say about many.
She tried—and failed—to force a smile. “It was kind of you to ask. Thank you for trying. I am grateful.”
Alma moved to let several people dump their used silverware and plates in the dirty dish tubs and walk past them to the door. “Francesca…if we could find someone to sign an employment waiver… Do you know any other Americans? Or even Italian friends. Anyone I could ask on your behalf? Anyone at all? It’s a long shot, but we still have two more days.”
Francesca started to say no—and then her eyes widened as an idea came to her. She knew another American! And he had been extremely kind to her. Hands shaking, she fished inside her handbag for the card she’d saved from the ship. “I know another American! Marshall Lancaster. He was kind to me on the ship.” Though she tried to control it, she felt hope creep into her voice. “He said I could call his family once I was settled. To consider him my first friend in America.”
“Does he live here in the city?” Alma took the calling card, her eyes bulging as she read the script. “He lives on Park Avenue!”
“He gave me water for Maria… His mother wore pearls and diamonds.”
Alma laughed at her expression. “The Park Avenue types tend to wear jewels, or so I’ve heard. I haven’t met anyone that wealthy before. Maybe they’ll need more staff? To clean the house or the garden, or something. Do you have any skills? Do you mind working as a maid?”
A tiny flame of hope flickered to life inside Francesca. “I’ll do anything. I can cook, but if he asks me to scrub floors, or to be his laundress, I’ll do it. It doesn’t matter what the job is, I—” She laughed at her own enthusiasm, and grasping Alma’s hands in hers, she said, “This will work. It has to.”
“We’ll certainly try!” Alma slipped the card into the pocket of her apron before glancing over her shoulder as if she was worried someone might see her. Biting her lip, she added, “I’ll go to Mr. Lancaster’s tonight. I can’t promise anything—”
“Thank you! I… Thank you so much. This will work, Alma. Sì, this will work. I’ll find a way to repay you. Some day.”
Alma grinned and her eyes lit from within. “You already have.”
Francesca threw her arms around the matron and embraced her tightly.
When Alma pulled away, Francesca saw the matron’s mood shift rapidly. Fear flashed in her eyes. Francesca followed her gaze to the mean older matron from before, who circulated around the room. The one who had called her a puttana and told her she must leave in two days. Something about what Alma was doing wasn’t a part of her duties, clearly, and it made her nervous. The last thing Francesca wanted was to cause trouble for Alma.
“Go,” Francesca said. “I’ll look for you at breakfast tomorrow.”
In English, Alma replied, “And I’ll let you know what Mr. Lancaster says.”
“Thank you. And Alma?”
“Yes?”
“Your Italian is very good. Better than even two weeks ago.”
The young woman grinned widely. “I’ve been practicing.”
15
Alma waved at Fritz as she bounded up the steps to the train platform after work that night. His thick hair curled around the edge of his cap, and he almost looked like a boy again.
“I need to head uptown before I go home,” she said, “and if you don’t want to come with me, I understand. I’ll go alone.”
“Well, hello to you, too,” he said, pulling his wool hat down to cover his ears. “What for?”
“I’m doing a favor for a friend.”
He shot her a sidelong glance. “Someone I know?”
“No.”
“Is this one of your new coworkers?”
“No.”
He jabbed her in the ribs with his index finger. “Aren’t you being mysterious. Do you want me to come with you or not?”
She shrugged. “Of course, but if you’re going to give me an earful about why I shouldn’t do this, I’ll go on my own.”
He grinned. “Working out there in the big world is toughening you up, little sister.” He tugged a strand of her hair.