Under Copp's Hill

by Katherine Ayres

  “You won’t need to clean in here,” Miss Brown said with a laugh. “It will always be filled with clay and mud. But we do try to keep our drying and kiln rooms tidy.”

  She marched them to the middle room, where tall, open shelves stood against every wall, making the room itself feel crowded. As they walked in, Innie had the oddest sensation. In most basements, a chill dampness seeped right into your bones. She was expecting that here, too, but instead, she felt warmer.

  “Here’s where we set out the raw pottery to dry before its first firing,” Miss Brown explained. “You’ll sweep here, but be careful of the shelves. The pottery breaks easily before it’s fired.” She stepped through the doorway again, and the girls followed. Nobody had said much except Miss Brown. As they entered the front room of the basement, Teresa reached out and took Innie’s hand. It was a comfort.

  This room felt even warmer than the last. Again, rough shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, some loaded with bowls and plates and vases. The front wall had two small windows high up near the ceiling, but they didn’t let in much light. To one side, Innie saw a brick contraption with pipes poking out like crooked arms. In the dim light, it cast strange shadows against the walls.

  Miss Brown explained that the brick contraption was the kiln, or oven, where the pottery was fired twice—once to make the clay hard, and again to make the painted glazes shiny. “You’ll need to sweep up in here too, girls, but again, work carefully. These shelves are for decorated pots waiting to go in the kiln for their second firing.”

  Innie smiled. Now she understood why the basement was so warm and dry. That kiln was twice as big as Nonna’s cookstove.

  Miss Brown showed them brooms and dustpans in a corner by the kiln, then left them to their work.

  “Let’s start in the shop and work together,” Innie suggested. That way, nobody would have to sweep alone in that dark basement.

  Upstairs, the girls moved carefully around the shop. Teresa dusted each piece of pottery, Matela wiped down the display shelves, and Innie swept the floor. With three girls working, the shop got clean in no time.

  In the basement, though, dim light made it difficult to see. Underfoot, the floor felt gritty with bits and pieces of clay and dirt. The girls started in the kiln room. They each grabbed a broom and began to sweep.

  As Innie swept a dark corner on the far side of the kiln, she discovered a narrow door no taller than she was. The wood was old and splintery, the knob dark and rusty. “Do you suppose this is the way outside?” she asked Matela. “We could carry out our sweeping dirt if it is.” She tried the door. The knob turned, but the door didn’t budge.

  Matela glanced at the child-sized door. “Probably nobody uses it. Don’t worry, over by the shelf I find a rubbish bin.”

  The girls emptied their dustpans into the bin and moved to the drying room to sweep. When they went back to the kiln room to put their brooms away, Innie tried the little old door again, but it stayed shut.

  “This door, I wonder where it goes?”

  Matela waved her dustpan toward the door. “Maybe it goes where the maziks live,” she teased. She was trying to make her voice sound scary, but she only sounded silly. Innie laughed, but Teresa didn’t.

  “Put your broom away, Innie. Let’s get out of this old place,” Teresa urged. “We have chores waiting at home.”

  “Chores, chores,” Innie grumbled. “What if I don’t want to put my broom away? What if I want to practice my English country dancing instead?”

  Innie swung her broom in a circle and twirled around. Then she reached up to sweep spiderwebs from the ceiling and twirled again. She stopped abruptly as her broom bumped something solid, crashing it to the floor.

  “Oh, no, Innie, you’ve done it now,” Teresa said.

  Innie turned and stared at the pile of sharp, broken clay pieces. She would get in trouble, unless she cleaned up the mess really fast. But first she had to get Matela and Teresa out of the room. One person in trouble was bad enough.

  “Matela, Teresa, you go back to the middle room and dust again. Pretend we were working in different places.”

  “But—” Matela began.

  “Hurry. I’ll clean up this mess, and maybe the ladies won’t notice what happened.”

  Teresa tugged Matela back toward the stairs.

  Innie picked up the largest of the broken pieces and dumped them in the bin. She reached for her dustpan and was beginning to sweep when footsteps approached. Innie looked up.

  Miss Brown was staring at her from the doorway. “Did I hear a crash?”

  Innie’s tongue froze. She couldn’t speak.

  “Have you broken something?”

  “I … Yes. My broom … I bumped …”

  “Why didn’t you fetch me?” Even in the dim light, Innie could tell that Miss Brown was frowning.

  “I—I was going to clean up first …” Innie began. Her palms went damp with sweat.

  “You’re the Moretti girl, aren’t you? Innie. The cousin. Carmela has mentioned you.”

  Carmela? What had Carmela told them about her?

  “I don’t care for this sneaking about,” Miss Brown continued. “A proper girl would have come and told me about the breakage right away. Show me which section of the shelf you disturbed.”

  Innie bent and pointed to a high shelf that held four big vases.

  Miss Brown knelt on the basement floor. “Oh, my. You’ve broken one of our largest pots. Those chrysanthemum vases take hours of work. And they sell for fifty dollars in the shop. Mercy.”

  “I’m very sorry.” Innie could barely squeeze the words out. She’d gotten in trouble before, lots of times. But she’d never gotten in fifty dollars’ worth. That was a fortune.

  “You should be sorry. Have you anything else to confess?”

  “Pardon?”

  “A girl who misbehaves once will misbehave again. Tell me, Innie, do you know anything about Miss Guerrier’s missing teapot?”

  The teapot? Miss Brown thought she’d taken the teapot too! Innie’s stomach twisted into a hard knot. “No. I … I don’t know anything about it. Except what I heard when you were … talking.”

  “Yes. I noticed you eavesdropping. You have nothing more to tell me?”

  “No, Miss. Please. I broke the vase, but that’s all.”

  “Well, that’s certainly enough. I shall be keeping an eye on you.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Miss Brown strode away. As her footsteps faded, Innie bent and swept the last of the clay pieces into the dustpan. She dumped the debris into the bin, wishing it were large enough that she could crawl in herself and hide. Miss Brown didn’t like her. She’d be watching everything Innie did from now on. And if she were like most adults, she’d find plenty to grumble about.

  Innie set her broom against the basement wall, willing herself not to cry. As she started upstairs, Teresa and Matela each tried to put an arm around her, but Innie shrugged them off.

  “Oh, Innie,” Teresa began.

  “Don’t you start,” Innie said. “I’ve had enough scolding already.”

  “We don’t scold,” Matela said softly. “We are your friends. That Miss Brown, she is wrong about you.”

  They’d listened. They’d heard everything, Innie realized. She hadn’t thought that she could feel worse than when Miss Brown had been accusing her, but now, knowing Teresa and Matela had heard, waves of shame washed over her. Her face burned.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Innie said. “Let’s just go home.”

  Later that evening, after the lodgers had been fed and the dishes were washed and dried, Innie went upstairs to visit Teresa. Innie’s ears still stung from Miss Brown’s words, and Teresa had a soft heart. Innie needed a bucketful of sympathy.

  At the kitchen table upstairs, Zio Giovanni had his cash box open and was counting out money while Zia Rachela wrote down numbers in her book. That was bad news for Innie. It meant Carmela couldn’t spread out all her books and study
in the kitchen tonight.

  Sure enough, when Innie got to the bedroom that her cousins shared, both girls were there, sitting on the bed. Carmela was surrounded by books, and she was frowning.

  I picked a bad time, Innie thought. Carmela’s always a grump when she’s studying to be a citizen.

  “And what do you want, Innie? Foolishness? Making trouble again? I don’t have time for it.”

  “But, Carmela—” Teresa began.

  “What? You think I buy extra lamp oil for you two babies to see by? I’ve got books and books to read.”

  Innie sighed. “I just wanted to talk to Teresa,” she said. “There was nothing to do downstairs.”

  “Nothing to do? I’ll tell Nonna you said so. She’ll find you something. Scrubbing or sweeping.”

  Sweeping again. Innie never wanted to hold another broom as long as she lived. She hoped Carmela wouldn’t hear about the broken vase.

  “Come on, Carmela,” Teresa interrupted. “We worked hard today.”

  “Hard? You want to know hard? The Bill of Rights, that’s hard.” Carmela waved a thick blue book under Teresa’s nose.

  “What is it?” Innie asked. “What’s the Bill of Rights?” If Carmela got to talking about her citizen hearing, maybe she wouldn’t go poking into Innie’s troubles.

  “Here in America they got a whole string of rules. The government, politics, democracy, who can do what. Very confusing.”

  “The judge can ask all that?” Innie asked. “At the hearing?”

  “The judge can ask what he wants.” Carmela waved her hands. “The Bill of Rights, the Constitution, all the presidents. When I go for my citizen hearing, I gotta know everything, or else that judge won’t let me be American. I heard he’s turned down other Italians.”

  “The Yankee ladies like you at the pottery,” Teresa said. “So why won’t the judge like you for a citizen? When you’re not bossing us, you’re a nice person.”

  “The ladies took me at the pottery because I can paint. To be American, I gotta know the rules. It’s not about being a nice person.”

  “I don’t get it,” Innie said. “I’m American, and I don’t know all those rules. How come you have to study them?”

  “You got lucky,” Carmela explained. “You and Teresa got born here so you’re already American. They’ll pound the rules into your head in school. But me, I’m born in Italy, so I gotta have that hearing. And how am I gonna do that with all this chitter-chatter? Innie, Teresa, go bother somebody else.”

  “But, Carmela—” Innie began.

  Carmela frowned. “You watch that back-talking, Innocenza Moretti. Bad enough at home, but I don’t want you getting in trouble at the settlement house. I got you in there, and if you make trouble, they’ll blame me.”

  So Carmela didn’t know yet. Innie hoped it stayed that way.

  “You hush now,” Carmela continued. “I have to study. And remember, no trouble at the settlement house. Or else.”

  Too late for that, Innie thought.

  “Come on,” Teresa said. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen.”

  “Not the kitchen,” Innie said. She couldn’t talk to Teresa about the trouble with Miss Brown in front of her aunt and uncle. That would just lead to more scoldings.

  “The roof will be cold. You want to sit on the stairs?” Teresa asked.

  Innie shrugged. “It stinks on the stairs. Old lady Napoli burned her supper again, and the privy smells from the cellar are bad. I’ll go downstairs and read that book I borrowed.”

  If only it were summer, Innie grumbled to herself as she tromped downstairs. In the summer, a person could climb to the roof or sit out on the stoop if she wanted to be by herself or talk privately with someone. But on cold, damp days, it was hard to find a quiet spot.

  And in Boston, damp days, like troubles, came all too often.

  CHAPTER 6

  TWO PERFECT FLAMES

  By Sunday morning, as Innie dressed for church, she had almost forgotten Miss Brown’s unkind words. She and Nonna were up early so that Nonna could light candles and pray to the Holy Mother before Mass started.

  “Sit still, you,” Nonna said. She buttoned up the back of Innie’s dress and ran a stiff brush through Innie’s tangled hair. Then she twisted it into a single long, smooth braid, her old fingers moving slowly.

  Sitting still wasn’t easy, but Innie liked the feel of the heavy braid on her back and the crispness of her clean, just-ironed dress. She closed her eyes and imagined that maybe someday she’d look as nice as Carmela. If that ever happened, Nonna would sure be proud of her.

  “You gonna run on the streets today again?” Nonna asked. “You gonna spoil this fancy braiding?”

  “I’ll try not to,” Innie said. She knew Nonna always took extra care on Sundays so they’d look their best. She’d try hard today.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Innie took slow, careful steps and gave her grandmother her arm to lean on for the short walk to Saint Leonard’s. This early, the streets were quiet, with only the occasional slam of a door or baby’s cry sounding from a nearby flat. Pigeons pecked among the debris. A damp gray mist hovered about the shops and tenements, softening the edges of the buildings.

  At the church door, a cluster of Sisters in their dark robes were entering. Innie slowed even more so that by the time she’d helped Nonna to the church door, the Sisters had disappeared inside.

  At the back of the church, Nonna dipped her fingers in the holy water, faced the altar, and crossed herself. Innie did the same, and then followed her grandmother up the right aisle to the statue of the Holy Mother. Only a few candles burned, and the quiet church felt dark and holy.

  Innie knelt next to her grandmother in front of the statue. Nonna pressed coins into Innie’s hand. Innie dropped the coins into the box and said a prayer to the Holy Mother in heaven as she lit a candle for Mama. Then she lit a second candle and prayed for Papà’s soul. She stared at the two perfect flames. Her parents must have been like those flames, Innie thought. Warm and shining and beautiful.

  She wondered if Papà had looked like Zio Giovanni, his older brother. And had Mama been thin, like Innie herself? So much she didn’t know. So much she prayed for—a picture, a voice, a memory, anything. But all Innie could see were golden flames and soft gray smoke.

  A sudden thought made her fold her hands tighter and begin another prayer. Mama and Papà wouldn’t like it that Innie had broken that big vase. She prayed that she wouldn’t get in more trouble at the settlement house, prayed that wherever they were, Mama and Papà didn’t know Innie was in trouble again. Or if they did, that they’d soon forgive her.

  At her side, Nonna dropped coins in the box and lit her candles. Two wet lines tracked down Nonna’s wrinkled cheeks as she murmured, asking the Holy Mother to watch over the souls of her son Giuseppe and his wife, Serafina. She prayed for all the people hurt and killed in the Chelsea fire and for all the families left behind.

  Innie held her breath, for she knew what was coming next, and it always made her stomach churn. Sure enough, in Nonna’s slow, creaky whisper, Innie heard the words …

  “And please, Holy Mary, Mother of God, watch over the orphan child Innocenza. Guide her to your holy ways, for she is yours, promised to you now and forever. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  As Nonna finished, a Sister knelt at Innie’s side, as if Nonna’s words had called her. Innie squeezed her eyes shut and silently added one more prayer to her list. “Please, Holy Mother. The promise—I can’t. Don’t make me.”

  It was a relief to stand up and lead Nonna to the pew. Innie watched as the women and girls of the North End drifted into church in little clumps, the women in black, wearing shawls, and the girls bright in their best dresses. Soon Teresa, Carmela, and Zia Rachela joined them. Teresa reached out and squeezed Innie’s hand as she sat down. “You and Nonna been here a long time?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Sore knees?”

  Inn
ie rolled her eyes. “So much kneeling, I got blisters.”

  Teresa hid a giggle behind her hand.

  Making a joke helped. Innie had never told her cousin about the prayer that Nonna always said when she lit those candles. Nobody in the family knew about the promising. This is between me and you and the Holy Mother, Nonna always said, and Innie had kept it secret too—she couldn’t bear to tell anyone.

  On Monday afternoon, Innie and Teresa were working arithmetic problems at Teresa’s kitchen table when Carmela came home from work, looking as if she’d eaten a whole batch of spicy peppers. Her cheeks flamed, and she threw down her coat.

  “What’s wrong, Carmela?” Teresa asked.

  “What isn’t wrong?” she shot back. “Someone’s stealing again at the pottery.”

  Innie’s stomach lurched.

  “What’s missing?” Teresa asked. “Tell us everything.”

  Carmela’s hand gripped the back of one of the chairs. “Last week Miss Guerrier’s teapot went missing. It was solid silver and very old, from her mother’s family.”

  “We heard,” Teresa said.

  And Miss Brown thinks I took it, Innie thought.

  “Now a pottery set is gone,” Carmela continued. “And a new wool shawl that belongs to one of the girls. The thief must be stealing things and selling them somewhere.”

  Innie felt cold. Would Miss Brown think she’d done this too? She studied Carmela’s face. “What’s in a pottery set?”

  Carmela looked angry. “This was a baby set—a set I painted—with a plate, a bowl, and a mug. A customer ordered it special. She wanted little rabbits and the name Margaret. I did a nice job on that set. Miss Brown opened the kiln on Saturday and took out the finished pottery, but this morning the baby set was missing.”

  “Are you sure?” Innie began.

  Carmela waved her hands. “We looked everywhere. And tomorrow, the rich Yankee lady who ordered the set, she’ll come to the shop and we won’t have her pottery and she’ll complain. And me, I’ve got that citizen hearing to study for and my mind is so stirred up I can’t think.”