Dante was nearly to Tenth Avenue when three men darted out from the alleyway to his left and came at him in a full run. He thought for a moment they meant to attack him, but when they flew on past, Dante could only turn and watch them flee. His heart raced, and Dante couldn’t help but put his hand to his chest. He couldn’t imagine what the trio had been up to, but so long as they weren’t after him, Dante supposed he could relax.
He drew a deep breath and started on his way again. As he drew near the alley, however, he heard something. Pausing, he listened. Was that moaning? He glanced back over his shoulder, wondering if the three men had been the cause.
“Who’s there?” he called out, stepping toward the darkened alley.
The moaning sounded once more, followed by silence. Dante stepped into the darkened area. “Is someone here?”
He could make out something on the ground directly in front of him. It looked like a pile of trash in the darkness, but as Dante knelt down, he made out the form of a man. Dante shook the man gently.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?”
He figured the man was probably some drunk who’d managed to get himself robbed. Dante reached up to pat the man’s face and felt something sticky and wet. He held his hand up but couldn’t really see anything in the dark. Nevertheless, Dante was pretty sure his hand was covered in blood.
There was nothing to do but get the man to the doctor. Dante hoisted the man up. He was quite heavy—at least Dante’s own size. The man didn’t so much as issue a grunt or groan, however, when Dante settled him on his shoulder.
Making his way back in the direction he’d come, Dante hurried to find help but remained watchful, lest the culprits return. When he reached Dr. Shipman’s, he gave the door a pounding and waited.
The light came on and Dr. Shipman himself appeared. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I found this guy in the alley at Tenth Avenue. Three men were running away from the scene. I figure they beat him.”
“Bring him right back to my examination room,” the doctor instructed.
Dante did as he was told, grateful when the doctor helped ease the burden of the man. Together they laid him onto the examination table and stepped back. Dante gasped at the sight. The man had been pulverized, but Dante could still make out the features enough to know him.
“Marco Panetta,” he whispered.
Dr. Shipman was already examining the bloodied body. “You’d better go for the family. He’s in a bad way.” He looked at Dante and shook his head. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Chapter 24
Chantel’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Dante on the other side of her door. “Did you forget something?” she asked, then frowned as he came into the light. He had blood all over his shoulder and back.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” She pulled him into the house to further examine his wounds.
“I’m not hurt, but Marco was. He’s at the doctor’s and it . . . well . . . you need to come with me right away.”
Chantel stepped back, shaking her head. She looked at Dante, hearing his words but not quite understanding the full meaning. “How? Where?” she finally was able to murmur.
“In the alley over by Tenth Avenue. Where are your folks? Dr. Shipman said to hurry.”
“I’ll get them,” Chantel said. She moved through the house thinking this must be a nightmare. Marco and Alfredo had gone to a birthday party some hours earlier. How could it be that Marco was now lying bloodied at the doctor’s office? Surely she would awaken soon.
“Mama? Papa?” Chantel called and knocked hard on their bedroom door.
Papa appeared in his nightshirt. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Chantel nodded. “It’s . . . Marco. Dante just came to say he’s been hurt. He’s at Dr. Shipman’s—we must hurry.”
Mama came to the door. “Marco is hurt?”
“Yes. Dante came to tell us. He said we need to hurry. Marco is hurt badly.”
Papa nodded, and Mama began to weep. “We’ll be there in a moment. First we must dress.”
Chantel returned to where Dante stood by the front door. “Who would have done such a thing?”
“I saw three men flee, but I wouldn’t be able to identify them.”
“What about Alfredo?”
“He wasn’t there.” Dante shook his head. “At least not that I saw. I suppose I should return to the alley and check it more thoroughly. I’ll do that after I see your family safely to Dr. Shipman’s.”
“We’ll be fine,” Chantel said, stepping forward to take hold of his arm. “Go now. It’s only a short walk. Papa will see us there. You go and see if you can find Alfredo and bring him to the doctor’s, as well.”
“All right.” Dante gave her a quick kiss, then hurried from the house. Chantel took up her shawl and waited for her parents. The night air was heavy with dampness and the chill went through to her bones. She started to pull out her coat, but changed her mind when Papa and Mama appeared.
“Where’s Dante?” Mama asked. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she’d managed to stop weeping.
“He’s gone to find Alfredo,” Chantel replied. Please, God, let Dante find him quickly.
She draped her mother’s woolen shawl around her shoulders while Papa pulled on his coat. They made their way into the darkened night and hurried up the street, grateful for the glow of lamplight. When they reached the doctor’s office, Chantel stepped aside to allow her parents to go in before her. She wasn’t sure what she would do at the sight of her brother’s injured body, and she didn’t want to be in the way should she faint.
The minute they stepped into the house, however, Dr. Shipman stood, apparently waiting for them. His expression was grave. Chantel reached for the wall to support herself.
“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Panetta. I did everything I could, but he was too badly wounded.”
“What are you saying?” Mama questioned, shaking her head. “Let me see my boy.” She started to move past the doctor, but he took hold of her instead.
“Mrs. Panetta, he was severely beaten. The culprits caved in the left side of his head, and it’s quite gruesome.”
Mama looked at him a moment, then turned to Papa. “Take me to him, please.”
Papa nodded. “We will see him,” he told the doctor.
I can’t do this.
Chantel couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her brother in the condition the doctor had just described. Her body refused to move.
I’m a coward. What if Mama needs me?
No one seemed to notice her. Instead, the doctor ushered her parents into the examination room while Chantel remained fixed in place. She leaned up against the wall, unable to comprehend the truth that her brother was dead.
I was just talking to him this morning. How can he be gone? Chantel tried to recall the last thing she’d said to him. Why can’t I remember?
The front door opened, and Alfredo and Dante entered the room. Chantel met Dante’s quizzical expression and shook her head. Tears came to her eyes as he drew near.
“He’s dead,” she was barely able to say before collapsing into his arms.
“Marco’s dead?” Alfredo asked in disbelief. “No. He was just with me at the party. He left to head home without me. No! He can’t be dead!” He left them to go in search of answers.
Chantel sobbed against Dante’s chest. “My mother wanted to see him, but . . . but . . . I couldn’t. The doctor said . . . he told us . . .” She broke down and couldn’t speak.
Dante stroked her hair and held her close. “Shh, you don’t have to see him. I’m glad you didn’t go.”
“Are you sure you didn’t recognize any of the men?” someone asked.
Chantel lifted her head. It was only then that she realized the constable had come with Dante and Alfredo. Dante pulled back to reply. “I can only say for certain that there were three of them.”
The constable nodded. “It’s going to be hard to find the res
ponsible parties.”
Alfredo returned from the back room. His face had taken on an ashen hue. “Leo Fortino was behind this,” he declared. “I know he was.”
The constable turned from Dante. “How do you know? Did you witness this?”
“No, but Leo’s had it in for Marco ever since Marco testified against him. He’s the only one who’d want to see Marco dead.” Alfredo looked at Dante and Chantel. “You know full well he’s behind it.”
“That’s probably a reasonable deduction,” the constable declared, “but without proof, we’ll be hard-pressed to make charges stick. When morning comes, I’ll head over to that alleyway and see if they left any clues behind, but otherwise I’m not sure there’s much I can do.”
“And so Fortino gets away with yet another death?” Alfredo asked. “Is that it? Is that your idea of justice?” He pushed past the lawman. “I’ll take care of this myself, then.”
The constable reached out and took hold of Alfredo. “You don’t want to do that, boy. Your mother has enough to deal with in losing one son.”
“She’s right,” Chantel interjected. She left Dante’s side to go to her brother. “Mama is devastated, and you need to be strong for her and Papa. We both need to be strong.” But even as she said the words, Chantel didn’t know where she’d find the strength.
God, please give me courage. Help me to be useful to Mama and Papa. And please, help Alfredo. She wanted to say something on Marco’s behalf, but she had no idea what to pray. God had surely known what was to have taken place on this night. God must have allowed for this evil thing, even if He did not cause it. She shook her head and felt the tears come once more. Help us, Lord. Help us to endure this tragedy.
Mama and Papa emerged from the examination room. One look at Mama’s face, and Chantel felt a helplessness she’d never experienced before. What could she possibly do to help at a time like this? She had no words to say that could ease her mother’s loss.
“I’ll arrange for the undertaker,” Dr. Shipman told them. “You folks go on home now and try to get some rest.” He looked to Chantel’s father. “Give her two teaspoons of that medicine when you get home.”
“I will,” Papa assured the doctor and patted his pocket. “I will.”
The constable seemed to consider the matter, then turned to the doctor. “I’d like to see the body.”
Dr. Shipman nodded. “Come on back. I’ll explain the cause of death.”
Papa moved Mama toward the door. “Let’s go home,” he said in a barely audible voice. Alfredo joined them, leaving Dante and Chantel to follow. There was nothing to be said. Nothing that would allow them to awaken from this nightmare.
Chantel clasped Dante’s hand and thought she might well drown in the rush of emotions that threatened to overtake her, had it not been for his support. What a joyous and tragic day. Dante had proposed, but Marco had been killed. It seemed impossible to comprehend.
Mama stumbled and her legs gave way. Alfredo and Papa kept her from falling to the ground, however. Papa, despite his injured hip, lifted Mama into his arms and carried her the rest of the way home.
At the house, Chantel helped ready her mother for bed while the men spoke in the other room. Mama sat with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked almost childlike. She was such a small woman—tiny but fierce, Papa would always say. Chantel couldn’t help but wonder how she had ever given birth to four children, much less raised them to adulthood.
Chantel gently helped her mother into a warm flannel nightgown and then into bed. Mama gripped her hand tightly as Chantel finished drawing the covers up.
“I keep thinking I will awaken in the morning and this will be nothing more than a bad dream,” she said, her voice hoarse. She met Chantel’s eyes and shook her head. “He cannot be dead. He was a good boy—a good man. He stopped drinking. He told me that he was praying again.”
Chantel simply nodded, knowing if she said much of anything, she’d burst into tears. She wanted to be strong for her mother. The door opened, and Papa entered without a word. He couldn’t have timed it better.
“I have her medicine,” Papa said in a far-off manner. “I just remembered it.”
“I’ll get you a spoon,” she offered.
“I already have one.” He held it up like some sort of award. He walked toward the bed in a stupor. “I have your medicine, Maria. I have your medicine.”
Chantel hurried from the room, unable to witness her father in such a broken state. She found Dante waiting alone in the front room. When she saw him, Chantel could only collapse beside him on the sofa and find comfort in his arms. The entire world had fallen apart, and nothing made sense. Nothing at all.
Back at the boardinghouse, Dante told Nonna about the trouble. She listened silently, then ordered him to get out of his bloodied clothes. She left the room and was gone for quite a while before returning.
“I have a hot bath waiting for you. Go now, and I’ll take care of these clothes.” She gathered up his discarded garments. “Tomorrow I will go to help the Panettas.”
Dante stood in his socks and trousers. The chilled air against his bare skin seemed only to remind him of Marco’s cold, lifeless body. He made his way to the shared bathroom, grateful for his nonna’s kindness and care. Inside, he stripped off his remaining clothes and climbed into the tub.
The hot water felt comforting, but the shock of the evening was finally settling over him. Dante felt his body tremble. He couldn’t stop shaking for a good long time, and finally he sank down beneath the water to cover his entire head and body.
He stayed that way until his lungs hurt from holding his breath, then he pushed himself back up to exhale and gulp in air. The action seemed to settle his nerves just a bit. Closing his eyes, Dante leaned back against the tub and prayed for strength. What he’d seen that night had left him longing for a sense of well-being and family. He found himself longing for his father . . . to tell him about the matter and hear his thoughts on what had happened. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. His father wanted nothing to do with him, and even if he somehow came to terms with the fact that Orlando had married Isabella Panetta, Dante knew his father would never accept Dante betraying him by marrying Chantel. It would all be just too much of a slap in the face as far as his father would be concerned.
Lathering his body with the strong lye soap provided by Mrs. Merritt, Dante tried not to think about the night or the broken body of Marco Panetta. He did his best to forget his father’s anger and Alfredo’s longing for revenge. He thought instead of Chantel’s soft hands in his. Her gentle touch and the way she looked to him for strength.
Dante prayed that he might be worthy of her newfound trust in him. He prayed, too, that he might help her family to learn the truth of what had happened to Marco. There were far too many unanswered questions to allow any of them a chance for rest.
“Help us, Father,” he prayed aloud. “Help us to find the truth.”
The next morning Chantel awoke to a silent house. The usual aroma of coffee and pastries was absent. Her mother had no doubt remained in bed, thanks to the medicine provided by the doctor.
Chantel got up and dressed, then made her way to the kitchen. She made a fire in the stove and watched it for a few moments to make sure it grew stronger. Poking at the pieces of wood, she watched the dancing flames.
By the time her father and Alfredo stumbled into the kitchen, she had a plate of fried bacon waiting, along with a pot of strong coffee. She poured them each a cup, but said nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything they could say. It was still impossible to believe that Marco was really gone.
Chantel pulled a pan of fruit pastries from the oven and set them to cool on the windowsill. She smiled. Marco and Alfredo used to sneak around the outside of the window to snag a pastry or two on their way to the mine. She would always chide them for their actions, then laugh at the game. Will we ever laugh again?
Papa and Alfredo finished eating while Chantel packe
d their lunch boxes with bread, cheese, and thick slabs of ham. This was their usual fare as it was easy to take to the mine. Chantel added a few of the extra pastries, hoping they might find comfort in the treat. How strange it seemed that they should head off to work as if nothing had happened, but Chantel knew they had no choice. The mine captain would expect them.
“You will take good care of your mama?” Papa asked her as he made his way to where Chantel stood in the kitchen.
“I will, Papa.”
He handed her the bottle of medicine. “The doctor says if she needs this, she can have two teaspoons.”
Chantel took the bottle and read the word Laudanum on the label. She looked back to her father and nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
Her father drew in a long breath, then let it go in one heavy sigh. “I think it will be the hardest day of my life.”
Chantel hugged him tight. “I know, Papa. I was thinking the same thing.”
He pulled away. “You will get word to your sister, won’t you?”
She felt bad that she’d been so focused on her own grief that she hadn’t even thought of Isabella. “I will, Papa. I’ll get word to her immediately.”
He looked at her for a good long moment. “Thank you, Chantel.” There were tears in his eyes—something Chantel had never seen before this moment. “This is just so hard.”
“I know, Papa. I know.”
Alfredo looked into the room. “We’d better go, or we’ll be late.”
Chantel went to retrieve their lunch pails. “I’ve packed your lunch. It’s ready to go.” The two men took the pails without another word and walked from the house, shoulders bent as if the load were far too heavy to bear.
No one came to the window to steal a pastry.
Chapter 25
Dante saw his father, and for a moment he just watched him. How would you feel if it had been me killed, instead of Marco Panetta? Would you regret disowning me? Would you even care?
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