“You see, Angelo runs the newsstand, and my boy, William, is too young to attend school. Angelo doesn’t want to live in my grandmother’s house, and I agree with him on this point. But I’ve insisted that we accept the stipend she’s offering us. Without it, I would have to stay at home with William, and I wouldn’t be much use in the field. I’m offering you a job, Vera. It will get you out of the factory and put my son in the hands of someone Angelo trusts.”
A wave of disappointment washed over her as she understood she was being offered a job as a nanny. Was she not meant for any more than staying at home with someone else’s child?
Then again, there were ten thousand girls in factories all around the city who would sell their souls to trade places with her for this kind of opportunity. To get out of the appalling conditions of heat and sweat and fatigue. To have one charge who probably napped half the day. Maybe in the free time she could take up painting in earnest. Or read books.
It wasn’t heroic, but it sounded far more comfortable than the life she had.
Maybe deliverance came incrementally. The first step for her was getting out of the toil of a factory. The daughters of her future might dare to get an education. And the generations beyond that? It wasn’t even possible to imagine.
Those things might be out of her reach, but she could do her small part now.
And it would mean seeing Angelo every day. Though she feared that this might be more than she could bear, watching him with his new wife. But the hours, the cold, the heat in the factory. It could not be turned down.
“I would love to,” she found herself saying with sincerity. “I am very grateful that you thought of me.”
Pearl clapped her hands. “Benissimo! As Angelo would say. You’ve made me truly happy, Vera. I know William will be well cared for, and it will free me up to work on the votes.”
“The votes?” Vera asked.
“Votes for women.”
She’d read headlines about it. It was such a thing to hope for—that women might one day be considered equal to men. But it seemed impossible to go up against centuries of convention. Pearl spoke as if it were an inevitable thing, though. And in her company, Vera could almost believe it.
Sebastiano reappeared with piping-hot bowls of something that looked like rice. It smelled unlike anything Vera had ever encountered.
“Thank you,” she said.
He spoke in that accent that reminded her again of Angelo. “The house specialty. Have you ever eaten Italian cuisine?”
She remembered the cannoli and gelato she’d shared with Angelo over the years. “Only the desserts.”
“Ah, the young lady has a sweet tooth? When you are finished, I will bring you a bonet. Guaranteed to be the best dessert you’ve ever tried. Delizioso.” He kissed his fingers.
Pearl smiled. “If you keep spoiling us like this, Sebastiano, you may quickly become my favorite of the Maioglio brothers.”
“At least there are only the two of us. And I can overtake Vincenzo in my sleep.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He shrugged his shoulders as he returned to the kitchen, and Pearl turned to Vera once again.
“So where was I? Ah, yes. Votes for women. The next stage in our cause.”
Chapter Six
“What do you think your papa would like for Christmas?”
Pearl and Angelo had married just weeks ago, and in Vera’s short time working for them, she admired how Angelo had taken on the role of father to little William Pilkington.
Vera finished buttoning the boy’s coat. It seemed expensive—probably a gift from Pearl’s grandmother. Though spending so much on something that a child of his age would outgrow in months was unfathomable to her.
“T-t-train.”
“A train? I like that idea. Maybe we can find a wooden one so we can sand it down and paint it for him.”
He remained silent, so she pressed on. “Do you have a favorite color? Mine is yellow. Like the sunshine. But we can make it any color you like.”
The boy gave a hesitant smile. It was not like Pearl’s—her mouth was wide and her son’s was thin. Vera could just see the tiny teeth peek through his lips. Maybe he took after Pearl’s first husband, Owen.
“B-blue.”
“Blue? A wonderful choice. My second favorite. Then that’s what we will do.”
Now that Pearl had gone down to the market and Vera was alone with William, she had a chance to look around. Pink curtains framed the two windows that faced Thirty-Third Street. A teakettle with rose-shaped decorations sat on the stove top, and a white lace cloth lay over the table. It was not merely tidy—there was an aroma of perfect cleanliness that smelled of lemon and lavender.
There was scant evidence that two boys lived here as well—William and Angelo.
Vera put her hand out, and after some thought, William took it. Poor thing. To have moved so recently from the comforts of his great-grandmother’s home on Madison Park to this apartment and to have a stranger hired to look after him must seem bewildering to one so young. She had no experience with children, but Vera wanted desperately to give him the kind of love she’d received from her own parents.
She wriggled the yarn from the zipper with no noticeable damage to the sweater. “All done, William. Aren’t you handsome? Shall we go downstairs and meet up with your mother?”
Pearl had suggested that they join her at the Christmas market a few blocks north. The suffragettes planned to stand at every entrance and hand out brochures and sashes to anyone who would take them. She’d hoped that Vera could bring William down to see the tree lighting and join her for a cup of hot cider.
Vera locked the door behind them and tightened her grip on William’s hand.
The walk would have been brief, save for the boy’s slow pace and his wonder at the things around him. To Vera’s delight, he pointed out the stone eagles atop Penn Station. “There are twenty-two of them,” she told him. “I’ve always loved them, too. Ever since I was around your age.”
Maybe the eagles held a bit of magic that entranced children, and the lucky few who did not become jaded with time still retained fascination with their stone charms.
“G-g-go w-walk around?” he asked.
She’d noticed his stutter from the start but followed Pearl’s lead in overlooking it. Maybe it was something he would outgrow.
“Not today, William. But let’s do that sometime, shall we?”
A double-decker bus drove past them. Its open top was sparsely filled, and people gripped their coats to stave off the cold. William looked up and waved, and a few kind souls waved back, delighting him.
After stops to watch a window washer, a woman’s parasol getting swept away in a breeze, and the steam of a smokestack, they reached Forty-Fourth, and Vera saw her new friend right away. Pearl’s white sash almost disappeared against her cream-colored jacket, but there was no mistaking her. Her very presence lit up her surroundings.
“There you are!” Pearl caught sight of Vera and William and called them over. “Hello, darling,” she said as she stooped down to kiss her son on the cheek. To Vera, she asked, “Did you find the money I left on the table so that William can buy a present for Angelo?”
“I did. Thank you. He wants to buy him a wooden train that we can paint together.”
Pearl laughed. “How funny. And I was thinking something like new mittens or a scarf. Angelo needs a new scarf. His wool one is frayed beyond repair, but he still insists that it has years left in it.”
Vera could have knitted either of those for him and rather liked little William’s idea. It was heartfelt, though not practical.
“We can get something like that instead,” she agreed.
Pearl didn’t answer, as she had turned to a table full of Votes for Women sashes and pulled one from a pile before facing Vera again.
“For you. I think this pink one brings out the rosiness of your cheeks.” She placed it over Vera’s head, adjusting it so that the wo
rds were perfectly visible. “There you are. You’re an official suffragette now.”
Vera warmed at the gesture. A sisterhood that she’d never imagined for herself. She didn’t know how someone like her could really contribute, but it was nice for someone else to think so.
Pearl spoke to her companion at the table. “Miss Voorhees, I’m going to walk around the market for a bit. I’ll be back before lunchtime.”
She linked arms with Vera and held William’s hand on her other side. “I know I promised apple cider, and we will find some, but I saw the most darling chestnut seller a few booths over. He looks like Santa Claus with his full white beard. There—can you smell them roasting?”
The scent indeed preceded them, and Vera looked longingly at the stalls they walked past until they got there. Not because she wished to have enough money to buy anything. Instead, she envied the ability of these artists to create so freely and sell their wares. Beaded evening bags with colorful flowers, framed canvases depicting scenes of faraway places, ceramic pottery with items both useful and decorative. The people looked happy as they discussed their work with prospective buyers.
But there was a glaring disparity. The artists were almost exclusively men. The purchasers women.
Vera traced her finger down the Votes for Women banner and believed in it for the first time. Getting the vote might not have an immediate impact on her, but what if it opened the way for women to be the artists behind those tables? The men to be the ones to shell out coins for their creations?
Maybe—dare she hope?—she could be one of those vendors someday.
“N-n-nuts,” stammered William as they approached the Santa-like seller. Vera thought he might have even better sales if he donned a red suit and hat. But Pearl had promised that Santa Claus himself would make an appearance later that afternoon, and perhaps the effect would have been spoiled if there were more than one.
“Yes, dearest,” said Pearl. “We’ll take three.”
She handed six cents to the man and passed out the bags.
Vera held the paper bag to her nose and inhaled its hearty warmth, a memory overcoming her of Mama holding her hand the week before she died as they shared a bag of roasted chestnuts from a vendor outside their apartment.
It was the last time she got to be alone with her mother.
“Thank you,” she said to Pearl.
She closed her eyes, bit into the hot softness of the nutmeat, and nearly cried. It was beautiful how a taste could stir up your emotions. But maybe it no longer represented loss. Maybe instead it promised hope. When she opened her eyes again, Pearl was looking at her.
Pearl. Her new friend. Recently married to Angelo.
Such a recipe for jealousy. But it was impossible not to like Pearl, despite the circumstance.
“What do you think?”
Vera smiled. “I love them. They’re delicious.”
A woman who seemed to know Pearl stopped her to ask a question, so Vera crouched down to William’s level and noticed that he was just staring at his bag.
“Are they too hot for you?”
William looked forlorn, and Vera wanted to leap in and rescue him.
“Here. Let me help you.” She pulled one from its bag and pried her finger through the crack in a shell. A flood of steam burst forth, and she blew on the chestnut until it cooled.
“There we go.”
The hint of a grin began to grow on his face as he took the nutmeat from her and popped it into his mouth. It spread into a full smile that reached up to his eyes, and with this one gesture, Pearl’s son won her over thoroughly.
They got through half the bag of chestnuts this way before Pearl turned to them again, the other woman having walked on.
Pearl grabbed Vera’s hand and looked at her with earnest eyes. “This is how it happens, Vera. Every woman counts. Every single one. You see, by asking about this sash, that woman now knows about the rally we’re planning in Greenwich Village, and she will invite friends. If she invites five friends and they invite five friends, it spreads. We’re not yet a wildfire, but we are a kindling that is quickly being fanned across the city. And the city is only the beginning. We plan to secure votes for women all around the country.”
Vera’s chest swelled. Pearl had a way of making her feel as if she were every bit as important as the next person, even in a world that said she was lesser than most. She stroked her sash again, and she understood then why Pearl could walk away from so much opulence.
No diamond around her neck could shine brighter than this simple ribbon draped across her.
“Thank you,” whispered Vera.
“For what?” Pearl pried open a chestnut and popped it in her mouth. She made a face at William that caused him to giggle.
“For—for everything.”
Pearl put her arms around Vera’s shoulders. “This is only the beginning, my friend. The world is changing, and we’re going to hurry it along.”
They were fortunate to have found one perfect wooden train engine in the vast Christmas market. Vera had begun to despair that they could find the toy that William wanted to give to Angelo. Pearl suggested many other things they passed—a felt hat, a pocket-watch chain, a shoe-shine brush. But William was adamant, and at last they found a carpenter who made not only chairs and tables but also toys out of odd remnants from his bigger work.
The man put the train into a paper sack, which William clutched to his chest.
“Would you like me to hold that for you?” asked Vera, fearing that he would lose it in the crowd.
“No.”
“Don’t mind him,” whispered Pearl into her ear. “He’s reached the age where no is his favorite word. Let’s let him win this one. It’s Christmas.”
A voice behind them spoke, the one that Vera had loved for most of her life. “Well, well. Who are these two beauties illuminating an otherwise gray day?”
Pearl and Vera turned to find Angelo grinning at them.
He kissed his wife on the cheek and hoisted William onto his shoulders. Vera slid the paper bag from William’s hand, as he was now occupied by the arrival of his new papa.
“You’re just in time, Angelo,” said Pearl. “We were going to grab a little lunch before I head back to the booth. Would you like to join us?”
A nearby stall advertised hot clam chowder, and they each bought a bowl and found a bench under a snow-laden tree. William grimaced at the steam, so once again, Vera blew on his food to cool it. But he grew restless while waiting and pulled at her to go see the carousel.
Angelo winked and came to Vera’s rescue. “Will, do you see this bag here?” He held up a sack and waved it around. “One of my regular clients came by today and brought this as a gift. I was going to wait until we got home, but I think you should see it now.”
He opened the bag and pulled out a long popcorn garland.
“It’s for our tree,” he said. “But I think you could take a few bites if you like.”
William looked at him with an expression that said that he thought popcorn on a string was a ridiculous thing. But he put a hand out and yanked one of the kernels from it. He held it in his hand and turned it around. Then a smile grew on his face, and he threw it at Angelo.
“William, no—” Vera started, but Angelo put a hand up. Never losing William’s gaze, he pulled a popcorn bite off the string and threw it at the boy’s forehead. William giggled.
Pearl spoke up. “No reason the boys should have all the fun, Vera.” She pulled off a piece and threw it at Vera. It bounced off her nose and into her soup, sending William into a fit of laughter.
“That’s what we’re doing?” asked Vera. Without their seeing it, she’d already been untangling several pieces from the string and collecting them in her hands. “Then let’s do this right!” She threw them in an arc, hitting Pearl, Angelo, and Will nearly at the same time.
“I’m going to get you back,” said Angelo. He tossed a handful at Vera, and she pulled a piece from her perfectl
y constructed bun.
Back and forth, they dismantled the garland and ignored the stares of people around them. There were more than four million people in New York, but right now, it was only the four of them—Pearl, Angelo, William, and Vera—launching popcorn at one another. Upping the stakes with the oyster crackers that had been served with their soup. Pearl took a handful of those, ground them into dust, and sprinkled them into everyone’s hair.
It was the most fun Vera could remember having in months. She’d been so burdened by her confusing feelings and sense of place among them, but it felt wonderful to be a part of something. To have a sense of family, since hers had broken so long ago.
When they’d run out of food and finished their soup, Pearl stood up and wiped the crumbs off her jacket.
“Well, darlings, this has been a delight. But I have to get back to the booth. I told Miss Voorhees that I’d switch off so that she can get lunch. I doubt anyone will have as nice a time as we did, though.”
“One cup of hot chocolate,” insisted Angelo. “We haven’t tried that yet.”
Pearl grinned. “There’s always ‘one more’ in your book, isn’t there?”
“The key to happiness. One more chapter. One more minute. One more cup of hot chocolate.”
“Some of us have important things to do,” she said.
Her cheeks were red from cold and laughter, but Vera had seen this exchange between the two of them before: Angelo making light of things, Pearl never straying from her mission.
“T-t-tree,” William said, pointing from the perch he’d just taken on Angelo’s shoulders. Vera looked in that direction and saw an enormous tree in the circle.
“Join us,” said Angelo to his wife. “Just for half an hour.” But Pearl declined.
“I promised I’d get back. You all have a wonderful time and tell me about it when you’re finished.” She turned and disappeared as the crowd of people closed in on where she’d been standing.
“It’s just you and me, then, Kid.” Angelo winked at Vera and then looked up. “And you, little buddy. Shall we go see the tree with Zia Vera?”
The Way of Beauty Page 5
