Tears brimmed her eyes, as she remembered Michael's gentle smile … the blueness of his eyes … the blonde waves of his hair. At first glance she had fallen madly in love with him. She had loved his difference in appearance, so light-skinned, nothing at all like the Italian men she had grown so used to seeing on Pordenone's streets. She had never hungered for any of her countrymen's touches. Only Michael had stirred the embers inside her to a burning inferno.
“But, I shall never see you again, Michael,” she said, flipping her hair to hang down in dark waves to her waist. “I must forget you. I must.” She reached upward and pulled the tarnished chain free from beneath the bodice of her dress. She turned it in her fingers until she found the clasp, then unfastened it, letting the chain and the key that hung loosely from it ripple down onto the palm of her hand. When she would feel the loneli-ness eating away at her insides, she would remove her violin from its case and let her instrument speak to her in its soft, gentle voice as she pulled the bow across its strings.
She lifted the skirt of her dress up as she stooped to reach beneath her bed. She pulled the violin case outward and lifted it atop her bed, then unlocked it, remembering how it had pleasured her to play on the street corners of Pordenone—the only audience she had ever known.
Touching the strings, plucking them one by one, a thought seized her, making her pulsebeat increase. She had played her violin on the streets of Pordenone for . .. money. . . . Why couldn't she do it in the town of Creal Springs? Her Papa and Alberto would never need know. She would play only during the hours that they were in the bowels of the earth. And choosing to play on the streets of Creal Springs instead of this Italian community was much wiser, since the people of Creal Springs would most surely have coins to share with the less fortunate.
“Yes,” she said aloud. “That's what I shall do. That could be the answer to many things.” Tremors of excitement raced through her, as she thought that playing in front of an audience once again was so close at hand. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? She wouldn't only be finally having some pleasure from life, but bringing home some coins at the same time.
“Now what shall I wear?” she said, looking down at her flimsy attire of a thinning, threadbare cotton dress. As she held the skirt out from her body, she could even see herself through it. No. That would not be appropriate to wear where people would be watching her.
She rushed to the wardrobe, pulling out the dress her aunt Helena had given her. Its sleekness of satin shone back at her in shimmering colors of greens and the velveteen bows and white trimmings of lace made her heart pound against her ribs. She wanted so to wear this, to look like one of the rich women who lived in the magnificent houses at Creal Springs.
But her brows furrowed. There were two reasons she could not wear such a dress. She did not want to reveal the curves of her body to men, knowing that to do so, especially while standing on a street corner on display, could possibly cause one to do her harm. She also knew that to wear such a fancy, expensive dress would be to defeat her purpose of wishing to look the part of a waif who did indeed need coins tossed at her feet.
“Then what shall I wear?” she murmured, placing the dress back inside the wardrobe. Her gaze settled on her chimney sweep outfit. It hung from a hanger, clean and crisp, yet it gave her such an empty feeling inside, thinking to have to wear it again. She hated its absolute drabness. She hated the breeches. But when she had taken it to the stove to burn it, as she had so longed to do while on the long journey from Italy, her Papa had stopped her, saying that it was a waste to destroy any clothes that still could have a possible use some day.
“Did he know that more would be needed besides coal mining to keep this family in money?” she wondered aloud. Had he thought she might even try her skills at chimney sweeping while here in America? A loathing made her face become all shadows. But she knew that today this outfit was the best thing that she could wear. It would make her look the role of a person in need, and it could be used to hide the fact that she was a female. She had mostly succeeded at doing this while on the ship and train. With her hair hidden beneath the confines of the hat, she knew that she could indeed play the role of a male once again. For her Papa? Anything! Hadn't she even refrained from returning to Ruby's because of her Papa . . . and what he might think of her for associating with her kind? Yes, for her Papa . . . anything. He came first. Now. Always.
With trembling fingers, she hurriedly changed from her dress to her black breeches and jacket. “Papa will never know,” she said, sweeping her hair up atop her head, pinning it, then placing the cap snugly over it. “And the money I shall make will be spent for groceries. He'll just think I'm using the money he has earned. Only Alberto will know the difference, because it is he who is spending Papa's hard-earned money as well as his own. But Alberto can just go jump in the lake if he doesn't like what I'm doing. To tell Papa would be the same as telling on himself.”
Maria stepped into her high-topped shoes and laced them, then placed her violin in its case and snapped the lid shut. Taking a deep breath, she hurried outside, glad to know that Alberto had decided to leave the horse and wagon at her disposal for use any time of the day for shopping or in case of an emergency. “Well, this is an emergency,” she said softly, smiling, now anxious to carry this plan out.
She placed the violin in the back of the wagon, then pulled herself up onto the seat. The horse was stamping its feet restlessly, also anxious, it seemed, to get away from its drab surroundings. Maria lifted the reins and gave them a slap, looking quickly around her, seeing if anyone was watching her escape from her day of drudgery. Excitement was building inside her. She had grown so tired of her days of labor. She hadn't even been able to take her daily walks because of the cold, damp weather. She had wanted to return to Ruby's, but hadn't, knowing the disappointment it would cause her Papa.
She wondered now if Ruby would even remember her. Several months had passed since the day they had met, the day Maria had seen another way of life that she had only up to that time read about in novels. “A house of whores,” she thought to herself, guiding the carriage out onto the narrow street, moving away from the row after row of shacks, on through the small town of Hawkinsville, and onto a country road of dried, muddy ruts. She stiffened, feeling her body being tossed about on the seat. But she was determined to move onward. She had only a few hours, then she would have to return before her Papa and Alberto would get home. She had to keep this from her Papa. At all costs.
When she reached the outskirts of Creal Springs, she stopped and pulled her billed hat lower on her forehead, hoping her eyes wouldn't be so noticeable. She knew that most males didn't have lashes to match her own. That alone could give her identity away. She had to be sure that no one discovered that she was a female. She would stand . . . mute . . . playing .. . then bowing a silent thanks if coins were tossed at her feet.
Slouching a bit, Maria urged her horse onward, now looking from side to side, seeing the nicely painted white-framed houses lining both sides of the town's streets. Each house was of a different design, and they had lawns of mowed green grass, and flower beds in shades of yellows, reds and purples.
Maria sighed, longing to live in such a way. Everything in this town seemed so fresh … so clean. And the houses appeared to have been built so that no cracks could possibly be found in the walls. She could envision a family living in luxury behind these walls … a family that probably hadn't ever had to want for food … for warmth. . . .
Determination made Maria slap the reins even more fiercely. She would get some coins tossed to her this day. She had to.
When she reached the outskirts of the business district, she eyed the buildings with awe. They were mainly of red brick and had huge windows of paned glass, in which could be seen displays of women's apparel, furniture, and many other items that made Maria's eyes widen, and her heart pound at a faster rate of speed. Pordenone wasn't anything like this. This town in America showed such a variety of wealth.
She guided her horse down a street that had even been made of laid red bricks. This street then led onto another street that formed a square around a magnificent building that displayed a huge, grand clock at the top. It showed its face and hands on four sides, so that no matter which street you were on, you could still look upward and see what time it was.
When chimes began to count out the hour of ten, Maria moved onward, looking for a corner that would be best for her to do her… entertaining … which she knew in truth would be called begging by the wealthier of the townspeople who might see her. But she didn't care. She was doing what she had to do, and she would enjoy it no matter what she might be called while doing it.
Maria studied the buildings carefully, and the people coming and going from them. Most of the men were dressed in neat suits and wore hats and exhibited fat, bushy mustaches. The women were dressed fancily in long, flowing dresses, and most displayed the fanciest of hats, each, it seemed, trying to outdo the next by the extremes of design.
Another longing rippled through Maria, hoping one day to be a part of this glamour. But she now knew that more than likely it would never happen. It was meant for her to remain just an immigrant. She was supposed to make life as easy for her father and brother as was humanly possible. The Lazzaro family had to stick together. But anger raged through her now, remembering Alberto, and his carelessness with the Lazzaro money. One day he would sec the wrong of his new way of life. One day….
A seven-story brick building drew Maria's keen attention. It reminded her of some of the buildings she had seen during her brief time in the large city of New York. This had to be the building meant for her to stand in front of. Surely the largest building of this town would be the one most frequently used by the townspeople. And upon closer observation, she read the name Creal Springs City’ Bank on a huge sign that reached across the front. She smiled. This indeed was the place to display her talents as a violinist. Surely people leaving a bank would be the ones to have the most coins to toss away….
Hurrying to tie her reins to a hitching post, she then removed her violin and bow from their case and inched her way toward the street corner nearest the door of the bank building. She eyed the people sheepishly, seeing that just her presence alone was drawing much attention. She blushed a bit, knowing how terrible she had to look in her ghastly chimney sweep costume, but then she only ducked her head, fitted her violin beneath her chin, and began drawing the bow across the strings, letting her mind drift to the words being spoken to her from her instrument… so soft… so soothing. She played harder, until she could even feel the strings beginning to cut into her fingers. It was then that she heard the first tinkle of a coin against another coin landing on fhe brick walk at her feet.
Maria's pulsebeat increased, but she knew to not let herself make eye contact with the people being so generous. She knew that to do so would be to reveal too much. Instead, she tucked her violin beneath her left arm and bowed deeply, keeping her head ducked.
She proceeded to play another song familiar to her, thrilling inside from the audience that she was drawing, and from the money that she was fast earning. She couldn't play fast enough, and the faster she did play, the more she heard the coins being tossed at her feet. Then the chiming of the town clock drew her quick attention to the time of day, and she knew that her fun would have to draw to a close. She had to shop for household supplies before going home. She was anxious to replenish their empty kitchen pantry. She would even get home in time to make a delicious stew. What a surprise for her papa and, yes, what a complete surprise for Alberto. He had known how few coins remained. He would know that she had worked for the food that would be placed on the table this night. She was anxious to see his face … to see the wonder in his eyes.
Not looking upward at the crowd that began to disperse as she began to collect the coins to slip into her pocket, she listened as they moved on away from her, hearing the comments of how fabulously “he” had played the violin. Pride swelled inside her. This alone was worth the disgrace of having to wear such an outfit once again. She would do it again. Yes. Tomorrow . .. she would do it again.. . .
Chapter Ten
A week of playing her violin on the street corners of Creal Springs had passed and Maria was still playing her heart out, hardly believing the response she was receiving. She had hidden ajar full of her earned coins away from Alberto's snoopings. He had guessed her pastime, but had kept his silence about it.
This day, Maria had found some competition. She drew her bow across the violin strings, glancing sideways at another Italian female, seeing her displaying her beautiful assortment of paper flowers that she had made for selling on the streets. The girl held the flowers in front of her for all to see as they passed by. Mana felt a twinge of jealousy when the girl was handed coins in exchange for the paper-shaped clusters of beautiful different colors.
The girl was of the same olive skin coloring as Maria, with dark, imploring eyes that could take the heart from anyone looking into their depths. Her dress was of a thin, fully gathered cotton that would wrap around her ankles as the winds whipped around the corners of the bank building she and Maria were standing before.
Except for the girl's nose that was tiny and tilted, her features were Italian. Maria knew that she was competing with more than artificial flowers for notice. This girl was shatteringly pretty. Maria knew that she had to let the pretty side of her own self be seen, no matter if doing so disclosed to all that she was a woman … not a man. Playing the violin for coins had suddenly become not enough. If she had to show the beauty of her long, flowing hair, and the brightness of her eyes that she had kept purposely hidden as best she could, then be that as it might. She would do just that. She needed the coins. . . surely more than the girl standing beside her!
Leaning momentarily to place her violin in its case, Maria watched out of the corner of her eye as the girl continued to sell her flowers. Haste was needed. Maria was losing out on coins this day.
She reached up and pulled her hat from her head, shaking her hair to come loose from its pins, to cascade lazily down her back in long, dark waves. She licked and sucked on the fullness of her lips, to cause them to darken in colors of reds, then loosened the buttons of her jacket down halfway to her waist, revealing the deepness of her cleavage. She felt a bit wicked but she knew that in such clothes, more than what she would usually reveal to the naked eye was needed. She was a woman. She would display this along with her talents at playing the violin. She had to remember. .. she needed the coins. She would try anything to get them.
Smiling, she looked toward the girl, seeing that she had been watching. “Now I shall be the one to get the coins,” Maria said to her in Italian, picking up her violin.
The girl blushed, then unbuttoned her dress partially down the front, deciding to play the game as well. “We'll see about that,” she whispered, also in Italian, moving closer to Maria. “At least I look the part of a woman. I have never worn breeches. You look disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.”
Maria's eyes snapped with anger. “Then you have never known the true meaning of being poor,” she whispered back, ignoring the gathering crowd watch-ing the feud developing. “I had to wear breeches in Italy. I was a chimney sweep. What did you do in Italy? Make flowers like a weakling? At least I proved my need for lira. By working hard. Ha! Now tell me you have worked so hard yourself.”
“And what have we here?” a high-pitched male voice spoke suddenly from behind Maria, making her whirl around, eyes wide. “Two females on the verge of war?” he said further. “Shame be upon you. Maybe you need an intermediary. Shall I suffice?”
Maria clutched her violin to her bosom, words catching in her throat when she saw this craggy-appearing face staring so knowingly upward at her. She had never seen so ugly a man. His gray eyes seemed bottomless and his briar thicket of eyebrows and bushy, gray moustache bounced as he talked. His hat was held in his hand, revealing a head that shone back to Ma
ria, almost like a mirror, as she looked downward. He was so short, she knew that she could very easily place her chin upon that head of glass. But she chose to not even stand so close to him. He had an air of aloofness about him. As though he truly didn't care about anything or anyone, except himself. Why he had chosen to intervene in this private argument was a question Maria didn't care to hear the answer to.
“No, sir. Your interference is not appreciated,” she said flatly. “Now if you will please excuse me, I have a song I would like to play on my violin.”
The man refused to move. He smiled crookedly as he pulled a fat roll of bills from his front breeches pocket. “Now if I gave you enough money for a full day's playing, would you think you might take time to speak to a lonely man?” he questioned, winking at Maria.
Maria stared open-mouthed at the money, then toward the young girl, whose face had paled. “But. . . sir… I don't know. . . .” Maria whispered, staring once again at the money. She had never seen so much at one time. Never. Oh, how much she could buy with it. Oh, how she ached to reach her hand out… accept it. .. . But she couldn't. She had pride. Coins were earned. This vast amount of money wasn't.
“This is only a small amount of all the money that I own, young lady,” he said, holding the money out, motioning for Maria to take it. “If you wish, share this with the young lady at your side. Then you will no longer have reason to dispute. Money is the cause for your angry words being exchanged, is it not?”
Maria swallowed hard, inching away from him. This was too easy. Nobody gave away such amounts of money .. . unless . . . they wanted more than one was willing to give. “Sir, please be on your way,” Maria whispered, looking from side to side, seeing that all the other bystanders had moved on their way, now that she had ceased playing her violin. Anger made her insides turn to boiling, realizing she had lost her chance at having many coins tossed her way because of this inter fering old man whom no one could possibly enjoy being with. And no way was she so anxious to have extra money that she would have to accept it from the carefully manicured fingers of this gentleman.
Rapture's Rendezvous Page 19
