Sofia's Tune

by Cindy Thomson

  With all my best wishes,

  I.J. Paderewski

  The note was signed with a flourishing pen stroke, as a great pianist would be expected to do. Antonio was stunned. This could not be. All his life he had wanted to be someone half as talented as Paderewski, and to have the master compliment a mere ragtime opera performance? It was nearly incomprehensible. But it had happened. He had proof in his hands. This was the reason Mac had pushed him so hard to show up. Why hadn’t he told Antonio what he was up to?

  Antonio turned to look at the envelope on the piano, the black ink letters bold against the white linen paper. Mac hadn’t told him because he knew how in awe Antonio was of the man. He didn’t want Antonio to freeze up.

  He marveled at the events, how things had unfolded. He’d been struggling to find work when he met the writer in the pub, who had then helped Antonio make the musician's acquaintance. It seemed like happenstance, but things could not have fallen in place without help, without a conductor orchestrating his life. Antonio had not planned this. He could not have even dreamed it. His gaze fell to the Bible on his bedside table. How he had not trusted. How he had pondered whether God heard his prayers. It was Sofia Falcone who had insisted that God hears our prayers always and obviously she had been correct. He must thank her for helping him realize this. She would be the first one he would invite when he finally held a concert in a great hall one day, as an Oberlin graduate.

  “Hey, boy, isn’t that something!” He glanced at Lu’s empty bed. He was so used to having him there, and now he felt foolish. If it hadn’t been so late he would have found a telephone and called over to the abbey to see if Lu had shown up. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to share this good news with his most loyal companion.

  As he prepared for bed, he noticed again the old accordion. He felt that now was the right time to show gratitude toward his father, and his unwavering support, and to care for his one possession left behind. After lifting it from its case and discovering it had stayed relatively dry, he brought it to the table and dug in a cabinet drawer until he found a screwdriver and pliers. Before he did anything that might render the instrument musically useless, he set it on his knee and examined the keys. The instrument was what they called a button accordion, smaller than most but still weighing as much as a smoked Christmas ham. Running a finger over the lettering, he noted the make, an Italian company called Soprani. Papà had most likely brought it over from the homeland. But he’d never played it, so far as Antonio knew. Antonio had never tried the thing despite his father’s proclivity for leaving it in plain view. Antonio’s father had collected various instruments to see if his son might be drawn to something—harmonica, a guitar, and this. The piano had been Antonio’s choice. He’d never once considered the accordion. Perhaps, he thought with a twinge of shame, he’d deemed it an old world instrument, something for paupers and beggars to use. Had his father been insulted by his choice? If he had, he’d never shown it.

  Antonio pressed his fingers to the buttons and tried out the billows. The only thing broken, it seemed, was a few of the keys, one more resistant than the others. When he pushed on it, he heard a clunking sound, as though something was in the way. Why on earth would his father insist Nicco protect this?

  He set it down and went to boil water for coffee and to talk sense to himself. There was no possible way this thing contained buried treasure, but perhaps Papà could have put something inside. A note. An explanation of what he was doing at Cooper Union. A clue. If he found something he’d have to apologize to Nicco. If he found nothing, no harm done.

  Chapter 31

  Sofia moaned when she heard Mrs. Hawkins’s wakeup call for church. She had not been able to get to Ward’s Island yesterday. When she left work a messenger boy met her at the trolley with a note. She was expected to hurry home to Hawkins House because Annie Adams had invited a literary speaker, someone Mrs. Hawkins wanted Sofia to meet. She had considered refusing by sending the message boy back with her regrets, but when she realized she didn’t have enough money for the train and the ferry to the island, she knew there was no use. In addition, she had no plan to convince them to release Mamma. With a heavy heart, and a vow to visit Mamma the next day no matter what, she returned to Hawkins House. However, she had been able to make a call on the Adams’s telephone. No treatment had begun for her mother.

  The guest turned out to be a dreary college professor who spoke English too rapidly for Sofia to understand. He read poetry, something else Sofia could not comprehend, at least not as completely as the others seemed to.

  So, after a dull evening, she had gone to bed with a headache that even Mrs. Hawkins’s flowery tea blend could not remedy. Now that the morning alarm had been given, she threw back her bed quilt. She could not miss mass. It took her nearly an hour on Sundays to reach Most Precious Blood, what with the limited transportation going that direction on the Sabbath.

  “Why don’t you go to St. Anthony’s today?” Aileen called from her bed when Sofia returned from the washroom. “Then you won’t have to rise so early.”

  “And not wake you, you mean.”

  “What if that is what I mean?” The Irish girl pulled a blanket over her head.

  Sofia did enjoy the organist at St. Anthony’s. Antonio. She could get lost in his deep, serious eyes, but she had no time for romance. She wanted to see Papà and Father Lucci, and mass was her best opportunity. She would press them afterward for a plan to free Mamma and set a time for when they would go up to get her. “I need to see my family today, Aileen.” Sofia ran a brush through her hair. Then she twisted it into a bun at her neck and pinned a lace scarf in place.

  Aileen sat up. “You know, Professor Malcolm was here last night not just to read from his sad story books.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was invited here for you.”

  “Nonsense. I could barely understand him.” Although she had wondered why she had been given such direct orders to come.

  Aileen huffed. “Isn’t that the truth, now? I could barely understand him myself. His droning on about fate, and gray mountains, and something laughing. A crow, wasn’t it?” She snapped her fingers. “Aye, if it wasn’t a magpie it was surely a crow, so. A wee bit of feathers bringing more gloom than a banshee. You know, heralding anew of death and despair, that’s what. I tell you, that man must abide with nothing but spiders, rats, and goons whispering in his ear.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  “’Tis a good thing, it was, that you did not understand his English, Sofia.”

  Sofia wiped her eyes. “You have told me all I need to know about his writings. Why do you say he came for me?”

  “He is plenty wealthy, I tell you. Inherited money, I hear. I expect Annie and The Hawk wanted to squeeze a bit out of the old bird to pay for your mother’s treatment.”

  Sofia felt her jaw tighten. Her summons now made sense. “They should not do this. We do not need help. I will talk to Papà today.”

  “They don’t mean to be busybodies, Sofia. They only make suggestions. They know who likes to give money away and who doesn’t.”

  “I understand.”

  Aileen placed her tiny feet on the floor and held out a hand. She was not finished yet. “Don’t mind me. I was just having a bit of fun. They do mean well, Sofia. Mrs. Hawkins knows all the rich people in town even though she’s not a bit uppity herself.”

  Sofia finished lacing her boots and stood to leave. “There are some things money cannot fix. For those things we need family. And God.” It sounded good, like a loyal, old world Catholic. But inside, Sofia feared God was telling her no. He would not do as she asked and get Mamma out of there. She drew in a breath to shift her focus away from such negative thoughts. “I will see you for supper tonight, Aileen.”

  ***

  Mass seemed especially long as Sofia sat beside her father and siblings. No one spoke before. There had not been time. Beads of sweat swam under her collar even though the sanctuar
y was cool. She tapped her fingers on her rosary, unable to concentrate on the prayers being spoken aloud. She stood, knelt, said the Our Father, but out of routine. She continued to think about Mamma. What was she doing today? Had they let her out of her room for mass? What was she eating? Was she cold? Afraid? Sad?

  And then the grayest thought came to her. What if Mamma was sitting in her tiny room, blaming Sofia? Perhaps she despised Sofia because Sofia lived and Serena hadn’t. As angry as she felt sometimes, especially toward Papà, this fear was worse. On Ward’s Island Mamma had hinted at it: Serena died because Sofia lived. She pushed the ugly thoughts from her mind. Getting Mamma better was what mattered most.

  As they stood for the recessional, Sofia put her hand on Papà’s arm. She would not let go until they had the opportunity to talk.

  Papà patted her fingers. “What did you think of the homily this morning, Sofia?”

  She didn’t think anything. She hadn’t heard it.

  While she was trying to decide what to say, Gabriella spoke up. “About hearing God speak to us, Papà. The story of Rachel.”

  He turned to Sofia’s sister. “Ah, bene. Bene.”

  He slipped away from Sofia. Papà and Sofia’s brothers approached the Russo men.

  Sofia sighed loudly. “Carla Russo is not at mass today. I hope she is all right,” Sofia said to her sister.

  “I would not worry about that. She misses often. But what is the problem with you?” Gabriella took her arm. “You seem especially distracted this morning.”

  Sofia’s face warmed. She moved away from her sister. “What is the problem, you ask?” She chopped at the air as she spoke. “Everything is falling apart. Mamma is in an awful place, Gabriella. Did you not notice?” The girl’s self-absorbed nature irritated Sofia today more than usual. Was there no one in this family to help?

  “Of course, Sofia, but she is in a hospital. She will get better.”

  Sofia closed her eyes a moment. They were in church. She would not scold her sister. Not here. She gritted her teeth. “She will not get better there. I have visited and seen with my own eyes.”

  “You saw Mamma?” Gabriella’s lips parted slightly as she considered this. “I did not know she was somewhere bad.”

  Sofia whispered. “So, because you did not know, you think it could not be so, Gabriella?”

  “No. I mean, no one told me there was anything amiss there. How was I to know?”

  You might try to find out.

  “How bad, Sofia?”

  Drawing a quick breath to calm herself, Sofia realized her sister was ignorant because their parents allowed her to be. They had always done so. Gabriella was obedient. Always doing what they said without question. This was not Gabriella’s fault. “I am sorry to be so irritable. She is bad enough that we must convince Papà to get her out. Today.”

  Gabriella’s face turned white. They both looked toward the men who were laughing and slapping each other on the back. “That could be difficult,” Gabriella observed.

  Later, as Sofia and her sister cleaned up after the Sunday meal and Fredo worked on repairing the heels on Sofia’s shoes, even though she had insisted she could do it herself, Sofia suggested a plan. She whispered to her sister. Not even her brothers thought the Falcone women should have any say when it came to their elders. Gabriella might be her only ally. “We will tell Papà we are going together to get Mamma.”

  “And bring her back here? We cannot do that. You saw how distressed and unmanageable she was when she was at home, Sofia.”

  “We must manage nonetheless. She is worse off there, I tell you.”

  Sofia had thought she had convinced Gabriella, but apparently she had not. Why must everyone fear what they don’t understand? Why would no one talk about it? Mamma needed her family around her. Maybe not Sofia, not right now, but she would heal with time. Here. At home. With her family near.

  Sofia hoped to convince even herself that was true. She prayed for it to be so, but if God would not grant this, she would arrange it herself.

  Joey stomped in, latching the door behind him.

  “Where have you been?” Papà shouted. He rose to meet his youngest son before he came fully into the apartment.

  “Getting work.” Joey took off his coat with the patched up elbows and flung it toward the coat tree, missing it. He shoved it to the corner with his foot.

  Papà stood so close their noses nearly touched. “And for this you missed mass? You shame me. This kind of work, this bullying work, no Falcone will do this living under my roof.”

  Joey stood his ground. “What are you talking about, Papà? I have been looking for a job.”

  Sofia’s other brothers sprang from their seats and joined in. There was so much shouting no man could hear the other. Neither did they hear the faint knock. Sofia unlocked the door.

  Joey put a hand on it. “Ask who it is.”

  “Carla Russo,” came the answer.

  Sofia opened the door to find the woman standing in the hall, shivering. She joined her out there despite being in her stocking feet. She closed the door to the shouting. “Signora Russo, what is wrong?”

  “Signor Russo…he…” She sucked in her breath and began again. “I have to leave my apartment. I come here. I need to come anyway. Sofia, your mother.”

  Sofia put an arm around her and tried to warm the woman they called the healer but she cried out in pain. “You are hurt. Let me help you.”

  “No. Please, never mind me. He strikes me because I question him but he will not keep me silent. He and his brother and your papà were talking as they returned from mass. I did not go this morning because…God forgive me, I did not feel well. But I awaited their return so I would know when to bake pane di saragolla out back.”

  The families in the building kept a wood-burning oven in the outside courtyard to bake bread the way they had in Italy. Whether or not Carla Russo felt well, she would be expected to put the bread on the table. “Go on,” Sofia encouraged.

  “As I was going out the door I heard them coming. I waited in the shadows and listened. I heard things before, so has Luisa, but we did not think we could do anything. Perhaps we cannot, but I will not keep silent.”

  Sofia guided her to the staircase and when the two of them sat down a rosy bruise showed just above the woman’s ankle. Sofia cringed, but did not know if she should mention it. “Where is your daughter?”

  “She is helping the nuns this afternoon. They are putting together baskets for the needy. I am glad she was not here.”

  She paused a moment but Sofia knew she would not explain fully what had happened behind their apartment door.

  “I had to come down to see you. Your papà, he did not know. He could not have known. Please, Sofia, do not blame him.”

  “Signora Russo, known what? What about Mamma?”

  “The men, the bad ones. Signor Parrella’s men.” She began to weep. “Your papà, he thanked my husband for helping his son get work, but until Signor Russo told him today, he did not know.” She was nearly hysterical.

  “Please, signora. I do not understand what you mean.”

  The woman pinched her eyes shut as if what she was about to say was going to cause her pain. “Your brother Joseph. He should have stayed away. Your mamma, if she were here, she would have kept him away.”

  The woman’s words seemed to bounce against each other in the damp hall. She was trying to tell Sofia something, but what? Papà was scolding Joey still. She could hear them through the thin walls. Something about the work he was doing. “Joey is involved in something bad, Signora Russo? Please, tell me.”

  A door slammed above them and the woman jumped. Vanessa, one of the children Gabriella tended to, came bounding past them carrying a hoop. “I am going outside to play,” she announced.

  “You should. While the sun shines,” Sofia said. “Go along now.”

  Carla Russo relaxed her shoulders but she seemed skittish.

  “Why don’t you come in for a hot d
rink, signora? Papà won’t mind.”

  As the two of them entered the apartment Sofia felt the woman stiffen beside her when she looked at Joey. But it was Papà who shouted at them. “Her husband. He is the one who got you into trouble, Joseph.”

  “Papà!” Sofia shouted back. “Whatever happened, it was not our healer’s fault.”

  “No, it was her husband!” Papà lowered his voice. “Carla, Sofia is right. Forgive me. It is not your fault. Sit down. Sofia, get her caffè, presto.”

  Carla was still shaking when Sofia helped her to a chair. She saw Papà looking at the woman’s bruise before she quickly pulled her skirts down to cover it. Papà wouldn’t ask her about it, either. It was another man’s business. Well, Sofia would not follow tradition the next time she saw Signor Russo.

  “He should not be here!” Carla Russo pointed at Joey. “They will come. Hide him. Run away, Joseph!”

  Joey flattened himself against the wall and drew back the window curtain with one finger. “I must go, Papà.”

  Tears filled Sofia’s father’s eyes. Sofia looked from him to the healer, but could not comprehend what they were talking about. Her three brothers were about to leave when she blocked the door. “Joey, what is this? We have to help Mamma. There is no time for foolishness.” But a glance at the healer made her realize this was no joke.