Sofia's Tune

by Cindy Thomson

  When Sofia said she most certainly did, the sergeant took out a pad and pencil and began to take notes as Luisa spoke.

  The nun broke in when Luisa paused. “Now, you listen to me. I have something to say.” She raised an eyebrow at the policeman and shrugged, apparently deciding she would speak in front of him.

  The outburst so stunned them, they fell mute.

  The sister drew her hands in front of her as she spoke, clearly and without the fluttering expression that most often accompanied her conversations. “Signor Russo behaved badly.” She patted Luisa as she said this. “Joseph behaved badly. But the worst is Signor Parrella and the way he gets men to follow him, hungry men who are desperate to feed their families. And then someone dies. Signor Baggio, the young man’s father. Joseph told me. And now Joseph had to leave.” She pointed a gnarled finger at the sergeant. “Joseph had nothing to do with the death, you hear?”

  He nodded and continued scribbling on the pad.

  The nun’s eyes filled with tears. “You will go to your father, Sofia. You will tell him enough suffering. It must stop. He will take care of the Russo women. He must tend to my dear Angelina. But you, Sofia, you must go to your young man now and get him to tell you about his father, what he did, what he tried to do to help.”

  “Sister, can you tell me more about that?” Owen readied his pencil over a fresh sheet of paper.

  The nun glanced toward the ceiling. “No. Not me. But, Sofia, you ask, and then…”

  Music wafted from an open window, a Victrola, perhaps the Sister’s borrowed recording. She smiled and turned toward it. Sofia feared the lecture was over and just when she was about to tell them something.

  Stefania put a cupped palm to her covered ear. “Hear that? Hear the master’s voice?”

  Luisa pushed a cracker around on the plate in front of her. “Sì, the dog hears his owner’s recorded voice. We should go now, Sister.”

  “Sì, sì,” Stefania said, eager to finish her thought. “You and Antonio Baggio, Sofia. You follow this and it will lead to answers.” She patted Luisa’s cheek. “And we will be safe, happy, and fat again. You will see.”

  After they saw Luisa home, Owen McNulty hired a cab to take Sofia to Hawkins House. On the way he tried to assure her. “Your mother will improve, I’m sure.”

  Sofia blurted what she was thinking. “The past haunts her. It haunts me also. Papà does not think bringing up the past is right.”

  “A detective’s job is to uncover what is hidden, especially what folks have tried to keep buried, but in your case I shall do it with as much care as possible. I would not want to violate your family’s privacy any more than is necessary.”

  “Grazie. You are kind.” She sighed. “Mamma always said what begins difficult will end with success so long as we do not give up.”

  The whole way back to the boarding house Sofia thought about Antonio. She did want to see him again. She wanted to know his uncle was well, that Luigi the dog had endured his adventure away from home without mishap, and that Antonio would find peace with his father’s untimely death.

  Mamma would get well. This time God would answer that prayer because la famiglia had come together in their time of need. Joey? She didn’t know what his fate would be, but God would hear Sofia’s constant prayers for his safety.

  She should be content but she was troubled. Stefania, as daffy as she seemed sometimes, had an uncanny ability to equate two seemingly unrelated things, like the Victor dog listening to his master’s voice on the phonograph record labels—the dog that remarkably resembled Antonio’s pet—and the search she and Antonio had been on to solve their respective family mysteries. “You and Antonio Baggio, Sofia. You follow this and it will lead to answers.” She could not get that out of her mind. Follow the same voice? The same clues? What if God was directing the devout woman’s words as she was instructing Sofia?

  Chapter 36

  Nicco turned the key between his fingers. “Too small for a door key. What do you have around here that locks?”

  “Nothing. You can see for yourself. No boxes, no closets, no desks. Let me see.” The key was simple-looking, no engraving, no numbers. As he studied it a thought came to him. “Uncle, keys turn locks, but sometimes they turn other things, don’t they?”

  Nicco drew in a breath and stared at the ceiling. “They turn cranks, like for music boxes or to wind clocks.”

  “That’s right.” He rush toward the piano, bent down next to the bench and inserted the key into the opening near the right front leg. Perfect fit. As he cranked it a creaking sound came from the seat.

  “What the devil is that?” Nicco came closer for a look, Luigi at his heels.

  “It’s an adjustable bench. You can raise it if you are of short stature. I didn’t need it, and besides, Papà said the key was lost.” He kept cranking it. Metal scraped metal until the seat elevated slightly. They leaned over, gazing into the compartment underneath. A lumpy piece of burlap had been flattened between the seat and a board on the bottom covering the inner workings. Antonio lifted it out and unwrapped a pile of paper money.

  “We’re rich!” Nicco slapped him on the back.

  “Not so fast. This is money the padrone’s gang wants. You know Papà. He was no thief.”

  “No, not your papà.”

  “So it belongs to someone. And there is a note.” Antonio sucked in a breath. This was the reason his father was killed. It had to be. And now he would know why.

  Antonio turned up the oil lamp and laid the note on his kitchen table. The high electric bulb would not suffice. Nicco folded his hands against his stomach as he stood looking over Antonio’s shoulder. His uncle could not read. Papà had studied hard during his years in America and had taught Antonio to read English, and only English, before he went to primary school.

  Antonio stared a moment at the handwriting. It was indeed Papà’s. Lacking the flourish and sure hand Paderewski’s letters had, Papà’s penned words spoke of hard work and determination, if not perfection.

  To Whom It May Concern,

  I dearly hope this missive does not become necessary. In case it does, I will set forth a list of the men to whom the bills found with this note belong. I was entrusted to defend the businessmen listed here by collecting the “protection money” Parrella exhorted from the blameless Benevento men. I was to withhold it from the gangsters until such a time as these funds could be used to bring matters to the attention of a United States judge. An attorney by the name of J.M. Yates has pledged to aid us. The tyranny happening in Little Italy must end. I became aware of the situation because of a young man I conversed with at an Irish saloon. We met again later on the streetcar. We engaged in conversation and he confided in me, hoping that an Italian man of more prominence than himself would know what to do. I laughed at that. I am a poor immigrant as well, although not nearly as unfortunate as the newest arrivals. God caused a stirring in my heart. I knew I had to try to help.

  That was the end save for a list of names and the amounts they had given.

  Nicco sniffed after Antonio read his father’s note aloud. “That was your papà. Sì, he pretended to be gruff with me, but he had a heart as wide as Lady Liberty is tall. A good man. A very good man.” He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “Too good, wasn’t he? It got him killed.”

  Antonio’s throat swelled with emotion. Why, Papà? Why did you get involved? “We will return the money to the rightful owners.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Nicco grabbed the money in his fist and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

  “What are you doing? That does not belong to you.”

  “You cannot just march over to Mulberry Street like it’s the feast of Saint Bartholomew and you are leading the parade. If the thugs hear what you are doing, you will be ambushed, robbed, shot, and left for dead. I won’t let what happened to my brother happen to his son.”

  “I understand. That would be foolish. But we can’t keep the money.”

  “True, we
can’t do that.” He returned the wad to the table. “What to do?”

  “I don’t know. It’s late. Grab a blanket and we will talk about it tomorrow.”

  ***

  Antonio woke to Luigi’s whimpering. He blinked his eyes. It was still dark but he had the sense that he had slept a long while. He lifted his pocket watch off the nightstand and struggled to focus on the small hands. When was the last time he’d been awake at 5:45 am? “What’s wrong, Lu?”

  The dog sat staring at the closed door.

  “Is someone out there?”

  Lu lifted a paw and gently tapped the door. Then Antonio heard a voice coming from the other side.

  “Signor Baggio? It is Sofia Falcone. Are you awake? The pastor at St. Anthony’s told me you lived here.” There was a soft knock and Lu whined louder.

  Antonio shrugged into his jacket and allowed Lu to join him out in the hall. “Miss Falcone, what brings you here at this hour?”

  “I am so sorry. I am on my way to work at the factory. I did not think I should wait to come speak to you. What my aunt, Sister Stefania, has been saying finally made sense. You and I, we need to work together to stop Signor Parrella. I am sorry your father was killed, but I do hope you will want to do something to end this.”

  Antonio rubbed his chin. “I am not sure what it means, but you showing up here right after my uncle and I found…well, I do hope you can help clear some things up.”

  Nicco came out of the apartment on his way to the washroom. “Well, what a surprise to have company for breakfast. Tony, put the kettle on. I will return shortly.”

  “Won’t you please?” Antonio opened the door wide, allowing Luigi to lead the way.

  “I won’t keep you. Your uncle looks well.” She accepted the lone kitchen chair and sat while Antonio cracked eggs into a bowl.

  “He seems very well. While the episodes of sobriety have been short-lived in the past, I’m hopeful this time he will stay out of the saloons.” He noticed her staring at the pile of money they had left on the table. “Uh, that is what I think we need to talk about.”

  “What is it?”

  “Protection money paid by the men from your village to Parrella. Only he did not get it. That is why my father was killed.”

  She turned her wide, dark eyes to him. “God rest his soul. But I do not understand. What I came to tell you is Sister Stefania believes you and I can help find justice. That our stories overlap by more than just happenstance.”

  He nodded to the wadded up pile. “And as you can see, they do indeed.”

  “Where did you get that? Your father…” She pinched her hands in her lap. He would save her from having to say it.

  “No, he did not steal it. He apparently, unknown to me or my uncle until we found this with a note, had been working for Parrella. Well, in fact, he was working for the Benevento men like a spy of sorts. He was trying to help them. They gave him the money under the belief that he would get legal help for them. That they would be able to escape the extortion through the courts. My father heard about the ordeal somehow, through a conversation on a streetcar apparently, and he tried to help. Obviously, that turned out to be a deadly decision.”

  A tear streaked down her face.

  “I do not blame anyone from your village, Miss Falcone, least of all your brother. From the first time I encountered Joey I could tell he was not the type to do these things. Poverty sometimes causes men to sink below their moral standards, but I believe they can rise above it. I would like to see this money returned and the man responsible thrown in jail. He has surely committed more crimes than this. This country is supposed to be the home of the free, the land of opportunity, into which the Statue welcomes the huddled masses, isn’t it? This should not happen here.”

  Nicco returned, stomping into the room while drying the back of his neck with a towel. The public nature of the shelter house had caused him to lose all sense of propriety. Antonio gave Sofia an apologetic grin.

  “You are from Benevento?” Nicco asked.

  She nodded.

  “You know about the protection money the store owners have been paying?”

  “I did not until now. I knew Joey was supposed to get money from Signor Baggio, but I did not know all this.”

  He leaned against the bed and Luigi sat at his feet. “Not only store owners, I suppose many laborers paid just to keep their leases on their homes. And the rent kept going up along with payments to the thugs to keep from being thrown out on the streets. And whenever someone wanted a job, he had to pay another fee. God help them.”

  An odd expression shadowed Sofia’s face. She stood. “My papà,” she whispered. “He would not tell me, but this is why he would not pay for doctors. He could not.” She pointed to the money. “And Joey was mixed up in it. He probably was trying to earn back the fees Papà had to pay.” She ran a hand over her face and then flung her hands to her side. Lu trotted over and licked her fingers.

  Antonio set the bowl of scrabbled eggs aside. “This.” He put a hand on the pile of money. “This was keeping your mother from getting treatment. It must have been tearing your father up inside.”

  “I knew there was a reason the Sister sent me to you. But…how do we return this while Signor Parrella is still out there watching?

  “We were just asking ourselves the same thing.”

  Sofia lifted a finger into the air. “Annie Adams’s library.”

  “Who?”

  “You met her the day you were at Hawkins House. She wanted to raise money for my mother. Both she and Mrs. Hawkins offered. It did not seem right to me. La famiglia takes care of their own. But, if the padrone didn’t know any different, we could return this and make a show of Signora Adams’s benevolence being the source of it, just until Sergeant McNulty shuts down the gang.”

  Nicco stomped his foot. “What in blazes are you two cooking up?”

  “Don’t worry, Uncle. Miss Falcone has it all in hand.”

  Later that day, Antonio made a telephone call to the Adams’s house and explained the plan.

  “It’s a bit unorthodox,” Mrs. Adams said.

  “I understand, but it would really help us out.”

  “I would not agree to such a thing unless the police are involved.”

  “Of course not. Miss Falcone will speak to Sergeant McNulty as soon as her shift at the factory is over.”

  Antonio hung up the receiver and hurried back to his apartment, wondering what it would be like to own one’s own telephone machine. When he got back, Nicco was gone. Luigi whined and dropped to the floor, his paws over his ears. “Well, let’s hope for the best, boy.”

  Antonio went about his chores, whistling the tune he was to play at the theater that evening. Now that he knew the circumstances of how his father came to be at Cooper Union that fateful day, he had a measure of peace. He might never understand the choice his father made, why he had thought he was the one to undertake such a thing. He wished his father had informed him, but he understood that he’d only wanted to protect him.

  As he was straightening up, he came across the paper Mac had given him the other night. He’d forgotten about it. It was from Paderewski. He had missed the deadline. He wasn’t sorry Sofia had filled his thoughts to the exception of all else, but this could mean his hopes for a career as a concert musician might be over. He sat down on the music bench, the one that had held a secret so close to him, and yet completely beyond his knowing. Oh, God, you are like that. So close, and yet I don’t feel you there. If Oberlin is where I need to be, let me trust that it will happen. If not, help me to accept my circumstances because I have learned the best and most treasured parts of life arrive in the form of people and not by my lofty plans.

  He unfolded the note and read.

  Dear Antonio,

  If you read this before my ship leaves, there is still time, my boy. But I suppose you will not take me up on my offer. I can only conclude that your plans have taken you elsewhere. Oberlin, perhaps, and I hope you
find success there. I will not lie and say that I am not disappointed. Perhaps we can meet again in the future. I look forward to following your career.

  He signed his name in the usual manner. Antonio felt a lump in his throat. The ship of opportunity had docked and he had failed to board it. Help me to accept my circumstances.

  There was something else in the envelope. He shook it out. Another letter and two one hundred dollar notes. With trembling hands he read.

  Please accept a contribution to your future education. Use it at Oberlin or somewhere else. It is my pleasure indeed.

  “Lu, I can go to Oberlin to audition now. And this will put me on the path to having enough tuition.” The dog wandered over and laid his head in Antonio’s lap. “What? You aren’t happy about this? It’s what I was hoping for.” As he said the words aloud, they felt heavy and burdensome, not at all what he had expected. “Well, boy, as soon as I help Sofia get what she needs, what my father was trying to do for that community, then this will be the right thing. We are on our way.”

  Chapter 37

  Thankfully, Claudia was an understanding supervisor. She allowed Sofia to use her office to telephone Sergeant McNulty without asking why.

  The large man’s voice boomed over the telephone wire. “So, you have a document in which the deceased named the perpetrator and the party he was meeting at Cooper Union?”

  “I do not. Signor Baggio has it. It was a note from his father that he recently found.”

  “I will go see him, then. This should be enough to convince the judge to follow through this time. Good work, Miss Falcone. And there will be extra security in the area as well.”

  “Very well. However, I did not do anything—”

  “You put pieces together. Have you ever considered police work?”

  “Me?” She laughed.

  “We do have police matrons, but I foresee the day when women do detective work.”

  “Until then, Sergeant, I will leave that to you.”