The Queen of the Big Time (14 page)

“That’s uncalled for. We’re working here.”

“You know I don’t mean us.”

“I can tell you this after one week: You better change your attitude, because people can read your true feelings. We work closely together here and not much is hidden. So if you want to stay on the job and make your money, you’d better wise up.”

Chettie has never chided me before, and I know she’s right. There is nothing worse than a snob. I remember when Nurse Anderson looked down on us in Easton Hospital. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just don’t want to be here.”

“Like
I
do?” She stands up and shakes the crumbs from her skirt.

“We’re …” I begin to make her laugh but she stops me cold.

“There’s no ‘we,’ Nella. I don’t have a father anymore. And I have five children under me that need raising. Mama hasn’t gotten over Papa, and it doesn’t look like she will anytime soon. She spends most of her days in bed crying. This is all on me. So if you want to complain or stand around acting like you’re better than the people that have to work in places like this, that’s your business. But I don’t want to be your friend under those circumstances.”

My eyes begin to burn with tears. After all, this is my best friend, who used to be gay and laugh and run and make jokes. That girl is gone, and for no good reason except her papa was trying to make a little extra money to take care of his children. “Please, Chettie. Don’t hate me. I’m just scared.”

Elena stands up and gives me a hug. “It’s all my fault. I’m complaining too much, and it’s rubbing off on you.”

“No, it’s nobody’s fault. Except maybe God’s. God got us into this mess.”

“It’s not God,” Chettie says quietly.

“Oh really? We’ve been abandoned, girls. Totally abandoned.”

The bell goes off, and the field empties out as quickly as the factory did. Soon the whirl and hum of the machines is in full force and we are back at work.

By four o’clock, with one ten-minute break since lunch, we stand in line to punch out. I feel the first day of factory work in every bone of my body.

“You did well,” Mr. Albanese tells me.

“I tried.” I smile.

“You’ll get better. Soon you’ll do double the bundles you’re doing now.”

I want to turn and tell Mr. Albanese he’ll never see double bundles from me. I worked so fast that I couldn’t count how many blouses I pressed. How could I possibly go faster?

Assunta receives a letter each week from Alessandro, who returned home to find his father far more ill than he anticipated. His brothers are taking good care of the family farm, but Alessandro feels guilty leaving them to do all the work.

“His place is with me,” Assunta insists. She has assembled an Advent wreath, a circle of evergreens with three purple candles and one pink one nestled among the green. We will say a prayer and light one candle a week before dinner until all four are lit on Christmas Eve.

I try to cheer her up. “He’ll be home before you know it.” Mama says that when a woman is expecting a baby, she needs protection. This is the worst time for Alessandro to be gone. Assunta needs his strength. Elena and I stay with her every night now and it seems to help soothe her nerves.

“Have you thought about names for the baby yet?” I ask.

“Celestina for a girl. And Alessandro for a boy.”

“Mama will be so happy you’re naming the baby after her.”

“I hope it’s a boy. Just like his father.” Assunta rubs her round belly. “Everyone worried that Alessandro would not be a good man, now look. He saved our family.”

“Just goes to show you: you can marry from the other side.”

Assunta, who never laughs at my jokes, chuckles a little. What a strange friendship we have, so defined by her moods and needs. And it’s odd, because Assunta cannot see that she is the center of the universe. In her view, she is serving everyone else, sacrificing for us, when in fact we are all trying to please her.

Elena comes up from the basement with fresh linens. “This is the last batch of new sheets for the baby.” She goes up the front stairs.

“Nella?” I hear an unfamiliar note of fear in Assunta’s voice. When I look up, she begins to cry.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s not coming back.” She cries for a few moments and then
stops. “I have a feeling something terrible is going to happen to him. I just know he won’t ever come back. I’ll never see him again.”

“Assunta, listen to me. You’re just overwhelmed, that’s all. He loves you, he’s coming back to be with you and the baby. Whenever you get these feelings, please try to tell yourself that he loves you. Because I’ve seen it. It’s true. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Really?” She looks at me, for the first time in my life, as though I am a real friend.

“I promise you that he is coming home and he loves you more than anything in the world.”

She nods. “I believe you.”

I have learned how to be a good factory worker. Mr. Albanese has taught me all the tricks: Take your lunch and break time, and while you’re working, do your job. No chitchat. And when you punch your time card and walk out, leave the problems there. You can always fix a mistake the next day. Therefore, I don’t give the blouse mill a second thought after I punch the clock.

We are getting a lot of snow this December, and the pressing job that was terrible in the heat is comforting in the cold. As we get closer to Christmas, Elena and I are looking forward to having Papa, Mama, Roma, and Dianna come into town to stay at Assunta’s. We’ll all go to Mass together, and then have a breakfast that includes biscotti from Marcella’s.

“Wake up, Nella!” Elena says excitedly.

I roll over in the bed and bury my face in the pillow. It can’t be time to get up and go to work.

“Come, it’s Assunta! She’s having the baby!”

I sit bolt upright in bed. “The baby isn’t due for another month,” I tell her.

“She got the pains and her water broke. Come on.”

I get out of bed and jump into my work trousers. “I’ll go get Mrs.
Avanzato,” I tell Elena, grabbing my coat. Every baby in Roseto is born at home with the help of a midwife. Mrs. Avanzato’s schedule is as well planned as the baker’s.

“Hurry.” Elena runs down the hall to Assunta’s room. As I race down the front stairs, I can hear Assunta screaming. I fly down Dewey Street and over to Chestnut and bang on Mrs. Avanzato’s door. Her husband answers. He yells for his wife, a small woman around seventy, who throws a coat on over her nightgown and comes with me.

“The baby is early. No good. No good,” she says.

“It’s not that early,” I tell her, though I am thinking the same thing. We walk quickly back to Assunta’s house.

“Elena! Mrs. Avanzato is here!” I take her coat and show her up the stairs to Assunta’s room. Assunta is writhing in pain on the bed. Elena has prepared the bed as Mama instructed us, with clean sheets layered underneath Assunta. Fresh towels and a pan of water sit close by. Mrs. Avanzato goes to Assunta and comforts her, encouraging her to gently roll onto her back.

Mrs. Avanzato whispers to Assunta supportively. She lets Assunta lean against her as she moans.

“Should we go and get Mama?” Elena whispers.

“There isn’t time,” Mrs. Avanzato tells us.

“The baby is coming soon?” I ask.

Mrs. Avanzato seems impatient. “I need your help here. Both of you stay.”

Assunta moans and grabs Mrs. Avanzato, pulling her down toward the bed. This is much worse than Mama said it would be. She carefully explained the signs of labor and the birthing process to Elena and me because we have never seen a baby born. It was Assunta who helped with the births of Dianna and Roma; of course, Mama had a midwife too.

Watching Assunta in labor is not like watching our calves born in the barn. That seems like nature; this is watching my sister in torment. An hour passes as Assunta wails.

The midwife places her hands on Assunta’s stomach and presses gently.

“Assunta, it is time to push,” Mrs. Avanzato tells her.

“I can’t,” Assunta moans, her eyes closed, but tears running down her face.

“You can do it. Push!” the midwife coaches gently.

“Come on, Assunta! You’re so close!” I squeeze her hand.

“You can do it!” Elena says encouragingly.

Assunta pushes, and soon the baby’s head appears. Mrs. Avanzato catches the baby as it slithers out. There is blood everywhere. I unfold more sheets and tuck them around my sister. Elena cuts the long blue cord connecting mother to child as Mrs. Avanzato instructs her. Assunta passes out.

“It’s a girl,” Elena says. We are all so relieved the pain is over for our sister. The baby begins to cry. We smile at one another, happy the baby is safe. I go to Assunta and wipe her brow. But my sister is still. She’s not moving, and her chest barely rises with each new breath. “Something is wrong,” I say. I take Assunta’s hand and squeeze it; she does not squeeze back.

“Mrs. Avanzato!”

She pushes me aside and puts her hands on Assunta. “Go get the doctor! Right away! Dr. Latini,” she tells me.

As I run down the hallway and out the door for the second time that night, I can hear the wails of my niece. I run down Garibaldi to Dr. Latini’s house. His wife comes to the door and quickly calls for her husband. As we wait, I realize I forgot my coat, but I haven’t felt the cold at all until this moment. Dr. Latini grabs his bag and follows me back to Dewey Street. When we reach Assunta’s room, Mrs. Avanzato is holding her hand. When she looks up at Dr. Latini, she shakes her head sadly. Dr. Latini walks over to the bed and checks Assunta’s pulse. I follow right behind him, terrified by Assunta’s awful stillness. When he lifts her eyelids, I see that her brown eyes don’t flicker, and the deep groove between them is relaxed. “She’s gone,” he says quietly.
Elena, who holds the baby, shakes in fear. Mrs. Avanzato takes our niece from her.

I throw myself on Dr. Latini. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

“Calm down,” he says gently, putting his arms around me. “Stay calm.”

“What happened?” I begin to sob.

“She hemorrhaged,” he says gently. “This happens sometimes. I’m very sorry.”

“But why … how …” I plead with him.

“There is nothing that could have been done. Now, please, tend to the baby.” Elena and I look at each other, and then our niece, unable to believe what has happened in a few seconds. Our sister is dead. How is this possible?

Dr. Latini takes one of the clean, folded sheets from the side table and covers my sister. He shows us out of the room. We take Mrs. Avanzato and the new baby down to the nursery. “She needs to eat. Go and get Carmella Menecola. She has milk,” the midwife tells us.

Once again, I go out into the night, but now it is turning to morning. The cold yellow sun comes up over the Blue Mountains, helping me find my way to Jewel Street, where Carmella is fixing breakfast for her husband, who works in the cutting room of Roseto Manufacturing. She puts her arms around me when she sees me; my tears have frozen on my face. “My … my sister died … in childbirth … Assunta.” My sobs become heaves. This is really happening. My niece doesn’t have a mother and I’ve lost my sister, my complicated sister, for whom everything was a struggle.

“Okay, don’t worry. I’m coming with you.” Carmella grabs her coat and scarf. By the time we reach Dewey Street, the undertaker, John Fiori, with another man to help, has arrived to take Assunta away.

“Dr. Latini sent for me …” Mr. Fiori says impatiently. Elena lets them into the house.

I fall to the ground, unable to comprehend this terrible thing.
Elena comes outside and helps me up. “You’ve got to stop. We have a baby to take care of.”

My sister Elena, who has always seemed frail and vulnerable, suddenly has a steely resolve. She puts her arm around my waist and helps me up the porch steps. “I sent for Mama and Papa,” she tells me. “Mr. Avanzato drove out to the farm to get them.” When we get to the baby’s nursery, Carmella holds the infant against her breast. The baby devours the milk.

“She’s hungry,” Mrs. Avanzato says impatiently. “Come, let Carmella feed her.” Carmella looks up at us and smiles.

Mrs. Avanzato leads us out into the hallway. She takes Elena’s hand and then mine. “Listen to me. It does the baby no good to be around your tears.”

“But Assunta …”

Mrs. Avanzato is old. Her hair is white, and in her pale blue eyes, she has the look of a woman who has seen many things in her lifetime and lacks patience with those of us who have not. I can see that she is struggling to find the right words for us. Something tells me she has been here before. “You may cry for your sister. But not around the baby. Understood?” We nod that we understand. “I will get you a cup and dropper to feed her. Carmella can help for a day or two, but she has her own baby to feed.”

“Maybe there’s another lady who can—”

Mrs. Avanzato stops Elena. “Yes, I will ask.” She wraps her scarf tightly around her head and goes. Elena and I hear the murmurs of Mr. Fiori and his helper at the end of the hallway.

“Don’t look,” Elena warns me.

But I can’t help it. I can’t believe this terrible turn of fate, and must see it for myself. Elena turns away, and I watch as the undertaker and his man carry Assunta, wrapped in white muslin, down the stairs. Assunta looks so small, like the morning glories Mama covers in muslin in the autumn to keep the frost away. I wonder if the baby knows her mother is gone forever.