"This morning—" Mrs. Gerbati said. "You know, this morning I make big mistake. I wrong. Not you. Not Salvatore." She sighed deeply. "Only me."
"The clothes?"
The woman nodded. "Our boy. He die many years ago. Mr. Gerbati still"—she patted her heart—"still sick, in here."
Rosa knew. She was still sick "in here" from Papa's death.
"I like to have boy in my house again, but he say no good. I make big mistake, put Vittorio's clothes on Salvatore, you know?" She slammed a fist into her chest. "Like arrow straight to heart. You tell Salvatore, yes?" She waved her hand. "Not Salvatore fault. You tell him, okay?"
Rosa nodded. "I'll explain."
"Tomorrow, first thing, we buy new clothes. Now, we eat. Time for colazione."
Rosa nodded, although it seemed they'd only just finished breakfast.
"Then we go to Labor Hall to get"—she squinted her eyes and made a squeezing gesture with her right hand—"una fotografia for Mamma!" She smiled broadly. "She be so happy to see Rosa and Salvatore in foto, yes?"
They were going to take pictures to send to Mamma? Rosa should have been pleased, but what would Mamma think when she saw Sal's face in the photograph?
Mr. Gerbati didn't go with Rosa and Jake to the Labor Hall, but Mrs. Gerbati did, clucking all the way like a mother hen. Jake, even with Rosa's explanation of the old man's behavior, couldn't shake a feeling of dread. He didn't care about the stupid photograph—he'd be gone long before Rosa's mother ever saw it—but he couldn't get over Mr. Gerbati's scream. It was too much like—well, like he'd been found out, that somehow the old man knew his secret and wanted him gone even before Jake could figure out how to make his getaway. He would have to wait at least until the old lady bought him some clothes. It was a waste, really. All those swell clothes in the attic, and yet ... and yet they had belonged to a dead boy. He shivered. It was just as well. He already had too much of the smell of death on him.
Some of the kids milling around in the hall were wearing jackets and hats they hadn't been wearing the day before. He could have looked as good as they did if Mr. Gerbati hadn't raised that fit this morning. Jake pretended not to notice the neat suits o
n the other boys. He and Rosa weren't going to be wearing hand-me-downs. They were going to have brand-new clothes from a fancy store. So there. Who cared about these stupid pictures anyway?
He and Rosa were told to stay in one spot to wait their turn to be taken out on the steps of the hall for their photograph. Mr. Broggi warned everyone not to move. "You move," he said, "your photo look like big smear." Several photographers stood at street level behind their big long-legged cameras, holding the rubber bulbs in their right hands, from time to time ducking under the black cloths draped over the cameras, then jumping out to squeeze their bulbs and cry in English or Italian, "Hold still!" "Bene!" "Good!" "Un' altre volta!" "Once more now!" "Next!"
As soon as the photographer yelled, "Hold still!" Jake quickly turned his head. If his face was just a smear, nobody would be able to make out who he was.
"Next!" Jake took Rosa's arm and pulled her quickly back up the steps and into the building. Mr. Marchesi, who was once again the list holder, was waiting at the door. Rosa gave him her mamma's name and address, and then they went over to the edge of the room.
"I don't know what Mamma's going to say when she sees your picture."
"She won't know who it is. I moved. I'll be a smear. She'll just think it's a bad photo."
Rosa didn't look convinced.
"Have you all had a picture taken for your parents?" Mr. Marchesi asked. The children murmured assent. "Then we want all thirty-five of you out on the steps for a group picture with your official escorts from Barre and Lawrence."
Jake and Rosa looked at each other. What would happen if someone in Lawrence or Barre were to count heads in the photograph and find an extra child? Seeing the panic in Rosa's eyes, Jake melted into the back of the crowd, and as everyone else headed for the front steps, he slipped into the kitchen. He leaned hard against the door until he heard the noisy crowd of children coming back into the hall. Then opening the door a crack, he carefully chose the moment to glide back in among the crowd.
Mrs. Gerbati was smoothing down Rosa's hair. "Oh, I wish they wait. Tomorrow I get you and Salvatore nice warm clothes. I want to show Mamma nice clothes in fotografia. Make her so happy. Men always hurry, hurry, hurry. Can't wait. Must do today. Union want to sell lotsa foto to make big money to send for strike." She sighed. "They don't think how Mamma need to see children looking warm and happy."
Once again she wrapped her shawl around Rosa. "Tomorrow we get you nice wool coat, and Salvatore brand-new coat, too, yes?"
She was as good as her word. Mr. Gerbati, to Jake's relief, had already left for work when the children got up Monday morning. The kitchen was full of the sweet, yeasty smell of bread baking. He dressed and hurried toward the heavenly aroma. Better than the bakery in the Plains. Besides, it was food that didn't have to be begged or stolen. The Gerbatis had no end of food. They'd had three big meals on Sunday, and the old woman was starting it all over again this morning. It would be hard to leave, he knew. Three meals every day, guaranteed, not to mention a warm bed and the prospect of new clothes.
After she was sure that both Jake and Rosa had eaten their fill and couldn't be persuaded to eat more, Mrs. Gerbati declared that shopping time had come. It was, if anything, colder this morning than it had been yesterday, but the children eagerly followed the old lady out of the house and down the street. She turned when they got to Main, the same street they had paraded up and down on Saturday, and led them into a shop that sold shoes. Only shoes. Shoes of every kind and size.
"First, we get shoes," Mrs. Gerbati declared. "In Vermont you gotta have good shoes for winter, yes?"
"These are a perfect fit for the boy, Mrs. Gerbati," the clerk said, putting a pair of leather boots with thick soles on Jake's feet.
"No, no good," she said.
Jake's heart fell. They were wonderful boots. Too expensive for the old lady, he bet.
"Must get big—see, he grow too fast. Get big size."