Rapture's Rendezvous

The color drained from Alberto's face. “What's this you say . . . about… a coal . . . mine . . . Papa?” he blurted. “Did you . .. say. .. ?”

“Yes. I said I work in a coal mine. And that's where you will also be workin', Alberto.”

Alberto placed his trunk on the ground and then his fingers before his eyes, still seeing the blackness beneath his nails and in the pores of his skin, from his years of working as a chimney sweep. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He had thought his life in America would be one of cleanliness… with a job of honor… not degradation … as he knew the coal mines must make one feel, since one had to work in dark caverns many miles below the surface of the earth. “No, Papa,” he mumbled. “You must be joking. Tell me . .. you … are . . . joking.”

“It is a truth I hate to admit to,” Giacomo said, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Alberto and Maria glanced quickly at their Papa's fingers . . . and then at his face, seeing the traces of coal dust that they hadn't noticed before. They had been too anxious to see their Papa to notice these things that had meant nothing to them . . . until now.

“Why, Papa?” Maria said, taking one of his hands in hers, feeling the veins, so taut, like the veining of a dried up leaf.

“I was among one of the immigrants bought and paid for by that Nathan Hawkins.” he grumbled, reaching inside his shirt pocket, to get another plug of chewing tobacco to stick into the corner of his mouth.

“You . . . were . .. ?” Alberto gasped, paling even more.

“Yes. I never told anyone back home, but I had heard word of this man bein’ so generous as to pay passage to America, guaranteeing a respectable job and house if a person would choose to take advantage of this rare opportunity. My dream was always of comin’ to America. How could I refuse?”

“So you work for that man … and live … in his house?” Maria said in a near-whisper, feeling something tearing at the corner of her heart.

“Yes,” Giacomo said, faltering. “One of his houses. There are many.”

Maria set her jaws firmly. “And us, Papa? Alberto and myself? Are we … also . . . owned … by this .. . man .. . ?” she suddenly blurted, trembling inside. She had thought she had come to a land of freedom, to a house owned by her papa. It was all becoming a nightmare. Why? Her papa should have told them. Why?

“Yes,” Giacomo answered, turning to walk on toward a horse and buckboard-style wagon that was at the side of the road, hitched to a tree limb. “When one lives in Hawkinsville, one is owned by Nathan Hawkins.”

“God,” Alberto moaned, kneading his brow. He lifted the trunk to his shoulder, but feeling more than its weight on his body. He felt the weight of a future of many years of labor .. . hard labor . . . pressing down upon him. And in the dark shafts of a mine? Where he would continue to get blacker and blacker? Would he ever be able to be a respectable citizen, dressed in fine clothes, and be able to flash clean, well-groomed fingernails? God. When he had played cards, how he'd hated letting anyone see the filth beneath his nails. Damn. He didn't want to work in a coal mine. Damn. Damn.

When Maria reached the wagon, she placed her violin in the back, then let her papa help her up onto the seat. “Our passage to America, Papa?” she said. “Did Nathan Hawkins . .. pay.. . for it?”

She scooted over so Alberto could position himself on one side of her and her papa on the other. Her papa lifted the reins, shouting loudly to the one lone black mare. “Yes, Maria, I had no other way,” he finally answered.

“But, you never said … it wasn't. . . your money,” Alberto said. “On board ship, no one mentioned it. We seemed to be apart from all the rest. Now I remember this. All the others seemed to stay to themselves.”

“I persuaded Nathan Hawkins to let me do this in this way in order to keep my dignity in the Lazzaro family,” he answered. “I knew that you would have to be told once you arrived, but I didn't want your gran-mama nor Aunt Helena to know. Please understand.”

“Oh, Papa,” Maria said, wrapping her arm around his waist, hugging him. “It's all right. Truly it is. All that truly matters now is that we are together. Finally together. And nothing will ever part us again. We are a family … an alliance of love. We will fight for our freedom. Together.”

“There ain't no way to fight,” Giacomo mumbled. “There are no different jobs for us immigrants. Only these that Nathan Hawkins has given us. And if anyone threatens to leave Hawkinsville, to go to an- other city, he threatens right back, saying that he can find ways to send them back to Italy. We are caught up in somethin’ ugly here, but at least we are alive . . . well, and alive“

Maria felt hatred simmering inside. She had thought “revenge” earlier when she had heard of this Nathan Hawkins and his evil ways. Now she felt even a stronger urge to get even with him for having tricked her people . . . her own papa. She would find a way. She didn't want her papa and Alberto to have to spend the rest of their lives working in the filth and dangers of a coal mine. America had meant hope … not despair.

As the wagon moved into the outskirts of the small town, Maria looked in silence all around her. Even the brightness of the sun of this October day couldn't help to improve the appearance of the surroundings. The streets were laid out like cowpaths, with only bits of sidewalk in front of the business establishments. Faded-out, false-fronted shacks were wedged in be tween undertaking parlors and saloons. Only a few men were standing, browsing at the doors of these establishments, but the noise surfacing from within made one quite aware of the boisterousness of those who were inside. The loud sound of pianos clinking and the high-pitched laughter of women made Maria cringe. It reminded her of the many books about the West that she had read. But this was Illinois. She had thought it to be filled with only gentle people … as gentle as the winds that blew across the straight stretches of the land.

“Are these people of our kind who frequent the saloons, Papa?” she whispered, looking sheepishly into the windows, trying to see who could be making so much of this type of noise. Surely they were drunk. But the women? What women would allow themselves to mingle with such men … unless … they were of the bawdy-house kind … ?

“Not too many,” Giacomo said, glancing a bit sideways as someone was tossed from a door of one of these saloons. He slouched his shoulders a bit more then continued to speak. “They come from the next town. A town called Creal Springs. It seems they ain't allowed to raise such a fuss there. In fact, no saloons are even allowed there.”

Maria looked into the distance. “Where is this town? Is it far away?”

“Only a few minutes’ drive by horse and wagon,” he said. “But I seldom go there. We Italians are encouraged to stay here in our smaller community … to buy from the country store that Nathan Hawkins owns. In fact, most Italians are eager to shop there because Nathan Hawkins doesn't make us pay for what we buy right away.”

Alberto craned his neck to see around Maria. His eyes grew wide. “How can that be. Papa? If he's so evil, why would he let you buy things without paying for them at the time you're buying them?”

“Most miners need food way before they receive their paychecks,” Giacomo said, slapping the horse with the reins. “So they are welcomed to Nathan Hawkins's where they are allowed to sign a slip of paper that states they will pay when their paychecks arrive.”

Alberto began to knead his brow, settling against the back of the seat. “Doesn't sound quite right to me,” he mumbled. “This Nathan Hawkins is up to something. I just know it.” He scooted to the edge of the seat once again, eyeing his Papa. “Have you ever signed such a paper, Papa?” he asked thickly.

“Yes. Many times….”

Maria's mouth went slack. “But, Papa, you don't even know how to count very well. Are you sure he isn't tricking you in some way? Are you sure when you pay, you are paying for only what you bought?”