Agonizing Circumstances: A Tale of Betrayal

By Joan Grindley and Marilyn Caligiuri Hansen

This memoir novel is a piece of actual history that not only surprised the teller of the tale with its terrifying truths, but also influenced the legal system in this great country of ours.

It involves a young Italian girl who finds herself in agonizing circumstances resulting in her going on trial for murder in 1891 in New York City. The impact that this trial had on her and her family reverberated back to her homeland in Salerno, Italy and the vendetta that perpetrated this tale which has lasted for over one hundred years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475970586

Joan Grindley

JOAN GRINDLEY, the writer of this memoir, has previously written three memoir novels representing a trilogy covering three generations of women in her family, ending with herself. This book is her first attempt at ghost writing a story, but when she heard the amazing tale about the family of a dear friend, she was spellbound. And so, when the friend asked her to commit the story to paper as she told it to her, she agreed. This then became a stunning collaboration, resulting in a fascinating memoir novel. MARILYN CALIGIURI HANSEN, the teller of this tale, was born in Los Angeles California in 1930. She attended Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy, graduated from Verdugo Hills High School. She achieved B.A. from San Fernando State College, R.N. from Los Angeles College, P.H.N from Loma Linda University. She spent time in Tabuk Saudi Arabia teaching Saudi students, and now Resides in Fort Myers Florida where she enjoys travelling, art, bridge and majjongg, while socialing with her many friends. She learned of this amazing family history only recently, and ever since has wanted to share it with her family and friends.

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Copyright © 2013 by Marilyn Caligiuri Hansen and Joan Grindley.

Photo Credit: New York World, May, 1891

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-7057-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7058-6 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900465

iUniverse rev. date: 02/15/2013

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1   How it Began

Chapter 2   Coming to America

Chapter 3   The Betrayal

Chapter 4   The Coroner’s Inquest

Chapter 5   Selection of the Jury

Chapter 6   The Trial

Chapter 7   Conflicting Testimony

Chapter 8   The Accused Testifies

Chapter 9   Sorrow, Shame and Misery

Chapter 10   The Verdict

Chapter 11   Time to Celebrate

Chapter 12   A New Life

Chapter 13   Nothing but Black

Chapter 14   A Revelation

Chapter 15   Making Amends

Epilogue

DEDICATION

I dedicate this memoir to my mother, Mary Ann Sherratt Caligiuri, and my daughter, Nancy Ann Hansen, two exceptional people.

Marilyn Hansen

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to my mother who said to me after I shared this information with her,

Marilyn, I know now why your father never wanted his geneology researched.

Thanks also to my cousin, Joyce Fabiano, for the additional research she provided.

Marilyn Hansen

PROLOGUE

My first recollection of my grandmother, Pasqualina, is when I was four years old. She was very short—perhaps 4'8" and wore long black dresses with beads on the side. Later I found out that they were Rosary Beads. I remember she always complained of headaches and seemed quite unhappy. She was very Catholic and made a Novena every Friday. I never remember receiving any sign of affection from her like a hug or a kiss.

The story really begins with a telephone call from my mom in August 1991. She told me that a man called her from New York City who was looking for a relative. While going through his mother’s possessions, he came across the name Robertiello and looked it up in the Mormon archives. He wanted to know if my father was related to Pasqualina Robertiello, who was, of course, my father’s mother. He left his phone number with my mother and so I called Mr. Kiser back.

He began to tell me a very strange tale. He said he was looking for a relative on his mother’s side because he had just found out that his name was not Roberts, as he had always thought, but Robertiello. He was of Italian origin—a fact completely unknown to him previously. As the story unfolded, I was taken aback and shocked but also enlightened as I always questioned my father’s attitude toward me. I grew up under the rule of this maniac who guarded me from boys by never allowing me to date or even to talk on the phone to boys or anyone else. As I heard the tale of murder and betrayal that took place back in 1891, I was horrified. Mr. Kiser asked me if I wanted proof, as he had thoroughly researched what happened in several New York and Italian newspapers, as well as the Mormon Archives.

I was not sure how to answer him so I told him that I would check with my father and get back to him. When I approached my father with this information and asked him if we could be related to Mr. Kiser, he got very angry and told me to forget about it. He was not interested in learning any more about our family history and I was to tell this man to mind his own business.

I was afraid to argue with my father as he was a man of very dark moods and none of us was brave enough to go against him.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kiser put all the documents together in a huge package and sent them to me. After reading all the documents that he sent, I decided to commit the story to paper.

Since beginning this project, I have tried to contact Mr. Kiser again, to express my thanks to him for all the work he did and for so unselfishly passing it on to me, but I have been unable to locate him.

Marilyn Hansen

CHAPTER 1

HOW IT BEGAN

There were sunflowers as far as she could see. She wanted to be alone with nothing but the flowers for company. She hunkered down and crept along the rows with nothing but the humming of bees and a lilt of bird song trailing her path. The sky was a deep azure blue and the sun was pouring down great ribbons of gold from its corner of the sky. She paused and suddenly, in front of her, she saw a work boot, rather worn, attached to cotton pants, scorched by the sun. The boot was lifeless. Is it alive, she thought to herself.

She moved closer and, kneeling down in the row, put out her hand to touch the rough leather of the boot. An arm shot out from the mass of flowers and reached for her. She drew back, breathing hard, and almost collapsed with fright. She could feel the terror rising in her throat like bile. She thought she might be sick. She waited silently for what might happen next. Laughter greeted her—loud and raucous and terrifying.

Who are you? she screamed. You scared me to death.

The boot moved across the row of sunflowers and was joined by another boot. Suddenly a boy was standing erect before her engulfed in laughter. He wore dirty cotton knickers and a coarse blue shirt. His wild black curls were almost covering his eyes, giving him the appearance of a slender, surly bandit.

I am Nicolo, he murmured, "king of the sunflower fields. Who gave you permission to enter my kingdom, regazza?"

The girl was so stunned by this response that she could not speak. She just stared at the arrogant young boy before her, and he stared back.

Have you lost your tongue? the young boy barked in rough Italian.

No, the girl answered resolutely. I am Pasqualina. I live in the farmhouse up the road on the estate. My papa is Signore Robertiello, tailor to Count Armand. I only came to walk among the sunflowers. I love them. I did not know they were yours."

Well, now you do, Nicolo answered boldly. "Remember that next time you decide to visit the sunflower kingdom. You must have permisso—permisso de Nicolo."

The girl stood tall now and glared at the young boy. "I will not bother your sunflowers ever again, regazzo," she said sternly. She turned away from the boy and began walking toward the edge of the field. He stared after her. He began to follow slowly behind her, chewing on the end off a fading sunflower.

"I give you permisso, he blurted out, wiping his forehead, and surprising himself as well as the girl. I would not want to deprive you of the beauty of my sunflowers."

She stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly to face him. She studied him intently, examining him from head to toe. "Grazie, amico," she whispered, and resumed walking.

He watched her go in complete silence and just as she got to the edge of the field he spoke again. "Prego, Pasqualina. I hope you will come again soon to visit my sunflowers. My papa will be pleased to know that you enjoy them so much. He works very hard to grow the most beautiful sunflowers in all of Salerno. My papa is the blacksmith on the estate, but he loves to grow the flowers in his spare time and Count Armand encourages him. I help him, but I am going to be a blacksmith too. Do you know what that is, amica?"

The girl stopped and turned toward the boy. Does this mean we are friends? You will not try to scare me any more? she inquired shyly. A hint of a smile played across her mouth. She fingered the braid that lay on her shoulder like a beam of sunshine and waited.

Nicolo walked closer to Pasqualina. I am a man now—almost 15. I have been an apprentice to my father for two years already. Count Armand says I do very good work. He is proud of me. How old are you, Pasqualina?

She smiled shyly and answered, Twelve—I was twelve years old last month. I learned to sew from my momma and I help her sometimes when she sews for the Count’s daughter. My poppa is tailor to Count Armand. Where do you live, signore blacksmith?

I live with my momma and papa in a house behind the blacksmith shop just beyond the stables where the count keeps his horses. You should come and visit me there sometime. I will show you how I help my papa to shoe the horses. It is dangerous work, but I am very brave, Pasqualina.

Pasqualina nodded and then slowly turned and began walking back down the path. She did not look back, although she dearly wanted to.

The new friends met almost daily on the estate and