The Wishes of Sisters and Strangers

By Antoinette Truglio Martin

It is the Christmas and Hanukkah holidays, 1911-a time for charity and wishes. Lily's days are too crowded, living in a three-room apartment with her large and growing family. She must sleep in a bedroll on the floor with her sisters, share a seat at the supper table and w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Penguin Books
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637773307

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE MEETING

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1911 - THANKSGIVING DAY

Lily gripped the stoop’s cold railing and looked up at the fourth-floor window. It was half-opened but Margaret, Lily’s thirteen-year-old sister, was not watching. Lily sprinted into the street. The clean air cleared the fog from her eyes and head. Since early morning, her tenement building had spouted too much heat into the three-room apartments. The steam radiators hissed and spit, forcing tenants to keep their two windows open. Thanksgiving was a holiday and Mr. Russo, the janitor, never worked on a holiday.

Lily felt a surge of energy as she ran onto Hester Street. Her long legs leaped over a pile of horse droppings and garbage thrown on the street. She gingerly stepped between the rear end of an untethered horse and two women haggling over the price of apples. Mama’s many cautions rang in her head. Never run behind a horse. He will kick your head open! Don’t run. You will fall and break your leg. Don’t talk to strangers. They will steal you. Mama’s warnings always ended with grave troubles.

Lily slipped between the women and the horse’s rear without incident. Mama was not always right.

A tune Lily had been humming for days came to mind as she ran across Hester Street. She was not sure where she heard it or if there were lyrics. Perhaps Miss Lewin, the music teacher at the Henry Street Settlement, knew the song. She planned to ask the teacher at choir practice next Wednesday.

Lily skidded onto Baker Street. CRASH! She collided with a woman carrying a large bundle. The woman dropped the dirty parcel and staggered against the brick wall of a building. She wore a thick wool skirt and an oversized jacket. A heavy, black shawl hooded her head and hid her face. The woman reached out for the bundle with one hand and held tightly to a small boy with the other hand. The child wobbled to keep his balance. The black wool cap he was wearing fell below his ears and eyes. A glaze of snot and tears covered the boy’s thin face.

"Scusi, signora," said Lily, lifting the package for the woman.

Watch where you’re going! barked a boy. He slipped from behind the woman carrying a similar bundle and scowled at Lily. He was as tall as the woman and spoke in Lily's familiar Sicilian language.

I'm sorry, said Lily in Sicilian. I’m in a hurry to buy escarole for my mama. She rarely spoke the family’s language outside her apartment.

Ah, Siciliana, said the woman, placing her bundle between her legs. Please help us, pretty girl. We are lost. I am looking for my family. The older boy held his bundle close to his chest and glared at Lily.

Lily ignored the boy’s mean stares. Where does your family live?

Mott Street, 1-2-5 Mott Street, said the woman. Is it close? We have been walking all morning.

1-2-5 Mott Street! That's my address! said Lily. Who are you looking for?

My sister and her family, said the woman, smiling. Taglia, Francesca Taglia.

Lily's mouth dropped. Mama did not have a photograph of her sister but said she was a pretty child—chiseled nose, bright green eyes, yellow blonde hair. Mama had not seen her little sister since she left Sicily more than eleven years ago when the child was ten years old. This woman looked gaunt and gray, but she knew Lily’s mother’s name and the family’s address. Could this be her Zia Teresa? Mama’s warning to never speak to strangers faded from Lily’s ears.

I am Lily Taglia. Francesca is my mama, said Lily.

The woman shook the little boy's hand loose and grabbed Lily into her arms. Lily held her breath to avoid smelling the woman’s reek.

Mama didn’t know you were coming. How did you get here? Lily knew immigrants needed a sponsor to come to America. Papa’s stepbrothers vouched for him, and once he had a steady job and money, he sent for his wife and small daughters: Mama, Margaret, and Betta.

Long story, said the woman, digging into her skirt pocket. She pulled out a crumpled envelope. See, here is my name, Teresa Messina. She turned the envelope over and pointed to the return address—125 Mott Street, New York City, New York, America. Lily nodded. The long elegant loops and swirly lines crossing the t's were definitely from Lily’s twelve-year-old sister Betta’s hand.

Laboria, it is you! said the woman. Such a beautiful girl, my niece.

I am Lily in America, said Lily.

The big boy held on to the little boy's hand and straddled the bundles between his legs. His dark eyes watched the people passing by. The little boy quietly let streams of tears and snot flow.

Yes! Yes! Lily, a fine Americana. Lily, said the woman, imitating Lily’s pronunciation of her name. She pulled on the big boy’s sleeve. Here are your cousins, my sons, eh, stepsons.

You’re married! We did not know, said Lily. You haven’t written since Mama’s mother died.

Yes, married. Another long story. The woman caught her breath. This is Vincenzo. Brave protector on our journey across the ocean and only ten years old.

I’m ten, too, said Lily, trying to be friendly.

Vincenzo nodded to Lily without breaking his stone face. The woman wiped the little boy's face with her sleeve. And this is Calogero, a shy baby boy.

He's not a baby, growled Vincenzo. He's cold and hungry.

Lily smiled at the little boy who dug his head into Vincenzo's side, almost losing the oversized cap.

Come with me, said Lily, I’ll take you home.

CHAPTER 2

THE WALK

Lily picked up the woman’s bundle and guided the trio back to Mott Street. It was heavier than Lily expected. They walked on the sidewalk, looking like a ragtag parade. The woman followed closely behind Lily, keeping a tight grip on the little boy’s wrist. She chattered about everything she saw along the way—carts filled with food and wares and the marvelous motor cars. Her pronunciation of words and exclamations sounded just like Mama's, but Mama never talked as much as the woman. Vincenzo brought up the end of the parade with his bundle flung over his shoulder.

The tenement entryway hit them with stuffy heat mingled with the smells of overcooked food and leaking toilet closets.

The woman looked up at the dark stairwell. How many?

Four, replied Lily. Be careful. The banister wiggles and a few steps are loose.

Does America always stink like this? asked Vincenzo, prodding Calogero to step up the stairs.

The furnace is not working right, said Lily. She waited for the group to catch up with her on the second-floor landing. It is Thanksgiving, a holiday. Our janitor does not work on holidays.

Holiday? huffed the woman. She smiled her bright teeth at Lily. I came in time for a celebration!

It is a holiday to remember how native Indians helped the pilgrims and the big feast they shared, explained Lily.

Pilgrim? What’s a pilgrim? asked Vincenzo, giving Calogero another nudge to move forward.

Lily searched her memory for a Sicilian translation for pilgrim. "A pellegrino—people from across the ocean. They came to America to start a new life. This was before America was America."

Please say the word again? asked the woman.

Pilgrim, replied Lily, starting up another flight of stairs. The woman turned to the boys. Pilgrim. Say the English word. We must learn English quickly. Say pilgrim.

Calogero’s eyes welled with tears. Vincenzo sneered at the woman. "Pellegrino," he said.

"Ostinato," scolded the woman. She followed Lily, gripping the banister to pull herself up.

Lily heard Mama call Margaret ‘ostinato’ in the same irritated tone. The word fit Margaret well since she was the most stubborn person Lily knew.

Pil-grim, pil-grim repeated the woman in English. She reverted to Sicilian. I am a pilgrim! I am a new American from across the ocean. Today is a celebration for me!

Lily smiled at the thought of her family being pilgrims. Well, Papa, Mama, and her older sisters, Margaret and Betta, who traveled in the belly of a ship from Sicily, were the pilgrims of the family. Lily was the first American-born Taglia.

Lily sprinted up the last flight, dropped the bundle, and knocked on her door.

Mama! Mama! Come see who is here!

Lily heard the locks unfasten. Mama always locked the door when Papa was not home. Mama stepped out of the apartment, wiping her hands on her stained apron. Her long face was flushed red from the heat of the apartment. She raked loose black hair back on her head and tucked the ends into her thick bun.

Who here? Where my escarole? Mama’s English was improving. Many languages rattled through the streets. The only common tongue among them was English. Mama finally realized she needed to talk with people who did not speak Sicilian rather than rely on her daughters to speak for her.

Mama, look who I found! exclaimed Lily in Sicilian. She pointed to the small group finishing the climb to the fourth floor. The woman slid her shawl off her head, revealing tangled tawny brown hair and a haggard face. She opened her arms and flung herself into Mama. Mama pushed the woman off.

Cesca, Cesca, my sister, cried the woman. Tears rolled down her face. Mama stood frozen. Margaret and Betta flanked Mama on each side. Five-year-old Gigi peeked from the door, clutching her well-loved rag doll, Principessa.

Don’t you recognize me, Cesca? pleaded the woman. She looked at her dirty hands and skirt. Oh, how could you? I am a mess. I am Teresa, your little sister. I came all the way from San Paolo. The woman’s voice rose to a shrill as she rattled on in Sicilian. "I know you anywhere, Cesca. You are