Eight - Along the Allegheny

The card in her hand was Maria’s only guide to her future. On the one side, Pittsburgh on the other Harmarville. She managed to sleep for a portion of the train ride westward; when she awoke she was in Pennsylvania. The train made its way through the mountains of the Allegheny and past the odd sounding names of the towns. At every stop, the place name would ring out. Johnstown. Altoona.

There was a stir of excitement in the air when they went round the “Horseshoe Bend” a pair of words that were spoken aloud, often enough before they got there, that Maria knew something unusual was about to happen. Indeed, it did, as the long train made its way round the engineering wonder and both the big engine out in front and the caboose at the back of the train could be seen out her window. Eventually, the train came into the station, a huge building with impressive spaces and lots of people hurrying as if they did this every day. The impression Maria had of the place was dark and gritty. The clothes the people wore were also dark and gritty, whether the people looked poor or prosperous. It seemed as if they wanted to somehow blend into the sooty air all around them. But Maria did not have time to linger over the scene. The other side of her card was beckoning. So she found someone in uniform, showed him the word “Harmarville” and gave him a questioning look.

“This way,” the man said. He was stern looking but even so, acted in a way that made Maria feel as if she could trust him. He walked down one long platform and then took her to another, amid the steam and clanking sounds and the rushing, gray and black and dark brown garbed people, the trunks and suitcases, the frantic activity. Maria hurried to keep up with him. He led her to a place with a few benches, indicated to her to sit down, and then took out his watch.

“Stay here till this time,” he said, first gesturing to the bench, and then pointing to the watch. He moved the hands, one hour, two hours and a half. Then he pointed to a clock suspended from a wall nearby. “Understand?” Maria nodded.

“Okay, then you get on the train over there,” he pointed to the nearest platform. “Do you understand?”

Maria nodded, indicated with her hand, one finger, second finger, half a finger and then pointed to the platform.

“Yes! Good! Right!” the man said. “You are going to do just fine. Good luck!” And with that he gave a sort of a nod, and was off to other duties.

Maria whiled away the two hours by watching the people who came and went. At one point the train on the platform where her train would eventually appear departed. A big of a pang in her heart made her wonder if she had missed what should have been, in fact, her train. But the man had been so clear and so kind. She tried to shake away her own doubts. People came and went and she strained to her some word or two in her own language but she could not, everyone was speaking English, or so it sounded to her. A mother nearby dandled a small girl on her knee, but they soon stood and greeted a fine looking man who hugged the woman and hoisted the child on his shoulders and off they went.

The hours passed and then about fifteen minutes before she was to board it, the next train arrived. Maria watched the people getting off. No one walked slowly, they all hurried along.

“This is a place of hurry and purpose,” she said to herself. “I will have to be like this too.”

As the appointed hour drew nearer, she saw people making their way to the train. So Maria gathered up her belongings and went toward it as well. She found a uniformed man near where they were boarding, and showed him the card: “Harmarville”. She gave him a questioning look.

“Yes,” the man nodded, “hop aboard.” As she climbed up the steps into the train car, some light fell through the big glass enclosure of the train shed and through even the windows opposite in the car itself and for a moment—an instant only—the intense brightness penetrated the surrounding gloom. It seemed like a good omen to Maria, as the ray of light fell upon her.

She found a seat and settled in. The car was not crowded. Nor would it fill much more before it left the station, with not much of a warning. Again, Maria felt a pang of concern—was she on the right train? Too late now to know for certain.

The train shed was so long that it seemed they would never get on their way in earnest, but they did. There was more sunshine, outside. In fact the light and the heat were stronger than she had expected when she had been waiting in the station. The train moved out of the city at a slow pace, and because the main part of the city was behind her, Maria did not see the place where the tall buildings stood in a cluster by The Point, where the Allegheny and Monongahela converged to form the Ohio River.

The train was going through a down-at-the-heels part of the city, where all of the buildings looked as if they had been made of some tar-like substance. Streaked with soot and grime, they looked tawdry in the bright sunlight.

Before long the train crossed the river—the Allegheny—and was on its north bank. Being a local, the train came to the first of many stops.

“Millvale!” the conductor called out as he walked through the car. Maria saw factories and smoke stacks and the dark gray river and steep hillsides with houses perched up and down them. Here and there were churches, each one very different from the other, with oddly shaped domes and towers. After a short stop, the train continued on.

“Sharpsburg!” the conductor called as the train inched past an impressive cathedral, or so it seemed, and into another district of warehouses and factories. There was not much to admire out of the window. Again, the train moved onward.

“Aspinwall!” the conductor cried. Here, too, the place looked dismal in the sunlight, but perhaps less so than the places they had passed up till now. The train started up again, and before long was passing two very grand looking buildings near the water’s edge, with huge arched windows—both made of pale yellow brick and trimmed with stone. Other than the churches, these were the first places of any claim to distinction Maria had seen.


Soon the landscape changed. The train was skirting a small hamlet, but not stopping there. Maria saw a sign that read “Hoboken” and looked down at the card she still clutched in her hand. No, they both began with “H” but the words were quite different. The train was following the Allegheny River bank, and bent to the left as it drew into a narrow space between the water on her right and high precipitous cliffs on her left. This was an odd landscape, with rocky outcroppings and some indication that rocks had fallen down on to the track and had been pushed aside from time to time. Maria looked up at the cliffs and prayed that none of the huge boulders would suddenly break free and come careening down upon the train, which seemed very small in comparison. The train chugged onward.

Maria could see a town across the river, clustered between the big hills over there and amid the trees. They passed the backs of a long row of identical narrow brick houses, pushed together like an accordion’s bellows. There was washing hanging out and people were going about there household tasks as indifferent to the passing train as if it had not been there. The sheer cliffs gave way, and as they did Maria saw a group of large black buildings, more like overgrown sheds, and high in the air, what looked like a rickety train track that angled upward to a spindly tower. She wondered, as the train continued onward what in the world it could possibly be.

Now, the land opened up. On her right, there was an island in the river, with many trees and Maria could see small hovels, houses perhaps but they looked as if they were made of some flimsy stuff. There were clothes drying on lines near some of these. She could see children running and dogs at their heels.

On her left, the hills were far back, now and beyond the road that paralleled the train tracks was a broad field in which men were busily at work, tending, hoeing, what looked to be vegetable crops. It made Maria think of her father and the men of her village back home, and she felt the tears as then fell involuntarily down her cheeks. Maria sighed as she saw the men, bent over their work in the hot sunshine. The train had slowed and then stopped and was beginning to move forward once more.

Maria could not take her eyes off this scene. This little space of flat land between the distant hills and the river. The place was not very large but compared to the compressed atmosphere of the higher, towering cliffs and hills that she had seen so far, it seemed a relief to see more land and sky.

Then, the scene changed once more, as the train squeezed past a point where yet another high cliff formed an almost impassable barrier between itself and the river. It was as if the train itself had to narrow down to fit through. So, this little place where the vegetable fields grew, thought Maria, is guarded on each side by high cliffs—and surrounded by a natural amphitheater of hills. It seemed to Maria a place apart from the crowd and noise of the cities and towns she had seen so far in the valley of the Allegheny.

But the place was now behind her and again she was traveling through a kind of warehouse and factory district. Theses buildings were placed further apart and there were only here and there houses on the far side of the road. The conductor came through the train and shouted out, “Cheswick!” and then stopped by Maria’s seat.

“Why didn’t you get off the train at Harmarville?” the conductor said to her. Maria blinked, not knowing what he was saying except that the one word sounded right, sounded like the place written on her card. She shrugged, and shook her head.

“Back there!” the man pointed, “Harmarville. We passed it at the last stop. Why didn’t you get off the train?”

“Harmarville?” Maria repeated.

“That way!” the conductor pointed again. “Back that way!” The train by now was slowing down and coming to the next small station. Through repeated words and gestures the conductor made it plain to Maria that she had gone too far. He gathered up her belongings, and indicated to her that she had to leave the train. Once she followed him and did as he directed, he pointed back toward the valley of the vegetable gardens.

“You will have to walk, back, now,” the conductor told her, making a little sign like a person's walking with the fingers of his right hand. “Walk. Back. There.”

“All aboard!” he then yelled much louder and with that the train lurched forward, leaving Maria on the small platform under the sign that read “Cheswick.”

Maria stood on the platform until the train disappeared. Then she picked up her things and began to slowly make her way along the road back in the direction from which she had so recently come. She walked slowly, along the dusty road, in the mid-afternoon heat, and looked about her at what was to be seen. There was an old stone building nearby and not far away she could see a small church.

Maria did not know it, but the land she walked past was part of the Borland farm, from which the Borland family sold vegetables down river to Pittsburgh. Over toward the river, she could see some fine looking houses, with big porches that stood tall amid shade trees. They suggested an era recently passed, before the dust and noise of the trains had impinged on the placid riverside setting.

There were some industrial buildings. One had the words “Penwick Distillery” painted on its side. It was a large brick building. There were some smaller factories, a few scattered houses, and a fair amount of wagon traffic going to and fro on the road she followed. The hills rose to the right of her, beyond the farms and houses. More hills rose to the left of her, on the far side of the riverbank.

Maria took it all in, but her main concern was finding her way back to the place where, by now, she should have been. As she continued along, several of the men who were working in the nearest field called out to her. Maria had no idea what they were saying at first, but then she noticed they were speaking not English, but Italian.

"Chi la sono la giovane donna? E dove lei va"? “Who are you young lady? And where are you going?”

Maria’s first instinct was to ignore the men and keep on walking. But the day was hot and her burden was heavy and they did not seem to be ruffians. Their questions to her were posed respectfully enough.

“I need to find out where I am and how I can get to the home of my brother,” thought Maria. So she turned to them and told her a shortened version of her travels. So she told them, “I am from Neopoli and have come to live with my brother and his wife in Harmarville.”

One of the men who was a bit younger than the rest answered, “Did you walk all the way?” He and Maria both laughed and so did the men with them.

Maria shook her head. “I got off the train at the wrong place,” was her eventual reply. One of the other men, about Maria’s father’s age then said, “Sono venuto anche da Neopoli; I also come from Neopoli.”

Soon they learned that they knew of each other’s families and the men assured her that they would take her to her brother’s house as soon as their work ended. They pressed her to wait with them, showing her a place where a few trees stood at a corner of the field. There, in the shade, they gave her cold spring water to drink and an apple to eat.

The men whistled or sang as they continued their work. These were songs of home. Maria recognized them and with some, she sang along in her head and in her heart. The cool shade, the cold water, the crisp apple, the comforting songs, all combined to create a dream like atmosphere. If she closed her eyes, Maria thought she could almost see the familiar sights of home, to go along with the familiar songs of home. She closed her eyes. She traced the outlines of far away hills and fields.

And before long, Maria was asleep.

“Hello, Maria!” a voice softly called to her. Maria stirred. Then opened her eyes. Standing before her was, the young man who had first asked if she had walked all the way from Neopoli. “While we have been working, you have been sleeping!” He said, and then laughed heartily.

“Yes.” Maria answered, “but my heart was awake.”

"How can your heart be awake while the rest of you is asleep?” he chided gently. “You are asleep or you are awake, one or the other, but not both.”

“You are probably right,” Maria answered. “But many a time my foot has fallen asleep while the rest of me is awake. Why shouldn’t it be the other way around. Why can’t a person be asleep, but her heart is still awake?”

“You have funny ideas but I like thinking about them,” the young man held out a hand to Maria. “Here, let me help you up from there. We are about to leave the field and head for home. You may come along with us. I will carry your things, and you will find the going is a lot easier that way.”

Maria accepted the hand and was soon on her feet. The other men called to them, “Come on, let’s go! See, it is getting late.”


They all started back toward Harmarville, and as they went they talked among themselves. The young man introduced himself as Giovanni Contadino, whose family came from Sinise. Two of the other men were his relatives, cousins Bruno Contadino and Vince Contadino—they too had family back in the old country, as they called it.

“We write to them and send money, and they write back and say send more,” said Bruno and they all laughed.

“It is better here than there,” said Vince, “but only if we stick together.”

The oldest of the group, a man in his forties at least, was Francesco Basso, who nodded in agreement and said, “The people around here who are not from Italy don’t understand us. That is alright as long as we understand one another.”

“Plus we do the work no one else wants to do,” said Vince. “Like working in the mines. And working in the mills.”

“But you are working in the fields, like at home,” said Maria.

“Yes, the Borlands are good people, and they figured out pretty fast that we understood about growing vegetables—it has worked out better for us than we thought it would,” Giovanni explained. “No dark hole in the ground for us. No fiery furnace for us. We are out in the open air and can see the sky.”

“And no organizers and anarchists to stir the pot,” said Francesco.

Maria looked at him, puzzled.

“They come in from outside, and make all kinds of trouble, and give the rest of us a bad name,” Giovanni said. “Like that fellow Berkman, who took a crack at old Frick in his office. He says he is for the working man to have things better. But he is just out for himself, and things got worse once he did that.”

“But as long as we do good work and let our employers know we are glad to be doing it,” said Francesco, “it is almost as good as at home.”

“Your brother is a smart one, too,” said Giovanni. “He works in the mine but he also has the boarding house. So the people come and live there and pay him and he doesn’t have to give everything he has to the big bosses, or the company store.”

They had by this time passed the narrow place Maria had noticed on the train, and were in the large flat bottom land around that was given over to gardens. It was the place that Maria had admired from the train. Up close it was every bit as special as from the train windows.

"Is this part of the Borland farm, as well?” she asked.

“No,” said Giovanni, “This part belongs to the Armstrong family and they let us grow our own crops and then give them some as rent and keep some for our own use or to sell. Another good family.”

“And you all have gardens here?” Maria asked.

“Yes and lots of the miners do, too,” Vince said.

“And what’s that, way over there?” Maria asked, pointing to the black shed-like buildings with the angled track that attached to the spindly tower.

“The mine, of course,” said Francesco. “That is the Harmar Mine. Where they mine the coal. They bring it up in small cars like train cars but not so big. That thing is the coal tipple.”

"Coal tipple," Maria repeated. Maria thought the word sounded odd but she filed it away. So many new things to learn. They walked along and came to a bridge over a small stream. Then up a small rise and the men announced, “Here you are, Maria; your new home!”

They took off their hats and gave a sort of courtly bow. As they were doing that, a face appeared at the window and a voice called out, “You there, do you have nothing better to do than pose in the streets? Move along! Muoversi Avanti! Move along!”

The men laughed and then Francesco called out, “Marigia, close your mouth and open your eyes! Don’t you know your own family?”

“Family? Bah!” came the reply from the window, “What good for nothings you farmers are! What are you talking about?”

“Here is Maria Fucci, sister of your husband Giacomo, all the way from Neopoli,” sang out Giovanni. “We have brought her to you.”

A great deal of fussing noises were heard from inside the house, snatches of words that sounded like “buono per niente!” fell upon their ears, though none of them were clear enough to be sure of, which Maria felt sure was a good thing. Then the door was thrown open abruptly, and Marigia Fucci emerged, wearing a faded housedress and worn apron, sturdy shoes and her hair tied up with some small piece of cloth.

“'Meglio tardi che mai.' Better late than never. Don’t stand there in the street, like some poor orphan, Maria, come inside at once!” Marigia said, reaching out a hand for Maria and pulling her through the doorway. The men looked at one another and shrugged and then followed along behind, with Maria’s baggage.

“Wipe your feet! Pulire i suoi piedi!” Marigia cried out. “This floor has just been washed. I need no garden soil in my house!” The men did more than that, taking off their boots and leaving them beside the threshold. Marigia stared at their bare, dirty feet and made a sound like the ticking of a clock, shook her head till the rag holding up her hair went flopping to and fro like rabbits' ears.

“How did you come to be with these dull farmers?” Marigia asked Maria. The story of the missed station was soon told and then—and only then—did Marigia offer the men some cold water and tell Maria to sit down at the kitchen table. The men accepted the water, drank it and then moved toward the door as if to leave.

“I must thank you—all of you—for the help you have given me in finding my way.” Said Maria, "And for your kind welcome to me, also. You are my first new friends in America.”

The men all smiled sheepishly, and having said that she was more than welcome, made their departure, pulling on their boots outside on the front stoop.

Once the men had gone, Marigia said, “Here, Maria, stand up and let me look at you.” Maria who was as dead tired as she had ever been in her life, obeyed nonetheless and rose to her feet.

“Turn around,” Marigia instructed. “Yes. Good. Sit down.”

Maria again did as she was bidden.

“You are a good strong girl,” Marigia announced. “A bit small for your age but with hard work and time that will improve I have no doubt. 'Chi la dura la vince.' 'He who perseveres wins at last.' It is good that you left Italy and came here. 'L'Italia farà da sé.' 'Italy will take care of itself.' There, I do not think your prospects would have been very bright. But in this place all is new and there is much to do. I think you will do well here.”

This little speech seemed fine in its way to Maria but it was not exactly what one might call being welcomed with open arms, at least to her mind.

“Here,” said Marigia, “I will show you the place. Come along!” And with that they embarked on a tour of the boarding house, which had a confusing arrangement of rooms, some large and some small, some not really rooms at all with no windows, but all of them had beds galore, and in many of them, men were sleeping.

“These are the ones who work nights,” Marigia said in a loud whisper. “They sleep in the day. If they pay for their bed for all the time then they have it for all the time but if they pay less then they share it with the men who work in the day, and sleep in the night. It is a good arrangement since it saves them money and it makes us more.”

“You don’t charge the same for one man who has his own bed and two men who share a bed?” Maria inquired.

“No that would not get us anywhere,” Marigia answered. “I can see you have no head for business. We charge the men who share the beds half and half of that, on top. So with one bed we get the same as if two and a half men were sleeping in it, not two.”

“Oh. I see. And do you have any half-men here?” Maria asked, picturing in her mind’s eye a horribly wounded man who had lost both of his legs.

“Don’t be silly, child!” Marigia scolded. “Whatever put such an idea in your head? Half-men! You have let your travels go to your brain! Where do you see half-men, I ask you!”

They had gone up one stairway and down another and found themselves in the back of the same hallway that gave on to the front door.

"Over here," said Marigia, "is the parlor. Not to be used except for reading the papers and quiet conversation. If any of the men have visitors they must not go upstairs but talk here. Not many of them have visitors. And over here," she said with a sweep of the arm, "is the dining room. The men sit where they are told. The ones who pay the most have the best seats, and then the next and so on. If they are up on their rent then they get the best seats, that is. If not it is below the salt, down there at the other end where they have to wait till the food is passed to them. I leave it to the men to sort out any difficulties if they are not pleased when the platters and bowls reach the foot of the table.”

“Why?” said Maria.

“It is safer that way, plus we live in a democracy, where every man must make his own way.”

“And where do you and my brother sit at meals, then?” Maria asked.

“Not in here. We sit at the table in the kitchen. It is our own little sanctuary of peace away from the noise and fuss of this room. The men know they are not permitted in the kitchen, no matter what. A strict house rule.”

The two women returned to the kitchen and sat down at that very table. While they were still speaking there came a sort of pounding sound in the distance. Then it got louder and louder. The large house began to vibrate, to actually move as the sound got stronger. It seemed as if some sort of cataclysmic disaster was about to befall the women seated there in the kitchen. What could it be? An earthquake? A tornado? The end of the world?

Then Maria heard a shrill whistle.

“It is only a train,” Marigia shrugged, as the noise reached its greatest intensity. Indeed, it was one of sixteen trains that passed close by the back of the boarding house every day but Sunday when there were only four trains. The rail line sat somewhat lower than the house, along the Allegheny. But even so it was not much more than thirty feet from where the women were.

Maria sensed the table and floor and her chair shaking. Then the old building swayed a bit, the tumblers on the shelves shook and sounded like small bells ringing, the pots and pans on the rack overhead rattled and clanked. Then, more whistling as the sound began to subside. The train continued on its way. The rattling and tinkling and pounding and shaking grew less and less. Maria wondered how the men who slept in the day slept through such a racket. What an unfortunate place to have a room in which one tried to get some rest. The thought of it made Maria wonder why her brother and sister-in-law had chosen such a spot for their boarding house business. It would certainly take her some getting used to.

Immediately, another noise came, another kind of pounding or stomping, and then a door to the back of the house flew open and in came none other than her brother,

“So Maria you are here at last!” Giacomo announced. “We almost gave up hope of ever seeing you. But here you are a sight for sore eyes. And just arrived from the look of it.”

Maria said, “Not just arrived, Giacomo. Marigia has been showing me the house.”

“Good, good,” answered Giacomo, “and what do you think of it?”

“It is very large and filled with lots of boarders,” Maria said.

“Yes, too large for one person to care for; that is why you have come to live with us and help to keep up the place,” interjected Marigia.

Maria nodded but her eyes flashed in Marigia’s direction. “Yes,” Maria said quietly, “I have come to make a new life in a new world.”

Giacomo looked from the wife to the sister and back again. This was going to be a challenge to be sure, having two women in one house. It was like having two cats and one mouse or two dogs and one bone. At that very moment Giacomo decided that he was going to leave the whole situation alone. Let Marigia handle it. No need for him to become entwined in the middle of the battle of wills that was sure to emerge before long.

"So what news do you have of the old home place?" Giacomo asked Maria, thinking that a change of subject might be in order. Marie told Giacomo about their parents and how things were when she had left them. Then she added, “I will want to write to them soon; since I promised that I would do so.”

“I am sure they will want to know you arrived all in one piece,” Giacomo said.

“Yes, but that can wait. Now we have work to do if there is going to be supper for these men,” said Marigia. “Maria, put on an apron and let’s get busy!”

That is exactly what Maria did and for the next several hours the time was spent in cooking and setting the table and serving the food and cleaning up afterward.

The men were a noisy and fast-taking bunch. On this first night the men were all sort of a blur to Maria, and the work was so demanding that she did not even begin to put together the names and the faces. But some of them did make an impression on her for good or bad.

There was Basilio Bello, certainly the most handsome of the men at the table, with dark wavy hair and a big moustache, who sort of lorded it over the rest of them, as a natural born leader. There was a grizzled older fellow named Aldo Saggiolingua who said very little but when he did speak it was as if everyone strained in to hear what his wise tongue had to say. More than once a bold fellow called Cesare Civetta tried to flirt with Maria, and at one point said to the entire group, “Well our fortune has improved now that we have Maria to look at instead of Marigia!”

All of them laughed and nodded their heads, which made Maria blush and hope that Marigia had not heard what he said as she retreated to the kitchen.

“What’s all that noise about?” Marigia asked Maria with a stern look.

“Somebody made a joke and they were all laughing,” Maria replied, which was as much of the truth as she felt she could tell.

“Not a rude joke, I hope?” Marigia said. “I will not have crude language in the house! I have strict rules about it!”

“No it was very tame,” said Maria, who then returned to the dining room with more of the meal.

“Ah here is our angle of mercy back to take good care of us!” said a tough looking fellow called Ilario Forte, who nonetheless had kindly eyes.

“Hooray!” they all shouted. Then stopped abruptly when they saw Marigia at the door from the kitchen, her arms akimbo, her brow furrowed.

“You are nothing but a bunch of hooligans!” Marigia said. “If you keep up like this Maria will stay in the kitchen and I will serve the meal!”

“Lord have mercy upon us,” said Leone Dellaminiera under his breath.

“Yes, the Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” said Maso Istigatore. “If she keeps Maria holed up in the kitchen there will be trouble to pay from me!”

“And me,” said Ruvino Avventato, who stood up on his char and held up his knife like he was posing for the Statue of Liberty. "I will set her free from the dragon in the dungeon!” He pointed the knife in the direction of Marigia who had by this time retreated to her domain.

“Stop being so foolhardy!” Basillo chided him. “Or we will feed you to the river gods. Do you want to bring down the wrath of our landlady upon us?”

Ruvino climbed down from his chair quickly, with a sheepish look on his face.

Maria had witnessed it all and was still blushing terribly.

“Don’t worry little one,” Ilario whispered to her. “They will settle down now. I will have a talk with them when you are in the kitchen. I know they will listen because you bring a bit of joy into this drab place.”

It was late into the evening before Marigia decreed that the work was finished.

And then it was time for bed. Maria realized that Marigia and Giacomo had never told her where she was to sleep. And sometime during the evening, her things had disappeared from where the farmers had left them. That corner of the kitchen was empty. Maria was suddenly tired and frustrated and a bit angry.

“What happened to my things?” Maria asked her brother, who was seated in a corner of the kitchen smoking a pipe.

“In your room,” Giacomo answered, with a kind of a sideways nod, indicating a door through which Maria had not yet passed.

“This way?” she asked him.

“Yes, just there,” he said, not stirring from his place.

Maria went through the doorway to find herself in a kind of a storeroom. There were large containers of staples, bins of potatoes, and the like and over in one corner, a narrow bed, a wooden chair, and a washstand. The corner was tidy. The bed had a quilt on it and a pillow. But it was one small corner of a small room that most people would call a pantry or larder.

There was only one small window, but the darkness outside was complete. Maria noticed that her baggage was also in the room, as Giacomo had indicated.

Maria felt hopelessness taking hold of her, all at once. She sat down on the bed, completely exhausted.

“Maria!” she heard Marigia call, and then her sister-in-law came into the room. “Here you are. I wondered what happened to you. I think you made a fair start of things today but of course once you get to know the routine you will be quicker about everything. You had better get some sleep and be ready when I ring the bell at 5:30 so you can help with the breakfast.” With that, Marigia closed the door, plunging the room into complete darkness.

Maria let her eyes become accustomed to the dark and then was able to move about as she needed in order to take off her clothes and put on her nightgown. She rummaged to find something that would help her relax and found at last the small package that the Padrone had handed to her on their last visit together. She thought of him and his kindness and wondered if perhaps she had made a mistake coming to America. Maria longed to open the gift, but in this darkness, what good would it do? She would have to wait till morning. She thought of Lucia and Grazie and longed to see their kindly, calm faces. She composed the image of them in her minds eye. This was beginning to comfort her but then she thought of Tanio and the spring and his poetry and the tears began to fall down her cheek.

And so ended Maria’s first day in her new home along the Allegheny River.

Nine - Getting to Know America

The next morning came all too soon, and Maria, though she longed to open the present from the Padrone, did not do so. There simply was no time when she could open it in privacy. That morning, and every morning, Marigia awakened her with a brisk, “Time to get up!” and then set Maria to work. And work she did, all the day. And every day. By the time she went to bed, it was dark in her little corner of the storeroom. So the present waited for the day when Maria could be sure that she could open it alone and then put it in a place where she alone knew about it.

In the meantime, there was work and more work. It was not an easy life. But Maria found satisfaction in the cleaning and cooking, and the compliments that the borders gave her on her serving and her kindnesses.

Gradually, she became accustomed to the new pattern of living and it was not as challenging as at first. She was learning English—not as fast as she wanted to learn it, but quickly enough to get by in basic conversations with the people who did not speak Italian.

Maria’s new world was both larger and smaller than in Italy. There, the hills and fields around Neopoli had beckoned and nurtured her from childhood onward. Here, her circuit of familiarity went as the river flowed. Upriver was the valley of farmland that she had so admired—which she could catch glimpses of if she walked but a short distance in that direction. Not that Maria had much time to walk even a short distance from the house. That garden area was part of Harmarville proper, and then beyond lay Acmetonia and Cheswick of her mistaken train destination the day of her arrival. That was as far upriver that Maria had been. Beyond that and still, along the river, were places that she had only heard people speak of—Springdale, New Kensington, Tarentum, Brackenridge, Lower Burrell.

Downriver there was Hoboken and Aspinwall and then Sharpsburg. Maria soon traveled in that direction because the nearest parish church was at Sharpsburg. If she could be spared she would go there to mass. But this was not a regular Sunday habit, since Marigia had many Sundays in which Maria could not be spared. Maria knew that beyond Sharpsburg were Etna and Millvale and further still Pittsburgh, but those places she never visited in her first months of her time in America.

One Sunday a month after she had arrived, Maria was able to go to mass. And several of the borders were going so she traveled to and from Sharpsburg with them. Basilio and Aldo. Also with them were several new arrivals to the boarding house, a young man called Sam Valicenti and his cousin Alphonse Sinise.

Sam Valicenti was immediately interesting to Maria. He was a fine looking fellow, with short dark brown hair and light brown eyes that were almost hazel. A strong oval face held features that seemed to change with each mood or word. He had a mostly serious way about him but when he smiled it was such a fine smile. On the way to the church, they all talked about the places they were passing. Hoboken was a small place, strung along the river like most of these river towns. A few shops along the main road—a grocer, a tailor, a funeral parlor. Signs advertizing a dentist a doctor and a barber were also to be seen. But mostly it was an unassuming place, with wood framed houses, some perched on the uphill side of Freeport Road and others clustered down in the hollows toward the riverbanks. Down there, were also two different steel businesses, one called Blaw Steel Co. and the Knox Welded and Pressed Steel Co.

As they left Hoboken and went toward Aspinwall, they passed the Allegheny County Workhouse. It was a huge stone walled prison facility very imposing and frightening looking. To Maria it was the nearest thing she had seen in the new world that would compare with the castles of the old world, complete with guard towers on the corners and a walkway on the top of the wall.“

“And up over the hill is the Workhouse Farm,” said Basilio. “It is a big place and if you are going to have to work while you are in prison, not a bad place.”

Maria wondered how Basilio knew so much about it but she kept her thoughts to herself. Soon they were passing Ross Grove, a grove of trees popular with the locals for picnicking and strolling, and then the new waterworks buildings, with the big arched windows, which Maria recalled having seen from the train on her arrival day.

Thereafter came Aspinwall, a new suburb designed for prosperous families. The man who had the idea of it had gone all the way to New York City to interest Mrs. Annie Aspinwall, a direct descendant of James Ross, Sr., in the idea. She invested the money that proved to spark the development. Now, more than six hundred families were living in the planned town, with charming houses that Maria admired as they passed by. Some were big frame houses with deep porches. Others were made of the characteristic Western Pennsylvania yellow brick.

St Mary’s Church was an impressive place, begun by German settlers in the 1850s. Down the years the church grew and by this time they were in their second building—the first having been destroyed in a disastrous fire in 1866. The mass being in Latin, it did not matter that some of the congregation still used German as their first language and others, Italian. The familiar sights and sounds, the sharing of the Eucharist and the chanting of the choir all made Maria feel connected both to the worshipers around her and to her family so very far away in Neopoli.

On the way home, Maria and Sam and Alphonse They found that their towns were very near one another. They talked about the things they missed from home, and the people. Sam seemed determined that he would make something of himself in the world. Alphonse, though, was more introspective and talked about when he would go back to Italy.

“I am only here for as long as I have to be,” he said with quiet determination. “My home is back in Cersossmo.”

“I know how you feel,” Maria said. “Sometimes I miss home so much that it hurts. On those nights, I cry myself to sleep.

"You must not feel that way," said Sam. "It is still too soon to know what good things you may find here in America. You may turn out to make your fortune here."

"That is so," agreed Basilio. "You could be the next Carnegie. Time along will tell."

"I cannot wait for time to tell," Alphonse said. He held his hand up in a way that said determination, at least to Maria. "I want to go home. If I could go home now, I would go. As soon as I have money for my passage home, I am going. I will not look over my shoulder with regret."

"You have every right to go home," Maria said to him. "But you will be missed here."

Alphonse looked at her as if he had never thought of such a thing. "Thank you," he said quietly. The rest of the return trip was accomplished in a somber mood. Perpahs because of this conversation or perhaps simply because all too soon the morning away was over and it was back to the boarding house and work, work, work.

From the back of the big boarding house, Maria could look across the wide, deep, imposing Allegheny and see Hulton and Oakmont, really two parts of the same riverside community. Hulton was named for the family who ran the ferry from over there to right at their doorstep, or at least just at the end of their back yard. If you had a reason to cross the river, the Hulton ferry was the way to go. Nor really a ferry, it was a rowboat for passengers and a flatboat for those with lots of goods to move from one bank to the other. Maria did not like crossing the river; she never thought of it as a friendly river. It was too dark and deep and fast moving for fondness. But she found the passing river traffic of interest. Barges of coal, paddle-wheelers of all sizes, smaller craft. Every so often a houseboat.

Out the front windows, there was both much and little to see. Not much in the way of scenery, since the high, rocky cliffs drew very close to the front of the house. Indeed they were only separated from the house by the street, some called it Freeport Road and some called it Pittsburgh Street—it was known as both in this stretch of Harmar Township. In Maria’s imagination the cliffs were always at the point of coming down on the house in the middle of the night. This never happened in reality. But the hillside was notorious for rockslides. Large chunks of rock did from time to time fall downward and land in Freeport Road, making traffic along the road impossible. Then, gangs of prisoners from the nearby Workhouse at Hoboken were brought to chip away at the rocks till they were of manageable size and could be carted away.

The boardinghouse was practically in the street and so when people walked by or wagons wheeled by there was a lot of racket and if one wanted to pass the time by watching the passing parade, it was entertaining. Not that Maria had much time to stop and watch and be entertained.

Maria slowly got to know the area because from time to time she would be sent on errands here or there. Once she had to take the rowboat across the river to get some medicine from Olix Darity, the pharmacist at Hulton. She clung for dear life to the sides of the gunnels as they crossed. It was a strange enterprise as the man who ferried her across rowed as if they were going upstream and would land at Barton's Island.

"They tried a witch over they, many years ago," the ferryman told her. "Back when it was Brewster's Island. Judge Brewster let the woman get away and he had to scoot out of there because of the ruckus. Went all the way to Texas."

Maria tried to picture a witchcraft trial and ended up thinking that the island was even more frightening that it had appeared up till now.

"Brewster sold to Barton and from what I know the Barton family still owns it now. 'Course the rivermen all call it Twelve Mile Island since that's how far upstream it is from The Point."

He pulled hard till more than midway across the river and then made for the opposite shore as fast as he could. The same technique was used in reverse on the return trip.

The Oakmont public library opened the same year Maria arrived in America but she had little desire to risk her life in the rowboat to borrow books that were printed in a language still so foreign to her.

Maria was also sent to the Armstrong Brothers Store at Acmetonia for provisions or to buy fresh produce from James McRoberts, one of the farmers at Harmarville. Once, she was sent with a note to Harry Pierce the hotel keeper Acmetonia, the note turning out to be an overdue rent notice for one of her brother and sister-in-law’s borders who had moved to Pierce’s place without paying his rent.

It was a long three mile walk up to Acmetonia, but Maria did not mind it, since it got her away from the endless housework at the boarding house and out into the open air. She did not lollygag but she strolled in such a way that she enjoyed every step of the walk—about an hour there and an hour back. The birds were thick in the trees and she listened to their chatter. The red cardinals with their “Birdie! Birdie! Birdie!”and their trilled “Good Cheer!” Even Rico couldn't hold a candle to these charming and brilliant red beauties, Maria thought. Then there were the blue jays with their “Jay! Jay!” and hawk-like cries. Most of all she enjoyed hearing the mocking birds who gave an exuberant concert by borrowing all the other bird’s songs and making them their own.

Along the way she saw several of her farmer friends, those rescuers of her first day. Giovanni Contadino stopped his work and came across the field to greet her.

“How goes it for you, Maria?” he asked.

She told him about her first several weeks at the boarding house and her impressions, good and bad, of the people there.

Giovanni shook his head when he heard about her room, “That isn’t right,” he said. “Everyone needs a place to really get away. You have to share yours with the jars and brooms.”

“I am used to it now,” Maria confessed. “But at first I was very unhappy.”

“What changed your mind?” Giovanni asked, flashing his brightest smile.

“I decided that I was here and I was going to make the best of it,” Maria said. “Usually, when I make up my mind to think a certain way, it helps things go along better.”

And did it help?”

“Yes,” Maria answered truthfully.

“So here is a question I have for you,” Giovanni said quietly. “If I were to come by and ask you to go for a walk sometime would you say yes?”

“We are walking now,” Maria said.

“We are,” he replied. “And I like it very much.”

“So do I,” said Maria.

“Good,” answered Giovanni. “I will keep that in mind when I come to the door of the boarding house and ask for another walk. But now I must get back to work. Ciao, Maria!”

Giovanni fairly bounded back to his work, leaping the rows of vegetables like hurdles in a race. Maria watched till he turned and took off his cap and waved in her direction. She waved back and then continued on her walk to Acmetonia.

Mr. Pierce was somewhat indignant when he read the note about the boarder who had absconded without paying his rent, and swore that he would throw the man out. He scribbled a few lines on the note for Maria to take back to Marigia and then she set off on her homeward walk.

There were farmers in the fields but she did not see Giovanni on return walk. When she drew near to the boarding house, there was some kind of excitement going on in front of it. A crowd had gathered and there was a lot of yelling going on. Not angry yelling, but rather frightened sounds.

Maria found Basilio Bello in the crowd and asked what the matter was.

“Stay here and do not go inside, something has happened,” Basilio said.

“What is it?” Maria insisted.

“A young man has hanged himself,” Basilio answered. “In the attic. He must have secured a piece of rope from somewhere. And then climbed a ladder to a high beam in the attic. And tied the rope to the timber and adjusted a noose around his neck and stepped off the ladder into eternity.”

“How awful,” Maria whispered under her breath.

“The body was found swinging from the beam.” Basilio told her, “he was found by a friend who had gone looking for him. No cause is known for the young man's act.”

Maria stood there in the street and looked around for faces she recognized. Aldo and Cesare were there. Leone Dellaminiera and Maso Istigatore, as well.

Marigia and Giacomo were talking to a man in uniform, a police man or someone from the police force at the mine? She could hear Marigia saying, “The door to the attic is kept locked at all times! I have a strict rule about it. I don’t know how anyone could have gotten up there.”

Scanning the crowd further, Maria realized that Ruvino was missing; also missing were two of the new borders Sam and Alphonse, who had not lived there more than a week. She wondered if it might be one or the other of them. Turning to ask Basilio who the victim was, she discovered that he had gone.

She could hear Marigia talking at the top of her voice again, “Maybe that silly girl left the door unlocked,” she was saying. “I don’t know when she will be back to ask her. I sent her to Acmetonia on an errand.”

”I am over here, Marigia,” Maria said, drawing closer. “I have just returned.”

“Maria! Did you leave the attic door unlocked?” Marigia demanded.

“I have never been up to the attic,” Maria said truthfully. “And you yourself keep all the keys on that big ring.” Maria pointed to it. All that she said was true.

"You spiteful child!” Marigia snapped back. “How could you say such a thing! And when I am sheltering you under my very roof, too! Ingrate!” She raved on like this for some time, as some of the boards tried to calm her down. Marigia only pushed them away. “See, this is how I am repaid for my care and generosity!”

Maria could not believe what she was hearing. But she would listen no longer. She fled from the flow of mean-spirited invective and ran toward the house. As she did, she nearly collided with the men who were carrying out the dead man on a makeshift stretcher formed from some bedclothes. His face had been covered by those tending to this gruesome task, and the arms had been folded on the chest, under the sheet. But one had fallen to the side.

Maria saw the hand as it was suspended there, limp and pale. With a shock of recognition, she realized it belonged to Alphonse Sinise. She searched the faces of the men who were carrying the body—Sam was among them. She caught Sam’s eyes—they told the whole story. It was Alphonse, who would never go home to Italy again.

“Oh no!” Maria said to him.

“Hush for now, Maria,” Sam said. “We will talk when we are able. But let things rest for now.”


The small procession continued onward, Maria watched them go. The white sheet. The limp hand. The broad back of Sam and the others who were carrying Alphonse. In the background, Maria could still hear Marigia shrieking, this time in wails and unintelligible phrases. Once she thought she heard her say, “The house will be haunted!” and then catch herself. Yes, thought Maria, that will not be good for business. Who wants to stay under a roof where a man killed himself in despair? Maria went into the house and found that was still and quiet. No one was stirring although some of the night shift men were surely sleeping. But those who were awake were all still outside in the crowd and commotion.

Maria went back to the storeroom and closed the door. She then pushed a big bin of potatoes against it, to assure herself some privacy. Then, she went to find the package from the Padrone. There it was. She sat down on the bed and before opening it said to herself, “This is the only thing I can do. Alphonse is gone. Marigia is going crazy. But here—there is peace.”

Maria thought back to the farewell tea with the Padrone when he had handed her this small package. Here it was in her hand, still wrapped in the silk scarf, still tied with a golden ribbon.

Maria remembered every word he had said to her as he gave it to her:

“This you must take with you to America, and open it when you have arrived there safely. Promise me that and promise that you will let us know in letters how things go with you.”

"I must start writing these letters," Maria chided herself, as she recalled what the Padrone had said and what she had so readily promised. "I will do so, when I write to say that I have arrived and to say thank you for whatever this present may be," she resolved. And only then did she begin to unwrap the gift.

The scarf itself was a thing of wonder and beauty, silk and soft and designed in such a way that depending on how it was folded certain colors came to the fore. There were gold and blues and just a hint of a deep red, if you held it just so. But to hold it differently allowed the blues to become the major note and the gold and reds to be more subtle.

"Oh, this is a treasure," Maria thought as she placed it around her shoulders, like a shawl.

Once the silk scarf was removed, she saw that underneath was what appeared to be a small box, made of finely chased silver. "This is too fine a present," Maria thought. Certainly there was nothing in the boarding house that would approach its beauty; nor, Maria pondered, in her own home in Noepoli, either. She noticed a small latch on the front of the box and carefully undid it and then lifted up the box's lid, to find that it wasn't a box after all. It was a silver frame; a silver frame, with the center hinge making the top and the bottom of what she had at first thought was a box. But now, she found, it was meant to stand on a table or shelf, with the hinge in the middle. The left side was chased in silver; but on the right side was a small portrait of a young woman.

"It is a portrait of me," Maria mused. "Wearing the scarf in which it was presented to me. How lovely and how very odd, since I have never posed for a portrait."

A note had been tucked into the frame, and had fallen into Maria's lap as she opened it. She turned her attention to it and read as follows:

My Dear Maria,

Here is a small memento of the place of your birth and the people here who will always love you. The scarf was a favorite of my dear wife, and the portrait of her reminds me of you. It was done as a study when the large painting in my library was also made. If you look closely you will see that she is wearing the scarf in the portrait. I have and will always cherish the painting in the library, as a reminder of you as well as of my dear lady. But I thought you should have these other reminders of the connection between us that no ocean can separate. May you enjoy them both wherever life may lead, and may you ever count me as your friend.

In fondness,

Guiseppe Rinaldi



Maria sat there in her small room for some time, thinking about the Padrone and the choice she had made to come to America. She thought of his kindness in sending with her this treasure of his heart. She also thought about the strange events of this day that went from the running of the errand and the walk with Giovanni to the horror of Alphonso’s death, to the shrewish behavior of Marigia, to the solemn look on Sam’s face. It was a memorable day, in many ways.

“I will always remember it so,” Maria thought as she felt the softness of the scarf around her shoulders. As she did, there was a soft knocking at the door of the storeroom.

“Maria are you there?” a whispered voice called.

“Who is it?” Maria answered, though she felt certain she knew who it was.

“Sam,” the voice replied. “I would like to talk with you if you are willing?”

“Oh, yes, Sam.” Maria said. “One moment...” Maria put the photo and the note away and then pushed aside the potato bin. Opening the door, she saw Sam looking at her with a kindness and a tenderness that seemed almost heaven-sent.

Sam took one look at Maria, wrapped in the beautiful shawl, with the wonderful colors bringing out her own fine features and he held his breath a and then said in a whisper,

"Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare la donna mia..." "So kind and so honest my lady appears to me.”

Maria could not believe her ears. These were the very words that she had imagined the bold knight Jacuvill saying to her. Sam’s words took her back to her childhood daydreams of Jacuvill. She remembered that she would see coming across the valley—a dashing, heroic figure of the “dintorini”. He would know where to find her, he would rescue her from whatever the danger might be.


It was as if, all of the sudden, the reason for coming to America became clear. At least, Maria dared to hope so. She could not bring herself to tell Sam what she was thinking. In fact, it seemed very wrong for her to be thinking anything other than a compassion for him on the loss of Alphonse. She did, nonetheless reach out her hand to his.

“I am so sorry about Alphonse,” she said, as she looked into his hazel eyes. “Words cannot say how sad it makes me that what happened has happened.”

Sam nodded his head slowly. “I want to tell you what I know, but only if you want to hear about it,” he said softly. “I am not going to tell anyone else. They can speculate all they want to. The police know and they are very understanding. From their point of view the matter is closed. But as someone who loved him like a brother, I have to tell someone I can trust. Someone with a heart as well as a mind. I thought of you at once Maria. But if you do not want to know, say so, and I will not speak about it.”

This speech tumbled out rapidly and yet Maria sensed that she had heard it before, and she answered Sam saying, “Yes, I want to hear what you can tell me. I think I need to hear it, for your sake and for my sake. And to honor Alphonse, also.”

“We cannot stay here,” Sam said. “They will all be coming inside soon,”

His words brought Maria back to the moment. She said, “And Marigia will be looking for me to start up the supper.”

“Not tonight, Maria,” Sam said. “I told her she was so mean to you that I am going to take you for a walk so you can cool off and her as well. She has plenty of energy, she might as well use it for something useful and make the supper. The rest of the men backed me up. Basilio told her that if she raised her voice to you unnecessarily again she would be the next one swaying from the rafters.”

Maria looked at Sam, startled. “How that must have hurt you,” she said.

“No, it did not. In fact I wish I had said it myself. Marigia looked at the rest of us and saw that we were all in ernest about it. She gave a bit of a protest but I shut her up. I said that what I have to say to you is more important than any help in the kitchen tonight. And that maybe—just maybe—you will be willing to help her again, starting tomorrow. But only if I can convince you not to go on strike or leave this place. That shut her up, fast.”

“Me, on strike!” Maria said. “how in the world could I go on strike?”

“You have more say so than you realize,” Sam told her. “With all of us behind you. I told her that if you refuse to come back to work that we were all leaving this place for another boarding house.”

“You did?” Maria said in wonderment.

“I did. And they all agreed with me. To a man. You should have seen her face. I stopped looking when her chin reached the roadbed.”



With that, Maria laughed and realized that this was her chance to have some time away from the drudgery. She also wanted to hear what Sam had to say about the tragedy that had just befallen him and all of them. And she also simply wanted to be with Sam.

‘Let us go, then,” she said to Sam, “Maybe I will hear about it later, but no matter.”

So out the door they went, with more than a few pairs of eyes watching them. Marigia and Giacomo gave her stern looks but not stern enough to stop her. They followed Freeport Road in the direction of the famous fields but only as far as Guys Run, a small stream that emptied into the Allegheny River just where the land flattened out a bit.

“Let’s go this way,” Sam said. So they walked along Guys Run on the old dirt road that followed its course, putting the river behind them. There were scraggly sumac bushes growing along the way, with their clusters of long narrow leaves. A small flock of Evening Grosbeaks were foraging among the ripening sumac bobs, their yellow feathers flashing against the greenery.

Away from the river, it was as if fifty, one hundred and more years fell away. They were in an area of scrub but not far on either side were woods, filled with old trees that were young before the first Europeans came this way. Sam found a sassafras leaf, and picked it and crushed it in his hand for Maria to smell. The aroma was fresh and appealing. Somewhere near by a mocking bird was giving one of its recitals.

“It is strange, Maria said, “that all of this is here, not more than a few steps from the traffic on Freeport Road and on the river.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “It is noisy and busy there, and peaceful all of the sudden here. I think that is was Adolpho was seeking. Peacefulness.”

“He chose a terrible way to find it,” Maria said.

Sam nodded. “You know, he never wanted to come to America. His attitude was against it from the very start. There was no work for him at home. He had to do something. But he used to say he would have happily become a beggar in Italy before leaving it behind.” Sam kicked a loose stone on the path, and it went flying ahead of them

“So why did he come here?” Maria asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he thought he would change his mind once he got here. He had heard the stories we all hear. You can scoop up gold from the side of the road. Everyone is a millionaire before a year is past. But he did not believe them any more than I did.” Sam turned around and looked at the sky. “If I had not told the family I was coming to America, I don’t think he would have come on his own. That is why I am blaming myself.”

“Oh, Sam,” Maria said, “You must never do that. He was sad—distraught. I don’t think anyone would have been able to stop him. If they did, today, he would have tried it again, another day.”

“Yes, you are right,” Sam agreed, nodding his head slowly. “The fact is, he told me on the boat that he would go overboard before we got to New York. But then he got sick, and was in his bed the whole way across. Weak as a kitten. I thought it was God protecting him from the dark waters of the Atlantic.”

"It was,” Maria agreed.

“Then we got to America and all of the sudden he was well again. Not strong, but not sick. He went through the medical inspection at Ellis Island without any concern from the examiners. And then we were on our way here. And he was very quiet watching the land pass before our eyes outside the windows. We had gone a long way before he turned to me and told me that with every mile, his homeland was becoming more of a lost dream and less of a reality.”

Maria nodded. This untamed area boasted a profusion of plants that were new to Maria’s eyes: blue curls, butterfly weed, and black cohosh, doll's eyes, goat's beard, pink milkweed and white wood aster. Here and there could also be seen jack-in-the-pulpit, spreading Jacob's ladder, brown-eyed Susan, wild geranium, and blazing star.

They had by now turned off the winding road alongside the stream, and were climbing a tall hill, that rose to the left side of it. She wanted to ask Sam where they were and where they were going, but she did not want to interrupt him as he talked about Adolpho.

“I knew how he was feeling,” Sam continued. “I was feeling the same way. I think we all feel it when we go so far from home. Except maybe scoundrels and thieves."

The path grew steeper as they went upward. Sam offered Maria his arm, and the climbed side by side. It occured to Maria at that moment that she had walked in the old country with her first love and she had climbed a volcano with Rico. Now, where would this walk with Sam lead?