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SUOSSO’S LANE

Robert C. Knox

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without expressed written permission from The Tri-Screen Connection, LLC, the publisher. No default “opt-in” is offered, implied, or accepted for presentation on any third-party web-site or other digitized medium. Therefore, “opt-out” is presumed by serving this advance notification.

This is the original Web-e-Books® trade publication edition copyrighted © 2015 - All Rights Reserved – to The Tri-Screen Connection, LLC, USA. The work is registered and recorded with the United States Library of Congress and under exclusive assignment by means of written conveyance from the author.

Suosso’s Lane, a novel, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, public figures, events, and places are used in a contrived setting for entertainment effect and wonderment. Literary remarks, citations, and other thematic expositions by the author are utilized for dramatization only and are not intended to disparage nations, communities, establishments, institutions, or persons living or deceased.

Distributed on original Web-e-Books® with genuine Web-e-PUB™, TruPage™, MemoryMark™, MellowPage™, Cache-It™, and ImageDrop™ technologies.

Modified Cover Image Attributions – Title: Bartolomeo Vanzetti (left), handcuffed to Nicola Sacco (right). Dedham, Massachusetts Superior Court, 1923. Creator: Unknown, PD Old. Title: Charlestown State prison circa 1900, Creator: Daderot, PD-Self. Title: Dream Book, Creator: Alice Pike Barney, PD-Old. Title: Arthur Conan Doyle, The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (1927), Cover Edition, Creator: John Murray, In the Public Domain {{PD-1923}}. Title: Step by Step, political cartoon, Creator: Joseph Greene, work in the Public Domain {{PD-1923}}. Title: Mayflower 2 at Dock, Creator: Author provided. Title: Flag of Italy, Creator: Zscout370, in the Public Domain. Title: People protesting the treatment of Sacco and Vanzetti, Creator: Unknown, Source: libcom.org, no known copyright.

For information about Suosso’s Lane please see: www.web-e-books.com. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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Suosso’s Lane is a work of fiction. It follows the events and treats the central figures involved in the famous, and infamous, Sacco-Vanzetti case that ended with the 1927 execution of two Italian immigrants who much of the world believed had been falsely convicted of murder because of their radical political beliefs. Some characters in this novel, including the defendants in this closely followed “trial of the century,” their anarchist comrades, the members of the Brini family (who boarded Bartolomeo Vanzetti in their North Plymouth home in the years before World War I), the Massachusetts officials who prosecuted the defendants, and the witnesses who testified on their behalf were living, breathing human beings. I have tried to portray them accurately, based on what is known about their lives.

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But a novel is not a documentary or work of scholarship. As such, this book departs from the historical record in imagining the personal life, inward experiences, and thoughts of its central figure, Vanzetti, in the years when he lived and worked in Plymouth, Massachusetts, before his arrest in 1920, and during the years of imprisonment that followed. The book’s dramatization of actual events in Vanzetti’s life, including his criminal trial on a separate charge in Plymouth, and the highly publicized murder trial in Dedham, take minor liberties with the court record in the interest of dramatic compaction. Other scenes, events, and characters given a part to play in this novel’s treatment of Vanzetti’s personal life before his arrest, and in efforts to save him and his comrade, Nicola Sacco, from execution after their conviction, are wholly the creation of the author. The fictional dramatization of events such as the 1916 strike at the Plymouth Cordage Company and the night of Sacco and Vanzetti’s execution at Charlestown State Prison also go beyond the historical record in order to evoke the spirit, issues, and tensions of those times. Factory workers and their families were hungry in 1916, not only in Plymouth but throughout the country. And many workers, political radicals, upper class socialists, labor organizers, immigrant community leaders, Ivy League undergraduates, and progressives of all stripes believed that the executions of Sacco and Vanzetti following a highly flawed legal process proved that “the poor man” could not receive justice in 1920’s America.

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Suosso’s Lane also invents other characters and events taking place in the year 2000, and in the decades that followed the 1927 executions. These characters, their thoughts, actions and circumstances, bear no relationship to any actual persons or events.

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PROLOGUE

THE MONEY WAS NEVER FOUND/THE CRIME

April 15, 1920, South Braintree

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That day, some funny-looking people were seen hanging around outside a couple of ordinary shoe factories on a strip of road given the overly grand-sounding name of South Braintree Square. Job seekers noticed them on their trudge down Pearl Street to ask about work in the factories, as did Slater-Morrill Shoe Company’s head bookkeeper, who with his habitual disdain for foreign riffraff remarked on their presence to his female assistant.

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“Better watch yourself, Jean. Italians, maybe. Or Poles.”

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Up the road from the little headquarters office on Pearl Street, two men with hats pulled low sat inside a black sedan with its hood up for hours in the middle of the day. Their expressions did not invite conversation from passersby.

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In the end, the shoe factory’s paymaster and his assistant handled payroll the same way as every other week. The bookkeeper dropped a sizeable bag on the paymaster’s desk and in a voice that suggested that he was the one who did all the real work around here announced that the payroll was ready. Inside the bag, the cash, almost sixteen thousand dollars, a week’s wages for hundreds of households, was divided into two small steel boxes. Nobody mentioned the suspicious idlers in the square.

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Parmenter, the paymaster, put one of the boxes in a satchel, shrugged on his overcoat, and slung the satchel over his shoulder.

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“Sandy,” he said. “C’mon.”

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Alessandro Berardelli, a wiry man with the look of a boxer, swung his feet off a desk, drew a short coat over his arms, and tucked the other box into the crook of his elbow. He took a revolver from a desk drawer and shoved it into his waistband.

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Paymaster and guard commenced their weekly, unhurried promenade down Pearl Street to the Slater-Morrill factory, a four-story shop of skilled and unskilled laborers, its rows of windows open to the cool spring air. When they approached the old culvert that let a shallow stream pass below, a black sedan with a couple of passengers inched past. At the bottom of Pearl Street, hidden from the two men by the curve in the road, the car turned around and parked with the engine idling.

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Berardelli lagged a few steps behind his boss. The sun emerged between passing clouds before again lowering its veil. Typical April, Parmenter thought. Fine one moment, dirty the next. Neither man paid much attention to a pair of idlers leaning on a thin rail fence, their backs to the street, gazing at the thin black stream below.

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The moment the payroll carriers passed them, the nearest of the two men swung around and fired a pistol into Berardelli’s back. Parmenter turned, dropped his satchel to the ground, and fled, stumbling across Pearl Street.

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The second gunman ran after him and shot him from behind. The big man twisted and fell, landing on the ground with his face to the sky. The gunman ran up beside him and fired a second shot into his chest. Meanwhile, his companion in crime fired two more shots into Berardelli’s prone form.

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The black car approached at speed. The two men inside shouted at the shooters. The gunman who shot Berardelli sprinted toward the car with the cash box. The men in the car shouted again. The gunman spun and ran back to the fallen guard to fire another bullet at point blank range into his head.

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Above him, drawn by the noise of the shots, heads and shoulders leaned out of the upper-story windows of the Rice and Hutchins shoe factory, the nearer of the road’s two workplaces. Berardelli’s killer raised his gun and waved it at the windows. Heads snapped back inside in a single gesture, like a wave sucked back by the tide.

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Still brandishing their weapons, the shooters jumped into the black sedan, and it sped away from the square. The car crossed the railroad tracks at Washington Street, and followed a zigzag route through the back roads of southeastern Massachusetts, either to confuse pursuit, or because the robbers were lost.

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Behind them, the robbers left shock and horror, the excitement of a bold transgression for those who survived it, and a hundred different accounts of what transpired in broad day under the noses of the workers and dwellers in a quiet corner of a small town.

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The getaway car was discovered in the woods a few days later, arguably near the rented shack of a foreign-born radical already facing deportation.

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The money was never found.

I WILL EXCLAIM AS I DIE

August 22, 1927, Charlestown Prison

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Who could have imagined things would turn out this way? His fame. His triumph?

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His agony.

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He could laugh. He opens his mouth, but emits only a rough cough. His throat is tight.

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Though he has no clock, he knows the hour is growing late. After seven years locked inside these walls, the stones of the prison speak to him, even those of the ancient Cherry Hill section where the prisoners awaiting execution are sent to count down their final days. He meant to write another letter before time, his time, all the time Vanzetti will ever have, runs out. He has already written a letter to the boy, Dante, who is devastated that his father, the shoemaker Nicola Sacco, a good man he will never get to know, is being slaughtered by the state.

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Vanzetti has written also his final letter to the people of the world, which he, a man not without his pride, knows will be published in the world’s great newspapers.

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But there is one more.

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He squints, leaning forward to catch the light from the corridor. He sits on the board on which he also sleeps -- ah ha! He catches himself, but not tonight -- and reaches for the wooden packing case he uses for a table. He sets the case on end, to spare his back.

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And now, one last time, to peer beneath the board to locate his pen and ink. But each gesture, especially the most familiar, launches ripples of thought. And the thoughts become a river, and the river becomes a sea.

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In his last hour, he remembers his first steps on the well-trod county road -- the prophetically named Court Street -- that led to his midnight appointment with extinction.

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He was no stranger to the road. He slept beside it, following its lead from job to job, to the pick-and-shovel labor that kept him alive. Trudged its length to the outskirts of both town and village, alert to the sounds telling a wanderer what sort of welcome to expect. The braying of dogs. The shouts. The cold words. Or, upon occasion, the warmer speech of his own patria.

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An itinerant. He savors the word. An itinerant laborer, to be more exact. Or, as others sometimes described men of his condition, an idler, a vagrant, a homeless worthless foreigner. You did not necessarily find the outstretched hand, the smile of welcome, the milk of human kindness in the land of opportunity. You found mud, sneers, dirty water in a roadside ditch.

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Fifteen years before, when he was still a young man -- imagine! Vanzetti a young man! -- he believed this road, this gateway to old Plymouth, where the Pilgrims of another day found their succor, would prove a sanctuary of his heart. That was his hope. And his innocence.

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So it proved for some years, a good number, the greatest number spent in any one place since leaving the village of his birth in the Piemonte.

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In his mind, he sees a boy sitting at the end of a muddy lane, striving to interest a dog in a stick -- his bello Beltrando. He sees too the generous Brini family, who took him in. His comrade Vincenzo, a laboring man of his own beliefs (though in the end, they differed), and his kind wife Alphonsina, who endured his feckless bachelor ways and housed and fed him with her own family. Who spoke for him in court -- not once, even, but twice.

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He remembers the hills above the sea where he climbed to watch the quiet waves of the sheltered shore and look for the little white Mayflowers that reminded him of his country, his compagna.

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They were good years -- no, he would not say “good.” How can he speak of truly good years in a world without justice? Yet, they were well enough. A sheltering roof. A life among comrades who shared both his tongue and his dream. The boy he watched grow up. And then, the most remarkable of all, the woman who taught him to speak. His Veenie, dearest Veenie -- it hurts even to think of her now that things have worked to such an end…

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Well, he was always one to speak his mind. But Veenie taught him the speech of this land. She tuned his tongue to a new tonic. And now -- he could laugh! -- the whole world hears the words of Vanzetti. So, yes, in the end, he learned to make the new tongue sing.

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Yes, one final letter.

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He could laugh -- the irony -- that he has neglected to write to the one whose generosity and skill taught him this skill… But, oh, it hurts!

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Vanzetti straightens his back after the blow, the pain which strikes without warning from somewhere in the depths of his body, from the secret parts where courage and defiance do not always win out, and tries to breathe normally. His mind probes for the wound. It is nothing, he tells himself. He has warded himself against some final betrayal of the flesh, having no truck with the much-celebrated “final meal,” sending back the tray’s lavish portions of rich foods to the warden with his apologies -- some slight distemper, he murmured to the guard absurdly; it will pass -- though the smell of the beef lingered in his nose as the silent guard retreated with his burden down the empty corridor.

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So, no. No physical distemper from the indulgences of Vanzetti. And yet, the pain has come from somewhere.

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He stands and walks the two slow steps to the bars of his cell, where he places his hands against the metal, and listens very hard. Some rodent scratchings somewhere, but no indications of human presence. They have taken Sacco, brought him somewhere else, far away.

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Poor Nick. The bitter triumph of the viper-judge, Thayer, and the poisoned-tongue twister of words, Katzmann, so undermined his good comrade Sacco, that the sharer of his fate, this brave best of men has barely a word to spare for another human being.

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Vanzetti straightens his shoulders once again and lets his breath out slowly. But what good could words do?

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Even the words of this land which he finally mastered and made his own could not save them. In the end, he was forced to say to her -- his Veenie, his teacher, the companion of his heart -- as they faced one another inside the bars of the prison: it is too late. The Iron Lady claimed him. He must perish in the grip of her fiery claws...

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The light from the corridor grows dimmer, startling him. What had he intended?

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Yes. The pen, the paper.

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He laughs. Everything is clear now. Too late for that. Too late for anything.

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Thoughts come and go, drift into focus and out. He does not attend. He returns to the bunk, his shoulders slumping against the cool stone. A stillness claims him.

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Noises in the corridor.

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After so many years, his prison-sharpened senses hear everything. Oh no, my friends, no matter how softly you walk, you cannot deny you are coming for me.

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No more words now. Too late for words.

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Tears? Yes.

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He sees them, now that the footsteps have arrived, though faces turn away. He sees everything.

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Words? They ask him for words? Last words?

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He shakes his head. He has spoken words enough to last a lifetime and more. And yet -- he suppresses a laugh -- no last letter to Veenie.

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“I wish to forgive…” The words come from somewhere.

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More faces surround him. The blank faces of the jurymen, who do not meet his eye. The damaged souls whom the prosecutor Katzmann harried upon the witness stand, prodding them with a stick -- the herdsman leading beasts to the slaughterhouse -- who bore false witness against him to save themselves. Forgive these? Yes. Poor creatures. Victims of the state. Failures. Who will hear their last words, take them down by hand, print them across the pages of the newspaper?

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No one. Yet the whole world will read Vanzetti’s last letter to the multitudes.

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But forgive the beast Katzmann? The serpent judge Thayer? The two-faced governor who came to visit, but not to do justice?

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Never. Not one of these.

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“…some people.” Let them ponder who is to be forgiven and who is not.

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They wait in the frozen stillness of the chamber. They stare at the one who must die.

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I see fire. The healing flame. I see the clean place. The clean morning air, the small birds of the dawning. The beautiful place for the beautiful idea.

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What now? They lay hands upon me? Then, it is time.

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No, it is the end of time.

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I will exclaim as I die -- what must I exclaim?

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But, oh, it hurts.

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In the end, he sees a road that leads to a factory, a town, a place of people. The beginning.

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CHAPTER 1

AMERICA TAUGHT HIM WHO HE WAS

1913, Plymouth

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The road went on, he did not know how far. Perhaps the place he was going to would be the end, at least a temporary end, a place to rest.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

The wanderer looked about him. Brown fields, ragged fences. His father, back in the Piemonte, would never have tolerated sagging fences. The houses were beginning to get closer together, but no one was in sight. No one would hear him.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

He tried his voice. It was not a true voice -- he had heard a real voice in Turin and, for a brief time, devoted himself to its possessor -- but no one would hear him out here, alone on an unpaved road.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

“We will live from love,” he sang, not sure his ear kept any of the original tune. “We will live from kindness.”

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

The words were from an opera that was foolishly -- absurdly in his opinion -- set in a place called “the West,” the American West, but this place was nothing like the America he knew. Where men worked until they dropped. Where Vanzetti himself worked twelve hours a day for months washing dishes in the stinking kitchens of the great cities, only to be discharged without a reason, without warning.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

Don’t come back, foreigner. We don’t want you.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

So they said, his countrymen, why don’t you go to the bakery, Barto, you are skilled in the pastry business, no? Yes, he answered them in his mind. In Italia. And it had nearly killed him. Long hours in the overheated air of the oven rooms, breathing the exhalations of too many people working too close together. He fell ill. They thought he would die, so they sent him back to the Piemonte, the hills, where his mother… No, Barto, he told himself. Do not think of your mother. He has known a mother’s love.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

He has stopped walking, the immigrant realized. He looked around. More houses. Wood houses; some painted white with black trim. A dog on a porch on the other side of the road. Vanzetti has learned about dogs. This one will not bother him.

odio euismod justo gravida Etiam sed natoque ornare elit. dis convallis scelerisque egestas. Proin Proin Nulla sagittis

He told his feet to start walking again. He has been on the road for a long time, this the third day since he slept indoors -- a long way from the city of Worcester. Almost a year since he left the great New York City; almost five since he left Italy. In Worcester (they call it “Wooster”; the letters make no sense), he lived with some of his people. But the work was not steady, and he would not live on the labor of others, on people who had wives, children to feed, sometimes an old one to look after. Though it seemed to Vanzetti that the old ones did not live long in this country. They stepped off the boat -- confused, paralyzed, defenseless -- as all newcomers did, but the old ones no longer had the strength or the hope for the future to put one foot in front of another. He watched an old woman look around, cross herself and say aloud in Bolognese, “Now my life is over.”

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natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

In the New World, they have taken all of the bad and built it bigger. The factories are bigger, the rich men richer, the police more brutal. The buildings taller. He wants to build his New World differently. On a different foundation. On brotherhood, the care for one another, the cooperation between one man and another, the kindness of women, the love of children, the gentleness all must show to women and children and the old. The sharing of the riches of the earth. Build it new, he thought, without force or the power of money.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

Even if the building up means some knocking down first.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

It was only this false New World, this self-deluded America that taught him who he was, even before any of all the other things he was: a man, an Italian, an immigrant, a pastry chef, a reading man, a kind man, even a son. He was an anarchist.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

The tower rose high above the skyline. Behind it, the distant blue-gray plane of the sea.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

The comrades told him to look for it, the smokestack of the factory -- sixty feet! maybe more, like a great finger pointed to the sky -- the one certain landmark that would tell the traveler that he has come to this town of Plymouth. Vanzetti stood on the last high open point along the road, a green field where no houses were built, perhaps left open for the sole purpose of providing a view of both the ocean and the factory. Between a progress of well-built brick mills and some cheap, tawdry wooden storehouses thrown up at need, a railroad track stitched its way along the shoreline.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

So, he thought, gazing at the scene below, this is the great Plymouth Cordage Company, a rope-maker spinning its hundreds of mechanized looms inside the vaulted work rooms to make the maritime cordage for the ships of the world, the great hawser ropes thick as a man’s trunk for hauling up the anchors of freighters the size of floating islands. But also the finely-wound binder twine used on the vast open prairie farms by the harvest machines.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

Vanzetti had a thick chest and two strong arms. It was better, he thought, to work outdoors under the skies of the natural world than in the dirty air of the work rooms. And he knew he was better prepared to endure the despondent American winter through his work on the snow-visited hills of his father’s farm in the Piemonte than those who came from the sunny south without a thick wool garment. There was work inside this rope factory big as a town, work for a laboring man. Should he not go boldly to the gate and inquire?

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

Peering through the grill of the great wrought iron gate Vanzetti spied men carrying heavy pails and pulling wooden carts over the narrow wooden bridge that bypassed a muddy depression where, he guessed, a millpond had once provided power for the looms. The yard vibrated with the efforts of men in rough, dark, dirt-stained clothes, some mere boys, others gone gray or hairless under their soft, low-billed caps. So many straining arms and legs; so many silent cries of human hearts beating like the wings of caged birds.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

A man wearing the black coat of the overseer and the stiff, broad-brimmed hat of the bosses left his post and stalked toward the gate. He was studying him, Vanzetti knew. What does the fellow see? A poor man. A penniless vagrant wearing a shapeless hat made of a single pliable piece of heavy stuff, a black jacket covering his soiled, collarless, once-white shirt, a pair of dark trousers, and leather work boots with loosened soles.

natoque Proin lobortis quam sed sed dolor blandit sodales in in sed

I am not a beggar. He met the overseer’s gaze.

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gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

“Well, what do you want?” the man demanded, losing patience, and when he was not answered at once shouted, “No work today!”

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

The boss, Vanzetti thought, he is always the same. In Springfield, or Wooster, or New York City, he is the big man, and you must tug on your hair and lower your eyes. The fellow will hear the foreign tongue in his mouth and send him away.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

He held out his hands and proudly spread his arms to signal his willingness to sell these parts of his body for the factory’s poor wages.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

“No work today,” the man repeated, waving him away from the gate.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

No work for you, Meester, the wanderer thought. For others there was always work, and nothing but work. With arms outspread he mimed the act of lifting a heavy weight, displaying his strength and his readiness to work, holding out those two strong arms on which he had relied for his sustenance since coming to this land.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

The overseer muttered something under his breath. “Come back tomorrow!” he shouted. “When they count the hands. Early now, see here?”

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

Yes, Vanzetti thought, that is the way. As few words as possible; let the body make its appeal. If he had begged for work, the man would have chased him off without a second thought. Threatened him with police.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

He took off his hat to signal his understanding and agreement. “Senor,” he said.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

“Seenyor yourself,” the man replied. “Now take yourself off,” he added, turning his back on the foreigner and striding back to his post.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

Not a bad beginning, Vanzetti thought. He has had worse welcomes.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

Two minutes later the whistle sounded, and he was surrounded by a herd of tired men. They pass him without a glance, hands dug into their pockets, shoulders clenched, faces down. Dark clothes with ragged edges pinned together, low-slung hats pinched down to catch the tops of the ears. Thin chests and faces, Vanzetti noted, underfed. Not a good sign in winter, especially among the gray-haired ones. Father, he thinks, as a scarecrow limped stiff-legged by, teeth clamped on his pride, have you no sons to keep you?

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

Vanzetti has walked more than twenty miles this day, but he was not as weary as these men. You bring your body to the factory, he thought, and the factory swallows your soul. He has worked these hours and longer some nights in the dirty restaurant kitchens of New York, and the pastry factories of Turin. At the end of your shift you are blind with the sledgehammer of fatigue, and your mind is a locked cell, bars everywhere you look.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

The cordage men moved stiffly on sore feet, but pushed forward as fast as they could to get out of the cold, to get home, to lock out the world behind the door. They hope that their house is warm and there is food on the stove. The newcomer could not bring himself to stop these sleepwalkers with his query for the man who will keep him, a man of the Piemonte. He stood at a corner and turned as two men approached; hair dark, unshaven, faces pale with cold, but able still to grumble to one another in Bolognese, a tongue of the north.

gravida nascetur amet, elit. at lacus nascetur sed lacus venenatis nisl. odio sit gravida Lorem

“Por favor, Senor.” He spoke in that dialect to what he took to be the elder, a man with a thin nose and an alert expression. “Can you tell me where lives the family by the name of Brini?”

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elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“Brini?” the man repeated.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

The two broke off their complaints and looked at him. Redness in their eyes, from the fibers in the air at the rope-making mill, Vanzetti thought.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“He comes behind,” the younger of the two replied. “You will see him in a moment.”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“Grazie.”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

The men turned on their heels and disappeared into the homeward wave.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

I will see him, Vanzetti thought, but will I know him? I should have asked them what he looks like.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“Favore!” he called after the retreating figures. “Where is his house?”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

Hearing no reply, he turned to face the homebound stream. No one was eager to pause for a stranger, exchange the news, discuss the conditions of the factory. The street corner had a hand-lettered sign on a wooden post. “Suosso’s Lane,” he whispered, the vowels appealing to him, the name like one from his country. A good sign, he decided.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

Something in the air spoke to him, too. Not just the smell of food: onions, pomidori, meat of some sort, rabbit maybe. A stew. Another scent as well, an herb or a flower. A flicker in his senses reminded him of home; sweet, but stinging. His mother used to make soap from flowers.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

He began to walk down this street. Footsteps turned the corner behind him. He turned at their sound and spoke. “I am looking for the home of Senor Brini.”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

Another worker by the look of him, a man of Vanzetti’s size, more slender, a decade older. The man paused to take in the figure of the stranger. A vagabond in a shapeless hat. A bag slung over his shoulder.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

Vanzetti saw the reluctance in his eyes. The man spoke cautiously. “I am Brini.”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“Vincenzo? From the Piemonte?”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“Si.”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

The other man regarded him, arms folded across his chest. Careful but curious. Vanzetti recognized something of home in this, too; the shrewdness of the man who does not buy the first melon he spies in the market.

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

“I am Vanzetti. From Villafaletto. I was told to seek you.” He says the names of the compagni from Wooster, and adds, “I am told you are a comrade.”

elit. elit. Lorem ut et quam Quisque pellentesque. tristique penatibus enim Proin elit. amet tempor Ut fermentum condimentum in mi Pellentesque sit justo

The mood of the encounter changed. The men approached one another, both curious. Perhaps, he thinks, this Brini can sniff something of the old country on him as well.

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ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“I see,” said Vincenzo Brini, a man who like Vanzetti had left a home in the north of Italy for the streets of gold that tarnished so easily. “In that case you are welcome.”

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“You have a house here?” Vanzetti asked, eagerly. “A family? Perhaps you have a place for me beneath your roof? I will find work here, I think, perhaps in the factory,” he added before giving Brini time to respond. “And perhaps there are some others here. Comrades. Compagni.”

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“Compagni?” Brini questioned, picking up the last term with a lift of his eyes. “Look to the left of you. Paesanos. Look to the right. Paesanos all. As for the factory, we are all rats in that castle. You must find your own tunnel in.”

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

Vanzetti lifted his chin. Thought, I always do.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“Come,” Brini invited. “This way to my house.”

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

The street was not long. Near its end, where a path stumbled upward into a place of trees, dark in the failing light, a boy still in short pants sat on a flat-topped stone left behind by the builders of some foundation. Behind him, a squat but solid-looking house shone a light in a window.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

Brini stopped before the boy. The boy was leaning over his knees, occupied by the ground. He is painting in the mud, Vanzetti thinks.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“What is this, Beltrando?” Brini demanded of his son. “Why is there mud on your shoes? Do you think new shoes get up and walk out of the store when you want them?”

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

Vanzetti stepped beside his host, aiming a sympathetic glance at the boy cowering under this reproof.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“This is Senor Vanzetti,” Brini announced. “He will live with us.”

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“Si, little man,” Vanzetti murmured to the boy, who dropped his gaze to his shoes.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“Come,” Brini urged and led the new boarder into the house.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

The door opened to a small room where two pairs of dark eyes greeted the newcomer. The older, the woman of the house, stood over the big black iron cook stove, its bulk anchoring the room, consuming it, where a kettle had been put to boil. A tail of steam wound from the pot. Vanzetti sniffed unobtrusively. Lenticcia? he wondered. After his days on the road, the room -- warm, scented, peopled -- was a little paradise.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

Brini introduced the newcomer to his wife, Alphonsina, and to the girl -- “my Lefevre,” he called her -- who hung back against a cupboard, eyeing the stranger with a look of intelligent wariness.

ipsum faucibus erat amet quis justo et natoque ac et gravida convallis diam ornare dis consectetur elit

“He will live with us,” Brini concluded once more. Then, after a silence, “He is from Villafalleto.”

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amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

The woman murmured something, hiding her surprise. The girl remained silent. The hill town where Vanzetti was born meant something to the woman, but nothing to the girl, though she looked to him old enough perhaps to have been born in the old country. Her speech may tell him that.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“We will eat soon,” Brini said, with a look at his wife for confirmation.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Vanzetti heard the question in his voice. It was up to the woman to say when they would eat.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“Si,” the woman replied, with neither conviction nor concern.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Something, the lentils perhaps, but surely something brewed in the pot. Its magic cast a spell on the hungry men. Either soon, or later, it made no difference, the evening will take place as it should.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Brini announced his intention to go outside to get water so the men could wash.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Vanzetti followed. But once outdoors again, in the gloom, he walked the other way to stand before the silent boy, still perched on the rock of his despair. He heard the creak of the pump, as Brini worked the handle somewhere in the shadows behind the house.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Vanzetti bent to pick up a twig with a bare edge. The boy’s eyes grew wide. Vanzetti knelt before the child.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“Prego, filio, prego,” he said, asking the boy to lift a foot. “Per favore.”

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Squatting before the child, he cleaned the mud from his shoe.

***

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

On the second night, after Alphonsina once more built a stew from lentils, onion, and a few small potatoes, Brini made a proposal to his new boarder.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“This evening,” Brini said, “we will go to the club.”

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“The ‘club’?” Vanzetti asked, unfamiliar with the word.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

The men were sitting at the table where they ate their meals, reading their newspapers. Vanzetti carried in his bag some journals written in Italian. He offered one to Brini, who scanned it without enthusiasm.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“A gruppo?” Vanzetti asked hopefully.

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

“No,” Brini replied, aware of the meaning of this word for a comrade such as Vanzetti. “No gruppo. It is, you may say, a society. For those men who speak as we do.”

amet Quisque convallis magnis hendrerit. et eu consectetur elit ridiculus nulla. vestibulum justo Fusce nibh et egestas. convallis Lorem consectetur mi ac vestibulum justo et

Ah yes, he thinks, the society. Where men banquet and toast one another and say what good fellows they are. It is not in his opinion a place for comrades.

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adipiscing erat, venenatis Ut dolor Pellentesque Proin Proin magna imperdiet Mauris venenatis fermentum diam scelerisque nisl. fermentum nulla. mauris justo ipsum sit augue.

“This club,” he said. “What do they do there?”

adipiscing erat, venenatis Ut dolor Pellentesque Proin Proin magna imperdiet Mauris venenatis fermentum diam scelerisque nisl. fermentum nulla. mauris justo ipsum sit augue.

“Play cards.” Brini shrugged. “Drink wine, it may be.”

adipiscing erat, venenatis Ut dolor Pellentesque Proin Proin magna imperdiet Mauris venenatis fermentum diam scelerisque nisl. fermentum nulla. mauris justo ipsum sit augue.

Vanzetti tried to hide his disapproval, not wishing to be rude.

adipiscing erat, venenatis Ut dolor Pellentesque Proin Proin magna imperdiet Mauris venenatis fermentum diam scelerisque nisl. fermentum nulla. mauris justo ipsum sit augue.

“And the comrades?”

adipiscing erat, venenatis Ut dolor Pellentesque Proin Proin magna imperdiet Mauris venenatis fermentum diam scelerisque nisl. fermentum nulla. mauris justo ipsum sit augue.

“Eh?”

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“The comrades. Where do they meet?”

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“Comrades? There are no comrades.”

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Vanzetti heard the annoyance in Brini’s voice, and excused himself on account of fatigue when the head of the household announced his departure for the club.

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That morning he had gone to the factory gate, very early and, certo, the overseers were choosing the men to unload the ships that day. He was glad to have been chosen, but now his back and shoulders were sore from a first-day’s labor. Some men said that wine loosened the muscles, but Vanzetti preferred to sit on at the table, with his journals and his pamphlets, after the women had finished in the kitchen and retired to the other rooms of the house, and the boy had been sent to bed. His bag held a few books, but he did not venture up the stairs to search among the now familiar titles and choose one. When he heard voices outside, men speaking in Italian, he rose and crossed the room to peer through the window at the small group standing in front of the door of “the club.”

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So, he thought, this is the way of life of his new city. Work all day in the cordage factory for the profit of the bosses. Live quietly. Soften your sorrow at night with a little wine and a hand of cards. He would look about him. Perhaps find other men who read and thought as he did. True comrades.

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Vanzetti was new in this place, he told himself. He must bide his time. Soon he would discover the means to wake the thirst not for wine and cards, which could never console the heart of man, but for the truth. Even if Vanzetti himself was but a poor disciple for the truth of the men’s condition, time alone must wake their hunger for the beautiful idea.

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CHAPTER 2

DO YOU KNOW WHOSE HOUSE THIS IS?

2000, North Plymouth

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New in town and newly hired to do a job he knew he was lucky to have Mill Becker stepped out of the agent’s car in a narrow lane and nearly stumbled over a stone. Flat-topped and round-sided, the stone that stood well above the plane of the uneven blacktop looked to Mill like a relic of another time. He stared at it, more artifact than natural object, and wondered about its history.

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“Mill?”

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Mill looked up into his wife’s round as a tea-rose face, the face he loved, and murmured an acknowledgment. Not the time for historical rocks.

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The agent, Ron, a large-boned man, made slow progress to the front door. “If you want to rent it,” he said, grunting from the effort of digging keys from a hip pocket, “it’s yours.”

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Bernie trailed close behind, eager for a peek into Santa’s bag. She liked houses. Mill was indifferent. He liked light, heat, a working stove and someone to use it, and a reading chair.

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“What was that big factory we passed on the road?” Mill called to the agent.

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“Factory?” the agent replied, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “Oh, you mean the Cordage. It’s been closed for thirty years.”

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Mill sighed. He liked old New England factories.

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Looking for a place to rent near Mill’s new job at Sea Island Community College, the Beckers pressed up behind the agent on the stoop. The key stuck in the lock, the heavyset agent maneuvered for room. Another inch, Mill thought, and I’ll fall off.

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“It’s an old place,” Ron said, “but in pretty good condition. At least that’s what they told me to say.” He chuckled.

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“What happened to the other people?” Bernie asked.

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“Other people?”

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“The people who lived here?”

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“Second baby,” the agent replied. “Wanted someplace bigger. A yard for the kids.”

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The lock released its grip. Ron exhaled and pushed open the door.

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“But there’s a yard here,” Mill pointed out, lagging behind to take in the surroundings, the other two already inside.

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A compact, wood frame, two-story building. Nothing special either outside or inside, none of those “Victorian” touches people with old houses took pride in. The rooms looked boxy and small, even empty of furniture. But he had glimpsed a backyard and some kind of shed.

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“Kids?” Ron asked.

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“What?” Mill asked, surprised. Kids were the people he taught.

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“No, no children,” Bernie replied. “Just the two of us.”

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“Bedrooms upstairs.” Ron pointed to a stairway with thickly painted handrails, as if he’d just as soon wait while they made the climb without him. “Three in all. Just in case.”

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“In case of what?” Mill demanded.

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“It’s always good to have extra rooms,” Bernie said, forcing a laugh, giving her husband a mock angry look, or possibly the real thing. “Let’s see them,” she said, leading Mill up the stairs.

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After they inspected the three small bedrooms and a cramped, but adequate bathroom, Ron labored up the stairs to address Bernie’s question about a fluorescent light fixture she found “dismaying.”

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“I wonder how easy it is to change this?” she asked.

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“Dunno,” Ron said. “Never tried it.”

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After a silence, he proposed leaving the couple alone to talk it over. They waited for his tread to reach the bottom of the stairs.

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“What do you think?” Bernie asked, her voice echoing in the empty rooms.

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“I think he’s a jerk,” Mill replied.

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“About the house, Mill. Do you like it?”

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Liking things sometimes proved a harder question for Mill than for those who saw the world in black and white. The place would do, he thought. For one thing, it was twice as much room as in their Boston apartment. And close enough to his job. After his lucky stars delivered a three-year history teaching job at a community college, he was surprised by Bernie’s proposal that they move down the shore from Boston closer to his workplace. It would mean a longer day for her, but certainly make life easier for him. He was touched, so did not ask himself if she had other reasons for suggesting the move. He figured a change from the hard beat of city life to a quieter existence would be good for both of them.

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Suosso’s Lane, aside from an outstanding paving stone and the buffoonish Ron,

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appeared to be a quiet place -- a snub-nosed side street that ended with a woody rise covered with Plymouth’s standard issue of scrub oak and pines. North Plymouth was affordable, people told them. So here they were and the place seemed to work. His only problem was where to put his study. One of these little rooms upstairs?

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“How much is it?” he asked.

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“Thirteen hundred,” she said. “Not bad. Less than three rooms in Boston.”

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Suddenly, Mill realized, a decision had been reached. “You like it?” he asked, sounding like one of his students in need of confirmation from a higher authority.

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“Don’t you?”

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“I didn’t know if you did.”

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Bernie rolled her black eyes for the slightest instant. “And if I do?”

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“That’s good enough for me,” he said. But it seemed too easy. “Shouldn’t we be going around flushing the toilet and turning on the faucets, that sort of thing? Is the heat on? It’s a little chilly.”

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“The thermostat is way down, I checked,” Bernie said. “And I already turned on the faucets and flushed the toilet. You didn’t notice?”

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“Right,” he said, as if recalling these practical gestures.

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But did he? He’d been plastering his nose against the bedroom windows, deciding which had the best view.

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“So be happy,” Bernie said. “We have a house.”

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The thought of his good fortune warming him like a flood of golden September light made him want to kiss somebody. Fortunately his wife, features shining in the perfect circle of her contentment, was within arm’s reach. After a warm embrace and kiss, they descended the stairs to tell Ron the good news.

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On the walk to the agent’s car, curious as to how a local would say it, Mill asked Ron, “What’s the name of this street again?”

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“’So-so’s’ Lane,” the agent replied, writing something in a folder. “You know, like you dirty so-and-so.”

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“’So-so’s,’” Mill said and, speculating over the name’s possible origin (bastardized Algonquian?), he stepped on the edge of the oversized paving stone, slipped, and nearly fell.

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“Careful!” Bernie cried.

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“Damn!” Mill protested, righting himself after his brief imitation of a cartoon patsy on skates. “That thing’s a menace,” he said, glaring at the stone, thinking he’d have to keep his eyes open to live in this place without losing his balance.

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***

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On the drive down the coast to the Sea Island Community College in the mornings, and the drive home in the afternoons, Mill hugged the wheel like an impostor hoping no one would see through his disguise. On his early morning arrivals, the campus rippled with rain-fed puddles, collecting seagulls by the hundreds. The gulls had more right to be there than he did.

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He tiptoed through his days in the bland state school corridors, insecure in his profession, not sure he belonged, shy around his new colleagues, teachers and scholars who had been there for years, and acted like they knew what they were doing. He taught his classes then hid in his office, hoping none of his students would knock on his door to ask for extra help. Hardly anyone did.

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People stopped him in the hallway the first week or two to ask how he was getting on in his new job, how things were going. “Fine,” he replied, but did not elaborate. In fact, things were not going particularly well.

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He was hired, he knew, to be the “Indian guy” in the department, an energetic young scholar going great guns on his research into some vague but timely Native American topic. The year before, he’d published his article “Several Non-hierarchical structures in the Algonquian Tribes of Southeastern Massachusetts” in a journal. He wished he had discovered several more since then, but he hadn’t. He thought of all the other young academics no doubt envying his three-year contract and vowing to take his place, pictured them glued to their library carrels in name universities, like moths stuck to a light bulb, doggedly pursuing primary archival sources into the wee hours.

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He was in this job because his advisor at UMass-Boston, Bennet Gunderson, had sold the Sea Island history department, a place where he had connections, on giving him a job. Professor Gunderson, a well-published “Indian expert” -- a phrase actual Indians hated, as Mill had learned when he tried to talk to some -- had strongly encouraged him to continue the research that had produced his article.

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“Just take it up into a book,” Gunderson told him.

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They stood side to side, smelling the sea on the grassy slope outside the Kennedy Library, two history guys, master and apprentice, standing on the awkward grade, trying not to spill drops of coffee from leaky containers onto their pants.

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Flattered, Mill consented to the plan. Wise councils of diversely chosen representatives, old and young, male and female, would smoke the council pipe in his dream pages. Old men with deep-set eyes would recall the splendors of the ancestral days, sharing with him oral histories passed down through the generations.

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“They’re the forerunners,” Gunderson said, nodding sagely, blotting a coffee spot out of his beard with a paper napkin. “They chose their chiefs,” he said, gazing at the gray water of Boston Harbor, cold and forbidding despite the early spring sunshine. “In King Philip’s War, one of Philip’s allied chiefs was a woman.”

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Mill nodded. He knew her name: Awashonks. Okay, a starting point.

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But so far that starting point hadn’t led anywhere. What if it turned out, Mill asked himself, waving goodbye to the seagulls as he left for his homeward drive, that he liked to form big ideas, like his thesis on the formative influence of Indigenous practices on American democracy, but didn’t have the patience for the slow, often fruitless months (or years) of research it took to prove it? Maybe he was more theoretician than scholar, a big talker rather than the academic worker bee he would need to be to produce an “Indian book” and earn his PhD credential.

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Back in Plymouth, he exited the highway and drove to the old red-brick factory complex, the one-time Plymouth Cordage Company that real-estate Ron, in his slovenly manner, told him had closed thirty years before. In an attempt to revive the site, a couple of the buildings had been converted into a shopping plaza anchored by a big boxstore. Bernie had asked him to pick up some brushes and other painting supplies to spruce up those upstairs bedrooms. But once out of the car, he was distracted by a restored mill building with a clock tower on top -- bricks cleaned up, floors shined -- that didn’t appear to be selling anything.

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It was cool and quiet inside the empty central corridor, where he stared at the framed black and white portrait photo of gaunt, sure-handed Martino Scalia at work, changing the spool on a single-bobbin winder, according to a printed description pinned to the wall. His hair thinning, the rope worker wore wire-rim spectacles, starched overalls, and a clean shirt. He knew his picture was being taken, Mill judged, though he was not looking at the camera. It was hard to characterize the expression on the man’s face. Not cowed, but wary, Mill thought. Grateful, perhaps, to have lived as long as he had. His worn face and slender physique looked old enough to warrant a seat in a rocking chair, but the date on the card -- 1926 -- was well before the dawn of Social Security. The skilled rope worker’s future was likely to hold more long days over the single-bobbin winder.

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Mill found the Plymouth Cordage library, built by the company for the workers (so a plaque informed him), on the other side of Court Street. Recently restored, the building was long and low, as if the traditional ropewalk design was the only way the company knew how to make buildings. It was recently restored as well, thick wooden shelves polished, the room filled with old library smell and silence, but empty of people except for a librarian, an industrious looking woman who snuck glances his way but conscientiously ignored him until he asked her a question.

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“Do you have any information about the Plymouth Cordage Company?”

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“Oh, yes. Absolutely. Are you interested?” She smiled, briefly, then resumed a conventional librarian demeanor. “In the local history collection,” she said. “It’s downstairs. What are you looking for?”

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Mill nodded at each of these declarations until she came to the question.

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“Something about the workers,” he said. “Their lives.”

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Her expression shaded upward in interest, curiosity.

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He felt some explanation was called for. “I’m a historian,” he said. “Well, a teacher.”

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“Follow me,” she invited, aiming a suspicious look at the telephone on her desk before leading the way down a brief stairway to a room with low ceilings and shelves crowded with books, periodicals, and pamphlets.

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The phone rang. The librarian muttered, apologized, and rushed back up the stairs. Mill approached a shelf with bound copies of the proceedings of a Pilgrim genealogy society. He heard the librarian deal briskly with the caller and walk back to the stairway, footsteps echoing on the heavy floors, while he cast about for something closer to the twentieth century.

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“New in town?” she called from the top of the stairs, adding, “My name is Pamela Lawson. Everyone calls me Pam.”

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“Yes,” he called back. “Mill Becker. My wife and I live on Suosso’s Lane.”

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“Which number?” she asked, after a curious silence.

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“Six,” he replied, surprised by the question.

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“Bingo,” she said. And laughed.

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After she explained why, he laughed politely, too. But his stronger reaction was excitement.

***

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Dusk snuck through the door just ahead of his wife. Bernie wore a long dark-red coat and a look of annoyance that suggested the effect of being trapped in an exasperatingly long line of vehicles leaving the commuter rail station on a route designed by a mean-spirited psychologist for an experiment with rats. The route from the train station was the only traffic jam in Greater Plymouth, but she was trapped in it every night because all the town’s commuters were forced to take the same few rush-hour trains. Where’s the planning in that, she complained.

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But the words were out of Mill’s mouth before he could reconsider the timing.

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“Do you know whose house this is?”

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“Yes,” she said, giving him a frank, not particularly warm glance. “Ours.”

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She shoved the long coat into an inadequate closet.

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Mill’s books and a pile of student quizzes requiring full-sentence responses (a challenging requirement for some), were spread on the dining room table. The upstairs rooms didn’t call to him, so he’d turned the dining room into a study. Besides, when Bernie was in the house, he preferred working somewhere nearby. Her proximity almost always made him feel better about life.

justo lacus dolor ipsum Proin blandit quam elit. sit at tincidunt Sed hendrerit. erat nec ac quis at Cum Pellentesque erat Nulla vehicula penatibus erat, eu eu mus. blandit scelerisque

But tonight she headed straight to the kitchen to see if anything was going on there. If she was the one getting home first, something would be. But once again Mill failed the sniff test.

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He’d prepared a provocative intellectual puzzle to greet her arrival, but Bernie’s appetites bent toward the physical after a full day of work. Should have known, Mill told himself; he’d blown it. He followed in a tactful silence into the kitchen and cast a morose look at the microwave, as if hoping something edible had snuck in there on its own. No such luck. Odd dishes and bowls piled up on the un-remodeled kitchen’s cramped counter space. He considered washing them now, but decided to stand out of the way while Bernie assessed the refrigerator and strategized a meal.

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Onions. A green pepper. They landed with a thump on the square of remaining counter beside the sink. Some semi-old lettuce.

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“Okay,” Bernie announced, withdrawing from the fridge with a bag of carrots. “Pasta and salad it is.”

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Mill located the cutting board and made careful work of slicing the pepper into bite-size crescents, contributing to the common good in his way. Bernie put water on to boil for the pasta and heated a jar of prepared tomato sauce in a ceramic bowl in the microwave.

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“So, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at him now and slipping into a seat at the room’s little breakfast table, “now that our humble repast is underway, what were you saying?”

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He smiled in return, happy to be restored to ”sweetheart.” He’d loused up one opportunity already tonight; he would be more careful this time.

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“Someone famous used to live here,” he said.

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“Hmm... And are you going to tell me who?”

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“It’s a question,” he said in his most suave manner. “A tease. Guess who. Someone famous who lived in Plymouth.”

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“Famous in Plymouth? This part of town isn’t old enough for the Pilgrims.”

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She played with a loose curl of her hair, thoughtfully, winding it in rings just above her ear.

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“You’ve got me. I’m stumped.”

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“Don’t you want to guess?” Mill persisted, disappointed. He liked playing teacher with a better audience than found in his classroom. “I’ll give you a hint. A defendant in a famous political trial.”

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“O.J. Simpson.”

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Mill made a disparaging noise. “You’re kidding.”

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“Yes,” she admitted. “I so was.”

nascetur sed montes, mus. blandit ut Ut Quisque Fusce Mauris adipiscing nisl. ac eu magna justo adipiscing Proin ridiculus

“That wasn’t a political trial.”

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“I said I was kidding.”","page":"020","last":"","id":"902","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“I’ll give you another hint,” he announced, pleased that things were moving along, and launched into what Bernie liked to refer to as his “prepared remarks.”

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“His name was once known all over the world. He was sentenced to death in what many called the ‘Trial of the Century,’ a verdict thousands protested as a miscarriage of justice. The execution sent thousands more, hundreds of thousands in some places, into the streets. Demonstrators tied up European capitals, rattled governments, mobbed American embassies. The French premier offered his resignation...” This was going well, he thought. “Newspaper headlines shouted ‘They die!’ and everybody knew who ‘they’ were...”

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“How’s that for an abstract?” Mill wrapped up, eager for his wife’s verdict.

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They both knew he’d rehearsed the speech for her. It was one of their favorite games. He would give a little precis, a pitch, for something he was working on. And she would reward him with her approval, often accompanied by suggestions for improvement.

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“Not bad,” she said. Though she was still at a loss for the answer to his question.

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“So?”

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“’They die,’” Bernie pondered aloud. “The Rosenbergs?”

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“No, even bigger. And a hell of a lot more important than O.J. Simpson.”

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“How long ago was this?”

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“About three quarters of a century.”

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Then she got it. “Sacco and Vanzetti.”

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“Very good. A-plus.”

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Mill located the bottle of opened red wine at the other end of the counter and poured for both of them.

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“So, what you’re saying is…” She sipped at her wine.

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“What I’m saying is that Bartolomeo Vanzetti, poor Italian immigrant, militant anarchist, fall guy in the US government’s campaign against the threat posed to the American way of life by dangerous foreign radicals -- and one of the most widely known names of the twentieth century -- lived here.”

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“In North Plymouth?”

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“In this house. Isn’t that cool?”

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sed diam at nibh imperdiet sit faucibus Sed Fusce ac ornare gravida quam, tincidunt malesuada. dui. ipsum malesuada. ut quam sagittis consectetur fermentum tempor

CHAPTER 3

HIS FEET WILL BE COLD ALL DAY

1914, Plymouth

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Closing the door of the little house on Suosso’s Lane behind him, Vanzetti followed the others. Their worn clothes, the dirt around the cuffs of the trousers told him who they were. After some weeks of pick and shovel work, those stains no longer washed out.

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The men wore caps or soft cloth hats that they pulled over their ears in cold weather. It was early spring, the American spring, Vanzetti told himself, more often cold than not, and from what the others told him, the work was down by the water. It was always cold when a wind came off the water. Still, this was the work he preferred.

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Some men wore a cloak that kept the arms free. One or two had the true ”overcoat” (a word he learned in America), long and heavy in the shoulders, but would find they could not work so easily in that. The coats would be thrown on the ground after the first hour, or over a fence or a bench if one could be found. Overcoats had been stolen that way.

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He picked out and followed two men walking toward the harbor. One wore a short wool coat, winter-weight, like his, the other a long dirty smock over a jersey or two. And sturdy boots, both of them.

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He hurried his step. It was important to be there by the muster, the line-up. By the time Vanzetti arrived, about twenty men were already waiting on the flattened ground of the work site, where laborers were employed to shore up the embankment with tons of rock and dirt.

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“The hands now,” said the foreman, Brown, to the next man in the line-up, a short unprepossessing fellow with a hole in his front teeth and a cloth wrapped around his head. The man complied, opening his hands with some mumbled words.

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He is called “Meester Brown,” Vanzetti reminded himself. “Senor Bruno,” in Italian.

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“The fingers,” Brown said, in the nagging whine he would maintain at volume throughout the day.

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The boss, Vanzetti thinks, is the man with the loudest voice.

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“Let me see them. You got all your fingers?”

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Senor Bruno does not count very well without assistance, Vanzetti thought. The workers must do it for him.

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Brown told the little man to stand to his left. After some other workers were inspected and told to stand either to his left or his right, the foreman pointed to Vanzetti.

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“You,” the job boss said. “Take off your hat.”

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Hat? He remembered: cappello.

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Vanzetti had acquired a black felt hat, a good blocked one like he had at home, from the back of Sellers General Store where the shopkeeper kept used items to sell at lower prices. The hat kept its shape. He took it off at Brown’s command.

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“You still have some hair, eh, paisano? Where’d the rest go?”

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His hair? This deserved no reply. This Brown made it his job to find the defects, but truly there were no defects in Vanzetti.

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“What happened to the rest, I said,” the foreman repeated. “Are you sick?”

fermentum enim dis eu hendrerit. elit. egestas. Etiam blandit et at lobortis lacus Cum quis elit. Ut natoque mauris sit mi erat in consectetur

“Sick?”

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The man beside him, a young Italian with curls poking beneath his hat, clued him. “Maladi.”

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Of course, Vanzetti scolded himself. You have heard this word before.

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“No,” he declared. “Vanzetti is well. Strong.” He thrust out his chest a little.

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“Okay, baldy, open the jacket. And the shirt.”

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The shirt, he thought, even the shirt. They want to see his chest. He had met men like this Bruno before. They inspect him like an animal. For what? A rash? Scarring? A man with a sunken chest could not keep up the work, but you can see this is not the case with a man like Vanzetti without inspecting his skin.

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He complied, pulled open his shirt from the neck. Cold air on his skin.

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“All right. Close it. The hands.”

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He knew this from the others. Vanzetti held out his hands, turned palms up, fingers extended, separated.

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“Got ‘em all?”

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Some joke, Meester. We have already heard this witticism. He is silent.

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“Can’t you count, amigo?”

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You mean amico, Bruno? But I am not your amico.

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“I’m gonna pull them,” Brown said, with a warning look.

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Does he think I will bite? Like a dog teased too long?

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He pulled each of Vanzetti’s fingers, separately, in order. An act of fastidious foolery. To see if they are broken; to see if he cries out in pain.

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“Keep those nails clean, eh? Whutta’ya been doin’? Needle work?”

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“Clean,” Vanzetti replied, a word he knew, ignoring the others.

consectetur euismod scelerisque at diam adipiscing mi quam magnis vehicula parturient Nulla amet elit gravida sed dis

“We’ll see how clean you keep them hands after you do some pick and shovel work for Teddy Brown. Stand over there.”

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He walked to stand with a half dozen others on the right side of Teddy Brown, the good side, relieved to have found a day’s pay. But also, he thought, another day gone. Another day of life robbed by the bosses.

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They worked. Twenty men digging the foundation hole for the new stone revetment to hold back the waters of the harbor from the shore; the place where the little boats go to meet the big boats tied up at the end of a long pier. And where also, he knew, the good citizens of Plymouth take their evening stroll in the fine weather.

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The stones, huge blocks, will come later. Perhaps horses would pull them close. But men will be needed to place them.

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A few hours later, when the men were already tired, the foreman Brown began shouting at them to keep shoveling and not rest on their shovels, choosing in particular for his finest abuse the short fellow with the scarf beneath his jaw, the last of the laboring men chosen that morning, and only because another, taller man had begun to cough uncontrollably and was sent home, Brown loudly fearing the man’s contagion would spread to the others.

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The young man with the curly hair who had supplied Vanzetti the word (sick, he reminded himself), stepped between the foreman and his target to explain that some of the laborers could not understand his words.

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“It does no good to yell at them,” the young one said. “They are not animals. I will translate for you.”

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“You’ll what?”

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“I will tell them the words that you say. In their language.” A pause. “In Italian.”

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“Italian? I don’t want no Iddily jabber on this job. You want to talk your old lingo, paisano, you take yourself off and do it somewhere else.”

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“But it is simpler,“ the curly-haired man tried again.

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Brown, who had turned his back, wheeled around and accosted him.

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“Hey, don’t your ears work? Shut your foreign mouth!”

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In case this command required a more vigorous translation, he shoved the young fellow.

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They were standing at the edge of the waterline. The curly-haired man lost his balance and stepped backward into the cold slop of the water’s edge. Vanzetti heard a splash and looked up. Not deep, surely. Only a matter of inches. But enough to cover the tops of his boots.","page":"024","last":"","id":"906","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

natoque at Pellentesque ridiculus magnis malesuada. condimentum sociis penatibus et nisi montes, vestibulum est sit adipiscing amet, in consectetur gravida consectetur ridiculus justo vitae dolor ornare Fusce quam nulla. ac

The kind young man’s feet would be cold all day, he thought. Very cold by the end of the day. He should take off the boots, and the socks, and build a little fire to dry them. Another man should rub his feet to warm them and to get the blood flowing. That is what should be done, Vanzetti thought. But he knew he could not say this. Not to the ears of Meester Brown.

At the end of the day, his own feet numb with cold, his hands reddened, Vanzetti followed at a distance as the young man hobbled homeward. When they had left the work site behind, he caught up to the young one. They stood in the shadow of the Plymouth Woolens Mill where hundreds of hands, many of them women, were beginning to file out of the mill, and Vanzetti told the kind young man that after doing “pick and shovel” work for years he’d had plenty of experience with wet feet. The boots must be dried slowly, he said, so they do not shrink. And whoever is at home must rub the feeling back into his feet.

He introduced himself. The young man said his name was Pio.

“And why do you do this work for the terrible foreman Brown?” Vanzetti asked.

“There is no better,” Pio replied.

“You are a married man?”

Pio ducked his head, curls swaying, then nodded. “We have a boy. And Emilia, my wife, is having another child soon.”

“Certo,” Vanzetti said, clapping Pio on the arm. “You are a good husband.”

He sent the man home to his wife, watching him hobble off on his numb feet.

Trapped, he tells himself. All of us. But the revolution does not begin by a poor man with two little ones at home.

And if the foreman Brown abused this fellow again, what will he do? Will he knock him down with his fists? Then they will take Vanzetti off to jail, and the one who does the boss’s bidding will remain on the job with the whip in his hand.

In the evening, Vanzetti sat at the table where the family took their meals, reading the anarchist journals he received through the mail. Sometimes he read aloud to the children, but it was difficult to find material suitable to their ears. Besides, he read in Italian, and the children were learning to speak in English in school. Vanzetti’s ears heard how quickly their skills in this new language developed -- for all things were equally new to them -- and how slow in comparison his mastery of this awkward speech of the Americans was proving.

The boy, called Dolly, though his real name was Beltrando, still fared no better at keeping his shoes clean. What was to be expected, Vanzetti asked, when he spent much of his day outdoors in an unpaved lane playing with a neighbor’s dog? Now, however, the boy had another interest since discovering the old instrument case hidden beneath his parents’ bed.

“You play the violin?” Vanzetti asked Vincenzo Brini, alight with anticipation for the pleasure this skill could bring. “It is a beautiful instrument.”

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vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

“No more.” Brini shook his graying head; prematurely, Vanzetti thought, another exaction by the factory. “This beautiful instrument, as you call it, left its music in the patria. In America it has no music.”

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

Vanzetti looked concerned. “Perhaps it may be repaired?”

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

“No. It is not a matter of the thing itself. A piece of wood, some strings.” He flexed his hands, stiff and roughened from work. “And here.” He placed his right hand on his chest over his heart. “Certo, I suppose the instrument itself has aged as well...the tuning…perhaps the strings could be replaced. But as for the one who holds the belly, and the bow, I do not foresee any restoration.”

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

Vanzetti looked away, embarrassed for this sad comrade, these hopeless words. No renewal? No hope of betterment, of change?

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

Dolly sat on the other side of the room on a low wooden chair with a loose leg. It rocked less with only a thin boy’s weight upon it. The first time her son saw the workers’ band parade down Court Street playing their shiny instruments, Alphonsina told him, he imitated them for weeks, marching up and down the street and banging an old can with a stick. “Doodle-day!” the boy sang. “Doodle-dee!”

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

Later, the child found the instrument in its weathered case. At first Vincenzo forbade him to open it or to touch the instrument. Then he relented, and tightened the pegs on the instrument to make the strings truer, muttering under his breath, including some English expressions that Alphonsina was glad she did not understand. He promised to treat the children to real music, that is to say Italian music, but his memory of the songs was spotty and his playing grew ragged. He put the instrument into its case, shoved it under the bed, and proclaimed the death of music in the land of eternal labor.

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

But Dolly kept digging out the old case. And at last, Alphonsina confessed, she stopped forbidding it because it gave her son such pleasure to hold the instrument and attempt its voice that was true to him, though it grated on her and Lefevre, five years older, and quick to add her authority to her parents’ when it came to ruling her brother.

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

Now the sight of the violin in Dolly’s hands was a common feature of their lives, though Vincenzo tended to leave the room when his son tried to play it.

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

“I tell you what, compagno,” Brini said now. “Before we came to America, I was told that the streets were paved with gold. When we arrived in this country, I soon learned that it was not so. And when finally we moved to the fine old American city of Plymouth in the land which our countryman Columbo discovered out of his great intelligence…” he tapped his head… ”and his true coraggio…” he tapped his heart… “long before the English stole it from us, I learned that the streets were not even paved...” he paused, for effect, before pronouncing the concluding words of his tale… “and that I was expected to pave them.”

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

Vanzetti nodded, but did not laugh. He heard Alphonsina sigh, as if to say, “Yes, caro, we share your disappointment, but must we hear about it so often?”

vitae scelerisque odio dolor a. sit magna erat dis imperdiet parturient diam

“Ah,” Brini remarked, taking in their glances. “I see the joke is no longer so funny.”

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a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Beltrando chose this moment to unnervingly draw the bow across the strings.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

“Bello,” Vanzetti said, when the boy paused. “Your name is Beltrando, and your music is bello.”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

The boy’s father exhaled and took his long face into the narrow kitchen, where he pulled a circular lid from the top of the stove and settled over the hole the smoke-stained kettle. A minute or two later, he touched the kettle’s skin to find that the water had not appreciably warmed. The others heard his groan as he opened the fire box to poke at the fuel inside with a piece of rusted metal, raising a bit of smoke but no flame.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

“What a place this is!” he exclaimed. “We must smoke ourselves brown or turn to ice in our own homes! The ‘New World’ they call it! Does this mean that every man must burn down his own forest?”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Brini gave up on the stove and returned to the others. “It is almost March,” he said. “The primavera. The almond trees will be blossoming.”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

“They turn the hillside white,” Vanzetti agreed, remembering. “My father had the almond trees and the olive trees. And the cherries.”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Glancing at one another, husband and wife nodded. They have heard of this prosperous father before. If his father was so well to do, their glances said, why did this man leave home?

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

The house was small. Once or twice, Vanzetti overheard their talk, had heard Brini say to his wife, “Something is wrong. Always there is something wrong when a son leaves a rich man’s home.”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

The squeal of the tortured violin sounded again.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Brini’s face closed. “I will go to the club. Perhaps the fire is still burning there.”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

He did not ask Vanzetti to accompany him.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Vanzetti resumed his reading.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

“Ha!” he exclaims after some moments. “To hell with the Constitution!”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Vanzetti, who could follow the English speech of the Americans better than he could speak it, discerned that the natives regarded this ”Constitution,” a thing of paper unknown to him before he came to this land, as a kind of holy document, and spoke of it with reverence. But in the pages of the Cronaca Sovversiva, it was shown to be an instrument to guarantee the wealth of the ruling class.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

Alphonsina peered at him from the kitchen.

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

“Scusi,” he apologized. “For the display of passion.”

a. et natoque lobortis justo parturient Lorem sed in sit tincidunt odio condimentum ridiculus Lorem tincidunt Lorem

“You are the mildest and most considerate of men, Senor,” she replied, without reproof, “but there must be a devil in the papers that you read.”

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quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“Certo. It is the devil of uncomfortable truths.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

After Alphonsina retired for the night, her daughter, the girl Lefevre, walked slowly down the stairs from her room and stood at the other side of the table. Vanzetti put down his paper to look at her. She carried the weight of some matter on her mind, he thought. It flattened her features into a childish hesitation the sharpness of her mind struggled to rise above.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“Senor Vanzetti,” she addressed him.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“Si, cara Lefevre. You have something to say?”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“It is your money.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“My money?” A surprising topic.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

She opened her hand. Coins. Perhaps a dollar in sum, maybe less. He could not tell.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“They were under the table. You must have dropped them.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

She had found them, she explained in the serious tone of the dutiful child, while cleaning up the table after the evening meal.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

Vanzetti had stepped out for some air. He had watched the lights from Vespucci Club across the lane and assured himself, as he did every night, that it would soon be spring. The clubhouse was a gloomy, unremarkable building from the outside, but, as Brini said, they kept the stove going in the evenings. He sniffed the air for smoke.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“Perhaps you lose them,” Lefevre said now, “when you lean back and tip up the front legs of your chair.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“Do I do that?”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“You are doing it now, Senor.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

Vanzetti, surprised, removed his feet from the rungs of the opposite chair, and settled his chair on the floor. Finally, he remembered the pay envelope he had shoved in his pocket.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“I am sorry I picked up your money, Senor.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“Do not apologize, cara,” he said. “You have done nothing amiss in finding this money. Besides, it is not my money.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

The girl squinted unhappily in the room’s half-light. “Senor,” she said, beginning her tale anew.

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

“It is not my money,” he repeated, “and I care nothing for it. A man who is careless with his money has more than he needs. What does Vanzetti need money for? He has the roof over his head, he has the meals. Keep the money, cara. Keep it for yourself.”

quis tincidunt Lorem mauris amet amet, Lorem nisi natoque elit quam, in

It was not the answer she was expecting. He noticed her confusion and tried a different approach.

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nibh Etiam scelerisque egestas. Lorem faucibus malesuada. sed Quisque magna mi sed ridiculus nisl. ante. justo Quisque at sodales adipiscing Sed ridiculus Etiam gravida mus. ridiculus Lorem justo Etiam eu consectetur

“Give it to your mother, cara. She will know what to do with it. Perhaps there is a jar where such coins can be kept.”

The following evening, the children upstairs, her husband out as usual, Alphonsina moved her chair slightly closer to his.

“You are a good man, Senor,” she said. “A man for a family. Do you intend to remain a bachelor all your life?”

Such talk embarrassed him. Similar observations have been made to him, generally by the wives of other men who have sisters or cousins. The sisters and cousins and widows these kind souls then nudged in his direction did not necessarily please him, Vanzetti recalled, embarrassed anew by the memories. Or he them. And so it was that no flame developed for him.

Yet he remembered one evening long ago, when he was a boy slaving over the ovens of the pastry factory in Turin after his father had sent him off to the city to learn a trade, that he followed the marvelous figure of a singer of the opera named Donna Julietta through the streets of the city. He never spoke to her. How could he? He had stood in the back of a hall one night swooning over her performance in an opera that was set in America. Was this love? Did adoration from afar count? His donna portrayed the leading character in a piece called La Fancuilla del West. But now he has come to the West, his new world, and as yet has discovered no fancuilla waiting for him.

“I am sorry,” Alphonsina said, sensing the quality of his silence. “I do not mean to trespass. I mean to say that you are a good man for the children.”

This was easier. He did not hide his love for children.

“Your Beltrando has music in his heart,” he said. “And Faye, she is very quick.”

“They are my jewels, my riches,” Alphonsina confessed, with a searching glance. “For what do we live, Senor, if not for others?”

“We live to make the world a place in which our souls would choose to live. Not a prison we are condemned to endure,” Vanzetti replied steadily.

***

The young man with the curly hair that escaped beneath his tightly worn cap recovered from the numbing of his feet, but his boots did not fare so well. They began to come apart.

Vanzetti watched the soles flap and knew this troubled Pio as he labored at the work of chipping away the old stone and post revetment that needed to be removed before new fill could be poured, and the large, handsome granite slabs intended for this fine harbor site be set in their proper place. The town’s grand anniversary celebration, the 300th anniversary of the Pilgrims’ arrival in the New World, was just a few years off. The president would come, people said. No one knew who the president would be at that time, but whoever it was, surely he would come.

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natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

And so Pio, Vanzetti, and two dozen others earned daily wages.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

April was warmer than March, but not by much, and the harbor water was still as cold as ice.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

Pio tied rope around his shoes, to bind the soles to the uppers. The rope wore away as the long days wore on. One afternoon, the sole of one of his boots gave way in a rush as Pio carried a heavy rock to the discard pile, causing him to lose his footing and drop the stone, which, fortunately, fell without harm into the water, and not onto the feet of one of his fellows.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

Nevertheless, the stumble provoked an explosion by the nagging, fault-finding foreman, “Dooty” Brown.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“Jee-zus Christ and all his angels! Next time just drop your head instead! Is that how they do things in your country?”

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“My country is America,” Pio muttered when Dooty Brown turned his address to the crew entire.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

The men called him by this name because the foreman reminded them so frequently that it was his duty as foreman to tell them what to do. It was their duty to do exactly as he told them. They were lazy and shiftless, not worth a dime. They were the "refuse" of foreign lands, he said, borrowing words from a famous poem, places a decent American could not pronounce, and for that reason felt no obligation to respect.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“How can you care about a place no real American has ever heard of?” Brown remarked. “You,” he said, pointing to a fair young man with close-cropped hair. “What’s your name?”

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

A boy, Vanzetti thought. He picks forever on the young.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“Billy Whiting.” The boy dipped his head, upset by the attention.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“Whiting?” Brown repeated in apparent disbelief. “My cousin is married to a Whiting!”

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

The pale-skinned boy, his nose red from the wind, shot him a hopeful look.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“I thought you were a Pole!”

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“I ain’t no Pole.”

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

Brown turned away from the inconveniently American boy and, looking for a new victim, selected Vanzetti.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“You! You ain’t no American now,” he accused.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

Vanzetti declined to respond, refusing to play what he considered the ugly game of nation versus nation.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“Where are you from?” Brown demanded.

natoque penatibus augue. penatibus Etiam nulla. enim diam Proin vitae parturient a. Etiam elit. fermentum diam at condimentum Lorem eu vestibulum Fusce lobortis Etiam euismod

“Villafalletto.”

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nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Via-whatto? Where’s that supposed to be?”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“The Piemonte.”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Yeah? What country?”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Il paese di Dante e Garibaldi.”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

Vanzetti had spoken the words in Italian, unable to think through the English quickly enough.

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

Brown caught the last word, because of the Garibaldi club on Cherry Street.

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Wops,” he spat.

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

Vanzetti turned his back and walked to the place where Pio was fishing the stone from the lapping tongue of the harbor. He told him, in Italian, to sit up on the bank and, eyeing the young man’s damaged pair, began to unlace his own boots.

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Listen to me, Pio,” he said. “I have an idea. We will trade boots.”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Trade boots? But mine are falling apart. It would not be fair for you.”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Mine have always been a little large for me,” Vanzetti replied, careful words to remove the suggestion of charity. He seldom found a poor man who did not have his pride. “They will fit you better than me. As for yours, I know a shoemaker who will easily repair them.”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“You do?”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

“Truly,” Vanzetti assured him. “He is a very good shoemaker.”

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

What is true, he thought, picking his barefoot way home, is that misery is a great teacher. Through it one learns to sympathize with those who spend their days in back-breaking labor for a miserable wage. One learns what a man will do to care for those he loves.

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

Vanzetti had retied the hopeless flaps of leather around his feet, and thus haltingly shod, had minced through the remainder of the work day. Once out of sight on his way home, he took advantage of the first empty lot to rid himself of the broken boots by hiding them among some bushes, thinking, perhaps some cobbler fairy would find them and transform them into Pinocchio, laughing aloud at the thought. For certainly no human hands could repair them. In truth, he should not have told a lie to persuade Pio to accept his boots, but had sensed that no other measure would have worked.

nisi a. venenatis est nascetur nisi quam, Cum eu et Nulla dolor mauris faucibus parturient egestas. sed imperdiet egestas. quam nibh sed penatibus dis Proin

It is spring, he told himself, as the lowering sky began to dribble the freezing droplets that are the specialty of the early New England spring, the first bright life-giving blooms that crawl along the margins of the wood shining beneath the shivering rain. For half a year, perhaps, he would need no shoes. The peasants worked this way in his country. Why waste money on shoe leather? It will only soften your feet and force you to buy shoes all your life.","page":"031","last":"","id":"913","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

As soon as his feet became toughened from walking the hard road home, they would stop hurting so much. Yes, he reassured those rebellious feet of his, there is much to look forward to.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“Senor Vanzetti!” the daughter of the house cried in alarm. “Your feet!”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

He looked down, raised one foot at a time. A little cut on the pad under the big toe of his right foot, a little blood.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“It is nothing, cara,” he told the girl. “I will wash off the blood at the pump.”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

Truly the blood did not worry him, but he wished the child, the worthy big-eyed daughter of the Brini household, the quick-minded Lefevre, who studied hard in the evenings, would not look so frightened.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“A little cut, cara Lefevre. Do not concern yourself.”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“But Senor Vanzetti--”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“Si?”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“Where are your shoes?”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“I gave them to a poor man who needed them more than I did. Scusi.”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

There. That was out of the way. Now to the pump, and let the child ponder as she would. He tiptoed around the house to the water pump. He heard the front door bang when the girl ran inside.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

After washing his feet and as much of himself as he could outdoors, he looked around for his boots and was momentarily surprised not to find them. He laughed at himself. Then he walked indoors, murmured a greeting, and approached his usual place at the table.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“But Senor,” Alphonsina said, rubbing a cloth across her forehead, the stove creaking to life. “What is the matter?”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

She regarded him with a look of both concern and suspicion.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“The matter? The matter with what?”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“The matter with you, Senor.”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“There is nothing the matter with me, Madam. Vanzetti is well.”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“Someone has stolen your shoes,” she hazarded, frowning.

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

“No one has stolen my shoes.”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

Her eyes closed to slits. “So, you simply choose to not wear them in this house?”

ac convallis hendrerit. sit nec euismod venenatis natoque et erat, eu eros vestibulum

Ah. Vanzetti realized his error. Her concern for his loss was overshadowed by a matter of principle. A man wore his shoes in her house. Even in a household with anarchists, matters of pride held sway.","page":"032","last":"","id":"914","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

He owed her an explanation.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“Scusi, Senora,” he said. “I do not wish to give offense. I have given my boots to a poor man at work. He has bambinos to feed. He could not work without boots. It was the only thing to do.”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“And you, Senor? You will cease now to work at the harbor?”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“No. I will continue as before.” He straightened in his chair. “I am from the North.” Norte. “In my country men work the fields without boots. I will do the same.”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

Alphonsina’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “It was my country too, Senor,” she replied. “I see no fields in this place. No peasants to work them. I see the Court Street. The walls of the harbor are paved with rocks. I see many men marching off to work. Laboring men. They are wearing shoes. All of them.”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“And this is your wish for me?” A candid inquiry.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

They looked at one another. Brini was not yet home. Any minute now the stamp of laborers returning from the cordage factory would begin.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

Her nostrils flared. A decision, he thought. It was her house. He would sleep in the shed, perhaps. He would suggest this in a moment if she did not relent. He waited in suspense.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“Scusi.” She nodded to him, seeking his permission, but in truth, Alphonsina Brini had seldom looked so formidable.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

At the door, she spoke a single command to her daughter.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

The girl dropped her head and followed her outdoors, but did not firmly close the door behind her. He heard Alphonsina utter a plosive oath that concluded with the summoning of several of the saints to provide her patience.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“You are angry, Mama?” Lefevre’s voice. “With Senor Vanzetti?”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“No.” The denial for the sake of the girl, he thought. “That man! He lives as if he was one of the saints!”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“That is bad?”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“No.” A quieter oath. “But who can afford a saint?”

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

Lefevre did not know what to ask now. Vanzetti sensed her pondering, just beyond the door. A good girl, he thought. She will study. Why should she not go on studying? We will make a better world where the minds of women grow unimpeded by the petticoats of opinion.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

She was silent while her mother considered.

ante. gravida hendrerit. tincidunt adipiscing lobortis fermentum gravida dui. malesuada. eu sed Quisque Proin hendrerit. Pellentesque gravida Proin

“Cara,” she said. “I need you to speak these words to Mrs. DeRosa.”","page":"033","last":"","id":"915","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

Walking now out to the street, she gave the girl some instructions Vanzetti could no longer hear. While he waited, he considered what use he might put to his shoeless state. It was suffering, yes, but a small suffering. He was no Christ of suffering. The saints and martyrs suffered more than he has. Even more, he has chosen to discommode himself, and a willed punishment has no appeal in a world where poverty and real suffering were too common a sight. His act will seem to others like foolishness. Vanzetti has walked the roads of this land, slept outdoors under cloth, or a mere fringe of nature, sought shelter at night in the doorways of a city, consorted however briefly with the men who always lived this way. He could not persuade himself that the sight of a laborer without boots would mobilize the laboring class of Plymouth to collective action.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

The next morning, a pair of old boots, stiff but wearable, the usefulness still visible between the creases and alterations of dusty time, arrived on the Brinis’ doorstep with no sign of their origin. Perhaps Alphonsina knew. Or perhaps her plea had simply worked its way through the network of the Italian-speaking households of North Plymouth until it found a recipient capable of responding. Vanzetti did not know and expected he never would learn whose bed this old leathery couple had been dragged out from under into the light. The recess of an old man, he thought, who had decided his laboring days were over, but was not ready to give up all the tools and traces of the life that he flattered himself by thinking had accounted for some good for the world. Now his boots would carry on without him to achieve some further reckoning.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“Those are not my boots,” Pio said.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“No, compagno, yours will take longer to repair.” He glanced at his feet, already coated with a fresh patina of the chill-gray sediment of the harbor the natives called sand. “I will wear these others for now.”

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

Later, when Brown was engaged in haranguing a new man chosen for the work that morning on the proper way to use the shovel and the pickaxe, having dismissed a graying old fellow the day before for lacking the strength to carry the bigger stones without stumbling, Vanzetti slipped up behind Pio.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“I tell you, Pio,” he said softly, “such a man as you will gain nothing by working for Dooty Brown.”

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

Pio glanced over his shoulder. He looked tired.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“You are better off at the Cordage,” Vanzetti told him. “You will at least have some companionship. In numbers there is strength.”

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

Pio kept his head down. Brown could be heard, spraying his demoralizing laugh of denigration over the work site.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“They are not hiring at the Cordage,” Pio murmured.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“They are not hiring now,” he said. “But they will be in the spring when the orders from the farmers come in. And I will tell you when because my countrymen will tell me. And then you will be first man at the gates.”

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

Surprise showed in Pio’s eyes, widening the whites around the deep brown centers.

nibh amet, sit ac odio nec elit. gravida gravida eros et ac magna Fusce quis ante. justo pellentesque. erat at amet, adipiscing quis

“You will learn nothing here but bitterness, Pio,” Vanzetti said.

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nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

“And you?” Pio whispered. “Why do you remain to drink this bitter cup?”

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

“The work does not bother me,” Vanzetti replied, waving away bitterness as if a small, biting thing. “I am used to it. Senor Brown does not bother me. I am accustomed to such fools. And I do not have the little ones at home.”

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

What he also meant, though he did seek to explain it, was that neither labor nor bosses mattered to him now that he had dedicated his life to the overthrow of the current system of exploitation. He waved it away; it was the corpse that was slow in dying. He hoped only to free men of their ignorance. Then they would be free to choose something new.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

But a young man like Pio must be allowed to find his own hope. Hope was a food that enabled the body to provide for others, as Pio must do for his family. Once Pio had sampled the life of the factory, then if the young man saw the world as he did, they would speak again -- of causes and conditions, and what must be done to better them.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

Perhaps one day Pio would become a comrade.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

But after speaking with Pio, and returning the rhythmic swing of the pick when Brown at last turned his gaze in his direction, Vanzetti recalled the day when the men who worked outdoors unloading the ships and the freight from the trains were called indoors by the head cordage factory foreman and marched up the stairs of the vast Building Two. Every day since the first morning after his arrival in Plymouth, he had worked at the Cordage, but now those who worked as he did were told they were no longer needed. Only a few would be chosen each day. The factory’s new internal railroad would replace the rest.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

The men stood without speaking. The overseer with the black overcoat had led them into a vast room given over to large and complicated machines and pipes, to cavernous chambers with iron doors that generated the power for the entire factory complex. Glass-faced dials gazed down from a wall high above the men beneath a twenty-foot ceiling, their hands telling a time that was not of this earth. The iron doors sealing the furnaces for which Vanzetti had unloaded the coal from the ships breathed a hot breath that caused those who worked in this room to take off their black coats. They sat at their desks, glancing up from time to time at the dials.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

The overseer announced that some of the men would be given the opportunity to work downstairs in Building Two on the rope-making floor. They would do whatever the foremen there needed them to do to keep the line moving. They would make no more money, he told them, because they were “unskilled.” He would read off the names of those who would remain. The others must leave now to claim the wages owed them from the paymaster.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

Vanzetti’s name was among those the overseer read. He saw the man’s eyes glance in his direction when he read his name. So, he thought, this one remembered.

nisl. penatibus amet mus. fermentum consectetur Proin justo ipsum gravida malesuada. mauris blandit tristique elit. vehicula justo et montes, dolor dolor tempor euismod sit vehicula et justo odio

Yet it took him only a moment to decide. No, he would not work within a factory room filled with dust and fibers, because the bad air of factories had made him sick once before, it was bad for the lungs, and he feared it would sicken him again. When the list of names had been read, he climbed down the stairway and left the building with the men who had been dismissed. No, kind gentlemen, he said to himself, you will not destroy Vanzetti with your generous offer to work inside the factory and breathe the evil air of oppression.

***

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Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

When Bartolomeo Vanzetti was thirteen years old (still only a child in the ways that mattered), his father, a hard man who did not believe that formal schooling would teach him how to make a living, sent his son to the city of Cunco to learn the trade of pastry maker. Working fourteen-hour days, with only a few hours off on Sunday, he wasted his youth in one factory after another, worked like a mule, with rarely a breath of fresh air or a glimpse of God’s glorious world. Eventually he moved in search of a better opportunity to the bigger city of Turin, where a bookseller on the street sold him a used copy of The Inferno, the highest achievement of his nation’s literature.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

Ah, he thought, encountering Dante’s portrayal of the architecture of the underworld Inferno to which men had been sent to their sins. In which circle of hell do I dwell?

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

For six years he lived that way! Years of youth and wonder he could never recover, he thought, heart swelling with sorrow and anger as he walked away from the “opportunity” of the Cordage Company overseer. Six years that might have been so beautiful to a boy avid of learning! He could never be cruel to a boy, Vanzetti vowed. Let the children go to school and live with their families. Let them build a new world when they become the men and the women.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

Finally he fell ill, and could no longer work. The boss of the factory in Turin sent him home by train to his father, with pleurisy of the lungs. He was not expected to live.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

Feverish and suffering and thrown about by the heaving of the train that carried him home through the deep green of the hills and valleys of the north of Italy, he caught glimpses through the window of the world of his childhood. Home -- for the first time in years! -- his mother nursed him. Her tenderness, her love, healed him. The almond trees bloomed in the spring, and, leaving his bed for the first time in weeks, he walked among them like the first man in the first garden of the world’s beginning; the small birds bowing their wings overhead and singing to him; the animals of the field dashing before him as if to seek from him a name to suit their qualities. Those were the happiest days of his life.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

But they were followed by the worst misfortune that can befall a man.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

His gentle mother, the kindest and most wonderful of mothers, now fell ill. He could not help but believe that the strain of her continuous attentions to him during his own illness had weakened her, though the doctor said it was not so. Summoned, the old man sighed and held out little hope. Nevertheless, Vanzetti sat by his mother’s side, holding her hand much of the time, seeking to feed her, to slip a drop of water past her lips, like the priest that she once wished him to become offering the host, the wine. By the end he had not changed his clothes in a week, barely ever leaving her room.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

After her death, he discovered a still deeper circle of the Inferno, though now it was not the body but the spirit that was oppressed. Somewhere in the dumb, dry months of grief that followed her death (for neither he nor his father could speak of her loss; they lived like strangers), he decided he should go to America. Why should he not? How else to put behind him the tragedy that every sight and sound in his sadly beautiful patria reminded him of.

Proin Quisque et mus. malesuada. diam elit. at sit erat justo erat est ac odio nibh ac hendrerit quis nascetur magna erat, mus. nibh et pellentesque.

After scorning the offer of the overseer with the black overcoat and the fine

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stiff hat with its rounded brim, Vanzetti walked home to Suosso’s Lane, neglecting to visit the paymaster for the final bits and pieces of his earnings. However, at the urging of the Brinis the next day, he walked back to the paymaster’s office, where a man in shirtsleeves made a fuss over his tardiness in seeking to collect his wages before somehow discovering the pay envelope with the name Vanzetti on it hidden in the lower drawer of his desk. He wondered aloud how it had got there.

***

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

On the evening of the day when he had urged Pio to seek work in the Cordage, he waited up for Brini’s return from the Garibaldi club, sitting at the table and listening to the metallic creaks of the stove as it cooled. When Brini returned home, eager for his bed, Vanzetti told him what he had said to Pio, and requested that he keep his eyes and ears open for the arrival of the spring orders from the farmers.

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

Brini grunted as he sat down. “But I do not see why you encourage this young man to do what you decline for yourself,” he said.

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“This foreman Brown is a not only a fool but a hateful man. I do not wish Pio to endure him.”

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“So you can endure the hate,” Brini questioned, “but you cannot endure the factory?”

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“Scusi, Senor, if we do not make the same choices,” he replied. “I choose the pick and shovel work, you choose the factory. Perhaps they pay you better.”

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“They pay me like a dog,” Brini retorted, riled. “You know what they pay the working man in this country.”

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“Then what is to be done to improve the circumstances for the working man?” Vanzetti asked, mild but insistent.

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“What is to be done?” Brini scoffed, gesturing at the papers his boarder had spread on the table. “Everything that is there in your journals! But by whom? By the men who work in this factory? I do not think so. Let me tell you why. You go to the rope factory each day and each day they take the strength of your body -- your blood and your bone. They take the food from the mouth and pull it through the teeth. They take the strength from your hand, and your body, and your mind.” He paused as if hearing some warning in the sleeping house Vanzetti could not, and in a lower voice said, “And so at the end of the day you can barely stand. If you have a thought in your head it is only to drag your body and your hunger and what tiny piece of your mind still remains and bury it in a deep hole where nobody will tell you what to do.”

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“It is unbearable,” Vanzetti agreed. He knew from experience. “What is there to do?” he asked again.

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

Rage flared in Brini’s ordinarily contained, skeptical features, but burned down at once.

venenatis scelerisque enim Cum dis sit faucibus vehicula mauris sodales amet, pellentesque. imperdiet amet scelerisque a. ridiculus vehicula at

“What you have seen me to do,” Brini replied, his lowered voice harder still. “That is all.”","page":"037","last":"","id":"919","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

“I have done my time in factories as well, Senor—“

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

“But my time, Senor, does not end.”

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

Brini stood and moved with the care of a man striving not to wake a sleeping woman. Si, Vanzetti silently acknowledged, but at least he has a warm body to lie beside. As for Vanzetti, he will sleep with his persistent question to keep him company: how to wake in suffering hearts the knowledge of the beautiful idea?

***

August, 1914, Plymouth Harbor

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

True to his declarations to Pio, and to Brini, he continued to labor each day for a miserable wage -- the greater part of which he delivered each week to Alphonsina -- in Dooty Brown’s paradise of mud.

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

He could do no useful work for the beautiful idea among the sad men who did this dirty job to shore up the banks of the historic harbor except to pity them. And to hope they saw in his eyes and his own comportment a vision of the more humane, less animal existence which all would someday enjoy. Even to speak in this country was difficult for him, as he struggled with the tongue, the tongue of Shakespeare surely, but also of the Rockefellers, the Morgans, the factory owners in Lawrence who oppressed the people there until by the thousands and ten thousands they shut down the mills for a long winter strike. The tongue of the bosses.

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

The tongue of the foreman. He heard it, at some distance, and raised his eyes.

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

Dooty Brown gestured madly, like a wildman. He climbed the slope that led to the city’s main street to talk among his cronies. Now he yanked something from the hands of another man, a sheet of paper, and waved it. Judging him far enough away to be ignored, Vanzetti leaned on his shovel and watched as Brown disputed and celebrated -- yes, he seemed to be doing both, extending his arms, turning his body from side to side -- with his companions.

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

Where would Vanzetti find his comrades? He needed to create a new gruppo since he could not find one in this small city by the sea. Italians had led the strike in Lawrence, he knew -- Ettor and Giovannitti -- but these educated men had spoken to the workers in English. And to the Italian ones, of course, in that tongue. They were great men; he was proud of them. The comrades in the gruppos of Springfield and Wooster argued over who was the greatest among the anarchists, but Vanzetti did not feel able to judge. By comparison, he was a simple man, a comrade who followed the words of the Cronaca Sovversiva. But at times his heart grew restless. The thick August nights reminded him of the time in Turin when he had followed with a heart’s longing the trill of a sweet voice through the dark streets. He had begun to grow his moustache then, he recalled with a tug of affection and embarrassment, in an attempt to look older.

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

The desire for female companionship -- is it this Vanzetti is truly pining for? A man, a poor man, who lives from day to day: what did he have to offer a woman?

parturient penatibus nisi venenatis pellentesque. elit dui. nulla. ac sit nec gravida Proin a. Sed et et tincidunt at sagittis dolor Ut amet eros et mus. magnis gravida dui. adipiscing tristique

The beautiful idea.

","page":"038","last":"","id":"920","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nascetur montes, Quisque adipiscing elit. adipiscing tristique Ut dolor in at est parturient sociis elit. tristique lobortis Quisque Quisque hendrerit hendrerit. convallis et amet, tempor convallis egestas.

The sound of Brown’s voice, the voice that contained all that he hated -- mockery, smallness, bullying; the opposite of all he loved -- came closer, something in its tone different from the usual hectoring.

Vanzetti straightened, looked up. Brown was walking directly toward him.

“You!” he shouted, as Vanzetti turned to face him. “What country are you from? Tell me the truth this time!”

“Italia,” he replied, reluctantly.

It gnawed at him, day after day, that he could not engage this man and all the others like him and overmaster him with the fluency of his native tongue.

“Iddily!” Brown crowed, triumphant. “I knew it!”

He held up a long sheet of paper.

One of the American newspapers, Vanzetti saw. Big black type at the top, and yet he could not take in the words.

“Well you can go home now -- to Iddily -- and be a soldier!”

Dooty Brown pointed at the banner headline of the broadsheet hanging from his hand, like a flag displayed from a balcony by a cheering citizenry. Then he groaned, in disgust.

“Can’t read a word of it, can ya, ya dumbbell? Well, your country’s gone to war!”

Absurd, Vanzetti thought, recognizing the word. Italy at war? Then he realized that this fool of the bosses was serious. Peace was bad enough in the new world, a hell in which the poor labored to enrich the wealthy. But war? The bosses will send the workers to die.

Someone must rouse these sleepers. He must truly learn the speech of this cursed land.

Brown shook the paper in his face and jeered, “Iddily biddily’s goin’ to war! And you’re goin’ too!”

He gathered his words.

“No, Senor Brown. You are wrong and you have always been wrong. Vanzetti will not go back to Italia to play the solider. This is my country now.”","page":"039","last":"","id":"921","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

CHAPTER 4

MY GRANDFATHER RAN THIS STORE WHEN BART

VANZETTI LIVED AROUND THE CORNER

2000, North Plymouth

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

It was like learning another language, Mill told himself. He was a historian of early-American history, colonial dreamers, and pre-contact indigenous peoples -- Roger Williams, Governor Winthrop, and poor King Philip, betrayed by the descendants of those his father had saved from destruction in the Old Colony’s earliest days -- but now, he saw the world through Vanzetti’s eyes. New sights, new words. Back alleys and tenements. He lived on a lane. It was not even a decent, well-made street. It was part of the muddy infrastructure of immigrant, industrial America, the empire of wage slavery. It was not the Pilgrims or the Revolution, not the American Dream or the good old “land of the free.” To Vanzetti and the thinkers of his tribe, it resembled a mere medieval tyranny made over in steel, a nation of modern machinery but Dark Age minds, a land ruled by an oligarchy of kings of industry, rail barons, lords of finance, and divided into duchies where huge industrial concerns, companies like the Plymouth Cordage, controlled the lives of their serfs. The people who lived on Suosso’s Lane, like the Brinis, did not vote, did not choose their representatives, did not have a say in their governance. So much for the Constitution! They were not part of the ”real” America, a self-governing land of the free, who honored their forebears and made ready to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the Pilgrim Landing. They were just there to do the work; to build the wealth of the happy few.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

Anarchists like Vanzetti were hardly the only critics of this arrangement. Mill dug into the news of this period in history. The Muckrakers exposed the “shame of the cities” -- poverty, political corruption, exploitation of the immigrant poor. The Progressive movement saw major reforms adopted under Teddy Roosevelt’s terms -- child labor laws, anti-monopoly laws, some improvements in working conditions. The year Vanzetti landed in Plymouth, 1912, voters elected Woodrow Wilson, an idealist who ran on a platform of progressive change. In that same election, the ”Prairie Socialist,” Eugene V. Debs received almost a million votes for president.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

Freedom-loving America was a country in which ”free love” anarchist Emma Goldman could make a living giving public lectures from town to town. Theirs was ”a new society,” many Americans believed, open to new ideas.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

So what happened? Mill asked himself.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

He dipped his brush into a paint can and drew a neat swath of creamy white below a molding.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

“The war changed everything,” he concluded.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

“What’s that?” Bernie called from the bathroom. She was caulking tile, a challenging task. Mill preferred painting.

diam penatibus mus. est quis tristique natoque augue. mi sed gravida egestas. mi erat, Sed venenatis vestibulum at convallis ridiculus erat, lacus mi eros

“Sorry,” he called back. “I was sort of talking to myself.”

","page":"040","last":"","id":"922","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“What were you talking to yourself about?”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

The distance between the small upstairs bathroom where she was tiling and the bedroom where he was painting was not much. Nothing in this house was too far away.

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“World War One,” Mill said, opening a dialogue between the rooms. “It changed the country. People couldn’t believe what was happening.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“Who couldn’t, Mill?”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“I was thinking about the anarchists. Socialists, too. All the radical parties, and unions, and thinkers.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“The war changed America that much?”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“Do you know anything about Emma Goldman? Russian immigrant. Jewish. Anarchist.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

”Free love,” Bernie shot back triumphantly.

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“Right. Free love. But also replacing the capitalist system with workers’ ownership. The abolition of private property. Birth control -- ideas that were way ahead of their time. People like Emma Goldman, or other anarchists, could talk about radical ideas without getting into trouble simply for talking about them. All that changed when America entered World War One. And then, the one thing you couldn’t do, which led to all the other things you eventually couldn’t do, was to oppose the draft.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“The draft? Sounds like Vietnam.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“This was much, much worse.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

A silence fell as Bernie worked on wedging the white sticky stuff from the can into a particularly annoying hole.

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“Mill?” she asked, when the hole was mostly filled. “How did you get onto World War One?”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“Uh, well, it changed things for Vanzetti.” He waited, taking his wife’s temperature on the subject (In the mood for a short talk? A long one?) before continuing. “The anarchists opposed the war, and particularly opposed drafting workers to fight it. They said poor men were expected to fight the rich man’s war. Eventually, Vanzetti decided to leave Plymouth to escape the draft.”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

“So, Mill…” Bernie paused a moment then said…”it sounds like you’re doing a lot of work on Vanzetti. Is this your new subject?” She shifted her seat on the wall of the tub, and added, “What happened to the Indians?”

at eu at nascetur et hendrerit. erat, quis a. in tristique ipsum adipiscing justo erat Ut elit penatibus

Well. A natural question. Of course she’d want to know.

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“I think I’m taking a break on the Indians,” Mill explained. “It’s been going pretty slowly, what with teaching...and I think I need to locate some better archives for source material…you know…maybe during semester break.”","page":"041","last":"","id":"923","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

“Yeah, I can see that,” she agreed, though she didn’t sound convinced. “That’s a good plan for your semester break.”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

Mill was happy to leave things there.

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

Bernie inspected her caulking. “I think I’m calling it quits for tonight.”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

“Want to hear any more?” he asked. He wasn’t finished painting, and had hardly started talking.

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

“Sure, but you’ll have to talk loudly because I’m going to get ready for bed.”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

“Lots of people were prosecuted,” he said, pitching his voice classroom style. “The big names of the time. Emma Goldman was deported. Eugene Debs was jailed. Vanzetti was never prosecuted. Nobody knew who he was, and they didn’t bother with garden-variety anarchists. But the head of his movement, the Italian anarchist speaker and writer, Luigi Galleani was tried and deported, his journal, Cronaca Sovversiva, shut down, and several of his key followers deported as well. Galleani’s followers were called the most dangerous enemies of the United States by the new Radical Division of the federal investigations bureau by…and here’s the kicker... Want to guess this one, Bernie?”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

No response. Sounds of teeth brushing. He guessed he was losing his audience. In spite of which he said aloud, “J. Edgar Hoover.”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

Mill continued his train of thought: and after Galleani was deported and his movement attacked, his printing press destroyed by the federal agents who raided the Salem, Massachusetts location of his anarchist publications, some of his followers went underground and began to make bombs.

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

And what happened after that was a tidal wave of governmental repression known as the “Red Scare.”

***

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

Footsteps on the stoop. In a hurry, Mill yanked open the front door just as the mailman bent to slide his the mail through the slot in the door.

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

The man straightened and smiled. “Morning,” he said. “Your mail.”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

Mill took the mail in one hand and stuck out the other. “Mill Becker,” he introduced himself.

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

“Anthony Damiano,” the man responded with a hearty handshake. “Everyone on the route calls me Tony. Looks like you folks could use a mailbox.”

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

Mill agreed and forgot at once.

sit consectetur Nulla eu Ut hendrerit. quam dolor convallis dui. fermentum tristique Lorem enim mauris ridiculus Etiam nulla. mauris nec sed ridiculus in at sagittis a. amet, quam

When, a few days later, their paths crossed again at the Honey Dew coffee shop, Mill summoned up the mailman’s name.

","page":"042","last":"","id":"924","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Any chance you grew up in this part of town?” he asked.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Nah.” The carrier hoisted his bag. “West Plymouth for me. My dad grew up here though.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Was it still the old North Plymouth then?”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“You mean Italian?”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

Mill shrugged, sheepish, prying.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Yeah, it was,” Tony said. “And Portuguese. Greek, too, I think. And everybody going to their own church.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

Tony closed the lid on his coffee container.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Did your dad ever mention Sacco and Vanzetti?” Mill asked quickly.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“No, but my nonno did. Poppi’s long gone. You’re interested in that business, huh?”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“History teacher. Sea Island Community College.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Yeah? I have cousins in Chiltonville!” Tony chuckled and, shaking his head, heading for the door, said, “Italians in Chiltonville! My grandfather would never have believed it!”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

Mill grinned. “Change is good.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Yup, so they say.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

Tony had a hand on the coffee shop door when he stopped and turned. “Hey, I just thought of someone you should talk to, if you’re really interested in the old days. Guy owns a store down the block. Name’s Sellers. He loves this stuff.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

At first sight, the place looked boarded up, framed with weathered plywood, but the store was still there, as indicated by a sign that read “Sellers Used Goods.” Inside, it smelled of old closets, moth balls, and an acrid, back-of-the-brain odor Mill associated with too many cats.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

Seated on a chair between piles of clothing, a man with thinning hair and a scrawny reddish beard was reading a newspaper. Dressed in a well-worn sweatshirt and baggy cords, he might just as well have been a store mannequin, Mill thought.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“What can I do for you?” he called. “Winter wear? It’s starting to get cold out there.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Actually,” Mill said, “I was hoping, if you have a few minutes, to ask you something about the neighborhood.”

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

“Yeah?” The shopkeeper put down the newspaper.

Cum sit tincidunt scelerisque montes, sit sit justo malesuada. in Sed ac vitae lobortis ac hendrerit gravida Lorem dolor

”Well, first of all, my name is Mill Becker. I teach history at Sea Island Community.”","page":"043","last":"","id":"925","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Merrill Sellers,” the man said. “History, is it? You’ve come to the right place. Plymouth, I mean.”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Right. From what I’ve been told, Bartolomeo Vanzetti lived in this neighborhood before his famous trial.”

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“True enough. My grandad used to see him around,” Sellers replied, his tone affable, his eyes wary. “I remember hearing that he -- Vanzetti, not my grandad -- pulled a kid from a big mud puddle.” Pause. “Actually, it wasn’t a puddle but the start of a cellar hole for that place that went in behind the store.”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

Mill nodded encouragingly.

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Well, to hear my grandad tell it, the story goes that Vanzetti pulls out this poor little boy from a cold wet dirty hole and carries him to his house. When the mother opens the door to Vanzetti, he makes a huge point of explaining that she needs to warm the child because the water in the hole was very cold. He doesn’t want to leave until he’s sure she understands.”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“He was kind to children,” Mill said. “In that sense, the story offers a kind of character reference.”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“You could say that. That’s the point I took.”

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“Ever do any research on your own?”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

Sellers shook his head no. “Nothing serious. Nothing ‘academic.’”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Okay, so—“

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Say,” Sellers interrupted, “this isn’t just idle curiosity, is it? You’re a history guy, aren’t you?”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

”Yes, a history teacher, like I said,” Mill replied, thinking, is ”history guy” a demographic around here, like a religion? “How about you?”

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“I’d say it kind of obvious,” Sellers quipped, nodding his head at the stacks of clothing.

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Yes, but I meant—“

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The shopkeeper chuckled. “I know what you meant, and sure, I get into history some, especially when it’s right around the corner, which is where Bart Vanzetti lived when my grandfather ran the store. I guess you must live somewhere around here, too, seeing as you know a bit about Vanzetti.”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

“Suosso’s Lane…number six.”

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“The Brini house.” Sellers’ eyes widened. “You know, I’ve always wanted to have a look inside that house.”

at nascetur lacus in amet est at vehicula tempor ipsum nisi in in at dolor scelerisque in adipiscing justo quis venenatis in penatibus sociis

Mill thanked the man for his time and hurried home to do just that.","page":"044","last":"","id":"926","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

Later, standing at the top of the cellar stairs, empty-handed, he felt foolish for trying to find something in the few closets crammed into the corners of bedrooms after the house was built. And there wasn’t an attic; might have been a crawl space up there once, but if so it had been sealed off by the current ceiling.

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“What would you look for?” Mill asked on his next visit to the used-clothing store.

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

Sellers gave him a knowing glance, as if to say, I knew you’d be back.

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“Letters,” he said. “Where were his letters? The police never found any. Vanzetti was always writing letters, he wrote hundreds after he went to prison. He must have received a lot, too.”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“Letters from other anarchists?”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“Could be. Could be private letters from other people, too.”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“Incriminating letters?”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

Sellers snorted and shook his head no. “Whoever heard of anarchists robbing pay envelopes from factory workers?”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“So you’re not looking for evidence of guilt. What then? You think there’s something to find to prove his innocence?”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

Sellers shrugged.

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“From what I’ve read, the evidence was certainly weak,” Mill said.

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“Weak?” Sellers countered pointedly. “I’ll say it was weak! How about non-existent? The only so-called evidence they had on Vanzetti and Sacco had nothing to do with the crime. Yes, they were carrying guns when arrested, and they lied to the police about where they were going that night. They had avoided the draft by going to Mexico, and refused to say they loved America, unconditionally, when the prosecution got them on the stand during the trial. And they were anarchists -- probably the biggest reason the prosecution thought they could pin the crime on them.”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“Vanzetti said they thought they were being picked up because they were radicals. Because of the Red Scare.”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

“The Red Scare,” Sellers echoed. “Exactly.”

dolor ut dolor sit justo fermentum hendrerit ac nulla. amet, in dis Proin ante. quam, Pellentesque Proin penatibus eu

Agitated, he rose from his chair, looked around the room and, fidgeting, sat down. “Look, Mill,” he said. “The prosecution could never prove a connection between the guns found on Sacco and Vanzetti and the bullets removed from the victims. The reason they lied to police was because they were scared. Why shouldn’t they be? Radicals were being rounded up for deportation all the time. And they didn’t want to tell the police who they were going to see that night for fear they’d get their friends in trouble. They avoided the draft because they felt that fighting in a war started by capitalists was wrong. Clinton didn’t want to fight in a war he thought was wrong, either. And since when is not loving America evidence of robbing a payroll and murdering two men?”

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magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“I don’t disagree with any of that, Mr. Sellers,” Mill said.

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“Call me Merrill.”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“Okay…Merrill. From what I’ve read, the prosecution hired experts to try to prove that Sacco’s gun fired one of the bullets, but the state messed up the handling of the evidence, and so badly, that no one could say the bullet fired by his gun was actually taken from the body of a victim. Of course,” he added, “I’m no expert on the case.”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“Well, I –“ Sellers broke off, then amended, defensively, “I’ve been interested in this case for a long time. I won’t deny it.”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“I can see that.”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“So what do you say, Mill? Could we take a look around that house some time together?”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“I’d have to talk to my wife first.”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“That’s fine.”

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

Sellers shrugged, and turned to gaze through his shop window, as if finding something of interest in a gray afternoon on Court Street.

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“Do you have some reason to think there is something to find?” Mill asked.

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“Maybe.”

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Mill waited.

magnis dolor ut penatibus sit elit. tempor mauris penatibus eu magna scelerisque convallis erat hendrerit. et lobortis adipiscing nascetur quis nulla.

“Someone told me something once. A long time ago.”

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“Someone…?”

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“Someone in a position to know. Let’s leave it at that.”

***

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Mill was sure he didn’t want Merrill Sellers looking through his house for something he wouldn’t name, but after Sellers’ hinting around, couldn’t stop himself from walking through the rooms looking for a secret hiding place. Not that there was anything search -- except the basement.

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He hesitated on the stairs. He held a couple of rags from the rag bag under the sink, and a can of bug spray acquired by a previous tenant for mosquito protection. The basement appeared to him to be a dark, dirty, dusty place accessible by a flight of creaky stairs. He flicked on the light switch and, seeing how little difference it made, he reversed course on the stairs to retrieve a flashlight from the emergency pack in his car.

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Slender flashlight stuck in his pocket, he descended, fighting off last-minute urges to give the whole thing up and go back to grading student essays awaiting him on the table. The smell hit him halfway down; dirt, dust, and some underlying faint odor of rot. Had something died down there? His New Jersey suburban childhood had rarely brought him into contact with dead things. A neighbor’s cat, hit by a car. Later, in a trap in his first bachelor apartment, a mouse, the creature’s hideously indented facial structure staring at him with an accusatory moral superiority: Who’s the animal here now?

nisi ipsum nisl. ipsum vestibulum gravida et penatibus dolor convallis magnis tristique ornare

Could there be mouse traps down in this basement?

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Spider webs. Of course. Predictable, he told himself, but no less repulsive with their tiny wrapped-up packages of eviscerated victims. He needed a stick to knock the webs aside.

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He wondered. How long had it been since someone had gone down here?

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He shoved the rags in his belt, withdrew the slender emergency flashlight, and aimed its light at a pile of scrap wood on the floor below the stairs -- directly below, as if someone had opened the door and dropped an armload from the top of the stairs. The refuse of some project? Boy Scouts? Science project?

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The swing of his flashlight beam revealed paint cans and bicycle frames, one missing a wheel altogether, the other with two flat rubber tires grimy with years of basement dust. Also, in front of the bikes, a jumble of cardboard boxes with smaller boxes, shoe boxes, stuck inside: old bills probably, or children’s school papers fondly put aside, forgotten decades ago. Or -- conceivably -- letters. He wasn’t interested in wood, paint cans, bicycle parts, or the boxes themselves. Paper was the target.

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Once he’d worked his way over to them, avoiding a collection of old boots, black rubber types dating to the days when parents made children tug them over their shoes, the days before deciding it was easier to drive them to school, the shoeboxes held not bills, and certainly not letters, but stacks of shiny-surfaced color snapshots of a family in faded, seventies-era color, the reds hanging on longer than the other tones, turning the images garish, and homely, and if looked at too long, a touch grotesque. Paul Simon was wrong. Things look worse in faded Kodachrome.

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The smell, he thought. He couldn’t get it out of his mind while he flipped through year after year of backyard parties, birthdays, a wedding, restaurant shots, a tropical vacation, a baby, some of the backs of the photos soiled with blackened dots that could only be organic substances of some sort.

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Droppings? So that’s what he was smelling. Rubber gloves. So that’s what he’d forgotten.

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Behind the jumble of cardboard boxes, he glimpsed something possibly more promising. A wardrobe. Or maybe just a tall tool cabinet, its interior divided by shelves with holes of various widths and shapes augured through. Was it worth pushing his way through the mess to investigate?

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He waved the beam of light, focused it on a shadowy corner where foundation walls fashioned from rough-dressed hunks of ancient granite met. Swinging the beam back to the wardrobe, he stepped through the debris. Heard a scratch. A squeak. A short silence succeeded by another bout of scratching. A mouse, he thought. A mouse in this house was acceptable. It was practically in the lease.

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tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

He pushed forward through the scruff and dust and sag of the cardboard, approached the wardrobe (or cabinet), used a rag on the door pull, and managed to yank open the door just wide enough to look inside. Garments, gowns, robes, frames. He drew out a few of the last of these. Framed portraits with backs, some with cracked glass. Dad in uniform. A wedding. A class picture. The officers of the society? But none of these old enough, judging by the clothes, to interest him.

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

Some moving thing passed through the dark places at his feet. He jumped a few inches. Creatures with teeth, he thought, and a fondness for dark places. Next time, if there was a next time, he’d bring a weapon.

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

He made a last dig into the wardrobe. Behind the cheap frames his hand closed on a heavier object. The surface felt like glass, buried beneath layers of dust, strata, little geologies of basement grime. He pulled it into the anemic light of the flashlight. The glass-fronted portrait felt heavy in his hand. The heft alone made the thing feel older; like something he should take upstairs to see if he could clean it, make anything of it, maybe just throw it away.

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

He heard the squeaky, warm-blooded, shadowy noise again, too loud to ignore, and jerked the light in the direction of the sound. A flash of red. An eye.

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

A noise of something scrabbling. The thing disappeared with a flash of tail. Did mice get that big?

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

Upstairs in the kitchen, thinking of the account of his basement ventures he would share with Bernie that evening, he worked at his prize -- the dirt-veiled photographic portrait -- with dampened paper towels and occasional applications of fingernail until the soiled surface yielded the better part of its image. It intrigued him: a trio of faces. Three women wearing high-necked blouses and serious expressions.

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

The next day Mill took his find to the Daughters of the Pilgrims, one of the town’s numerous historical societies, one of the better off considering the elegance of the Gilded Age mansion that served as its headquarters, where the volunteer genealogist gasped at the framed photo he set down on her desk.

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

“Oh!” she said, refocusing her gaze, looking up from the photograph to her visitor. “You mean you don’t know who this is?”

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

“No. Should I?”

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

“Yes! Why it’s Lavinia Rossiter!” the woman replied sharply. “And those are her two daughters, Vivian, and…oh…what was her name? The other daughter. The older one. I’ll think of the name in a moment.”

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

“Who is... What did you say her name was?”

tristique lacus erat, ante. gravida ac et dolor Quisque eu Lorem montes, in natoque tempor Cum lacus euismod Proin eu fermentum sit

“Lavinia Rossiter,” the volunteer, a local woman named Billie Sears, who had no Pilgrim ancestors but a world of respect for those who did, repeated with a frown for the shortness of public memory. “You mean you don’t know who she was? The ‘Mayflower Suffragette.’ That’s what they called her.”

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elit. dis hendrerit convallis quis Lorem consectetur penatibus nulla. Sed et in a. in euismod faucibus consectetur faucibus vestibulum magnis adipiscing Fusce vestibulum parturient elit tempor

“I see,” Mill said, sounding like he didn’t.

elit. dis hendrerit convallis quis Lorem consectetur penatibus nulla. Sed et in a. in euismod faucibus consectetur faucibus vestibulum magnis adipiscing Fusce vestibulum parturient elit tempor

She frowned again. “How long have you lived in Plymouth?”

elit. dis hendrerit convallis quis Lorem consectetur penatibus nulla. Sed et in a. in euismod faucibus consectetur faucibus vestibulum magnis adipiscing Fusce vestibulum parturient elit tempor

“Not long. Two months maybe.”

elit. dis hendrerit convallis quis Lorem consectetur penatibus nulla. Sed et in a. in euismod faucibus consectetur faucibus vestibulum magnis adipiscing Fusce vestibulum parturient elit tempor

“Well,” she considered. “Then you didn’t go to the Cornish and Burton School, did you?”

elit. dis hendrerit convallis quis Lorem consectetur penatibus nulla. Sed et in a. in euismod faucibus consectetur faucibus vestibulum magnis adipiscing Fusce vestibulum parturient elit tempor

Mill couldn’t tell if that made his standing better in her eyes, or worse.

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CHAPTER 5

IF WOMEN HAD AN EQUAL SAY,

THE WORLD WOULD NOT BE AT WAR

1915, North Plymouth

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Vanzetti cautiously approached the building. The Plymouth Cordage Company workers’ library looked as if the company had taken an old rope work mill and sawed it in half. Still, the library had fine interior woodwork, and thick, dark-stained bookshelves. He sniffed, gratified by the scent of a well-maintained building. He had hesitated a long time, nearly three years, before stepping inside. To him the building seemed to say, “Look what we have done to better the lives of our workers!” He was reluctant to lend credence to the company’s claim of public virtue. But since he had come this far, he walked calmly inside and found himself among other working men. The English language class, he’d been told, was on the lower level.

malesuada. diam Pellentesque euismod diam eu scelerisque Quisque elit. nisi justo ridiculus sociis quis gravida consectetur justo mus. elit diam montes, magnis pellentesque. sed Nulla blandit

He found the stairs. In the small room below, some of the chairs were already occupied by men who looked like cordage workers, their clothes rough but clean. Some had shaved; all had combed or brushed back their hair. Vanzetti himself had gone to the extreme of thoroughly brushing his coat after his day’s labors were finished before putting it back on and marching off into the twilight. The workers sat in low wooden chairs, silent, deferential, waiting for the class to begin. The teacher sat in a chair with arms, behind a table spread with printed matter. And it was true, he discovered, the remarkable thing he had been told. The class was taught by a woman.

malesuada. diam Pellentesque euismod diam eu scelerisque Quisque elit. nisi justo ridiculus sociis quis gravida consectetur justo mus. elit diam montes, magnis pellentesque. sed Nulla blandit

She had a high forehead and dark-brown hair, pulled off her face and wrapped up in the mysterious way that women do to hide this most beautiful of features. Though, he noticed, the pins to hold up and restrain this waterfall of femininity had not done the completely perfect job, and a few long strands slipped out to fall to the sides; willow wands, he thought, washed by a river’s current. She wore what he understood was called the white shirtwaist, a fitted garment that did not disguise the female form, and a long dark skirt. He knew that American women were more likely to go about in public, to attend meetings and other gatherings, than the women of his country, but he was still impressed by this woman’s confident bearing. If the New World produced such women, he thought fleetingly, perhaps women could become comrades as well?

malesuada. diam Pellentesque euismod diam eu scelerisque Quisque elit. nisi justo ridiculus sociis quis gravida consectetur justo mus. elit diam montes, magnis pellentesque. sed Nulla blandit

She was speaking now, addressing the group, so he put away his thoughts to focus his attention.

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“We will direct our efforts today, gentlemen, to building our vocabulary of common words.”

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Soon the men were repeating the simple sentences offered by the teacher, whose name, if he remembered it correctly, was a Missus Ross-ee-tuh. Vanzetti joined in this exercise, self-consciously at first, unwilling to hear his voice stand out, apart from the others, but soon caught the timing of the exercise, and spoke the English words as well or better than the others.

malesuada. diam Pellentesque euismod diam eu scelerisque Quisque elit. nisi justo ridiculus sociis quis gravida consectetur justo mus. elit diam montes, magnis pellentesque. sed Nulla blandit

“I cut the bread with the knife,” the teacher intoned.

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et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

The men responded.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

Each of these simple sentences was chosen so that if one word was known, “bread” for example, the meaning of the later word, “knife,” was more readily determined.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

Knife, Vanzetti thought, cortelli.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

But given the repetitious nature of the task, in time the obligation to respond became merely monotonous. The exercise did not engage the mind.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

At the end, Vanzetti stood at the back of the room while the teacher, the Missus Rosseetuh, gathered her papers. Seeking to work up the courage to request that she make the class more challenging, he hesitated, fearful that his limited command of the new tongue would betray him.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

She looked up and saw him. The exchange of glances. Her expression seemed to invite him to speak. He nodded formally, correctly, fell into doubt, nodded once more, and took his leave.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

He lingered longer after the second class, in which they’d moved on to learn the names of items in other rooms of the house, enhanced by the introduction of pronouns: “I sit in the chair. You sit in the chair. He... She...” He had combed back his hair, copying the men in the class, and trimmed the little beard worn close to his chin to an exact standard of consistency. He held his old hat in his hand, signaling a reluctance to leave.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

When she looked up at him, he said, “Perhaps we can have the conversation...” he searched for words… "in time?" In un’altra vita, he silently mocked himself.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

He saw her hesitate, shift her stance, hands at her side, fingers resting lightly on the low table.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

“I do not believe that you attended the beginning class, sir, in which all the men told me their names...and anything else they wished to say about themselves.”

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

“Ah. Scusi.”

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

He introduced himself. He did not at this point wish to say anything more about himself. He did not wish to mention that he had once worked for the Cordage Company, but no longer did.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

“I am Mrs. Rossiter,” the teacher said, pleasantly, mildly. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Vanzetti.”

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

Even as she gave her title, her honorific, her status in the world, that word did not roll from her tongue as smoothly as the others. He wondered, in a flash, whether this Missus was in fact married, and whether American husbands permitted their wives to stand before a group of men and teach them the names of things, like Adam naming the animals. It would not happen in his country.

et est diam sodales tristique hendrerit montes, justo at venenatis justo erat, vestibulum Cum ac Etiam hendrerit et sociis at nibh quis parturient

“And I am pleased also,” he said. Hesitated. Added, “Missus.”

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hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

“Now, when you speak of a conversation, what do you have in mind?”

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

He stumbled a little, and after several false starts, said, “In this class… The men... They should decide.”

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

“Ah. I see,” she said. Her face changed subtly, relaxed. “You believe that the class might engage in conversation on some topic of interest to themselves.” She paused, thoughtful. “Do you think the men, the others in the group, are willing to attempt this new direction?”

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

“I think they would wish it very much.”

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

The men in the class were from here and there, from all over Europe. He could speak to very few himself, and so, in fact, had little idea of their wishes. But he would wish it, yes, very much. He wished to know what this American lady, this Missus, truly thought.

***

1915, Allerton Street, Plymouth

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

The members of the Society for the Promotion of Women’s Just and Natural Entitlements met in the parlor, a room of respectable but hardly opulent size. The Rossiters had always been comfortable, but not wealthy. After her husband, Nathaniel’s death, Lavinia stripped the room of much of its clutter: the large vase, the ottomans, the thick throw rugs, and the cloth veils from the two occasional tables. Useful for serving tea, the tables were permitted to remain.

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

That was her idea of decor now. Useful. Why did a room need a vase, an urn, or other glass or ceramic vessels, if Lavinia refused to keep flowers in the house? Plants belonged out of doors, in the garden. Cut flowers reminded her of graves. Brought indoors, they wilted, turned brown at the edges, and into a grim, gray mockery of their former lively beauty until somebody, generally the cook, Mrs. Baker, observed that dead flowers made a room look depressing.

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

Lavinia Rossiter was a woman of ideas, not things.

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

Her parlor was small relative to those of the wealthier homes owned and built by the families that had prospered in trade -- some of the town’s mills were quite profitable, especially the Cordage. However, the room was more than adequate for the present numbers of her society, the number not, as Lavinia Rossiter sadly noted, as considerable as it once had been.

hendrerit. quis amet, tristique est eu lobortis Mauris Lorem imperdiet in malesuada. sociis scelerisque augue. ipsum Lorem ipsum

Great events were all the talk in times such as these, or so she was told by the bankers and merchants her family had always dealt with, and who’d speak with her out of loyalty to her late husband; by her old school friends, the Lewiston sisters, who hadn’t joined the movement, but nodded to her almost daily when they met on the way to the stationer’s; and by her older cousins, the Bonneys, who’d politely suggest during dinner discussions that Lavinia drop her excessively modern notions about a woman’s place in society.

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quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

The “Great War,” they called it. Interesting, she thought. It had appeared neither great nor grand to some of the workers at the library, the men asking: how could a war that has killed so many be termed anything but terrible? And rightly so. Such grandiose terms were merely the war-makers’ way of justifying the decision to send hundreds of thousands of fellowmen to the slaughter.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

Yet here she was, hearing the same claptrap from the members of her society.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

“And what if our nation should enter this conflict?” asked Maryellen Linden, a young woman of promise who’d once tempted Lavinia to consider her as a potential protégé.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

Maryellen’s slender shoulders lifted in a frisson of vicarious excitement.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

“Think of it, Vinnie! Thousands and thousands of young men leaving their homes and families, and going off to give their all for their country!”

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

“Let us hope in the interest of the young men for something less than ‘all,’” Lavinia replied. “To give ‘all’ is quite a lot, Maryellen, and must leave the women and children at home quite forsaken.”

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

The younger woman turned away her face, stung.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

When none of the others spoke, sharing in the rebuke, Lavinia added dryly, “I suppose the women of the warring powers would not object too strenuously if a few of their young men returned home with their shields rather than on them.”

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

This produced a titter. Lavinia, the society’s founder and president, could be shockingly tart in her speech at times, her fellow suffragists knew. They had all felt the lash of her wit at one time or another. As a result, no one seriously opposed her when she had her heart set on a course of action or a cause to rally behind.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

Yet what course or cause could that be? Lavinia was forced to ask herself. Letter-writing? Most of her campaigns had been of that sort, fits of letter-writing to local and regional newspapers. “Seizing with our own hands the tools of democracy,” she called it. Other suffragists, it was true, had seized rougher tools and wielded them with a sharper edge -- chaining themselves to lampposts, or storming into the councils of government with shouts and demands -- but somehow these tactics had seemed impractical in staid old Plymouth. And, fact was, Lavinia argued with herself, it was hard to say which course, their chains or her well-reasoned epistles, had brought the greater progress, since at the present moment it was hard to detect progress in any direction.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

The spirit of the room grew stony-faced.

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

So, her fellow believers in women’s just and natural entitlements appeared to signal through their silence, if the war is off limits, then what are we to talk about?

quam, natoque parturient in ut quis nisi sit tincidunt quam natoque et parturient Mauris Quisque pellentesque. Sed sociis

Lavinia had been preparing to offer yet another petition to the state legislature on extending the vote to women at certain levels -- statewide elections; and if not that, then town meeting -- drawing on a version of the argument “maybe this year they will listen.” For evidence, she could cite the recent decision by the newly-formed State of Wyoming to grant women the vote in state and municipal elections. There, the menfolk in power had declared that frontier women played so ungainsayable a role in the evolution

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of their rough-hewn settlements that their contributions could not be overlooked. Though even there the bloom came slightly off the rose when sharp-tongued commentators pointed out that Wyoming’s true motivation was to encourage more women to migrate to its cold, rough, and under-feminized state.

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

“They’re trying to steal our women,” one Eastern wag had pronounced.

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

Then why don’t the ”civilized” Eastern states do something more to keep them? Lavinia riposted mentally. Still, it was hard to get excited about Wyoming.

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

She glanced among the few faces who had answered the bell for a gathering of the society this morning, appealing for assistance from Isabel Carrington, a woman of Lavinia’s class and generation, and a genuine enthusiast for suffrage. Surely someone had something hopeful, or at least germane, to offer.

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

“There is word of trouble at the Cordage Company,” Isabel supplied, breaking fresh conversational ground.

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

Aware that this information came from members of the Carrington family on the company’s board of directors, Lavinia unhesitantly responded, “We must think of the well-being of the women and children dependent on the workers’ wages. From what I understand, they are suffering from the wartime inflation. Perhaps we should write a letter to the town newspaper urging the company to offer an increase.”

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

“And what about those who depend on the dividends?” Isabel countered icily. “It is easy to ignore the need to make a profit if one doesn’t depend on the company’s dividends to make ends meet.” She eyed the women perched on a sofa beside her in the room’s small circle of active suffragists and added, “There are women of our acquaintance beside myself who do.”

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

She meant, Lavinia realized, the Thorndike sisters, Mercy and Margaret, two well-meaning but otherwise hopelessly conventional old maids who, given their nearly identical looks of surprise, undoubtedly had no idea they were being referred to, and may not have heard enough of the conversation to follow it. And yes, she also realized that women might well be dependent on dividends from the factory’s earnings, given that means of support open to men were not open to them. Women could not be doctors, lawyers, company officers, not in a place such as Plymouth. The wives and children of the factory workers were surely dependent on their earnings, but women of her class, like Isabel and the Thorndike sisters, were equally subjected to the decisions of men.

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

“Isabel’s point is quite on the mark,” she said. “In view of which, I suggest a petition of a different sort. I believe we should propose that women be well represented on the Board of Directors of the Plymouth Cordage Company. Since it is clear that the interests of many women are dependent on the company’s well-being, it is only right that they be involved in the deliberations and decisions that guide its fortunes.”

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

The very thing! She thought, congratulating herself on this inspiration. Why had she not realized this before?

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

“Interfering in the management of the Cordage Company?” Isabel questioned with the hint of a sneer. “Is that what we’ve come to?”

justo sociis amet, quam, ante. scelerisque elit. Nulla dui. Proin nibh vestibulum at venenatis erat blandit amet, ipsum

“It’s simple justice,” Lavinia defended flatly. “Women must become members on the company’s board of directors, and not just members but voting members.”","page":"054","last":"","id":"936","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

elit. dui. amet sociis justo Sed elit mauris tristique magna malesuada. lacus dolor ante. Nulla lobortis sit malesuada. justo pellentesque. gravida vehicula justo et Quisque adipiscing Proin et dolor ac penatibus

She waited for the others to weigh in, and when no one else in the room found her tongue, prompted, “We believe in the vote for women, ladies, do we not? Must I remind you of that?”

***

“I have given some thought to varying our procedure this evening,” Lavinia announced at the beginning of her evening class at the Cordage Workers’ Library.

She glanced at Vanzetti. He nodded, faintly. He found he was holding his breath.

“Perhaps tonight we might try something different,” she said. “Perhaps we might try asking questions of one another and answering them. In English, of course.”

The men sat quietly. Vanzetti wondered how many were able to follow her speech adequately enough to understand its meaning. Of course, he enjoyed the advantage of planting the original seed, but did not wish to be the first to respond.

“Come,” she urged, “let’s give it a try. Does anyone have a question for me?”

The silence persisted until a voice rang out from the back of the room: “What do you think of this war?”

The man who spoke, heavyset with full cheeks shadowed by a fast-growing beard, had little of the accent, Vanzetti thought. The final word, though, had sounded like “varr.” German, he thought, Polish perhaps. But that made a difference.

“I think it is a horror,” she replied, without hesitation. “A disaster for humanity.”

She did not appear to care whether her questioner supported one side or another. Vanzetti was impressed by that. Her words silenced the room, as if no one knew how to proceed. The heavyset fellow who had asked the question merely grunted at the reply. The others, Vanzetti felt, did not wish to discuss the war in this room, or anywhere else in a public forum, though they were likely to choose sides among themselves, depending on their national backgrounds.

“I have a question for you,” Mrs. Rossiter broke the silence. “Why do you attend…come to this class? Please, anyone may respond.”

A small man who was always first to arrive to claim his seat at the front of the room said in so many words that he wished to learn to speak and read and write English to advance in his work and better the lives of his children.

The comment appeared to meet with her approval. She responded in an informal and friendly manner, allowing herself a smile -- the good mother, Vanzetti thought -- and in doing so, encouraged the men to ask a series of mundane questions along similar lines. How long does it take to learn the English language? What must they learn for the test to become a citizen? What do Americans like to eat?","page":"055","last":"","id":"937","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

Mrs. Rossiter replied to questions of this sort with an equable shortness that began to suggest to Vanzetti that she was looking or perhaps hoping for something more. His question would have been, “Are American women different from the women of other countries?” But he could not imagine that she would wish to hear it.

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

Another of the men asked something pedestrian: “Is it required to speak English in order to drive a motor car?”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

This was not the sort of conversation he had in mind. And so he called out, “Do all the men in this room wish to become the citizen?”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

He realized too late that he’d interrupted the teacher’s reply to the previous question: “Hardly. Motor cars respond to strong language in any tongue, judging--”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

A witticism, he thought. Was there more? She had lightly tossed her head, shaking the outlaw locks on the sides of her forehead, but the effect of her sally had been spoiled by his outburst. No one laughed.

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

Mrs. Rossiter appeared not the slightest bit perturbed. She instead looked at him with what he could only interpret as gratitude.

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

“Yes, Mr. Vanzetti,” she said. “Your question is indeed something to consider. It is not a small wonder that this entire classroom consists only of men. Why is that?” She paused. “Does it have to something to do with this matter of citizenship?”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

No one spoke, the men or their teacher, her silence making it clear that the class had progressed too far to fall back on a previous track; that she would not resume instruction of how to ask for directions, or how to read road signs, or how to interpret signs in shop windows by repeating simple phrases: “No spitting on the floor,” or, “Back in one hour,” or, “Surgery open at 3 p.m.,” until her students demonstrated their language facility by addressing this question.

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

“I’m here to pass the test, Missus,” said the small man in the front.

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

“Are you married, sir?”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

The man shrugged awkwardly. “Yes.”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

“Does your wife not wish to pass the test as well?”

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

The little man shook his head, without uttering a reply. The men with enough comprehension to follow the exchange knew where she was going, and felt troubled.

montes, gravida et gravida nulla. amet, erat, in egestas. nec mauris

“Is it not a remarkable notion that under this country’s current laws, every one of you seated in this classroom may one day have the opportunity to choose your nation’s leaders, if you desire to become citizens of the United States and, as the gentleman says, pass the test? Yes, there is a barrier. The test is given in English. You must possess this language well enough to pass it. But many men like you overcome that barrier to become not only naturalized citizens of this nation, but enfranchised ones, with the right to vote for its leaders, and to hold elective offices. But there is one person in this room who, as matters stand, has not been granted the opportunity to choose her nation’s leaders, even though by law and by virtue of birth, she is a citizen of the nation.”","page":"056","last":"","id":"938","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

After a silence, she added, “One day, perhaps, we may talk about that. Until that time, perhaps we should resume our previous practice of learning by repetition.”

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

Outside the room, in the little landing at the bottom of the stairwell, Vanzetti waited, holding his hat.

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

“Missus,” he said, when the teacher stepped into the hall. “What you said about this war, this terrible war. We are of the same mind, you and I. Of the other, whether to be the citizen, that is another matter. But the discussion, the back and the forth, that is the better way for the current issues, the great questions of the day.”

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

He had a longer speech in mind, but could not utter it all now, here, on shaky ground, standing in the little space outside the meeting room door. Perhaps it was considered rude to speak to the teacher like this, to the woman, that is.

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

“Mr. Vanzetti,” she said, “if I am correct in the recollection of your name?”

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

“Si. Vanzetti.”

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

“I believe we may have things to talk about, and, yes, I do believe that a natural conversation would be the better way to gain a true knowledge of the language.”

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

Was this not what he wanted to hear? She knew his mind! He was astonished!

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

He nodded his agreement, expressed his sense of encouragement with the hint of a smile, gripped his hat a little tighter, swayed slightly.

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

“So let us have this conversation, Mr. Vanzetti.”

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

She told him where and when, her home, Thursday afternoon. She called it his “lesson.”

***

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

The large front door painted a deep and very royal blue had a beautiful square window of colored gold and yellow glass near its top. Vanzetti wondered what it was like to look through that window. Did it make the world appear more light-filled, more golden? The door was outfitted with a bell as well, implanted in the frame at about shoulder height. You pulled the little chain, he concluded, and the bell would ring and be heard inside the house.

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

You will have no trouble finding the street, she’d said, anyone can tell you. But no, he’d thought, but was too polite to say, in this part of town people would not tell him, people would look at him and immediately see that he did not belong.

elit. in Lorem gravida Fusce convallis faucibus Proin vestibulum venenatis mi magnis sed hendrerit. convallis vehicula

Still, he found the street by spelling out the letters from the street sign, and the house by following the numbers. Though each was in some way different, the Rossiter

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house looked like the others, all of them large and too tall with pointy roofs, as if the occupants in the old Yankee part of town needed somewhere to feel the wind and the chill air, instead of holding close to the earth and letting the weather pass overhead. Constructed of wood, not stone, a whole town of wood, of houses with tall windows, and a short flight of stairs to the front door. One must ascend to this portal to enter from the common way of the street, where peddlers and other riffraff passed by below.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

Vanzetti considered the bell beside the front door, but could not imagine pulling it. The front door was for grander persons than the laborer. He would walk around to the back. A man not without his pride when he knew where he stood, he felt uneasy navigating the world of “the bosses.” That is what this English teacher’s home appeared to be, a place of the bosses. Missus Rosseetuh had told him to come for the tea. He did not know when American ladies like his teacher had the tea. People like him did not have the tea at all. Maybe the bosses at the factory did. As for the workers, they had dinner from their pails at one o’clock, after which, as well he knew, they labored all afternoon, without the sustaining influence of the tea or anything else, until evening when the bell sounded, and they poured out of the work rooms.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

Vanzetti, who had left Dooty Brown after the newspaper headline incident, now worked at digging the foundation for the new school on Cherry Street (Beltrando would someday go, he thought, but Lefevre would be too old), where the laborers put down their tools and watched the tide of men flow down the hill from the Cordage as if by gravitational pull, the workers eager to get home, yet almost too exhausted to put one foot in front of the other. They looked to him like ghosts, vacant, lifeless, their leaden footsteps seemingly the only thing preventing them from pitching forward onto the hard ground.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

The day’s work ended for the pick and shovel laborers at the school once the nearly wordless homeward stumble reached Cherry Street, the Cordage, the lifeblood of the hard-pressed community, their clock. Vanzetti knew from studying the history of classes that the overworked, ill-nourished workers were the “serfs” of the industry, and the Cordage the castle from which the lords of industry ruled. He hoped to see the day that the serfs, the people, marched on this castle and made it theirs.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

Vanzetti walked the path to the back of the house, this side noticeably calmer, with fewer statements to make. A single step to the sturdy black door with no bell, no knocker. In the Piemonte, a visitor would simply call out a greeting upon arrival at a friend’s door. Of course, in the villages of the Piemonte, half the neighborhood would already have been alerted by the children in the street shouting the visitor’s name.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

Here, he pounded the door with the side of his fist, and waited.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

The barrier swung open. The woman in the doorway wore a great, colorless, stain-splotched smock that covered her massive body like a tent. She wiped a hand across its front, and peered with small eyes at the figure on her stoop, her flat, unpleasant, reddening face not the lady’s.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

The wrong house after all?

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

“Scusi, Missus. Missus? Per favore...” He strained for some English. “Please?”

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

“What’s this now?” snapped the presence in the smock.

ornare et convallis hendrerit quis dui. sed tincidunt blandit ut pellentesque. eu ipsum odio nisi mi sed mus. est

Vanzetti backed off the stoop.","page":"058","last":"","id":"940","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“What’re yeh sellin’ then, hey?” She eyed him up and down. “But yer standin’ there empty handed! So what are yeh then? A beggar? I tells yeh what I tells yeh all -- no beggars!”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

He shook his head, not understanding her words nor the reason for her hostility. He heard another voice call from inside the house, a familiar voice, he thought. The lady’s?

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

The woman in the doorway turned her back on him. An exchange he could not follow. Some words:

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“It’s some tramp, I tells yeh!”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“A tramp? Don’t be ridiculous!”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“More often than not!” The woman tapped her temple. “I knows what I see.”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“Stuff and nonsense, Mrs. Baker! Out my way, please!”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

A heavy tread as the smocked woman disappeared. Anxious, hair loose on her forehead, Mrs. Rossiter stepped into the open doorway.

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“Mr. Vanzetti! I am so sorry! You must think we are horrible! Mrs. Baker apologizes. A misunderstanding. A foolish misunderstanding! It is all my fault. You must come inside, immediately, Mr. Vanzetti. We will go to the parlor.”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

She wore the white shirtwaist, and something of cloth or ribbon around the neck. Something to be pretty, he thought. He was pleased to see her. He wondered what to do with his injured dignity.

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“Grazie,” he said. “It is no matter.”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

The large woman returned to hover somewhere behind the lady of the house.

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“I thought he was one of them hobo foreigners,” Mrs. Baker sniffed. “He looks like one.”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“That will do, Mrs. Baker,” Lavinia said in a low voice, and to her visitor, “Please, Mr. Vanzetti, come in now. It is so good to see you.”

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

He stepped inside and, observing the flush in her features, the color on her throat against the delicate white cloth, he sensed she was defending him, and wondered why the large woman had so taken against him. Poor Vanzetti, despised as a tramp, this thing of American loathing. He has to stop himself from brushing the cuffs of his jacket. He has already done so, done what he could, choosing to be absent this day from the muddy work on the new school. Worrying now whether his boots were clean, he followed his hostess through the room that proved to be the kitchen. A large, blackened pan sat on a sturdy iron range clad in a clean and shiny metal surface. He wondered if the contents of the pan accounted for the stains on the thick-bodied woman’s apron, the Missus Baker.

enim at et ut odio malesuada. dolor erat venenatis et ac diam malesuada. dui. eros ut et nec nec parturient venenatis nulla. venenatis fermentum amet,

“Follow me, Mr. Vanzetti.” Lavinia invited, smiled, flustered. “Please.”

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at malesuada. et quam gravida in Pellentesque dolor convallis at Pellentesque Proin mauris dis hendrerit erat, Proin fermentum blandit dolor lobortis montes, ridiculus Mauris venenatis sit tincidunt gravida vestibulum est

“Certo.”

He laughed inwardly, thinking, if the lady was disturbed, it was in a good cause, the cause of Vanzetti the poor tramp. The lady was a woman of spirit, though. That was a good thing, was it not?

He observed her figure from behind as she led the way to this room called the parlor, and directed him to the corner of a sofa. A soft, cushioned seat, he had not sat in as soft a chair in years. She settled in a great chair with arms that lifted hers, as if, he thought, she was about to ascend into the clouds. A throne. In these houses, the people have a throne.

“Let me say again how sorry I am--”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “It is the good joke. I was afraid I have come to the wrong house.”

“Mrs. Baker made the mistake, Mr. Vanzetti, though I must admit that some of the fault was mine. I was watching for you...” She cleared her throat…“at the other door.”

“So,” he said, turning his head to look at the door with the beautiful window. “Now I know. The other -- she is your sister?”

“Goodness, no! Mrs. Baker is the cook!”

Vanzetti felt the fool again. He has heard of such things, of course, the house with the cook, the many servants. Would the maid come to brush off the sofa, plump up the cushions after he left? Vanzetti was not a man who sat on cushions.

“I see,” he said, studying his hands. Perhaps he should offer an excuse, a thousand pardons, and leave this house.

Lavinia’s expression darkened. Her cheeks colored.

“I believe I may have offended you again, Mr. Vanzetti,” she said. “You do not approve of cooks?”

He shrugged. “In the world we wish to see...truly, Missus…no master, no servants.”

“Well, I believe you are right. But in this house, please understand, my husband, my late husband, Nathaniel, hired Mrs. Baker. He believed he was doing it for me. To relieve me of the chore of preparing meals because he knew I had other pursuits.”

“Your husband?” He must be sure. He must know this.

“Mr. Rossiter is deceased. For three years now.”

“I am sorry.”

“As for Mrs. Baker,” Lavinia whispered, forcing Vanzetti to lean forward to hear her, “I do not know how long I shall be able to pay her salary. I continue to employ her because she is also a widow. I am concerned she may find it difficult to obtain another position.”

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sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“This Missus Baker,” he said, lowering his voice and nodding toward the kitchen, “she has the loud voice.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Indeed she does.” Lavinia smiled disarmingly. “But mine is louder.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

She stood to ask Mrs. Baker to make tea. Vanzetti tried to talk her out of it. He did not wish to remind the leather-lunged Missus Baker of his presence.

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“No, no, Mr. Vanzetti,” Lavinia said. “The woman would be offended if I had a caller and did not request tea. You see how much work it is to keep a servant, Mr. Vanzetti?” she added smartly as she left for the kitchen.

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

Vanzetti did not drink the tea. He drank the coffee. Still, if that was how things were done on Allerton Street, he would go along.

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

When his hostess returned, he said, “Will we now speak of the more serious matters?”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Indeed, Mr. Vanzetti. We will speak of whatever you wish. You are seeking an opportunity to practice your English in conversation, I believe.” She folded her hands in her lap, prepared to listen. “And I believe we both will benefit from a sharing of views on some questions of the day.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Certo.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“But you must understand that I am not really a teacher at all, despite my recent attempts to offer some slight assistance to the workers at the library. I do not wish to plume myself with borrowed feathers.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Scusi?”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“I cannot have you think I am something that I am not. If I was to put a name on it, Mr. Vanzetti, I’d say I am a publicist. A publicist for a cause.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Cause?” This interested him. “What cause?”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Women’s suffrage. The right to vote.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Ah,” he said, understanding some, ignoring the rest. “We are the same. I am also… What is this word? The publiss for my cause as well.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“Publicist,” she said, with off-hand gentility.

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

You may correct all the words, he thought. The English ones.

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“My cause–“ they each began, then laughed in companionable embarrassment over choosing the same words.

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“You were saying, Mr. Vanzetti?” Lavinia asked, her flush receding. “Please. You are my guest.”

sagittis tristique venenatis sodales Quisque sed parturient eros Cum Proin magnis mi sed quis consectetur eu erat ante. et Fusce

“No, no, Missus Rosseetuh. You must be first. Please. I insist.”

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tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“Well, then. The cause, as I have said, is a woman’s right to vote, and to hold all the electoral privileges that men do. It is a cause held dear to American women long before I was born.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“I see. The vot-uh.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“Vote,” she corrected him, pronounced so softly, Vanzetti could hear Mrs. Baker’s weight shifting in the kitchen as she attempted to listen.

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“The struggle has gone on for a long time,” Lavinia said. “But we must see it through, until justice is done.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

Need she explain the cause any further? She did not wish to overload him with new English words or abstractions. After all, this was not one of her lectures.

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“The men, they do this struggle, too, in Italia,” he said. “The trouble...the vot-uh does no good.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“Vote,” she mouthed.

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“The few who are rich,” he said, gesturing with a hand, “and the many, many poor,” he said, gesturing with the other, “when do the people vote on that?”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

He attempted a smile. Lavinia did not.

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“So, Mr. Vanzetti, as civilized people do, we will differ on some matters. In this country–“

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“Missus, scusi.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

He wished to apologize for appearing to disagree, and to assure her he would certainly come around to her view on the women’s vote at some future point. He also wished to say that it would not matter, because the rich and powerful could not be voted out of existence; that in the history of humanity, the powerful had never willingly surrendered control; and that stronger measures were called for.

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“Please, Mr. Vanzetti,” she persisted, “allow me to make myself clear. I promise to be brief.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

He nodded his assent.

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

“You see, in this country, men go to the polls to vote for their elected representatives, their congressmen, their legislators. Men make the laws. Men elected by other men. They sit in judgment on men, and women, in the courtroom, on jury panels. They decide whether we have done right or wrong. They hold all the offices of the state, fill all the councils. They are governors, mayors, presidents, chairmen, moderators. They rise to be counted in town meetings. You may see this take place here in Plymouth, and may take part in it yourself, Mr. Vanzetti, should you become a citizen. And in all this, women are required to sit on the sidelines. Laws are made for us. Our responsibilities are determined, our rights protected or not, and all of our interests, our just and natural entitlements as human beings, are determined by men.”

tincidunt Sed sed egestas. nisl. et Pellentesque penatibus egestas. condimentum augue. penatibus quam fermentum justo Quisque sit

This was brief? Vanzetti sat back on his cushioned perch and waited. When it appeared to be his turn, he said, “Determined, as you say, by these rich men.”","page":"062","last":"","id":"944","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Even poor men may vote in this country, Mr. Vanzetti, provided they are citizens. The working men in the city of Boston, our commonwealth’s capital, our largest city, have recently played a central part in electing one of their own as mayor.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Not anymore.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Excuse me?”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“If this one is mayor, he is no more one of their own. Does he work? No. Does he sit behind the desk and tell other men what to do? Si. He is no more the worker, he is the master.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

Silent for a moment, Lavinia said, “I see.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Si? By this you say yes?”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“I see what you mean, that is what I meant to say, Mr. Vanzetti. You are quite decided in your views, if you do not mind my saying so. Are they not rather absolute?”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“I don’t know this word, ab-so-loot.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Absolute. Fixed. No shades of gray -- everything black and white as we say in this country.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

He worked on that. Yes, he was decided. He decided long ago when they put him in the kitchen of their enormous restaurant and treated him like a dog.

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Ab-so-loot,” he said.

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“But I believe that women are workers, too,” Lavinia said, undeterred. “And they must be entitled to the same rights as men.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Sure, sure,” he said. ”But these rights -- always I am hearing of these wonderful American rights! Where are they? When can I see them? Can you send them to me when I am hungry? When I walk along the roadway and have no roof over my head at night, but shelter with the others who are also without, in an old barn, maybe, or under the pile of hay? Can I bring them to the home and say to the good Alphonsina, my landlady I speak of, and so I say to her, 'Look at these, Signora! You may serve these rights for the dinner, no?'”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

She tilted her head to regard him. “That was very well spoken, Mr. Vanzetti. Already we see progress.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

Not progress enough, he thought, thinking of meal times for the Brinis. The life of the workers.

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“And I do take your point,” Lavinia said. “I do not assert that civil and political rights and privileges are everything. But in a democratically-governed community, surely the right to vote means something.”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“It is nothing. It is only -- how to say? The sign?”

Proin nulla. ut tempor amet, elit. enim malesuada. erat malesuada. justo enim quam montes, malesuada. Quisque nisl. sagittis Ut mus. Lorem Proin quam, odio Mauris sed

“Sign is certainly a word. The words or picture that stand for the thing.”

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erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“Ah,” he said. “But that is just what I say. A sign. But not the thing. It is not real.”

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“I must disagree, Mr. Vanzetti.”

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

They disagreed for hours. On voting to start, and in other directions as the ideological pot boiled over. Vanzetti described the unsurmountable opposition of rich and poor. Lavinia argued that reasonable people could overcome their material differences. They discussed the education of women, how it differed from that of men, and whether it should. Vanzetti spoke of the division of classes, how the poor are taught to obey. But are not women a class as well? Lavinia countered. An exploited class? Vanzetti allowed that this was true and not so true. They maintained this discussion, this ostensibly pedagogical conversation, to allow the immigrant an opportunity to practice the speech of the new country, until the afternoon grew long, and the lady of the house was alerted to the time by Mrs. Baker’s loud clearing of her throat in the kitchen.

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

Straightening her shoulders, Lavinia remarked that time had flown. The parlor became a parlor once more, the neglected tea things resting on the occasional tables. Vanzetti felt a shudder, but not a disagreeable sensation, as if waking from a spell. Or a dream.

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“I am summoned,” Lavinia said. “The beast is calling.”

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“Scusi?”

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“Duty, Mr. Vanzetti. ‘Duty calls,’ as we say. Mrs. Baker is seeking a conference about the dinner preparations.”

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

The color in her features fluttered, running out its banner, hauling it back down.

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

He became aware of a rumble in the kitchen. A kettle clattered on an iron range. “She has the loud--“

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

He broke off, embarrassed. His teacher had already settled the question of the louder voice.

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“Mr. Vanzetti, I believe it is necessary that we continue this discussion at another time. If you are available, perhaps on another afternoon in a few days. Agreed?”

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

“Si. With the...” Come si dice piacere? “I will be pleased to come,” he amended.

erat, ante. Nulla Proin eros euismod ornare ipsum sed mi eu et sociis amet, convallis eros Etiam in Nulla diam

He told himself he was a serious man who believed in “duty,” a man pursuing his studies as he had every day since coming to the country, a man simply learning by hearing, by imitation, the words of his instructor. But he was not simply learning. Vanzetti was glowing.","page":"064","last":"","id":"946","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ipsum Nulla parturient ipsum est tristique at Sed sit condimentum et pellentesque. et adipiscing Mauris quis eu Etiam sed parturient natoque Ut justo parturient dis nascetur imperdiet blandit ipsum vitae in

CHAPTER 6

EVERYBODY IN TOWN KNEW SHE HAD

SOMETHING TO DO WITH VANZETTI

October, 2000

Merrill Sellers sat in his dusty shop. The piles of clothing re-arranged somewhat, there were more dark-blue knitted hats, and mismatched gloves in evidence.

“I found this in the basement,” Mill said. He pulled from a brown envelope the picture and handed it to Sellers.

The shopkeeper rubbed his whiskers with the flat of his palm as he skeptically examined both the photo and Mill.

“Find anything else?”

“No. Nothing in the basement, and there’s really nowhere else to store anything in the house.”

Sellers seemed disappointed, but not as disappointed as Mill expected, considering his hinting that the Brini house was a goldmine of possibilities. And he made no comment on the picture.

“That’s Lavinia Rossiter,” Mill said. “The Pilgrim Daughters told me.”

Sellers smirked. “Did they?”

“Yes. The volunteer I spoke with said she had some connection to Vanzetti.”

“I could have told you that. You didn’t have to go to the Pilgrim Daughters.”

“What can you tell me about Lavinia Rossiter?”

“Well, my grandad probably knew her, and my dad might have met her when he was a kid.”

Doesn’t tell me much, Mill thought.

The two men looked at one another.

“Look, Mill, everybody in this town knew who Lavinia Rossiter was, and everybody in this part of town probably knew she had something to do with Vanzetti.”

“But what?”

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amet, Fusce vehicula hendrerit. in Quisque sed Proin sit faucibus in Quisque a. erat ipsum adipiscing erat, venenatis magnis quam, vitae ornare tristique augue. nisl. Pellentesque elit at in hendrerit.

“That’s a good question, Mill. I’ve been asking myself that for years.”

“If you have any answers, I’d like to hear them.”

Sellers chuckled to himself, and rubbed his chin with his knuckles. He pointed at one of the females in the photo and asked, “Know who that woman is?”

“Her daughter?”

“The younger daughter, Vivian. And unless I missed her obit, Vivian Devito is still alive. And before you ask,” Sellers added with a knowing look, “I’ve tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. She didn’t like my asking about her mother and Vanzetti one bit. Shut the door right in my face. So, I asked myself, ‘Why so touchy?’”

“You think she has something to hide?” Mill asked. “Maybe it’s simply a painful subject for her.”

“I suspect it’s a painful subject. Why wouldn’t it be? Especially if her mother really cared about the man.”

Well, Mill thought, that was something.

Sellers put down the photo on a flat surface shared by a plastic bag of unsorted clothing.

“You think I sell this stuff?” Sellers asked in response to Mill’s eyeing of the merchandise. “No sir, I buy it, from some family in need of a few bucks, and then figure out how to give it away. Have to wash everything first. Most of the stuff in the store goes to Goodwill, or one of those groups with the big donation boxes in the supermarket parking lots. Not much of a business model, huh?”

Mill did not reply. It was none of his business.

“I put the best stuff out in the store, but the people who buy used clothing can’t afford to pay much.”

Mill nodded his head. The shopkeeper frowned, apparently looking for more of a reaction.

“I take old stuff off people’s hands,” said Sellers. He tapped his temple. ”I keep in my head a list of people who might want some of it. I’ve been delivering clothes to folks for years. Old people, single moms. When the weather changes, just about this time of year, I drive over with a bag full of jackets and sweaters to see if they need anything.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it,” Mill said.

“Look around,” Sellers said, glancing at Court Street. “I don’t mean just here. You have chains, fast food. Corporations own everything. At least I know something about the area and the people who live here. I’m connected, that’s what I’m saying.”","page":"066","last":"","id":"948","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Mauris et mus. ac nisl. malesuada. magnis elit. quam magna in malesuada. amet, adipiscing Proin sit penatibus et Cum amet mi Ut tempor

And I’m not, Mill thought. “I understand,” he said.

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“But you want to hear what else I know about Vanzetti.”

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“Well,” he hedged, hoping to avoid another lecture, “you seem to know a lot about his life. And the case.”

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Sellers picked up and handed the photo to him. “His life was his case, Mill,” he said. “He was convicted, and executed, for being who he was.”

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Thinking he’d been dismissed, Mill turned toward the door. Sellers stopped him.

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“They framed Vanzetti, Mill! Do you know about the Plymouth trial?”

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“Yes. Vanzetti was tried and convicted for allegedly taking part in a failed attempt to rob a payroll car in Bridgewater, before the big trial for the Braintree shoe factory robbery.”

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“A complete fabrication!” Sellers exclaimed.

Mauris et mus. ac nisl. malesuada. magnis elit. quam magna in malesuada. amet, adipiscing Proin sit penatibus et Cum amet mi Ut tempor

“Certainly seems so,” Mill agreed, “if you believe the evidence of the boy who said he was selling eels with Vanzetti that morning.”

Mauris et mus. ac nisl. malesuada. magnis elit. quam magna in malesuada. amet, adipiscing Proin sit penatibus et Cum amet mi Ut tempor

“Why wouldn’t you believe him, Mill? Beltrando Brini lived in the house you’re living in now. And not only he but a dozen customers remembered that Vanzetti sold them eels that day. It was Christmas Eve! Italians celebrated Christmas Eve by serving eels! They wouldn’t get the date wrong.”

Mauris et mus. ac nisl. malesuada. magnis elit. quam magna in malesuada. amet, adipiscing Proin sit penatibus et Cum amet mi Ut tempor

Similarly minded, Mill had read enough about the Sacco-Vanzetti case to have expressed his outrage to Bernie on a near nightly basis. Justice for foreigners in Massachusetts in 1920 seemed to resemble justice for blacks in Mississippi in 1960. It was dispensed on a racial basis, with references to Italians or Poles serving as the pejoratives du jour. If Vanzetti’s Italian neighbors acted as his witnesses, their testimony was discounted because Italians were not be expected to be as truthful as Americans. Immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe belonged to inferior “races” with no experience in self-government, or democratic institutions. Matters were worse, particularly in 1920, in the aftermath of the Russian Revolution, when hysterical fear of “revolutionary subversives” was whipped up by politicians and newspapers in cases where the accused were deemed to have “red” leanings. In fact, as Mill told his wife, keeping her up late to deliver the full classroom-style lecture, it was relatively clear that Sacco and Vanzetti were suspected of the Braintree crime (and Vanzetti of the attempted robbery in Bridgewater), because evidence of guilt was sought and/or coerced to fit the presumption that foreign radicals were dangerous criminals. “They were presumed guilty by the entire ‘justice’ system,” he’d pronounced in conclusion.

Mauris et mus. ac nisl. malesuada. magnis elit. quam magna in malesuada. amet, adipiscing Proin sit penatibus et Cum amet mi Ut tempor

Bernie bore up pretty well under his outrage-tinged exposé of the miscarriage of the century. Mill had a harder time playing the listener’s role as Merrill Sellers donned the expert’s robe to deliver his highly-flavored analysis of the case based on a longer acquaintance with the facts.

Mauris et mus. ac nisl. malesuada. magnis elit. quam magna in malesuada. amet, adipiscing Proin sit penatibus et Cum amet mi Ut tempor

“So,” Mill said, cutting to the chase, “from what you’ve said, the trial of Vanzetti in Plymouth for attempted robbery was a set-up. His conviction was designed to make it easier to convince the jury in the Braintree case that Vanzetti was a gunman.”","page":"067","last":"","id":"949","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“Exactly! They claimed that Vanzetti drove the getaway car. Vanzetti didn’t know how to drive! Vanzetti was the man with the shotgun, they said. No one in Plymouth ever saw him with a gun! No one could imagine him with a gun!”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“But he was carrying one when arrested.”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“Yes, he was. A revolver.” Sellers lowered his voice. “And that came as a shock to the people who knew him. What were they doing that night, he, and Sacco, and the two guys with them? We’ll never know.”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“Because the prosecution wasn’t interested in finding out,” Mill suggested.

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“They suppressed anything that didn’t support their case. They invented a story that the pistol found on Vanzetti was taken from the murder scene; that it was Berardelli’s gun. When the cops found Berardelli’s gun in a pawn shop, that little piece of information was kept to themselves.”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

Mill could read this stuff for himself. He wondered if Sellers, the three-generation townie, knew anything that hadn’t made it into the books.

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“And that’s the way it’s been ever since,” Sellers muttered.

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“What do you mean? What way?”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“Decide who’s guilty -- who you want people to hate. In nineteen-twenty, it was the radicals, anarchists, un-American immigrants. If the evidence isn’t there, make it up. Demonize the people whose ideas you don’t approve of. Put them on a list -- an ‘enemies’ list. Turn critics into traitors.”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“Exactly who are you saying did this stuff, Merrill?”

hendrerit. Proin hendrerit Lorem scelerisque elit. lacus fermentum mus. elit. quam tristique tristique

“Who do you think, Mill? The police arm of the federal government. Whenever there’s been a popular left-wing movement in this country, they’ve suppressed it, smeared it in the press, arrested the leaders, framed people, deported people, jailed them like the Black Panthers, tried them as traitors like the Rosenbergs, got them fired and added to a blacklist in the McCarthy period. The unions, the anarchists, the war protestors. The FBI claimed that Martin Luther King was a communist! Cassius Clay was a draft dodger, therefore un-American. With Sacco and Vanzetti and thousands of other immigrants it was the Red Scare. You know about that, right?”

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Mill nodded vigorously. The wild disorder of the post-World War I period -- round-ups, strikes, terror bombings, vigilantism, anarchists in America! His horrific fascination with accounts of the period made him question his scholarly vocation. Was there a pornography of civil disorder and anarchy? Revolution in the air?

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“During the Red Scare, Sacco and Vanzetti and people like them were blamed for everything that went wrong in the country,” Sellers lectured on. “Then came McCarthy. A communist under every bed. Cold War paranoia. If you’d signed a petition in your youth, or had a Russian name, you were blacklisted, fired from your job. What about the Vietnam protests? They read your mail, tapped your phone. That wasn’t so long ago, Mill.”

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tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

It was to Mill. He was a kid when his mom took him along on marches during the “nuclear freeze” movement.

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“It’s the pattern I’m talking about,” Sellers insisted. “The point is it all started with the Sacco and Vanzetti fiasco. That set the pattern. If need be, they could kill you. They could arrange for a jury of your so-called peers to convict you for being a red anarchist, and send you to the electric chair.”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

They? Mill thought.

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“And the whole machine was the vision of one man -- one sick genius,” Sellers said, as if reading his mind. “A pure product of his time, the king of reaction.”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“One man? Who?”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“C’mon, Mill. Hoover!”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“He goes back that far?”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up. “In August of nineteen-nineteen, J. Edgar Hoover became the head of the Justice Department’s newly created Radical Division. So, Hoover takes over in nineteen-nineteen, and Sacco and Vanzetti are arrested in nineteen-twenty.”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“That doesn’t prove a connection,” said Mill.

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

Sellers waved away the comment. “There’s always more to the story than what’s found on the record. I think Hoover was here before then. I’m sure of it.”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“Here? You mean in Plymouth?”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

Sellers shrugged, suddenly coy. “Something to think about, isn’t it? After all, Galleani came here for the strike. Know who he was?”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“Of course,” Mill said.

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

“Done your reading then, good. So listen, think about what I’ve said. And while you’re thinking about Hoover hunting down anarchists in places like the Plymouth Cordage, and the government enacting laws banning ‘subversive speech,’ and the indiscriminate rounding up of foreigners, you may want to think about something else as well.”

tristique Proin justo elit. quam quam, amet adipiscing eu sagittis vestibulum adipiscing venenatis Lorem in dolor Proin amet, dolor Proin in dui.

Sellers paused for effect, uttered what sounded to Mill like a poorly suppressed snicker of superior knowledge, and said, “Who killed Plymouth cop Willy Carroll? And why?”

***

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The class was over. It had not gone as well as hoped, but they rarely did. Shoving papers into his briefcase -- handouts, student papers, extra copies of the reading list,

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always too many papers -- focused on his own interests, on the implied meaning behind the statement that “everybody knew” about Vanzetti and Lavinia Rossiter, he looked up to see the slender, dark-haired boy standing at the back of the room, the kid who always sat in the back and said nothing.

magnis sit sociis magnis justo ac euismod eros blandit vehicula penatibus Pellentesque sit sit in ipsum at parturient et sed justo in gravida amet, lobortis nec adipiscing euismod magnis

“Can I help—“

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The boy turned and fled like a frightened deer. Mill was astonished by how quickly he moved. He made a mental note to seek him out at the next class.

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Finished for the day, finished packing papers, Mill walked from the classroom, down the hallway to the door, and out to cross the compact campus to the building that housed his office. He checked his mailbox (nothing of importance), walked to his office to dump on his desk the papers in his briefcase he didn’t need to take home, and as quickly as decently possible, snuck out of the building without speaking to a soul.

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Home, he dropped the old briefcase on the dining room table, and made a short mental list of errands (more paint; bananas). After deciding the errands could be put off without serious consequences, he left the house to drive to the woodsy park he’d recently discovered, the surrounds of open space one of the upsides of living far from the city. Then again, Morton Park consisted primarily of trees, and trees, he had to admit, could hardly be considered “open space.”

magnis sit sociis magnis justo ac euismod eros blandit vehicula penatibus Pellentesque sit sit in ipsum at parturient et sed justo in gravida amet, lobortis nec adipiscing euismod magnis

Out of his car and on a familiar footpath in the picturesque park, he thought of things other than trees, errands, and the black-haired kid running away at the sight of him. He thought about the Italian immigrant, and the Mayflower suffragist, and everything said by the paranoid shopkeeper, the town’s “Saint Francis of Used Haberdashery,” an obnoxious know-it-all with an exalted self-importance, and a musty old store with few actual customers. That scraggly, crumb-catcher beard! The smell! What was in that bag?

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Branches crunching. Heavy steps. What the…? Something coming?

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“Hey watch it!” Mill yelled.

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He put a hand in front of his face and slid to one side of the path. The human freight train rounding the bend leaned to the other side and hip-checked him off the trail.

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Mill stumbled, slipped on a tree root, and caught himself.

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He looked back at the cause of the upset, a man in a large blue hoodie, still jogging and hogging the path, breathing loudly, unimpressed by, or deliberately ignoring the fact that the partial collision had nearly sent another man sprawling. The guy was what, twice his size?

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Mill leveled his glasses over his nose.

magnis sit sociis magnis justo ac euismod eros blandit vehicula penatibus Pellentesque sit sit in ipsum at parturient et sed justo in gravida amet, lobortis nec adipiscing euismod magnis

“Hey!” he called. “Don’t stop! I’m fine, by the way!”

magnis sit sociis magnis justo ac euismod eros blandit vehicula penatibus Pellentesque sit sit in ipsum at parturient et sed justo in gravida amet, lobortis nec adipiscing euismod magnis

The stranger did stop, or slowed, rounded halfway, and twisted his thick neck to look back at Mill.

magnis sit sociis magnis justo ac euismod eros blandit vehicula penatibus Pellentesque sit sit in ipsum at parturient et sed justo in gravida amet, lobortis nec adipiscing euismod magnis

“Didn’t expect to see you there!” he shouted. “Where’d you come from anyway?”

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Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

Mill shook his head, outraged at being practically mowed down by a combination of idiotic carelessness and bulk.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“Where’d I come from? The path! The pedestrian footpath! I’m a pedestrian! The path is for walking!”

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Are you hurt or something?”

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

Mill couldn’t tell if the wide-bodied stranger was being sarcastic, or simply blundering through another of life’s social graces.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“No, I’m fine. Forget about it.”

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

The man walked back toward him. Mill watched his chest move. The human locomotive had worked up some steam.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

”I really didn’t see you coming,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone else on this trail. But you’re right, I need to watch where I’m going.”

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

On his way, Mill didn’t reply.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“You’re okay, then?” the man asked, trotting to catch up.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

Mill turned to look at him. “I’m fine. Knocked the wind out of me a little. Nothing to make a big deal out of. It was kind of a shock, that’s all. I could have been paying more attention to where I was going, too.”

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

The two men appraised each other in the fading light. Each made a preparatory shift of weight, but neither took the first step away.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“So you were lost in thought,” the big man said.

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“You could say that.”

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

“Me too. Anyway, look, I feel bad about this. Maybe we could grab a beer or something. On me. Okay?”

***

Nulla malesuada. sociis odio Mauris mus. et malesuada. sit Fusce quam, lacus vehicula hendrerit eros at Pellentesque nascetur egestas.

Two wary characters in a bar, but not doing badly. They sat in the low-overhead, cave-like, below-the-sidewalks establishment on Main Street, the Beer Club for Men, suggested by Maurice Jeter, the large-framed, fortyish man out for “a fat guy’s jog” when he literally ran into Mill Becker. He'd led the way to a table by the street-side window

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that admitted just enough light into the shadowy interior so your hand could be seen when reaching for your beer.

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Low on decor, but the beer’s reasonably cheap,” Jeter said.

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“It’s fine,” Mill said, thinking, better than inside Sellers Used Clothes.

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“So, you said on the way over here that you’re digging into the past. You a reporter or something?”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“No. History teacher. Sea Island State. How about you?”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Reporter.” Jeter smiled. “Don’t worry, though. Our conversation is strictly off the record.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“You’re kidding, right?”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Yes and no. I have to tell people that or nobody will talk to me.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Seriously?”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Mostly. Typical New Englanders. Pretty reserved.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“True.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“So anyway, back to my original question, what’s this big mystery you’re working on?” Jeter swallowed a swig of beer and added, “Or can’t you tell me?”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Yeah, no, sure, I mean, I wouldn’t want to bore you, but if you really want to hear about this stuff...”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Absolutely. Reporters are good listeners. It’s what I do.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

Mill launched into an account of Sellers’ conspiracy theories about Sacco and Vanzetti. He concluded by saying, “He thinks there’s some kind of document, a letter or something that could provide new evidence in the case.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

The reporter arched an eyebrow. He had a squarish, fleshy face, dark-framed eyeglasses, and a trace in his eyes of near-sighted intensity from squinting at life.

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Sellers also thinks… Have you ever heard of Lavinia Rossiter?”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

Jeter shook his head no.

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“She was supposedly involved with Vanzetti.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

Mill lifted his glass of beer, caught sight of his watch, and muttered, “Wow, it’s getting late.”

quis erat, Etiam quis Cum augue. dui. parturient nec Pellentesque odio adipiscing imperdiet Mauris quis sed quam, condimentum blandit Proin Cum

“Have to be somewhere?”

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dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

From the way he’d asked, Jeter sounded like he didn’t have to be somewhere. Perhaps, Mill thought, because he was already there.

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“Have to meet my wife.”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“Oh.”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

Now he sounded disappointed. Mill felt a twinge of guilt.

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve been doing all the talking and haven’t even asked what you were thinking about back there at the park.”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“A mystery. A murder. In the streets of old Plymouth. A very cold case.”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“Yeah?”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“Short version, because you have to go,” Jeter said. “There was this cop. Died on the job, nobody knew how. Tripped on a dark stairway on a cold winter night. Maybe. Irish cop named Willy Carroll.”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

Mill stared.

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“What?”

dui. enim gravida Lorem elit. amet, nascetur Proin Nulla a. eros sodales elit dolor fermentum elit. nascetur justo a. quis

“Jesus. I just heard that name.”

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natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

CHAPTER 7

A DEATH ON THE HOMEFRONT

1942, Plymouth Center

natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

Willy Carroll hunched his bony shoulders against the cold and weighed his chances of getting into the war. Too young for the other one, too old for this one, he figured his chances were slim to none. Not that being a cop didn’t provide an opportunity for hostilities, though Willy had been luckier than some. He vividly remembered the night his old man, a Plymouth policeman in rougher times, had come home with a blood-soaked rag around his head after a set-to with the crowd his Da called “the dirty reds” on the picket line of the Plymouth Cordage factory strike.

natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

Nothing like that now, Willy thought. These days it was petty thievery by poor desperate characters (you could hardly blame them), vagrancy (less since the war began -- odd how the war gave people hope), and occasional collars for disturbing the peace. Back then, aroused by foreign troublemakers, whole troops of thick-handed, mostly foreign laborers determined to take the law in their own hands were held at bay by a thin line of men in blue. The sight of his father bleeding from the head, his vow that he wouldn’t let them get away with hitting his Da, inspired Willy to be a policeman. A copper. Until he could be a soldier.

natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

Patrolman Carroll shook his head at the memory. Queer the stuff that stays in a man’s head, he thought, pivoting away from the wind. It had been bleedin’ cold too that night when Willy, still a youngster, begged to accompany his Da on a special duty shift guarding the factory, and not so much the rope factory as a special train camped for the night on the tracks of the Plymouth Cordage Company’s spur line. Anxious to learn what it was like to be a real copper and wear the uniform of the town of Plymouth, Willy had huddled in the shadows of Building No. 2. While orders were loudly whispered to his father that only a man named Conley should be allowed onto that train, Willy privately swore that if the dirty reds bothered his Da again, he would pull from his belt the stick with a sharpened tip to defend his father. Unhappily, however, Willy chose a bitter cold night to find out what his real copper of a father did on the job, which was to stand and wait, and to shift his weight from leg to leg as he turned his back to the wind.

natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

Turning his to a sharp breeze blowing up from the harbor, Willy put behind him the brick block of townhouses at the corner of Samoset, and in the fading light, regretted his decision to walk the beat that night without his long johns. Confronted on Court Street by the sight and sound of a man running toward him and shouting his name, he squinted until sure it was Eddie Baker, a bartender at the Court Street Café. Carroll sighed, preparing himself for the sort of trouble the Eddie Bakers of the world customarily laid at his feet. The proverbial “unwanted guest,” as the police blotter put the matter. Well, a look-in at the café would get him out of the cold for a bit.

natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

But the squat bartender’s news was different this time.

natoque Sed Lorem condimentum tempor gravida sit amet ante. natoque vitae malesuada.

“It’s Ma!” Eddie blurted. “Over to High Street!” Breathless from his short run, he frantically pointed down the street, as if the policeman, a lifelong resident, required directions to Ma’s.

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nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

Carroll nodded impatiently. “Yah, Eddie. I know where yer ma lives. So what’s all the t’ do?”

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

“Someone’s prowlin’ ‘round ‘dere, Willy. It’s happened before. Noises on the landin’,” Eddie wheezed. “She’s scared outta her wits, Ma is. Ya gotta do sumthin’, Willy.”

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

Scared he could believe, though experience told Willy that whatever stirred up an old lady’s fears would vanish like a phantom by the time he got there. Still, he also knew from experience that when it came to the poor old mothers of Plymouth, he was in the reassurance business. He did not disdain, nor look down on his occupation as a protector, a defender of the weak. It was not the stuff of his youthful fantasies, his visions of charging up a hilltop in the face of enemy fire while proudly wearing the uniform of his country. No, but at least he was clad in some sort of uniform, and at moments like these felt needed.

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

“All right, Eddie,” he said, with an answering nod. “Ring yer Ma back up and tell her next time she hears someone on the landing, it’ll be her favorite copper.”

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

The stubby bartender muttered his thanks and, hoping no one had taken his absence as liberty for a complimentary refill, turned back with an anxious hop in the direction of his café.

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

Willy, who at times missed his long-departed mother, was aware of how deeply family feeling ran in the likes of a simple fellow like Eddie Baker. Oh, he knew a lot about family feeling, how far it sometimes extended, and at other times fell short. His wife’s family had been less, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but less generous than a man might have expected to her and to their boys. In particular, there was the matter of a certain letter belonging to Marguerite (a rare and valuable curiosity, so he’d been told), that was sitting in the high and mighty office of her wealthy Uncle Charles, and not doing anybody a bit of good, as far as he could see. Still, Willy had been a policeman too long not to have observed what covetousness did to a man. Best not to dwell on it, he told himself.

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

Ma Baker lived too far away to allow the patrolman to proceed to her lodging with his customary insouciance (one of the profession’s few perks), given even the slightest possibility that mischief was afoot. Chances were Eddie Baker’s sweet but dim old mother heard the winds of war blowing too close to home, or the neighbor’s cat chasing a rat. But the patrolman could not risk sauntering at his preferred deliberate pace to the site of a reported crime in progress. With his luck, the one time he treated an old lady’s alarm as the product of mere soft-headed delusion he would end up with half the neighborhood standing over a body. Even if the victim was only suffering from faint, how would it look for him to stroll onto the scene? Willy Carroll was no shirker. He had started out in life with a genuine belief in duty, and though mere habit and a gnawing sense of failure put the fear of God into him now, he believed a less devoted, more nonchalant copper would rather sit on his duff and paw at a tack in his shoe than hastily react when routine obligation called.

nibh in sed dolor mi amet, quam, sed blandit tincidunt venenatis tempor scelerisque scelerisque sociis sit in ridiculus nec egestas. natoque a. sagittis

Pulling in his stomach, the patrolman double-timed down Court Street, past the closed courthouse and the stylish Empire building, a three-level department store that sold toys for the kiddies and hose for their mothers. A twenty-one year veteran of the police force, Willy remained convinced that there wasn’t an officer in a prowl car who could

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reach the scene of trouble any faster than he on his God-given flat feet. He sucked wind, looked both ways, and threw himself across the street. He heard a shout as he huffed up town square under the glow of the locally powered streetlights, but waved it off, unable to tell if the cry was a query, a catcall, or an offer of help. He did not have time for kindly offers, friendly discussion, irrelevant gripes, or official dignity. The light was fading, the old town becoming grayer in the December dusk, the lights of commerce seemingly conceding to the cheerless perspective on human destiny emanating from the looming expanse of Burial Hill. Panting, unwilling to admit that the slow but steady expansion of his girth was taking a toll on his mobility, Officer Carroll turned up High Street into the old neighborhood’s declining jumble of shabby buildings, narrow alleys, and tiny plots of frozen earth glazed with cinders. The whole end of town needed to be torn down and rebuilt, he thought, and perhaps would be once but no longer home to straitened old widow ladies like Rosemarie Baker, Eddie’s frail, high-strung, rabbit-eared Ma.

et sodales ut sit erat consectetur vestibulum sodales diam in imperdiet nulla. Proin erat, amet, ipsum Quisque quis hendrerit. consectetur magna nisl. tristique

He was gasping for breath and holding up a corner lamppost when the sound of footsteps roused his copper instincts -- the unmistakable tattoo of fast-moving feet landing on pavement. He had one block to go to Ma Baker’s, but it was an uphill climb. Carroll swore under his breath. Ma Baker and her ancient old lady neighbors did not run. No one who belonged in the High Street warren at this hour had a reason to be running. He could shrug off the noise as kid stuff, some brat knocking over cans and spilling coal dust, but an old lady had called her son to allege that some up-to-no-gooder was in her building, on the landing, scaring the wits out of poor old widders! And here was undeniable evidence that some unknown party was leaving the area in a considerable hurry.

et sodales ut sit erat consectetur vestibulum sodales diam in imperdiet nulla. Proin erat, amet, ipsum Quisque quis hendrerit. consectetur magna nisl. tristique

The patrolman peered into the gloom at a muted glow coming from the second floor of Ma Baker’s building. Girding for the chase, Willy figured if some dead-end kid was hell-catting from a back alley behind High Street, he was almost certain to pop out a few short blocks away on Church Street. He shoved off from the lamppost and jogged at a slower pace than the unidentified feet running to shadowy Church Street, the old cemetery on Willy’s left and a maze of twisted alleys, steep stairways, and dark potential hiding places for a fugitive on his right. Sure enough (copper’s instinct), a male, juvenile probably, ran out from the far side of the tall stone church, too far away for the policeman to do anything but shout. The fleeing kid ignored his barked command to stop, surprised him by not turning to look back (snotty punk), raced across darkened Church Street, and disappeared into an alley.

et sodales ut sit erat consectetur vestibulum sodales diam in imperdiet nulla. Proin erat, amet, ipsum Quisque quis hendrerit. consectetur magna nisl. tristique

“A kid all right,” Willy muttered. “Skinny legs. Runs like the wind.”

et sodales ut sit erat consectetur vestibulum sodales diam in imperdiet nulla. Proin erat, amet, ipsum Quisque quis hendrerit. consectetur magna nisl. tristique

He made a mental note of where the kid disappeared, and hoped that next time the little bastard went looking for trouble after dark, he’d pick some place besides Ma Baker’s street. And if his blue-coated presence scared a troublemaker from the neighborhood and discouraged his return, that, he decided, would be sufficient reward for his efforts.

et sodales ut sit erat consectetur vestibulum sodales diam in imperdiet nulla. Proin erat, amet, ipsum Quisque quis hendrerit. consectetur magna nisl. tristique

With no real hope of capture, so jogging after the hell-raiser only to be sure he’d gone, Willy stopped at the mouth of the alley to listen, and no longer heard footsteps. The fugitive was either out of earshot, or, his patrolman’s mind warned, had stopped to hide somewhere in the alley’s shadows, a concern Carroll disregarded -- a scallywagging kid was an unlikely threat to a man in blue.

et sodales ut sit erat consectetur vestibulum sodales diam in imperdiet nulla. Proin erat, amet, ipsum Quisque quis hendrerit. consectetur magna nisl. tristique

He gripped his truncheon and stared into the darkness behind Church Street; the alleyway a muddle of backdoor delivery entrances, parking platforms, storehouses, sagging fences, and a few winding stairwells that descended to the lower grade of Main Street. He

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listened. Not a sound. The wind dropped a note as the night took root. He stepped on a wooden footbridge. He knew this place. A dozen steps down to where the old walkway leveled out, then on to a mostly solid stairway that led to street level. The ancient, back alley footbridge passed between storage shacks, backrooms, and homely rear additions, roof lines rising as the walkway declined. At ground level, the alley eventually emptied onto a well-lighted stretch of Main Street between a bank and a furniture store, both housed in brick, three-story buildings with apartments on the third floors.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

The patrolman again stopped to listen. The prowler, or prankster, the kid, in any event, had neatly vanished, though Carroll had yet to poke around in the shadowy places below the walkway, just to be sure.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

He saw a light, dull behind a shop storeroom’s narrow ventilator window of filthy opaque glass. Saturday night, he thought. Someone working late. Or left it on by mistake.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

Willy recognized the room, its heavy old door the back way in to Russell’s Furniture. He would check to make sure the door was locked. Just do a copper’s duty. He would then shrug his shoulders, casually stroll out of the alley onto Main Street, and greet the eyes of those witnessing his emergence with the routine assurance of a man in blue.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

Just seeing that the doors are locked, he rehearsed, everything secure.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

The whippersnapper, he thought, those fleet, youthful legs had made a neat disappearance. Vanished like smoke in the gloom. And that light? Not like old Simon Russell to leave a light on all weekend.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

A nagging whisper of uncertainty.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

Exhaling, officer Carroll stepped down. The unseen chord tautened, snagging the ankle of a flat foot. The husky policeman tumbled headfirst down a dozen steps into the concrete shadows of the alley floor. A shout of fear and anger formed and died in his throat.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

The storeroom door slowly opened. A figure, broad-shouldered, dark hat and long coat, emerged from the lit backroom, crossed to kneel in the alley and inspect the body of the motionless policeman, feeling for a pulse.

erat eu Fusce sed nascetur eros quam Etiam hendrerit. nisi Proin ridiculus enim dolor sit ut tempor lobortis Mauris Ut Proin eu imperdiet Pellentesque elit. augue. convallis enim imperdiet

Satisfied, the overcoated figure stood, stepped over the body, straightened his hat, and unhurriedly climbed the stairs to the footbridge. Feet clad in sturdy leather, legs thick, the assailant’s heavy tread gradually silenced in the choking dark.","page":"077","last":"","id":"959","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

amet a. eu egestas. quis amet venenatis nascetur quis Etiam lobortis elit venenatis Lorem venenatis Pellentesque erat ipsum lacus penatibus ac pellentesque. Ut tristique Cum eu ac magna ipsum blandit gravida

CHAPTER 8

THERE’S POOR OLD UNCLE WILLY, STUCK FOREVER

IN HIS DEATH ATTITUDE, LYING IN THAT ALLEY

2000, Plymouth

The Willy Carroll story was not what Maurice Jeter had been after when he dropped in at Ginny’s, a local restaurant and watering hole, to check out a tip from a town official that smoke could be smelled in the supposedly “smoke-free” dining room. Running down the smoking story at Ginny’s, he ran into Mindy, a charming former colleague who knew the ways of reporters and also happened to know the restaurant owner. She suggested that if he wanted to talk with Vera Blaine, he ask about her favorite charity. “I know how much you love fundraisers,” Mindy said, tongue-in-cheek.

Jeter’s brain floated into neutral whenever such ideas were broached. But Mindy’s suggested approach worked, landing him an invitation to Vera Blaine’s home.

There was something funny about the house, an oversized waste of energy in a high-end development in South Plymouth, the new frontier for large-lot, single-family housing. The newly and expensively furnished, air-freshener-scented, barely lived-in living room in which she seated him didn’t look like a principal’s office, but felt that way to him, and he like an oversized middle-schooler awaiting reprimand for acting up in class. A carefully put together woman of a certain age, the faintly frosted blonde nimbus of her hair perfectly, untouchably arranged, too made-up for a visitor on a business call, Vera wore about her neck a silk scarf meant to conceal something. Jeter wondered if she’d just been in the hospital.

Nodding politely, large and out of place, as soon as she finished trying to offer him things, he came straight to business.

“Ginny’s--” he began.

“I can’t speak about the restaurant,” she interrupted, “not for publication. I’m sure you understand why, Mr. Jeter. It’s our business. Ginny’s is family owned and run.”

The rejection was voiced without passion or resentment, he thought, and that “it’s our business” could be interpreted more than one way. In truth, though, it was her business, and if she didn’t choose to talk about it, he had no basis to press his questions concerning the restaurant’s smoking policy.

He murmured his understanding and waited. After all, she had agreed to see him. There had to be a reason.

Fingering the scarf, breaking the brief silence with another offer of tea or coffee, she then said, “I did want to speak to you about an entirely different matter, Mr. Jeter.”

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mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

He hoped it wasn’t an illness. A cause. He knew from experience, from listening to people who wanted to see something in print that nine times out of ten the resulting story would not convince his editors that he was the deft, nose-to-the-ground newshound they’d somehow been persuaded to believe he was. On the other hand, in this business, a good reporter was always prepared to listen, which was why he’d brought along his notebook and a tape recorder.

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

“I have something for you,” she said, handing him a folder she’d taken from the coffee table.

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

Inside, old newspaper clippings recounted the death of a police officer named Willy Carroll. Jeter skimmed them just long enough to learn the principal facts before looking at his hostess with what could only be described as a politely unenthusiastic expression.

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

“I promised my father I would do something about Uncle Willy,” Vera Blaine said. “Nobody was ever…satisfied…with the explanation for his death.”

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

Jeter jotted a note in his hand-sized notebook. He looked up to see her slightly puffy eyes studying him. Apparently it was his turn to speak.

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

“Why was that?” he asked.

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

“Uncle Willy was a cautious man. He wouldn’t have patrolled a dark alley without a reason. And if he had a good reason, if he was investigating something, he would have been extra careful. He’d been a patrolman for a long time. He knew those places, the stores’ rear entrances and the dark alleys, like the back of his hand.”

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

“Sounds like you knew him pretty well.”

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

Vera eyed him in the coy and defensive way of an older woman about to delicately allude to the indelicate question of age. “I never knew my Uncle Willy,” she said. “This was my father’s request, his last wish, you might say: ‘Do something about Uncle Willy, Vera.’”

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

So now, Jeter thought, Dad’s last assignment was being passed on to him. He doubted Willy Carroll would turn into much of story for his magazine, Tide Lines, and while Vera Blaine might, her story was as yet unknown.

***

mus. diam quis mauris Lorem magna condimentum quis natoque elit. dolor amet,

Jeter took the old clippings with him to the expensive new library in the town where he’d lived longer than he cared to think, where he’d once worked for Coastal Press, and rubbed shoulders with Mindy Phipps -- unfortunately that was all. Fact was, he had a thing for Mindy. Fact was, it didn’t go anywhere. But after chatting at the restaurant, Mindy paved the way for his meeting with Vera Blaine -- an unexpected connection, but he’d leaped before he'd looked. After Vera doused his smoking story he couldn’t see the point in following up on it with her husband, who’d probably tell him to stuff it, or something along those lines. Given that and the fact that local public figures had done nothing illegal, scandalous, or even stupid of late, he had more time than he’d have liked to look into the sad story of Willy Carroll’s demise.

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He admittedly enjoyed visiting the library’s reference desk. One of the perks of small town life was his being on a first name basis with the town’s crackerjack reference librarian, Pam Lawson, who knew what was in the library’s reference materials, and much that was not. Bright, cheerful, and occasionally hectoring, like an early bird seeking like-minded company, her voice drew him to the short line at her desk, and away from the technological option of finding the old newspapers on microfilm. When his turn came, he handed her Vera Blaine’s folder and said, “Willy Carroll.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

Pam, a petite woman in her thirties, neatly dressed and safely married, repeated the name, turned away to think, and apparently stumped, turned back to say, “Well, it’s definitely a familiar name.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

He nodded at the folder.

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

She shook her head no. “Don’t tell me. I’ll think of it in a minute. Carroll. Willy Carroll…” Studying the floor, when it came to her she said, “Of course! Officer William Carroll, the policeman who died on duty.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“He was murdered,” Jeter amended and, extracting a clipping from the file, added, “according to this.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“There was some story to that effect,” Pam agreed, ignoring the clipping.

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“Yes,” he said, ”a newspaper story. I’m holding it.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“Oh that,” she said, glancing at the clipping. “You won’t find the real story in the local paper.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“Why not? Didn’t they print real stories?”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“Not if they could help it. Not back then, anyway. That was what -- nineteen-forty-four?”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“Forty-two.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“A war year. Back then, only the ‘right’ stories appeared in print. Stories about how things should be, according to the best people, the people who ran things in Plymouth, an old Yankee town.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“But North Plymouth was filled with immigrants, the people of many vowels. What about them?”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“The local paper was for ‘us,’ not ‘them,’ the ‘us’ people like Willy Carroll, a member of the town police force like his father before him, if I remember correctly. And if truly one of us, you’d never have unpleasant stories printed about you in the town newspaper.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“So where’s the real story about the death of Willy Carroll?” he asked, alert now.

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

“Sorry,” she replied brightly. “Long before my time. You’ll have to ask someone older.”

pellentesque. convallis erat ac scelerisque sed ac ipsum tristique condimentum quis

That again? Jeter quickly did the math. “Someone old enough, I take it, to be privy to adult gossip in nineteen forty-two. A lot older, say, than Vera Blaine?”

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scelerisque sagittis faucibus consectetur vestibulum odio lacus fermentum malesuada. quis pellentesque. Cum Sed augue. hendrerit ante. diam at ante. mus. at quam, ipsum adipiscing nisi nulla. augue. nascetur

He did not bother to explain who Vera Blaine was to Pam, a townie with a soft spot for “Seaside,” as the locals called North Plymouth, who would recognize the name.

“Vera Blaine?” she mused aloud. “Yes, I believe there’s a connection between her and Willy Carroll.”

“Willy Carroll was her uncle,” Jeter said, beating the librarian to the punch for once. “She wants to know who killed him.”

Pam leaned toward him. “She and you may come up empty-handed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Officer Carroll was found on the ground at the base of a stairway. He had a large bump on his head. There were differing opinions as to why police suspected foul play. Some people said because police were told that he was seen hurrying down Main Street that night. Others thought the police reached that conclusion to satisfy an insurance claim and secure more money for his family. You know those dark old stairwells behind Main Street, right? Maybe he simply fell down the stairs.”

“So there was no evidence of murder? Or any idea who would want him dead? That sort of thing?”

She shook her head no. “Plymouth was a small town back then. If someone killed a police officer, his murderer did a remarkable job of keeping it a secret.”

Jeter had to agree. With a glance at the new arrivals that had gravitated to the desk, thinking, so many questions, only one Pamela Lawson, he asked, “Any advice on a local I should talk to?”

Pam briefly looked away then back. “Mrs. Vivian Devito.”

***

What he wanted, he explained to the face in the doorway, was to talk to her about something that had happened long ago.

Well up in her eighties, gray-haired, symmetrical wrinkles bisecting the cheek bones of her thin face, startled eyes wide, as if to bring into focus the meaning of this large man at her door, Vivian Devito had probably forgotten he was coming, but didn’t want to show it.

“Maurice Jeter,” he said. “We spoke the other day.”

“I know who you are,” Vivian claimed, not yet yielding sufficient ground to allow him into her home. “Some historical matter you said.”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“So now I’m ancient history.”

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Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“I wouldn’t say ‘ancient,’” he offered lightly.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

Vivian laughed a dry, old lady snicker. “We’ll see about that.”

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

She slowly stepped back and turned to lead the way into the house. Jeter followed her through the hall to the parlor, a somber room of dark colors and heavy furniture, with framed old photos on thin-legged end tables, and a dark-wood record player on an antique sideboard. He looked for something to comment on before sitting on the prim Victorian-era settee, and chose the black and white photo of a young man in uniform.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“Your son?” he asked.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“Yes. My second son, Ben. He died in Korea.”

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

Off to a great start, Jeter murmured something involving the word sorry.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“The first one, Frank Junior,” Vivian said, pointing at the other picture. “Lives in California.”

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“Ah,” he said, unsure as to whether to be sorry about that, too.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“Have you been to California, Mr. Jeter?” Vivian asked.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“I’ve had that pleasure.”

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

She laughed her dry cackle. “That’s one word for it, I guess. I just call it ‘far.’"

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

So, a sharp old lady. He worried at first about stepping the wrong way with her, as he did whenever he had an interview with someone he needed to coax into the way-back machine. Who knew where the mines were buried? But now it occurred to him that with Vivian Devito, all his steps would be wrong, or potentially wrong, so he might as well blunder along any which way and hope for the best.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“I suppose you want to know what I remember about Vanzetti,” Vivian said.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“Vanzetti?”

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

She’d surprised him by speaking first, then by the topic. It was his job to know things about the people he interviewed, to go in prepared, to anticipate an interviewee’s sidetracks and false trails, and to nudge them back onto the path that he, or his employer, wanted them to travel. Clearly, however, he knew nothing about Vivian Devito, except that she was in her ninth decade, hardly left her house, according to the town’s elder services department, and was believed to have a good memory.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

She eyed him with a mixed expression of mild distrust and humor, as if prepared to be amused by their conversation if her guest didn’t prove to be a complete idiot.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

Jeter unclenched his jaw, chuckled at himself, and shook his head at her.

Mauris hendrerit. Quisque a. ac justo vitae ipsum in ac sit fermentum nisl. nibh erat imperdiet enim quam,

“To tell you the truth, Mrs. Devito, I can’t say that I did. Though maybe I should.”

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Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“I see.”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“Actually, I came to ask about an entirely different subject, a police officer named William Carroll. He was your brother-in-law, I believe.”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

It was her turn to be surprised. She couldn’t hide it. And she did not look pleased. The reporter watched her eyes. Her mouth remained polite and unrevealing, and her hearing seemed good enough, but her eyes, a time-washed brown, smoldered with certain fierceness.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“Willy Carroll is not an attractive subject,” she said tersely.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

Her hands clutched the arms of the upholstered easy chair, in which, Jeter suspected, she now spent a good deal of her waking hours. He noticed a cane, arranged for easy reach a few feet away, leaning against the keyboard of the piano.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“Will you excuse me for a few moments, Mr. Jeter?” she asked as she stood. “I want to put the kettle on. It appears you will be staying for tea.”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

Her making tea was an excuse to get away from him for a minute or two to arrange her thoughts, to get her story straight, a remarkably accurate phrase, he thought, for a curious act of human behavior; every last dog among us chasing his tale. He often marveled at the willingness of people to continue talking to a reporter, whose job was to publicize secrets, once the conversation entered painful territory. They didn’t owe him anything. He had no legal or moral right to their stories. Perhaps people believed they owed someone an honest accounting. Perhaps that was his role, he was the public’s someone. A remarkably high percentage of sources answered his questions, even the hardest, that were typically some form of ”what were you thinking when?”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

He wondered how many such questions Vivian would answer.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“I can’t say I ever liked the man much,” she said when she reappeared, carrying the tea tray with her cane looped over her forearm.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

When he rushed to help her, Vivian shooed him off in a slightly raised voice. “I do manage on my own, Mr. Jeter,” she observed, safely landing the tray on a low, rock-solid table between their seats.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“So I see.”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

Order restored, tea poured, Vivian held the porcelain cup for the comfort of something familiar in her hand as she responded to the request for information about the policeman who died long ago.

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“Uncle Willy,” she said. “It’s odd, isn’t it, that no matter how many years pass, some people remain stuck in time? He’s been gone for ages, but he’s still Uncle Willy to me. It’s as if he was stuck in cement, or tar. Like those poor old beasts stuck in those pits -- where are they?”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“LeBrea,” Jeter suggested, charmed by the notion. “LeBrea tar pits.”

Proin tempor sit blandit ipsum consectetur nisl. tempor ac imperdiet justo montes, sed consectetur ut eros amet vehicula amet Proin tristique

“Yes, that’s the place. So there’s poor old Uncle Willy stuck forever in his death attitude, conked on the head, and lying in that alley. Well, he was a giant sloth sort of a man.”

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She shook her head, sharply, as if reminding herself to mind her company manners.

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“You must think me terribly callous, Mr. Jeter,” she said.

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“Not at all.” What he thought was that she was about to add significantly to the little he’d learned about the man from the old newspaper clippings.

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“It is his death you’ve come to ask about, Mr. Jeter, isn’t it? It must be. That’s the only thing people talk about when it comes to William Carroll.”

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“Yes,” Jeter said. “I have to confess that I know very little about him beyond his death. I was hoping you could fill in some of the empty space.”

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“You’re a newsman,” she said.

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The old-fashioned term pleased him. He bit off his smile, savoring the quaintness.

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“Yes, I write for Tide Lines, a fairly new magazine.”

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“A newsman who wants to know about William Carroll, after so many years.”

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“Yes, well, he died under suspicious circumstances,” Jeter said, offering a conventional excuse that she wasn’t buying, judging from her frown. “The police said he was pursuing someone. They suspected foul play. Unfortunately, there was no clear evidence to explain what he was doing in that alley.”

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“As I remember the story, a man who worked in a bar said he’d asked Willy to check on his poor old mother who lived on High Street. Do you know where that is, Mr. Jeter?”

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“Not really.”

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“That’s probably because it’s no longer there. Those old houses were torn down years ago.” She shook her head at the thought then said, “At any rate, the bartender’s story led people to the conclusion that he was chasing a prowler; presumably someone bothering that poor old woman.”

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“Interesting theory, but as I understand it, no prowler was ever found,” Jeter said. “I’d think that in a small town, like Plymouth was at the time, the true story would have been difficult to hide.”

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“Would you, Mr. Jeter?” Vivian countered sharply, the glint in her eyes more of a twinkle. “Do you really think that all of the secrets of a small town are brought to light?”

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He grimaced apologetically, accepting the rebuke. “Perhaps not.”

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“So, no, as far as I am aware, there are no secrets, nor do I have a personal theory about Willy Carroll’s death, if that’s what you were hoping. I know nothing more about it than anyone else. He might have fallen. Accidents do happen, Mr. Jeter. There isn’t always a hidden explanation.”","page":"084","last":"","id":"966","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

He sighed, accepting the reasonableness of an old woman who’d indulged and answered his questions, served him tea, and, for the most part, kept her temper. She’d made him feel a bit of a fool, and rightfully so. Compared to a woman who’d lived it, what did he know about life in Plymouth in 1942?

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps you could give me an idea of the kind of person Willy Carroll was.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

Vivian frowned. The subject had become tedious.

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“He was a perfectly ordinary person, Mr. Jeter. He was tall and wide, that’s how I remember him, and had a funny way of walking. ‘Flatfoot’ they were called, the officers on the beat. He wasn’t much for talking about himself. Men didn’t back then.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

Feigning interest in his cup of cold tea, Jeter waited for Mrs. Devito to say more.

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“I do remember that he had a policeman’s view the world. Everything straight and narrow, if you know what I mean. A narrow-minded man. He did not get on with my mother. Mother had advanced ideas.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

Mother, he thought. Taken back still further, was he losing his way?

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“But what about you, Mrs. Devito?” he asked. “What did you think of William Carroll?”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“I had no opinion of him, Mr. Jeter, dead or alive.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

An edge, he thought, but wondered where to go with it.

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” Vivian announced. “What prompted your interest in William Carroll? Or should I say who?”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“Vera Blaine.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“Vera!” Vivian could not conceal her surprise. She squinted at him and said, “You realize, of course, that Vera is my niece.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

The fact was he didn’t, so here he was again, showing his ignorance before someone who did not lightly suffer fools. He had expected her to be a chatty old bird eager to spill the old gossip. Vivian Devito did not fit this mold.

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

Learn something from it, he told himself. Humility, maybe.

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

Still trying, he said, “Vera feels that Officer William Carroll has been forgotten, and doesn’t think it’s right, especially if he was murdered.”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“Willy Carroll most probably tripped over his own flat feet!” Vivian retorted. “I told you. He was a large and clumsy man.” She paused, sized him up with a critical glare, and said, “Vera really told you all that? Why should she care what happened to Willy? She never met the man!”

Mauris amet, amet, elit. vitae in amet, at ac tristique sagittis eu egestas. Quisque in parturient nascetur justo sit

“She had press clippings about his death. She gave them to me.”

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scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

Vivian lapsed into reflective silence. She had told him very little, he thought, and nothing she hadn’t wanted to, with the possible exception of the reference to her mother. He admired strength of character, though it was inconvenient for his work.

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

“Well,” he said, slowly launching his bulk from the uncomfortably undersized settee. “I appreciate your time, Mrs. Devito.”

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

He was about to offer to see himself out, when a hazy something occurred to him. Vivian’s mother had disliked Willy Carroll. Vivian clearly had not cared for him either, and was now visibly riled to learn that her niece, Vera, was championing Willy’s cause.

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

This was a family story. Somehow, yes. How? He didn’t know, and wouldn’t until he learned more about the family. He tried a final cast.

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

“I was just thinking,” he said. “I suppose Vera feels she’s carrying the full weight of William Carroll’s sad end. I mean, she doesn’t have any siblings, and both parents are dead.”

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

Vivian scowled. “Who told you that? Vera’s father isn’t dead -- her real father, that is. Everybody thought Tom Blaine was her father, but no, he’s a man named McKenney, Albert McKenney.” She closed her pale eyes, her face finally worn. “Albert McKenney, I haven’t heard that name for years, but I would have seen something in the papers if he’d died. He has, shall we say, a certain reputation.”

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

Her dry scoffing laugh, barely audible, the ghost of a laugh.

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

Roused again, she said by way of dismissal, “If you should happen to speak to Mr. McKenney, do not feel obliged to offer him my regards.”

***

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

Her visitor gone, Vivian slept, easing back into the chair as if into a more final embrace, earth itself, mother of us all.

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

When she awoke, the hot, anxious itch of shame was still there. She had betrayed something, something about the family, and to a reporter! Heaven knows what he might make of her outburst over the detestable McKenney. Hopefully, nothing. But that wasn’t all. Why had she said it? Whose business was it that her mother hadn’t gotten along with Willy?

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

This newsman had a bland exterior but was less calm than he looked, Vivian thought. There was something predatory in his patience. She sensed in him the air of a seeker on a quest. She would have liked to ask him, “Have you found your way, Mr. Newsman? Do you have children? A friend of the heart?”

scelerisque elit. ipsum tincidunt justo ipsum erat, convallis venenatis tempor Mauris quam erat, nisi amet convallis gravida tristique

No, she would wager he did not.

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lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

CHAPTER 9

HE PEES IN A BAG

2000, Plymouth

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

Jeter wondered why it was so hard to get out of bed in the morning. It was not because he enjoyed being there. His bed was a lonely, anxious place. It was a place where he met people he didn’t care for, like the two threatening presences who’d sniggered at him that morning before he’d rolled and finally thrown off his dreams. Aside from their passing resemblance to a pair of former copy editors who had tortured him with an endless string of sublimely absurd irrelevancies at Coastal Press, he had no idea who they were or what they wanted, but didn’t like their looks. He rolled and grunted. Consciousness would have to be better than that.

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

Something was wrong with the world -- or with his way of living in it. When people asked him how things were going, he tended to respond, “Can’t complain,” but of course he could. Did anyone appreciate the struggle behind his effort to keep together an ordinary, mediocre, getting-by sort of life? This was America! Widely regarded as the country where people dreamed of awaking! Was it supposed to be this hard?

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

Get it together, he urged himself. Get up, shut up with the distracting questions, and put together a mental list of what needs doing today.

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

He pulled himself off the mattress that had grown soft in the middle (like him). It was not that complicated, he told himself. He would do what was needed; he always did in the end, didn’t he? But sometimes “need,” doing what he had to, didn’t feel like enough. It felt like filling holes.

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

Bathrobed and slippered, he shuffled to the kitchen to put on the coffee and pace out his list. First item: that missing something that would address his need for credibility. He had to build a story that once widely enough read or talked about would convince people he was worth talking to, or that they ought to at least think twice about stiffing his magazine. At this stage, his hypothetical story had something to do with smoking, by itself no longer much of a story, the tide having turned on smoking in restaurants and bars. Lately, however, intimations had floated about something big happening in the south of town. Rumors were that a high-end, big-bucks, out-of-town developer was focused on a substantial parcel of undeveloped land somewhere behind Ginny’s. He wondered. Could there be more to Vera Blaine’s quixotic quest than met the eye?

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

Jeter ran through what he had so far. He had gone to Ginny’s, smelled the smoke leaking from the bar into the dining room, and (fancy running into you here) had a two-drink conversation with Mindy Phipps who’d suggested the meeting with Vera Blaine. That approach to telling the story was skipping a lot by leaving out the personal angle, his enduring regret that Mindy wasn’t more than a friend. She was looking good, always looked good. Somehow in the course of the conversation he had failed to get around to asking about Steve, or Tim, or whoever, nor had she mentioned Tim, or Steve, or whoever, but he was sure there was a man in her life, because there always was.

lobortis erat, adipiscing dis Sed nisl. est Lorem quam ut amet lacus vitae magna sagittis Proin tempor mus. malesuada. Fusce

He needed to know more, so much more. Story of his life, he thought.

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mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

Jeter sat down at his kitchen table. After a deep breath in and out, he dialed a number, deliberately phoning early, expecting that she and the “someone” in her life had left for work, and that he’d be talking to an answering machine.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

On the third ring, someone picked up, pre-empting the message, and throwing his brain into a brief but paralyzing fog of confusion. No one spoke, yet experience told him someone was on the line. He waited, listening to a familiar nothingness he called the “boiler room of the universe,” a distantly perceptible background noise heightened by the unacknowledged presence of the person on the other end of the phone.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

“Hello?” he asked, tired of the game, but unable to keep a plaintive quality out of his voice. “Is someone there?”

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

He heard a suppressed, grunted expletive. The line went dead. He waited thirty seconds, then redialed the number. This time, the answering machine switched on, the voice on the machine Mindy’s, and not that of the mutterer of the expletive. He left a message on her machine, but not the message he’d intended -- a friendly but emotionally weightless invitation to call back and gossip a little more about Ginny’s -- because the first call was still on his mind.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

It was a male grunt, a male silence, a male dissatisfaction, a male expletive of displeasure, perhaps of guilt.

***

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

Albert McKenney had good and bad days. On his good days he badgered the staff of Pilgrim Sunrise -- one of the area’s spanking new “full-care centers” -- with loud complaints about lousy nursing home food, and his various physical ailments. He couldn’t feel his toes, his stomach felt as if filled with cement. Couldn’t they give him something? Wasn’t there such a thing as a doctor here? His long monologues at great volume led to shouted exchanges with other residents, and left staff members to consider ways to slip tranquilizers into his food and drink.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

On his bad days he sat silently, glumly, staring across his room at the opposite wall, his bad days better days for the staff.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

“And how is he today?” Jeter asked the nurse’s aide who’d provided him this assessment in exchange for a twenty and a guarantee that he was neither a personal friend nor a relative of the patient.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

“Bad,” said the aide, a young, thin, harried-looking woman swimming in a loosely-hung blue uniform.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

Lingering, weighing the impulse to take her to the Colonial diner for a good meal, he heard her again say “bad,” this time so gloomily she seemed to be describing not only the crippled patient, but the overall Pilgrim Sunrise existence.

mus. tincidunt nibh at eros elit elit malesuada. faucibus ac Sed sit Proin elit. Quisque hendrerit est blandit

He had taken the name Albert McKenney to the library’s Pam Lawson who’d put him on to the nursing home, where, walking the corridor, he located McKenney’s double room and through the open door saw a man lying in a bed by the window. It was hard to tell from his crumpled features if he was awake or not. His room gave off an air of deep, turgid inertia as if nothing had stirred for days.

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mus. malesuada. magnis amet, sit ipsum justo quis et adipiscing parturient Pellentesque ridiculus mauris in enim parturient vehicula vehicula enim nisl. consectetur Proin justo consectetur malesuada. nec justo tristique

Jeter walked to the bed and softly cleared his throat.

The man’s eyes shot open in a look of furious disgust.

“Sorry if I woke you, Mr. McKenney,” Jeter said. “My name’s Maurice Jeter. I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

When the man didn’t respond to him, Jeter regretted not bringing a gift like a proper visitor should. A bottle of scotch, maybe. As the silence lengthened, he observed what could be seen: a short, old, unhappy white man with thin forearms and a prominent belly, small head and bony shoulders leaned against the rails of his hospital bed. McKenney couldn’t walk and didn’t have any visitors, the aide had unsentimentally said. There wasn’t much more to say, except that he had a temper. Not a popular inmate, Jeter gathered.

The old man turned his head, the color of his wrinkled features reddening as he took in his visitor’s unwelcome presence, giving Jeter the impression that the helpless but unmellow nursing home patient was keeping his mouth shut as the only alternative to shouting. Jeter pushed the only chair in the room to the side of the invalid’s bed and sat down to wait. Provoking a miserable old man with a chronic medical problem might be a cruel thing to do, but bothering people for information was his role in life.

He leaned forward, repeated his name, mentioned Vera Blaine, and asked a few basic questions, to no effect. McKenney turned his head toward the window, apparently more interested in his view of the nursing home parking lot.

“I’m not taking up too much of your valuable time with these pointless questions, am I, Mr. McKenney?” Jeter said, prodding the uncivil old man like a small boy poking a noxious creature.

Silence.

“You know Vera Blaine, right? You’ve met her once or twice?”

The stony figure on the unmade bed irritably tugged on his blue-and-white-striped cotton pajamas.

Jeter turned his head toward the hallway, where some wheelchaired patients were parked, but there was no sign of staff, and barked, “Nobody told me the old geezer was deaf!”

McKenney rewarded him with a red-faced glare. “I hear you better than I need to, wise guy,” he growled. “Take a hint and scram before I ring to have you thrown out!”

Jeter smiled. “Sure, ring away, chief. In an hour or so, maybe someone will stick their head in. You know the routine around here better than I do.”

“Make it quick,” the old man muttered.

“Vera Blaine asked me to look into something. I know you know her. I also know I could have called her Vera McKenney.”

McKenney’s mouth opened and quickly closed. Eyeing his visitor with ill-concealed hostility, he said, “What does she want?”

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vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“She wants to know who killed Willy Carroll.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

McKenney stared at him like at a creature from another planet.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“Willy Carroll the cop?” he scoffed. ‘’That’s ancient history. Nobody knows how Willy Carroll got it. Nobody ever did.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“So he was murdered, wasn’t he?” Jeter asked. “I thought so.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“It happened a hell of a long time ago for anybody to be caring about it now,” the old man snarled.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“Yeah, you know I wondered about that myself. The thing is, Mr. McKenney, Vera said you were the only person who really wanted to know the true story of what happened to her Uncle Willy.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

Jeter waited, hoping this probable fiction would provoke a response. McKenney appeared incredulous then spooked, as if looking through his unwelcome visitor at a ghost in the room.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

He swore and looked away. “I told you already, pal. Nobody knows what happened to Willy Carroll. What’s it to you anyway? You a cop or something?”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“I’m not a cop, I’m a reporter.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“Well, I don’t care if you’re Walter Cronkite. I don’t know anything about how Willy Carroll got it, and I’m tired of your questions.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“Walter Cronkite couldn’t make it. You know, I’m very interested to hear you say that Carroll ‘got it.’ Not everybody thinks so. The official story is that nobody knows how officer Carroll died. It could have been an accidental fall in the dark. What’s intriguing, Mr. McKenney, is that you may know better than that.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

No reply from the averted face.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“What happened to your legs, anyway?”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

In reply, McKenney suggested Jeter perform an anatomical maneuver that even a more flexible man was unlikely to attempt. Silent for a full minute, Jeter allowed the echo of the old man’s hostility to fade into the background aura of hopeless tedium before getting up and leaving the room.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

On his way out, he found the aide hiding inside the Patient Services room, a shelter, he suspected, from patients like Albert McKenney.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“You know the man I asked you about?” he said.

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“Uh-huh.”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“He can be hard to warm up to. What’s he doing here?”

vestibulum at consectetur amet pellentesque. Proin Proin et penatibus vitae penatibus Proin enim sed at

“He pees in a bag.”

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amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“Really? What happened to him?”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“He was shot,” the young woman said. Visibly nervous, she added, “It’s no secret.”

***

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

He found with Pam’s help the newspaper account of what the reporter termed a “gangland battle” in Deep River, a one-time manufacturing center now suffering free-fall decline. Police called it the work of a criminal gang based in another city. The shooting victim, who sported a fairly extensive police record, had been shot in the spine and seriously injured. He was expected to live. His condition was guarded.

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

So were the town’s secrets.

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“You didn’t tell me he was a gangster, Pam,” Jeter said. “Is it a requirement of your job description to see that town dirt is difficult to dig up?”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“Actually, no. We keep a file here on all of the local sons and daughters who make the big time.”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“You have a file on criminals?”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“I was joking.”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“So, joking aside?”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“It was big news at the time. Bigger gossip. Not many people from Plymouth get shot, and even fewer by their own gang.” Pulling a face, she said, “What kind of a town do you think this is?”

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

“Close-mouthed.”

***

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

The conference room of the town’s new police station was clean, well-lit, spacious, and much more corporate than the municipal squalor of the previous quarters. Surprised to have been invited there, a potentially open invitation, he thought, to pen something snarky on the luxurious lives of public servants, he was also surprised by the offer to meet with the department’s relatively new media spokeswoman, administrative deputy chief, Captain Karen Hayes, as a follow up to his call to ask a purely historical question: What if anything could the department tell him about the shooting of Albert McKenney?

amet elit. parturient dolor erat, sit Lorem Etiam ipsum adipiscing dolor montes, sed Etiam sodales fermentum convallis blandit quam, dis faucibus mauris

Captain Hayes’ hair was short and permed, her shoulders broad, and her face difficult to read under a police hat. Comfortably and privately seated in the conference room, Jeter agreeably asking her casual questions with his notebook closed, she said she’d been the police department’s criminal prosecutor on and off for ten years, but that the regular hours of her new administrative role were better suited to raising her son, a single-parent operation from the sound of it. The captain remarked in the flat tone cops often adopt for police reports and ironical observations that, “Now I can tell my kid when his chauffeur’s available.”

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gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

Childless, Jeter laughed politely.

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

He cleared his throat. Captain Hayes interrupted, said she needed the law degree to be a police prosecutor, but that criminal history was what fascinated her.

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“People think Mafia,” she said. “They also think that all of the big gangs were Italian. But there were others -- the Irish Mafia, the Jewish Mafia, the Southern Mafia, the Yankee Mafia.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Which flavor was the Conley gang?” Jeter asked.

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

The captain sharply reappraised him.

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Newspaper accounts were that Albert McKenney was believed to be a member of the notorious Conley gang,” Jeter said.

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Right. So you know about the Conley gang.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Yes, but not much beyond the name. For instance, why Plymouth?”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Long coastline.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Smuggling,” he guessed. “Booze? Drugs?”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Guns.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Guns? To America? Isn’t that like smuggling coal to Newcastle?”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“The contraband business is a two-way street,” Hayes explained. “We got ‘em. Somebody else wants ‘em.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“So that was the Conley gang racket, the specialty of the house?”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

The captain nodded her head yes. “The Conley gang got its start back in the nineteen-twenties, in Prohibition days,” she said. “Bayle Conley, the patriarch, originally from Plymouth, relocated to the north. Gang members were from Charlestown, East Boston, Somerville, anywhere, really. Albert McKenney was a kid when he became involved sometime during World War Two -- wars are great for smuggling, you know. Anyway, his sheet was unremarkable, a few convictions, a modest amount of jail time, and then, when he was assumedly getting too old for the game, someone shot him. It certainly looked like gang work, but no one was ever charged. There were no witnesses.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Was there any known connection between McKenney and Willy Carroll?”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Officer William Carroll?”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“Yes.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

”You’ve obviously done your homework.”

gravida tempor egestas. sit sed nulla. sodales justo egestas. et gravida enim Proin venenatis in condimentum pellentesque. est in amet, magna ridiculus blandit mauris nisi magnis lacus blandit

“A little.”

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quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Well. I’m not aware of a connection,” she said and, leaning in closer, confided, ”But I’ll tell you something else -- something strange about the Carroll case. After transitioning from prosecutor to administrative deputy chief, I was asked to reorganize the department’s dusty archives. When I got to it, inside the case file for William Carroll, Jr., I found a typed letter addressed to the police chief that stated that Patrolman William Carroll had been killed by anarchists.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Anarchists? Somebody’s idea of a bad joke, right?”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Probably. The chief must have thought the letter was a hoax, so never went public with it. But kind of weird, huh?”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Sure is,” Jeter agreed. “Especially if there weren’t anarchists in Plymouth to pin it on. Or were there?”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

She shook her head no. “Not that you can tell from the files.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

She had thrown him a bone. He was not ashamed to gnaw it and beg for more.

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“What about Conley? Anything more on him in those files?”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Appears to have been a genuine local product,” she said. “Saw an opportunity to take advantage of the long Plymouth shoreline when Prohibition began. Figured he and his boys could find more places to land a boat under cover of dark than the treasury boys could imagine. But the local police knew something about Conley even before Prohibition.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“He was in trouble in town?”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“I believe they regarded him as a source.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Conley was an informer?” Jeter asked, surprised. “About what?”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Some sort of labor dispute,” she said, and in a formal tone added, “Keep in mind this goes way back, Mr. Jeter. I don’t have any more information about this individual’s activities.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

Captain Hayes drew back and glanced at her watch.

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

Better to stay on her good side than to wear out his welcome. Jeter stood and thanked her for her time.

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“Remember,” she said. “Keep my name out of it when you write your story. This is all on background.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

“My story?” he said with a smile meant to be disarming. “I don’t have a story...yet.”

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

He thanked her once more before leaving. His gratitude was sincere.

quis ac penatibus Ut Pellentesque dis erat venenatis justo condimentum sit convallis faucibus natoque in

Anarchists, he wondered, walking the corridor and passing a police dispatcher seated behind a protective glass box on the way out of the building. Even if the note was a hoax, a sick joke, why choose anarchists to blame? He suspected he had something to tell

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his new young friend. He might have something for his own work as well, he reflected with satisfaction. A smart, highly-placed police officer -- a source bound to come in handy. He didn’t know when, but the sooner the better. He needed a story; his body ached with the absence. It was almost like needing someone to love.

sodales erat amet, elit. parturient ac magna vehicula faucibus elit. malesuada. eu nec venenatis magnis convallis dis justo parturient eu

“Anarchists?” Jeter later said to Mill. “Why would someone blame anarchists for the death of a police officer in nineteen-forty-two?”

sodales erat amet, elit. parturient ac magna vehicula faucibus elit. malesuada. eu nec venenatis magnis convallis dis justo parturient eu

Mill shook his head. “I have no idea.”

sodales erat amet, elit. parturient ac magna vehicula faucibus elit. malesuada. eu nec venenatis magnis convallis dis justo parturient eu

All he knew was that anarchists had once gathered on Suosso’s Lane.

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pellentesque. justo erat, quis mi tristique eros Ut Proin ac in ornare amet enim in eu

CHAPTER 10

ALL THE FARMERS ARE SOLDIERS NOW. INSTEAD OF

PLANTING WHEAT, THEY PLANT OTHER FARMERS.

December, 1916, Suosso’s Lane

pellentesque. justo erat, quis mi tristique eros Ut Proin ac in ornare amet enim in eu

The smell was sharp, severe. A burning, but different from the earth-to-ashes smell of wood burning, or the thick smell of the oil lamp, or the deep, slightly sickening odor of coffee burning on the stove. Vanzetti had not for a measureless time smelled the last in its quick, heady, seemingly taste-by-the-nose state of the freshly brewed, nor even the warmed too long stage, when the drinker regretted what was lost but still drank it for the ideal of sustenance it represented to the mind. No, not for many weeks had he enjoyed the sensation of hot coffee in his nose or mouth, because there was no coffee. He was not alone. In the Brini household, on Suosso’s Lane, in the houses of the narrow streets that clung like tiny creatures to the great whale of the cordage factory, bodies ached from deprivation.

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No meat. No coffee. No sugar. Nothing but bread and perhaps an onion or a carrot in the dinner pails men carried to the factory. Still they worked to live, and of course, for their families, feeding the children first, their weekly pay envelopes providing less and less sustenance to keep them alive.

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What Vanzetti smelled was not coffee, not fresh stew on the stove. It was coal.

pellentesque. justo erat, quis mi tristique eros Ut Proin ac in ornare amet enim in eu

He rose from the outdoor pump, his fingers red, and carried the full pail of water into the house to the kitchen, where Alphonsina could put it on the stove to heat for the cleaning of dishes. Then he sat at the table to wait for what he knew would happen next. When, on rare days, the Brini family loaded a few handfuls of a diminishing store of coal into the stove on a winter day, the others would come.

pellentesque. justo erat, quis mi tristique eros Ut Proin ac in ornare amet enim in eu

The smell of burning coal wafted through the neighborhood, even through the cracks in the walls of the neighbors’ unheated homes. When one of the households chose to expend some of the precious fuel between meal times, especially on a long, cold Sunday when all were at home, the others would pay the social call and take advantage of the heat. That was the way it was in the workers’ district in the cruel American winter. The fuel that warmed the four or five or more who lived in this house would just as easily warm the ten or twelve or more squeezed inside to stand around or sit on the floor, backs against a wall. It was the most sensible way to use a scarce and increasingly costly resource. No one questioned it. In their turn, they hosted their neighbors.

pellentesque. justo erat, quis mi tristique eros Ut Proin ac in ornare amet enim in eu

The smell of the close, heated air also meant that Vincenzo Brini would groan, get out of bed, and drag himself speechlessly across the room to join Vanzetti at the table, because it would not be proper for a man to have others in his house, people not part of his household, and not sit among them, unless he was ill.

pellentesque. justo erat, quis mi tristique eros Ut Proin ac in ornare amet enim in eu

In fact, Brini did not look well. His face was pale. Some days after work, he appeared barely able to stay awake at the table while waiting for his wife to serve the meal. It was the quality of the meal itself, the necessary fuel for a man who worked long hours at the cordage factory, that most worried Vanzetti. The prices went up, but the wages stayed the same. Everyone knew it was the war.

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ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

“The beans, the flour, the macaroni, the cooking oil, the coffee we can no longer afford, the sugar, the few vegetables in the store,” Alphonsina complained, tightening the apron cloth around her black dress. “The onions, the potatoes, the dried up apples, the kind fed to the pigs in Italia. Also the supplies. Oil for the lamp. The wood and coal for the stove. Everything is going up!”

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

“The air, however, it remains the same, it is the bargain, the fuel for the fire in the belly of the hungry stove,” Vanzetti said.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

No one laughed.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

Vanzetti believed Brini was suffering a loss of vitality from the worsening of the food. Vanzetti did not have the man’s ear to broach so delicate a topic. The two had long ago reached a modus vivendi. Vincenzo would go to work each day to support his family, though he endured this with a hopelessness that made his boarder shudder. Vanzetti tacitly agreed not to make Brini’s existence more unbearable through words of agitation about a better life in the world of “the beautiful idea.” Now, however, Vanzetti truly wished to bite his tongue no longer.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

Even the children, whose bodies burned hotter than their elders, suffered the discomfort. Dolly -- no, Vanzetti corrected his thoughts, he was Beltrando now -- took the wool blanket from his bed, wrapped it about him, and sat in the kitchen beside the black cast-iron legs of the heavy stove. He was eight years old, and his name, Dolly, was a burden to him. Beltrando might be a strange name to English-speaking children, but Dolly would turn a boy into a girl.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

It was a Sunday, the blessed day of rest, but there was no rest when it was too cold to be outdoors for long, and inside too miserable in an unheated house, so the Brinis put precious coal in the stove to ease the minds as well as the bodies.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

The front door cracked open. A man’s small round face, as dour and dark and lean as the times, appeared to beg the favor of admission. This query was merely for show, of course, for the appearances.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

“Come in at once, Senor Benno,” Alphonsina invited. “And close the door.”

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

“I heard the talk,” the newcomer said. “I am not intruding, I hope.”

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

It was not the talk, Vanzetti knew, that drew this man with a scarf wound around his throat, it was the smell of the burning coal that compelled him to follow his nose to its source, departing so quickly he’d forgotten his wool hat.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

“I was speaking of the prices,” Alphonsina said to spare her tired husband the weariness of addressing this visitor, of inquiring after his health and that of family.

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

“Ah,” Benno said, “the prices.”

ante. Lorem nascetur lobortis eu amet, at at mauris adipiscing nascetur ornare enim Quisque convallis dui. amet, eu euismod eu

His small, cramped features collapsed around this bait, but he was interrupted from launching a complaint by a thumping on the door. He turned to draw it open. Three young men stepped in, and were greeted and granted the swift formality of an invitation to do just that. The men shared a dwelling, rooms in the house of a family on Court Street, because they had no family of their own in this part of the world. The trio looked alike, slim and olive-complexioned, because the men were cousins.","page":"096","last":"","id":"978","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

Others came, none strangers, the new arrivals moving at Alphonsina’s general invitation into the kitchen to stand beside the stove. The room with the table for eating filled with bodies, hands rubbing to speed the pleasure of warming, or to ease the departure of the chill. They quietly took turns, moving closer to the stove’s warmth with a kind word for the boy crouched below, and the girl standing at her mother’s elbow.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“Dolly,” someone beckoned.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

A ripple of unease coursed through the boy’s spine.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“My name is Bel,” he said. “Please call me Bel.”

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

When his turn came, Benno held out to the boy a small hard candy wrapped in a twist of dusty paper. “Primo asked me to save this for you,” he said, referring to his son.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

The men talked about nothing, the conventional pieties, as if politeness and gratitude for hospitality required some show of life on their part. After some minutes of this, Vanzetti could bear it no longer.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“Why must we go on pretending that we are happily sharing news when there is almost none?” he objected. “What news is there? There is only one subject of which we can talk.”

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

Seated at the big room’s table, Brini groaned involuntarily. This quieted the others. Some of the men shared looks of concern.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

The door was again struck. Then again. After a turn by the stove, the men crowded into the big room with the table. Vanzetti lost count, so began to recount them.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“In Italia, we looked to the fields and forests,” said Benno, who had squatted in the kitchen after giving the candy to Beltrando.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“And on my father’s farm, we wanted for nothing,” Vanzetti said. “But here we do not live on our fathers’ farms.”

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

After a silence, one of the youthful cousins said, “In the Abruzzi, we hunt when the leaves have fallen.”

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

The broad-shouldered young man was the only visitor who appeared to be in good color, as if in possession of some secret American Abruzzi from which he happily extracted game.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“If only we had a boat,” sighed another man.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

Vanzetti guessed the rest of his story. He had hauled the nets for his father until the price of the catch fell too low to feed the entire family, and then had come to America.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

The volubility, the flood of words rose in his throat. Vanzetti tried to contain it, to let the men speak first of what must be done, but he could not win this battle.

gravida nisi et ridiculus lacus ac et Etiam hendrerit gravida justo a. venenatis nibh adipiscing elit amet

“The hunting, the fishing,” he said, “this is talk of nothing. It is not the

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want of boats, or the fields or the forests that have failed us. It is for wages that men work in this country. Why do men come to America? Because there is no more money from fish in Italia. No money for the poor man in the fields. But in America there are jobs. Especially in war! We have our fill of these jobs!”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Si,” someone acknowledged.

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Then why are we shivering and thinking always of food?”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

Vanzetti had said this, but now, looking around, he realized that the heat from the stove and the presence of many bodies had taken effect. Benno’s scarf was loosened, exposing the skin of his throat. Coat buttons were undone. Yet this too was good, he thought. Men could hear better when the senses were not stiffened with misery.

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Every day it is soup with no meat,” said a young man seated with his back against the outer wall. “With no bones either.”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Just the cabbage,” his neighbor agreed. “It is hard to go to bed at night hungry. Hard even sometimes to sleep.”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

Vanzetti glanced at Brini, his aspect of life lowered to a grimace of fatigue. The evening meal the night before was meant to be the polpetta soup -- called the “meatball” here -- but proved once again a soup of no meat. The greens instead, and a few beans left over from the meal of the previous night.

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“It is the inflation,” said a man standing beside the stove. “The war is eating up our food.”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

Vanzetti stood from his chair, a place of privilege as a family boarder, and walked to stand beside the men lining the room’s wall: the three youthful cousins who lived as boarders on Court Street; the young fathers who worked at the Cordage with Brini and Benno; a man whose name he did not know whose grizzled locks resembled Brini’s, old before his time, worn by too much work, too little sustenance. And too little freedom, he reminded himself. Where is time for the love, the music, the beauty of the world? The American paisanos had begun to resemble one another, regardless of age, region, occupation, in the pinched look of their hungry faces.

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

Yet he chewed on his words in silence. Let them talk, he again told himself.

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“The countries fighting this war are buying up the food because they no longer have farmers of their own,” said a man with a thin, wiry build, and pale skin tightly stretched over the bones of his face. His name was Guiseppe. Here they called him “Joe.”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Their farmers now are soldiers,” another man said.

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Instead of planting the wheat, they plant graves,” Benno muttered. “They plant other farmers.”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

“Senor!” Alphonsina protested. She stood beside her children at the sink basin in her kitchen, busying her hands by polishing the surface of a saucepan. She looked down at Beltrando’s puzzled face and frowned. “Truly, Senor, do so many die?”

dis Etiam elit. venenatis nascetur a. Nulla justo justo tristique penatibus dolor Nulla fermentum Proin vehicula adipiscing malesuada. parturient faucibus dolor magna adipiscing

The pale man Joe recited the names of a dozen men from his village. “My second cousin wrote me these names in a letter,” he said.

","page":"098","last":"","id":"980","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“Now they are now eating dirt instead of bread,” Benno remarked.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“Per favore, Senor!”

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

Alphonsina glanced at her son, who avoided her eyes. She could not chase him from his warm place at the stove. She sensed her daughter’s silence as well. But Lefevre already knew many things; things her mother did not know because Lefevre read the English. She knew the countries, the names of their leaders, the battlefronts. She would pick up from the street a page of the newspaper and read it.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

Benno muttered an apology for his words, but followed this with a shake of his head, as if to say there was no hiding the truth.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

There will be more from him, Vanzetti thought.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

Seemingly in response to that thought, his words simmering with passion, Benno said, “In Italia, in the north, there is a war with Austria for a mountain. A mountain of ice and snow! Two years now the mountain consumes the men. Thousands on thousands!”

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“Si,” said Joe, an ordinarily harried-looking man whose motivation for joining the gathering seemed to Vanzetti to be less about the pleasure of the talk and the heat than to get away for a time from the complaints of his younger children. Now, his thin features twisted, he seethed, “But no matter how many die, more men are taken from their homes and families by the armies. It is the armies that buy up the flour, and oil, and beans, and macaroni.”

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“And this means that we must pay twice as much for such needful things!” Benno asserted.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

Others raised their voices in shared outrage.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

Vanzetti lifted his head. When the outrage ran its course, he pounced.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“If the food costs twice as much to buy, does it not follow that the factory must pay its workers twice as much?” he asked, looking from face to face, holding the glance of any man who would return his own. “Can a man or a woman eat half as much and still do the same amount of work in making the rope?”

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

No man expected the factory to double his wages. Such a thing was unheard of. Still, Vanzetti thought it important to reason correctly so the men would accept their complaint as just. It was a step. One had to establish the true facts before one bargained. Of course, he did not believe in the bargain. Still and again, it was a step.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“Do I not speak simple truth?”

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

No one disagreed. Yet no one rushed in to support a calculation that might point in a direction not yet made clear.

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

“It is the rich men who make the war. It is the war that raises the prices. Now we must pay the cost of the rich men’s war. Can this be endured?”

amet, eros in dolor in et ante. Quisque fermentum at tincidunt consectetur penatibus malesuada. odio mi elit. condimentum Mauris Nulla quis sed sociis in sociis convallis Quisque

Enough, he told himself. You cannot drive people to a place they do not wish to go.

","page":"099","last":"","id":"981","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“No,” someone said.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

Vanzetti was not sure who, one of the men standing by the stove, perhaps. The single word raised the tension in the room, created an air of half dread, half anticipation, like the moment before the removal of a bandage, or the reopening of a scab. A good thing, he thought, a needed thing. Though surely painful.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“Everyone knows Vanzetti,” he said. “I do not have the wife, the children. I work with the pick and the shovel. I do not work in the factory like the other men in this room. But if the workers demand what they are entitled to, I will support them every day. Someone must go to the other cities, to tell the story of this place. To raise the donations for the strike fund.”

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

Benno returned his look. And the man Joe. Others stared off. Some of the men squatting against the wall looked up at him in confusion. The averted faces held out against hope.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“I promise this will be done. By me.”

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“A strike?” a man asked after these words. “You urge the strike?”

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

Vanzetti had seen strikes, for a day or two in Turin, and the surrounding towns. And he had heard much about the great strikes in America, the silk worker strike in Paterson, New Jersey, where his maestro, the publisher of the Cronaca Sovversiva, had been shot in the eye, and the enormous woolen mill strike in Lawrence, where thousands of workers had gone out for six weeks, bringing to a halt the life of the city, until their demands had been met. Measured against the anarchist idea of cooperative control by workers of their places of work, these gains were small steps -- a little more money, fewer hours lost to the slavery of the wage. But they were steps that demonstrated that the people, not the wealthy few, could determine their own fate. It was they who would, and must in the end, control the goods and resources of the earth required for a decent life. The many, not the few, he reiterated silently.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“You have heard what the workers accomplished in Lawrence, no?” he asked. When no one denied it, he confidently went on, “The great strike that raised the wages for the whole city, the strike against the mill owners in Lawrence, was led by Italians. By the great Ettor. And the socialist Giovanetti.”

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

A shudder ran through the room. Fear, maybe. But excitement, too? No? Si. Vanzetti could feel it.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

He looked at Alphonsina, at the fear in her eyes. He gazed at Brini, who had so long been quiet. Brini stared at him with fire in his face, but said nothing.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“Who will feed the children if the men go on strike?” Alphonsina argued.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

The men looked at the Brini children, the only children in the house. There on the kitchen floor, withdrawn inside themselves, Lefevre and Beltrando would look at no one.

dolor nisl. malesuada. adipiscing est nascetur ipsum pellentesque. odio nibh hendrerit. nascetur amet venenatis nibh gravida Nulla dui. justo

“The workers will band together,” Vanzetti vowed. “I do not mean the men of the Cordage alone. All the workers of this city. The men and women of other cities as well. The help will come -- from here and there. From every quarter where we seek it.”

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elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

Alphonsina did not appear convinced that people would willingly transform into angels in defense of a few men battling for their rights. But the excitement of the idea warmed the room. Those sitting or squatting stood, some stepped in one direction or another as space permitted, these motions betraying their agitation.

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

“The war!” A man shouted the word as if a blasphemy, a curse.

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

Others replied.

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

“These prices!”

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

“We are starving!”

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

“It will never succeed,” cautioned the graying man in a tone of sad experience. “This is foolish talk!” His dark round eyes widened. “They will shoot us!”

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

Benno and the one called Joe stood face to face, shouting, waving their arms, the basis of the disagreement unclear, if that’s what it was, as both men were advocates for action. When the argument quieted to an unresolved silence that overtook the house, Vanzetti said, “What is foolish is to sit and do nothing while our bellies shrivel and our strength fails. What does the factory care if a man grows ill from too much work and too little food and rest? They will hire another.”

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

“What do you know of it?” a voice challenged.

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

“I have worked in the factories, too. In the pastry factories of Turin and other cities. I have almost died from ceaseless work and bad air.”

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

And in a way it was my sickness, he thought, the sickness of oppression that killed my kind and gentle mother. Perhaps. Who is to say it was not?

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

After the dissenters shrugged themselves off, one by one, with turned backs, or apologetic mumbles, the talk became less volatile and eventually turned to details. It was agreed by the dozen or so men who remained in the Brini house, from youthful newcomers to sad-faced elders like Vincenzo Brini, and the blunt-spoken Benno, that a small number, two, three, or four men at most, would represent them. Each man would talk to the men in the building where he worked. Others would be found to speak to the workers in other buildings. When enough men had agreed, they would form the strike committee.

***

elit elit. amet, mus. sed scelerisque sociis ipsum malesuada. Proin scelerisque gravida hendrerit sagittis Etiam justo consectetur sit Quisque malesuada. elit

It was cold, but he had chosen not to work this day, so had the luxury of putting his hands in his pockets. Vanzetti had come to enjoy his stroll from Suosso’s Lane to Allerton Street in the old Plymouth. Some winters had passed now, three, he thought, or maybe this was the third since he had trudged into the outskirts of Plymouth, where in a kind of natural homage to the works of man he had bowed at the site of the solitary smokestack that towered above the town. He had not walked the sparsely-settled American roadways since then; not slept outdoors a single night; nor gone to bed without any meal whatsoever in the place that was preparing to honor the founding ancestors of this three-hundred-year-young country, this new world that already appeared so much like the old.","page":"101","last":"","id":"983","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

tempor justo eros faucibus tempor amet erat consectetur imperdiet Pellentesque amet, fermentum Mauris pellentesque. Lorem at gravida Fusce blandit diam hendrerit. mus. et vitae Sed sociis Ut enim mi ornare enim

Inside the parlor of Missus Rosseetuh, his wonderful American friend and instructor, Vanzetti defended the notion of a society without government, or banks, or ownership, or other institutions.

“Anarchy does not mean chaos, or disorder,” he said. “It means a people, a society of equals, without a ruler. Without a ruling-over ‘authority.’ I have studied this meaning, this word, anarchy. The first two letters, ‘an’ means no. ‘Arch’ is the Greek word for dictator. In short, the authority. I have not read the Greeks, these ancient philosophers who created the ideas and the words that we still use today, but I have read the great thinkers of our time who have studied the roots of society, of government, of the ways people live, the social classes, the means of production, the accumulation of wealth, and all of the institutions which further the divisions of the people into those who rule and are the rich, and those born without the riches who are held down all their lives.”

He spoke again of the anarchist program.

“These institutions which we do not like, which we hate and wish to abolish, the courts, the prison, the polizy with their clubs, and yes, the church, too, which binds the minds of children and keeps them as children all their lives, yes, we would abolish them. We would take away the authority. And then the people would form the associations born from their needs, their wishes, and their…“ He paused. Could he not think of the word for this? “…their love,” he finished.

Silent for a moment, Lavinia said, “So this is what happens when you help a man to speak your own tongue. The student becomes the teacher, and the teacher the student.”

“No, no,” he objected.

“Ah,” she said, “of course.” Smiling now, a smile that troubled him. “The teacher too is an authority. And so we have no need of him -- or her.”

But I need you, he thought. I need -- this.

“We are talking, Missus,” he said. “It is only the…converso…?”

“Conversation.”

“You have teach me, I mean taught, taught me so much. So many of these words. Words that now I will use to talk to the people of this land who are not from my patria, my country. This teacher, this student. It is not...” He faltered, looked to her, reflexively, for help.

“It is not a theoretical question,” Lavinia suggested. “Not a political question.”

“No,” he agreed. “The human one. The human question. This is it, Missus. This you and I. This is what always I am talking about.”

“This?”","page":"102","last":"","id":"984","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

She colored. Puzzled, he noted the change in her features and hurried to put things right.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“Sure, sure,” he said. “Simply this we do, the back and the forth.” He tried to smile. He did not smile so much. People told him this. In his country, his upbringing, the Piemonte, the men did not smile much. That was one of the ways to tell they were men, not boys.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

She regarded him, waiting.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“This, the conversation.” He remembered the word. “Two people, what we are doing. Both are equal.”

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

That was the point, wasn’t it? He waited for a reaction.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“Indeed,” she said. Sitting straight.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

Did she always sit so straight? Usually she spoke more. She did not leave so much to him. What was different now?

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“This two of us, speaking our minds,” he said. “Speaking freely. Who is the teacher, who is the student?” He shook his head. “No one sitting at the big desk in the front of the room, pounding the desk with a stick... And so, no bosses... We two.” He nodded. It was gratitude, he meant, encouragement. “We are the anarchy.”

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

A moment later, Lavinia stood and excused herself, a thing she never did.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“Excuse me a moment, Mr. Vanzetti,” she said. “There is something...”

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

She did not say what as she turned and walked away.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

Later, the mood in the room lightened. Lavinia apologized, said she’d left the room to attend to something in the kitchen, and reminded him that she’d given the cook a free day. This was just a manner of speech, he thought, tempted to observe that all days were free. That even cooks were free to come and go as the needs of their lives required, but he knew this was not the time to bring up the “the theoretical question, the political question.” Besides, he detected in her manner the quality that people call “the excuse,” and from this suspected that what she’d told him was not exactly the case.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“There is one thing,” she said, her composure restored. She paused. He drank from his glass. Instead of the tea she brought him water this day. The town had good water. Through the pipes. It was amazing, a gift. He drank water the way other men drank wine, savoring its taste.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“One thing in your theory I do not believe you have mentioned. Perhaps because it is a difficult thing.”

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

He waited.

adipiscing et hendrerit. nisi consectetur nascetur est sodales ornare Cum condimentum Nulla amet, Etiam sit nec hendrerit. convallis natoque pellentesque. hendrerit.

“If, as you say, our current state as human beings is so far from the desired one, why do we not all agree that you are right and that our current manner of life is wrong? Why do we not rush to your flag, rally around it, and throw off these chains you so often speak of?”","page":"103","last":"","id":"985","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“These chains are invisible,” he responded. “Men do not see them. The ways they follow now are all they know, or have ever known, or those around them have ever known. It is hard to see to a place where you have never been. To trust in a mountain you have never climbed.”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

There existed, he knew, in the writings of the Greeks, a story about a cave and those who lived within, in darkness. And in chains. It was a story that would explain to Mrs. Rosseetuh the difficulty she’d described so beautifully; however, he was not sure he remembered it all, and did not wish to risk the telling if it could not be done accurately. He addressed this doubt with a shake of his head.

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“You shake your head, Mr. Vanzetti. I believe this matter bothers you as well.”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“Yes, Missus. You are true.” His thoughts raced ahead. He did not bother to correct his speech. “But there are ways to help them see. To loosen the chains.”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“The chains of the mind, I take it.”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“Yes.” He nodded vigorously. “We may bring some light.”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

Visibly intrigued, her fine eyes studied him.

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“Please,” she said, “you must tell me. Enlighten me. Do you see a ray of hope?”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

Indecision clouded his features.

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“Being that, as you say, Mr. Vanzetti, as you were so kind to say, to acknowledge, that we are now anarchists together, you and I.”

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

Her voice sang the words to him just as her voice had sung since their first encounter. Her eyes were bright. An inner light shone in her face.

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“Sure, sure, I will tell you,” he said, nodding, looking away, flushing a little.

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

He told her of the hope he envisioned.

***

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

“And so, have they replied?” Isabel Carrington inquired at the next meeting of the society.

ac sed malesuada. Quisque quam penatibus augue. penatibus in et Proin eu gravida dui. sodales sagittis dolor vehicula vehicula in sociis sed ridiculus nibh Cum a. est

Inwardly sighing over the sad of truth of things, Lavinia no longer regarded the gatherings of her Society for the Promotion of the Natural Entitlements of Women, which her efforts had brought into being and her faith in the rightness and value of her cause had held together, as central to her promotion of that cause. These gatherings had seldom been as satisfying in practice as in theory; in the genesis of the idea itself. Women meeting together -- no man in the room to defer to, no minister or any of that ilk -- women putting their minds together to come to grips with the great task before them.

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dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

The great task was still before them. Heaven knows, she had put her shoulder to the burden. Lavinia felt the bruises. The women of her class (there, Mr. Vanzetti’s word again) barely spoke to her. The men condescended with tolerant tsk-tsks. They thought of her, she guessed, as a figure of fun. Well, let them come to her society meetings, she thought, with bitterness now. If they find any occasion for fun here, they are welcome to it.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

The Doolittle sisters were in attendance, of course. They never missed a session, the society’s morning meetings, the pilgrimages to Lavinia’s parlor as regular a weekly event as Sundays in Reverend Wentworth’s church. They’d be lost without them. So would her cook, Mrs. Baker, who enjoyed baking her sweet biscuits the day before. Buying the currants on Market Street. Filling the house with the scent of the baking, the product of her labors.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

Was Mrs. Baker truly oppressed? Lavinia could not think so, nor could she imagine how Mrs. Baker would endure a single day of Mr. Vanzetti’s vision of the beautiful idea of anarchy. People liked routine. People did not always wish to debate the great questions. Most appeared to prefer being told what to do.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

Alas, her proud shoulders sagged at this recognition, proven beyond the shadow of a doubt by her years of leading the Society for the Promotion of the Natural Entitlements of Women, that too few human souls chose to spend a mere hour or two a week in opening their minds to questing and considering, and to “imagining the day” that her new friend, the Italian, as she enjoyed thinking of him, seemed to believe was the natural condition of humankind.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

Lavinia did like him. Undeniably, she did.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

The room had fallen silent.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

“I apologize,” she said, “for my distraction.”

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

“Not at all, Lavinia,” Margaret Doolittle said. “It is this war.”

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

It always is, Lavinia thought.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

“We were speaking of the proposal,” Isabel said with a kind smile that could not hide her small thrill of lording over the room’s acknowledged mistress. “Of your proposal, that is,” she amended with a purposeful nod, “to demand that the Board of Governors of the Plymouth Cordage Company open its membership to women.”

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

The Doolittle sisters’ heads nodded encouragingly. Sarah Barnes, the youngster of the group, the gay heart (Lavinia was a widow, others were old maids, Sarah plainly had hopes), observed the proceedings with some flicker of interest. In Sarah’s world, anything might happen. In Lavinia’s opinion, Sarah had not lived long enough to realize how seldom it did.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

“What did they say?” Sarah now asked with the youthful bluntness that others apparently found charming.

dui. elit ante. nascetur nibh lobortis erat at quam Proin sit consectetur elit. scelerisque condimentum gravida blandit augue. vestibulum et justo Ut ipsum magna Nulla Nulla Quisque

Isabel sat back in her chair. Lavinia noted her self-satisfied expression, an indication of her having arranged this little ambush.

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Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“What did they say?” Lavinia echoed. “What indeed. I will read the germane paragraph.”

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

She gathered up the portfolio cribbed from her late husband, a sort of papery-package containing deeds and loan agreements and all such manner of things, and removed from it the letter of reply from the governors. She blinked once, readying her eyes for duty. She did not and would not wear spectacles.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“’Far be it from us,’” she read, “’to put cold water on a notion raised by respectable ladies such as yourselves, but the proposal put forth in yours of October twelve is entirely out of the question. The bylaws of the Plymouth Cordage Company, such as are recorded and available for all eyes to see in the office of the Secretary of the Commonwealth, clearly provide that the office of Governor of the Plymouth Cordage Company is available to all registered voters of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Just as soon as that common entity under whose laws all citizens are bound alters the qualifications of those who may become registered voters, you may rest assured that the governors will look with favor upon your request.’”

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“That is to say,” Lavinia opined, “when hell freezes over.”

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

The vulgarity, as expected, shocked the poor sisters, her truest followers, and provoked a derisive curl of the lips from Isabel, to whom Lavinia had once felt close.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

We are sisters in bitterness still, she thought.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“That wasn’t very friendly of them,” Sarah quickly voiced her view.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“Did you expect them to be?” Isabel sniffed.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

Sarah looked away.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“No, indeed,” Lavinia said, seeking to spare Sarah the wages of naïveté, its possession on the whole a positive as opposed to negative sign of character. “The reply was no better than it ought to be. These men -- for men they must be according to the company’s bylaws -- hold no sympathy for our cause. If there is any fault in exposing the society to this show of disrespect, which falsely claims to be otherwise, it falls upon me for neglecting to realize that like all the legal institutions of our society, the Cordage hides behind the laws of suffrage. Let that be a lesson. We must ever be mindful of the denial of suffrage.”

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“But what can we do about it?” Sarah blurted.

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“What indeed,” Isabel pointedly remarked. “It does not appear that anything will change.”

Mauris sit elit imperdiet venenatis Etiam Proin erat Lorem ornare faucibus Proin Proin convallis amet hendrerit. malesuada. sociis vitae venenatis Proin eu imperdiet amet convallis at est hendrerit.

“I know of one thing that may change,” Lavinia replied, thought about what she’d said and added, “though perhaps I should not speak of it.”

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sit erat Cum adipiscing Pellentesque elit. vestibulum amet, elit. sed in tempor sodales

A different voice, a woman who seldom posed a question, the ever silent sister, Matilda Doolittle asked, “You have cause for hope?”

sit erat Cum adipiscing Pellentesque elit. vestibulum amet, elit. sed in tempor sodales

A collective clamor arose. Surely you can share it with us, the women urged.

sit erat Cum adipiscing Pellentesque elit. vestibulum amet, elit. sed in tempor sodales

Lavinia held up a hand for quiet, then said, “I have information, or at least an intimation, that the Cordage will be struck.”

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pellentesque. Nulla nulla. in venenatis vitae penatibus ac mauris imperdiet tristique Lorem parturient mauris condimentum et augue. tempor vehicula tempor tincidunt eu tempor elit. eros tincidunt ipsum sed eros pellentesque. sagittis

CHAPTER 11

EVERYBODY OUT!

January, 1916, North Plymouth

Vincenzo Brini left home in the gray half-light of early morning, and after rounding Court Street, fell in beside the others with no more than a nod of greeting. Vanzetti, who followed his landlord and sometime comrade, whose step seemed a feather’s touch lighter, matched his stride to that of another cluster of cordage workers, men he did not know by name. Caps pulled down over ears, boot leather flapping, pieces of cloth, sometimes mere rags, tied around their necks, hands dug into jacket pockets. Few of the men owned overcoats like the sturdy black garment Vanzetti once admired on a Plymouth Cordage overseer who’d held the door closed against him. But even at that bitter hour, with another long winter’s day of labor before them, and the early morning stiffness closing their faces, an emotion beyond the grim endurance that tightened the mouth and dulled the eye flickered in the men’s sullen expressions. Or hid there, perhaps. Some wild laughter, some longing for release.

You might suppose from their outward look that winter had frozen their hearts, he thought. The procession of gray-skinned men carried dinner pails with barely enough inside to justify transportation: a heel of bread, half of an onion, no fruit or cheese. A few men did not bother to carry pails. Vanzetti knew why and feared that this break with routine might arouse a keen observer’s suspicion, yet inwardly smiled from the pleasure of knowing what was unknown to others, a knowledge that quivered in other faces as well, an eagerness Vanzetti suppressed by mirroring the workers’ stolid silence.

The anarchist, the true believer, the man with an idea he could never quite explain to those who did not know what he did -- for clearly this was the missing piece: the knowing in the heart -- Vanzetti marched beside the cordage workers, though fully aware that the men would file through the factory gates and leave him nothing to do but to wait for hours.

He loitered at the iron gates, alone in the roadway after the men shuffled through. Moving his feet to warm them, watching his breath cloud the gray air, he turned in a solitary circle, as if sleepwalking or drunk, to take in the empty desolation of a January morning in North Plymouth, and only then shambled across the roadway to a perch on the steps of the workers’ library, his coat collar pulled up around his ears. He counted the tedious hours by scanning the day’s blank profile: smoke rising from the factory’s stack; the churn of the factory-yard engine on its narrow track. He sat far enough away from the cordage yard so that those inside would not know of his presence, yet near enough to monitor the activity, his senses tuned to the dull and enervating routine of cold, tired men lugging bales of fiber from rail cars to load onto hand carts as he listened for a swell of excitement to break like a wave across the raw factory yard. The factory complex was a city of tongues. If the men went out, he would certainly know by the shouts of those tongues.

Vanzetti stood to move and warm his feet. Quickly numb with cold, they would otherwise be too stiff to carry him across the roadway when the time came. The tardy arrival of the little man charged with opening the workers’ library with a key on a fat chain meant nothing to him. This self-important caretaker would not look at him, an idler, perhaps a vagrant, a reason to lock the door behind him so the loiterer could not come in to get warm.

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ac at erat lobortis sit ante. nisi augue. malesuada. montes, quis Ut Mauris Fusce scelerisque tristique

He wondered as he watched a thin, mangy dog furtively trot down the street in search of a scrap of garbage, ears and eyes alert to danger, why animals sometimes wore the faces of men. Then, as the day gradually ripened, and the raw, curdled smell of thawing mud pervaded the street, the dispirited trickle of human traffic began: a mother and her boy held home from school on some pretext; a man holding a rag against his jaw; two youngish men in something of a hurry, faces turned toward one another as if sharing the important piece of news they’d been asked to carry into town.

ac at erat lobortis sit ante. nisi augue. malesuada. montes, quis Ut Mauris Fusce scelerisque tristique

Vanzetti did not own a watch, but knew when the time had come. The noise began at the factory, rolled across the yard and the roadway, and reached his ears at a grand and measured pace, as if the trumpets of the next world were ensuring that all was in readiness before the proclamation of the new millennium, the better order of the things of this world. This was how the voices, the shouts of the striking men, sounded to the ears of Vanzetti the believer, the one man within the precincts of the town of Plymouth who was certain that everything high must now fall down, and everything low must now rise up on a tide of self-discovered courage. He strained to hear in the shouts of the Plymouth Cordage workers the voices of the centuries, the voices of the Haymarket strikers, those martyred anarchists hanged thirty years before in what was the New World’s original sin against the beautiful idea after an unknown hand threw a bomb that killed numerous strikers, and more importantly, two policemen -- a crime for which scapegoats had to be found, and an unjust court choose to execute the strike’s leaders without any evidence whatsoever. Vanzetti longed to hear the shouts of their avengers now, the voices of the men who would no longer be slaves. Courage! he thought. The time has come!

ac at erat lobortis sit ante. nisi augue. malesuada. montes, quis Ut Mauris Fusce scelerisque tristique

Just when he feared his heart would burst from a volatile distillation of joy and fury, out from the doors of the factory’s buildings poured agitated men, shouting, shaking fists, some dragged nearly off their feet by a vanguard of hard-charging comrades, some plainly delighted, dancing and twirling with the mad joy of the transgression committed in the name of justice and the natural liberty of all human creatures.

ac at erat lobortis sit ante. nisi augue. malesuada. montes, quis Ut Mauris Fusce scelerisque tristique

Vanzetti ran to join them.

***

ac at erat lobortis sit ante. nisi augue. malesuada. montes, quis Ut Mauris Fusce scelerisque tristique

Inside Building Two, where the longest of the rope-making production lines tied up nearly seven hundred workers each day, a large-framed, bullet-headed man named Bayle Conley signaled the beginning of the strike by inserting a wooden spar into his spinning machine to stop the line -- an unheard-of offense -- then compounded his crime against capitalism by jumping up on a crate to declare that the workers of the Plymouth Cordage Company were henceforth on strike until their just demands were met.

ac at erat lobortis sit ante. nisi augue. malesuada. montes, quis Ut Mauris Fusce scelerisque tristique

Members of the strike committee and a few hundred of the most trusted workers who’d waited impatiently all morning for this signal rose excitedly from their places on the production line, shouting, “All out! All out! Not a soul left behind!” their cries luring the confused, the uncertain, the flatly unwilling. Inside the half-dozen buildings where men toiled over machines engaged in making rope of different materials and strengths and lengths and various specialized qualities, trusted workers who knew that the day at last had come awaited the signal from Building Two. The eruption, the shouts of the workers, the bellows of rage from the foremen. Angry words accompanied by fists. Fights throughout the factory compound between those demanding that the strike call be heeded at once, and the smaller number who actively resisted. Most of the workers allowed themselves to be swayed by the evidence of numbers.

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egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

In Building Two’s vast, high-ceilinged cathedral of labor, foreman Thomas Quilty, a barrel-shaped man with old-fashioned side whiskers, shouted curses as he raced across the chaotic floor to confront Conley, the troublemaker with the voice of a demon, who had clamored up on a wooden crate to bellow commands to his followers, who harangued, cajoled, and threatened those not complying swiftly enough with their leader’s demands. Before Quilty could throw himself at him, Conley jumped down and, shouting a warning to the foreman of a mob running up behind him with wooden stakes and steel batons, struck him when he turned to look with a close-fisted blow on the side of the head just above the ear. Quilty went down as if shot. Not the first time Conley had hit a man with his fists, the strike leader felt it was good to have had some practical experience before undertaking the immense task of clearing out the entire work force of a great manufactury.

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

With their foreman down and Conley roaring commands, workers willing and unwilling took to their heels, marching, trudging, running childlike, free with the glee of release from Building Two. Men screamed. Many repeated the shouted command of the striker leaders: “All out! All out! Every last hand!”

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

The halls of production emptied in a matter of minutes.

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

In mill Buildings One, Three, Five, and Six, where workers banged spars against the metal frames of the rope-making machinery that fed fibers six days a week, supporting cadres stood at nearly the same instant, their timepieces coordinated earlier that morning to the factory’s formidable clock tower. Alerted by the confirming clamor from Conley’s Building Two, the ringleaders shouted like wild men going into battle, declaring the strike in effect here and now, and demanding that the workers leave the line and mass outdoors at the factory gates. The boldest and in some cases brawniest of workers stormed up and down the line, shouting, hauling the reluctant from their places by the collars of their coats, and herding workers outside into noisy gangs. As the buildings emptied of men, some of the apprehensive lingered, waiting for the black-coated figures of authority to emerge from the shadows and restore the routine of work. Despite how much it wearied and belittled them, they relied upon work, the only thing they knew; however, in the end, even the laggers were swept up in the whirlwind of the strike.

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

Clusters of men spilled into the street talked together excitedly, shouted to friends from other buildings, and joined in a general rolling jeer when the whistle to announce the start of the dinner break sounded with a bizarre, tin-eared equanimity, like a blind man unable to see that he was shouting at a wall. As the excited shouts faded, pools of workers flowed toward a circle of men in black caps and short jackets, some hale and wide-shouldered, others hale and wizened, whiskered and clean-chinned, almost all American-born with fathers who had worked at the Cordage before them, all intensely, at times angrily debating their next move.

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

The strike committee’s original plan had concentrated on shutting down the work of the factory, making the strike as general as possible. Faced with the stunningly sudden and apparently universal accomplishment of this goal, and with the new uncertainty and fear provoked by the roar and speed and momentum of the change, the committee members now threw up their hands in an increasingly public show of collective lack of unanimity.

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

“Send them home!” urged a black-haired man, his throat wrapped in a thick green muffler. “Get them all gone before the bastards come back at us with a trainload of goons!”

egestas. ridiculus hendrerit et justo malesuada. ante. Fusce a. Fusce hendrerit Cum eros Lorem nascetur in tristique gravida penatibus

“And where would these goons of yers be comin’ from?” a short, bare-headed man asked in a high-pitched voice that cut through the surge of remarks. He pointed to the stillness of the shore-hugging rails and said, “I tell you there’s no train of company stooges comin’ down that line today!”

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mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

Other voices cheered or demurred.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

The taller figure of Conley, brawny and bellicose, broke from the circle. He commandeered the closest man at hand, a stout companion to help him drag a heavy packing case to the front of the gate. With a roar of triumph, sounding, looking, and acting like a warrior chieftain whose authority had been earned by pounding rivals into submission, Conley mounted his podium.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“What are you up to, Conley?” asked a muffler-wearing committee skeptic leaning against the packing case as if about to yank the tall man’s legs and topple him. “The committee hasn’t come to agreement.”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“The committee can go piss in a pot!” Conley growled. “Get off of me, Spenser, before my boot finds your face!”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

Spenser stepped back.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“Men of the Cordage!” Conley shouted, lifting his arms. “Workers! When was the last time any man standin’ here has seen another nickel in his pay?”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

Conversations ended. Shouts died. Conley repeated the question. No one replied.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“Nine dollars a week! There’s yer pittance for breakin’ yer back for the profits of the company -- and it’s been nine dollars for ages! Yer Da was makin’ as much!” Conley stared at his multitude, the picture of righteous rage. “Does any man here call that a decent wage?”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“No, by God!” chorused a handful of Conley followers planted close to the packing case, there to turn their angry eyes on fellow workers, to get them shouting as well.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“You call that wages?” Conley waved a fist. “I call that starvation!”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“By God, that’s the truth!” a voice called from the crowd of upturned faces.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

Whether or not they knew Conley or that a strike was in the offing, caught up in the excitement, rescued for an hour from fear and want and the inertia of voiceless poverty, many of the men shouted in agreement. Those uncertain of how to act or what to think warily glanced at the men beside them.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“So we’ve gone out today, men! We’re out and we’ll stay out until...”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

Conley paused, his store of prepared words suddenly dry.

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“Wages, Con,” a voice cued from below. “A decent wage.”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

“And we’re stayin’ out ’til we get a decent wage!”

mus. est in augue. Etiam nec tristique tempor quis erat, blandit justo at ridiculus ipsum ante. tempor Sed in elit. nisl. dis parturient est parturient vehicula

The big man bent his knees and jumped nimbly from the platform to the ground.","page":"111","last":"","id":"993","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“Is that all, chief?” one of his followers asked.

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“That’s all for now,” Conley said, eyeing the crowd. “Let ‘em think about it a while.”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

As the simple burden of his speech worked its way through the crowd, cries of support for the strike, for staying out as long as it took to secure a decent, as yet unspecified, weekly wage, continued to rise from those who spoke the speaker’s tongue, the language of the land, or of the nations that America had conquered. These words began to be echoed in the tongues of the Portuguese, German, Swedish, Russian, and Italian workers as the language of the land was slowly translated.

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

Two black-capped strike committeemen pushed through the crowd to Conley’s side.

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“What’s next, Con?” one asked. “Now that you’ve got ‘em hooked, Spenser here thinks you should send ’em home before there’s trouble.”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“Mobs are dangerous, Conley,” Spenser cautioned.

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“Nah,” said a man listening to the conversation. “We’ve won a victory here today, men. You need to take advantage of your victories. Give them a plan. Tell them to come back tomorrow. Ring the gates. If we’re staying out, nothing and nobody gets in past us!”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

Conley surveyed his supporters. “Jake,” he said to one of the senior fellows on the committee. “You go rile ‘em up. Hold for a minute or two while we sort out the plan.”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

Visibly pleased, Jake asked a pair of younger men to help him up onto the packing crate. He wobbled a little before gaining his balance, then took off and waved his hat at the inattentive crowd, most of the men absorbed in private discussions. Jake, an older man with thinning once-dark hair and brilliant sideburns, launched into fresh denunciations of the company’s policy of starvation wages in a time of “turri-bul, turri-bul inflation and r-r-r-rising prices!”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

Discouraged by the men’s wandering attention after a few minutes of this, Jake frowned. Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, he cleared his throat and filled his chest with a great lungful of air.

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“Great God!” a man loudly warned. “Jake’s gonna sing!”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

“Good men and true in this house who dwell,” Jake intoned in his age-roughened tenor, hat held against his chest, and left arm extended to the gathering. “To a stranger, lad, I bid ye tell. Is the priest at home, or may he be seen--“

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

He got no further as Conley’s men roused themselves to half-help, half-pull him from the crate. “None of that today, old fellow,” a man in a gray woolen jersey said, more kindly than not. “Some other time, to be sure.”

pellentesque. justo Lorem est Sed est ornare vitae nec lobortis sodales at pellentesque. elit. nec nisl. mauris amet, blandit tincidunt enim in sit

At the head of a three-man faction of the strike committee voices of caution, Spenser surrendered to Conley.

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amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

“All right, Con,” he conceded, “you’ve won the day, so might as well go all the way. Tell them what you want of them, man. We’ll stand behind you.”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Conley glanced at his supporters, then, pointing at his ear, said, “Am I hearin’ right, Sam? Yer speakin’ of the full association of cordage workers?”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

“I am.”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

His smile a little broader, Conley hopped up onto the packing crate.

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

“Men!” he shouted. “Men of the Plymouth Cordage Company! Now that we’ve gone this far, we must go the whole hog! We must form an industrial association of all workers to demand our rights!”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Some men frowned. Unions were controversial. Many shared the belief that a man should stand on his own two feet, and resist any attempt by an association to take away his rights.

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Old-fashioned thinkin', Conley silently scoffed. Pieties about standin’ on yer own feet would not stay wealthy owners and factory managers from treatin’ workers like so many bales of hemp or buckets of coal.

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

“That’s right!” Conley boomed. “You heard me right! The Plymouth Cordage workers must form a union!”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Rubbing his hands, blowing on his fingers, though it seemed to him the sky had lightened some, Vincenzo Brini stood in the back with Benno and some of the men who'd gathered in his house on the day they’d first spoken of a strike. He understood the drift of the speech-making, Brini and other Italian speakers sharing words, queries, comments, confirmations. Someone knew the name of the brawling, large-lunged, red-headed man again atop the makeshift podium, this Conley who now spoke of a new theme.

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Vanzetti had hung back from the ranks of the workers. He was an observer, a passionate supporter of the men who had seized the glorious moment and declared themselves on strike, but was not one of them. Now, as Conley’s return to the small platform augured further news, he could bear it no longer. He threaded his way through the crowd to join Brini’s circle. He looked Brini full in the face and, congratulating him on the day’s action, thought, comrades now! At last no holding back!

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Brini did not return the embrace as unreservedly.

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

“What are you doing here today, my friend?” Brini asked in a skeptical though less dour tone than usual. “Surely, it is not possible for a man who does not work for a factory to go on strike against it?”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Vanzetti murmured dismissively, sensing the joke.

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

“So then, comrade, have you come seeking employment in my place?”

amet, nascetur Pellentesque tempor venenatis in vehicula vitae hendrerit in convallis erat, ornare adipiscing convallis lobortis mauris Nulla

Vanzetti shook his head no, smiled foolishly, accepting his role as the butt of his landlord’s jest. Nothing, he thought, could spoil his joy at the sight of so many men out on strike. The comedy of victory, the happiness of men who have seized their freedom. He would endure an entire opera of such jokes to witness so wonderful a sight.

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natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“Truly, compagno,” he said, “this is the finest day I have ever seen.”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

Brini nodded, and gestured with his head to the place where Conley was raising his arms for quiet.

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

Capsule translations into Italian buzzed through the knot of men. The smile left Vanzetti’s face as he caught the burden of their talk. “What is this?” he asked. “A union? Officializi?”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“Men of the Cordage!” Conley shouted, pointing at the offices housed in the upper story of Building Three. “Now that we’ve told those fellows still inside where we stand and what we’re prepared to do about it, we must form a union! An industrial union of all Plymouth Cordage workers to demand our rights! It is the only way to win this strike!”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

Shouts yea and nay briefly filled the air before quiet returned.

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“Every man here has heard of the woolen mills of Lawrence, have ya not?” Conley cried.

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

Supporters responded, “Aye!”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“Well, the woolen mill workers of Lawrence formed a union. They stuck it out through thick and thin and won five dollar raises. Five more dollars, men, every week! Think of it!”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“The union?” Vanzetti said to Brini and the others. “This union is just another boss. Sure, sure, the men must keep together, but if they are together, why do they need a union boss to tell them what to do?”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

Agitated by his own words and his listeners’ silence, Vanzetti muttered, ”The union is the dues. The dues are taken by the bosses who sit in the office all day with their feet on the desk. When you have the office, you must have the officializi.”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“We must do as the men of Lawrence did!” Conley thundered from the box. “Make up yer minds to sign up for the union! Today, men, do it today!” He pointed at the sky, at the floating island of blue spreading across the harbor, and said, “Look men! The sun is shining!”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

A man among the cluster around Vanzetti and Brini hurriedly translated and added as a postscript, “So now they are also taking the credit for the improvement in the weather.”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“Si! The sun is surely shining but you are covering it with a dirty cloud!” Vanzetti shouted in Italian. “The union is a thing of the bosses! It feeds them the blood of the workers in little drops! The union is no more than a bandage on a corpse! Why do the workers need another set of bosses if they trust one another?”

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

The angry tone of the Italian speech spoiled Conley’s pleasure as eager hands helped him from his perch to stand amidst a ring of smiling faces lifted to the sun.

natoque Nulla consectetur ac in dolor faucibus at tempor elit. sodales at sit sit et est ipsum ac ornare nibh quis amet

“What’s he saying?” he snapped.","page":"114","last":"","id":"996","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“It’s just some Guinea,” one of his followers replied. “Forget it. Nobody’s listening.”

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“How do you know nobody’s listenin’? Shut him up!” Conley commanded. “And tell him to speak English! Nobody talks anythin’ but English!”

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“Shaddup, you!” yelled Conley’s man as he walked toward Vanzetti. “That’s enough outta you, little man!”

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“Qui?”

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“Talk English!” the man shouted.

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

Comrades joined him and took up the cry: “Shaddup! Shaddup! Shaddup!”

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

Vanzetti threw up his hands and turned his back.

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“It is a beautiful day,” he told himself as he walked from the factory gates. “Hundreds of men waking from their slumber, throwing off their chains. What insult is done to Vanzetti does not matter. My role is to help the people.”

***

January, 1916, North Plymouth

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

When he learned one day of a big ”parade” (his father’s word) to be held by the workers carrying signs and banners on a march down Court Street from their gathering spot at Holmes Field to the gates of the factory, Beltrando Brini, now nine, thought at once of the town’s Independence Day parade. He loved the parade. On Independence Day, the Plymouth Cordage Company band proudly marched down Court Street in brilliant white uniforms, playing their fine brass horns and beating their drums. Perhaps the striking cordage workers would have a band as well.

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

That morning, Beltrando joined the ranks of the neighborhood children who preferred the excitement of the parade to the routine of another day at school, so were flocking to the gathering point of wintry Holmes Field. The strikers stood in groups and gossiped, some slapping their upper arms in an effort to warm themselves, others stomping their boot-clad feet, most complaining about the cold, wet, winter weather, or the absence of wages, or the conduct of a strike that had so far failed to improve their lot, or, worst of all to men of feeling, the dishonorable behavior of the factory guards who sometimes spit on the them, an act that hurt their pride far more than a club could hurt their bodies.

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

After a few minutes, during which the children amused themselves in repetitive games of circle tag, and Beltrando, sick of games, shifted from foot to foot, the strike leaders began to shout orders to the men.

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“Form ranks!”

Etiam dui. sociis Lorem nulla. Etiam vitae venenatis euismod amet, blandit sodales egestas. et nascetur diam dolor

“Signs and banners to the front!”

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ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

The men assembled behind black-haired Spenser and his fellow members on the strike committee who’d planned the public demonstration. The leaders pushed to the front those carrying signs and slogan-bearing banners made of old sheets.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

Laughter and pointing broke out among the onlookers.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“Look!”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“What are they holding?”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

The strikers’ banners bore strings of black mussel shells dangling from sign poles. The hand-lettering on the banners read, “Do You Expect Us to Live on These All Our Lives?”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“Why are they laughing?” Beltrando asked. “And why are the workers carrying shells?”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

None of the children could tell him.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

When he spotted Lefevre standing with a group of older girls, he stood by his sister’s side until she was forced to acknowledge him.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“What do the signs say, Faye?”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

She told him what the words said, but not what they meant.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“I don’t understand.”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“It means the shells, Dolly. They are carrying shells from the sea.” She shook her head with impatience. “The men say they don’t want to eat them.”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

Eat shells? “Are we going to eat shells, Faye?”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“No, foolish. Go and stand with the children,” she ordered.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

But the girl knew that some families were reduced to eating black-shelled mussels scooped from the mud of the harbor. She did not wish to speak of it because the idea frightened her, and because she was beginning to feel the hunger of the strike.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

A pair of black cars drove slowly down the road from the town center, honking their horns as the men craned their necks, impatiently seeking the signal to march.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

“Clear the road!” a passenger shouted from the first car. “You’ve no right to interfere with traffic!”

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

The driver shook his fist and shouted at the strikers who were slow to get out of his way.

ac venenatis ante. sodales elit. vehicula in ut amet malesuada. elit. condimentum nibh malesuada. elit venenatis malesuada. et elit. in sociis eros

The strikers grudgingly gave way, but then someone recognized the bald head of Thomas Quilty, the burly foreman of Building Two who’d been knocked down by Conley at the start of the strike. Quilty rode in ceremonial splendor in the open car’s rear seat beside Chief Archibald Mudd of the Plymouth police. The chief sat stiffly in his best uniform, dressed as if about to make an important speech, or to attend the funeral of a prominent citizen.

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ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“It’s Mudd!” the strikers cried. “And Quilty!”

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

They were on their way to the factory -- where else? -- to stand with guards hired to wrestle control of the gates from the strikers and secure access for the strikebreakers.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

Men shouted, broke ranks, chased the car. A few found stones at the roadside, knelt to pick up and hurl them like javelins at a retreating foe.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“Take that, Mudd, you fat son of a bitch!” a man shouted. “Come dine at my house and see how long you keep that well-fed belly!”

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

The driver stepped on the gas.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

A person unknown to the strikers, a big-boned man wearing a tall black hat stepped into the road and shouted a question at the black Hudson. The car slowed momentarily. Words flew among the passengers. The car drove around the top-hatted stranger. The tall man shrugged, straightened his hat, and tossed off a belittling remark to a pair of equally outlandishly-dressed companions, who laughed.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“City men,” the strikers murmured.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“Who is the man with the hat?” Beltrando wondered aloud. “When does the parade begin?”

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

Lefevre edged away from him closer to the other girls.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

The black-hatted man and his companions were not the only strangers watching the strikers’ march that morning. Word passed that the “gentlemen of the press,” who’d been promised that something entertaining lay in store for them, had traveled from Boston that morning on the seven-o’clock train for the occasion. Among them, Carson Shipley of the Boston Herald, a reporter who favored the ironical topper. The most conspicuous of these visitors, Shipley wrote down what was written on the banners, and bantered with his peers.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

Another visitor from Boston squatted on a doorstep across the roadway from Holmes Field, where he furiously scribbled on an open page in his sketchbook. Yet another stranger labored to set up a tripod for his heavy black box, cursing the cold and blowing on his fingers.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“What is it?” Beltrando asked.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“A camera,” answered Primo, Benno’s older and considerably rougher son, who had sidled up beside him. “Ain’t you seen a camera before?”

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

The photographer howled at the sky after his cold fingers dropped a square-shaped slice of metal on the ground.

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

“That’s his plate,” Primo announced knowingly. “Now he’s flubbed it for sure.”

ac Proin diam justo a. justo Proin tempor hendrerit. nibh odio amet, ante. justo at blandit diam justo Quisque quam quis diam a. magna

The belated command came at last. With an uneven lurch forward, the ranks of the Cordage workers set off. The motley pack of children followed. With a bitter denunciation of the heavens that prompted women to cover children’s ears, the harassed photographer snapped together the legs of his tripod, tucked it under his arm, and scrambled after the march, shouting, “If you could all hold still just one blessed moment more!”

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nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

The noise of the strike carried faintly to the center of the Pilgrim town, where anyone outside that morning was also likely to hear from a disapproving mouth a first-hand report of the workers’ ridiculous mussel shell demonstration.

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“It’s those strikers again making a fuss,” complained frequent and valued customer, Elspeth Barnes, to Berne Howard, the owner of Howard’s Book, Bell and Sundries, when Elspeth rattled into the store to purchase a week’s supply of Mrs. Fishworth’s Appetite Enhancer, a proven remedy for digestive ailments. “They’re foreigners, you know,” she added, her abrupt nod indicating that she meant more than she’d said. “That is why we are plagued with strikes in this country, Mr. Howard. Foreign labor!”

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“It may well be,” the storeowner replied, wishing to be agreeable without making a commitment, mindful that he also served the men who hired the foreign labor.

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“It is, Mr. Howard,” Elspeth Barnes insisted. “I have not the slightest doubt of it. Mark my words.”

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

The storeowner busied himself with wrapping her remedy in brown paper.

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

Lavinia Rossiter entered the store, her dark gloves and old unfashionable hat with something of warmth about it practical attire in the cool morning air, her purpose in visiting the store to scoop up the papers that had arrived on the same train as the gentlemen from Boston. More disastrous battles in Europe, election talk in Washington, she read, glancing at the leads as she approached the counter, where she returned the others’ nods and removed some coins from a clasp purse.

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“It’s a scandal,” Elspeth Barnes pronounced, taking the paper of pills from the storeowner. “As I was just telling Mr. Howard.”

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“Indeed,” replied Lavinia.

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“I am speaking of that vile strike, you know.”

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“And I am speaking of that horrible war.”

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

The elder lady stared coldly but did not pursue the conversation. Lavinia placed the coins on the counter and walked out of the store.

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

Outside on Main Street, Lavinia chided herself, not for being short with a fellow townswoman she had known and cordially detested most of her life, but for failing to demand from her an account of what constituted the vileness of the strike. Was it the meanness of the company’s ownership that had driven the poor workers to that expedient; was that what you were referring to, Mrs. Barnes?

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

As she lingered indecisively in front of Howard’s store (Should I go back inside and bandy words with the woman? Impossible! What would be the use of rolling that boulder uphill?), Lavinia watched as a man in a driving cap, muffler, and goggles got out from a black touring car and launched a volley of complaints to a passing patrolman concerning what he termed, “the blatant disregard for public order threatening to engulf the entire town.”

nibh in quam, venenatis et tincidunt consectetur ornare ornare mauris elit. adipiscing

“Are you going to let those disorderly louts block the roads?” the motorist admonished.

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tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

Hands shoved in his coat pockets, the patrolman looked away but held his peace.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“Well, Officer Whiting, are you going to do anything at all?”

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Charles!” Lavinia intervened, turning her anger on the goggled motorist, her brother-in-law. “Leave the man alone! After all, your own naked greed has driven those poor men to strike!”

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“Greed? My greed?” Charles Rossiter retorted, shaking his head as Lavinia turned and stormed away. He looked at the policeman and, making a pact with the only man about, said, “If women ever get the vote, Whiting, I won’t answer for it.”

***

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

The strikers struggled to hold their banners aloft without fouling the lines draped with black mussel shells.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“Keep ‘em high, boys!” a leader shouted as the procession came into view of the factory gates. “Let everyone see ‘em!”

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

A man wearing a new checkered cap that made him look like a motorist craned his neck toward the line of marchers and scribbled in a notebook. Two young idlers flipped pennies against the curbstone. When a coin rolled into the line of march, a boy ran after it, risking a collision and earning reproofs and hoots.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“That’s his dinner he’s chasin’,” an onlooker jested.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“Speaking of dinner, Mr. Farley,” said the tall reporter in the black topper to a boon companion, “I believe it’s your turn to stand for the vittles today.”

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“I doubt that, Mr. Shipley,” replied Farley, who covered for the Boston Daily Globe and fell often into the company of his competitor. “I doubt that very highly.”

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“Then we shall have to cut the cards, shall we?” Shipley returned.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

The strikers were not thinking of dinner, though most had had little by way of breakfast. They were thinking of what awaited them at the factory gate.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

As the curve in the road brought the factory into view, at the sight of what appeared to be a handful of guards, some of the strikers shouted, waved their arms, and mockingly called out to them: “Cowards!” “Stooges!” “Finks!” “Child beaters!” and similar terms in foreign languages. As the marchers drew closer, more guards crossed the footbridge from the factory yard to stand just outside the gate on Court Street. Still others emerged from a lone rail car parked on the spur line in the factory yard amid barrels and cases of stacked-up hemp and other fibers. A dark murmur of recognition of these new arrivals in blue coats quickly passed through the strikers.

tempor nisi amet erat Mauris Quisque et venenatis penatibus mauris Quisque nulla. Lorem dolor consectetur blandit mi sit magna vitae justo justo et Fusce

“The gendarmes of the city,” Vincenzo Brini muttered to Benno, his thickly-built comrade. “Carabinieri.”

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eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

The strikers had heard the rumors. Here now was proof that the City of Boston rented its constabulary to factory owners to assist in breaking strikes -- a matter of maintaining public order, Boston politicians said; and a matter of a few dollars’ extra pay for participating police officers who’d been promised by the mayor that if injured in a scuffle with strikers and out of work for a few months, the police relief fund would see that their families were fed.

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

If a worker was injured, as the strikers knew all too well, he must hope that his mates passed the hat. No city relief for him.

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“Bastardo,” Brini muttered, looking hard at those around him, thinking of the insistence by some that the Cordage Company would not go so far as to hire outside policemen to exact violence on the workers. “They would not stoop so,” these men had protested. “We work in their factory. Some of us live in their houses.”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“So now we know the truth of it,” Brini declared bitterly. “We are two armies, blood will flow.”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“Assassins!” Benno shouted with a vigor that hurt the older man’s ears. Benno then showed Brini his fists and said, “These hands have done other things besides feeding the loom.”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

Still closer, the marchers could see men in long coats, company officials standing well within the gates of the factory, and watching as the battle lines formed. One man was calmly smoking a cigar.

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

Workers called out, knowing their names. Talbot. Spooner.

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“Give us our money!” they shouted. “We deserve it!”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

Inside the gates, a young man advocating for reason asked the cigar-smoking company director, Charlie Spooner, “What if the country was at war?”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

Spooner ignored him.

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“Look, Mr. Spooner, this is a valuable war supply factory,” the young man argued and, pointing at the procession of strikers, added, “We can’t have the factory shut down by something like this!”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“But we are not at war, young man,” Spooner answered without averting his gaze from the advance of sign-holders. “Need I remind you of that?”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“But we will be, Mr. Spooner. I assure you we will. I have the Secretary’s ear. You can count on it.”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

Spooner neither looked at him nor replied.

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“You can bet your bottom dollar, Mr. Spooner,” the young man persisted. “Cordage will be in high demand -- lots of it, and fast!”

eros erat, odio eros quis nibh ipsum Ut at justo quis est

“You will have it,” Spooner flatly assured him.

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lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

The company director walked away from the assertions of the agitated rooster, one of the “federal boys” hanging around town on some mysterious government mission. Spooner’s confidence was high. He’d told his Board of Governors that if the country went to war, prices would go up, and rise even higher if they allowed the strike to last a few more weeks, at which point the hungry workers would settle for the company’s offer, and the company’s rope would be in greater demand.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

The marchers halted a few feet from the gate, the men in the rear ranks spreading out along the roadside, surrounding the factory’s protectors. The blue-coated constables, city cops accustomed to battling street thugs, were armed with truncheons. The Boston-based show of force seemed to a man to be unconcerned by the strikers’ approach. Unnerved by the hostile appearance of these “defenders of the rights of property,” workers looked about for pieces of wood or branches or anything to put in their hands to defend against the truncheons, if it came to that. Most had a sinking feeling it would.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

The strikers holding ”eat mussels” signs -- those attention-getting protests Boston newspapermen had found so amusing -- grasped their signposts with two hands.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

“This is an illegal assembly!” a voice bawled from behind the gate. “You men out there! Disperse! I order you to go to your homes now!”

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

The men recognized the voice of the despised Chief Mudd, a man they disliked more than feared.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

“Fat baboon!” a striker shouted.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

“Dough-faced dunderhead!” yelled another.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

“Ya can’t be blockin’ the gate!” a Cordage Company foreman called back. “We won’t have it, unnerstand? If ya’s don’t wanna work, we have others who do!”

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

The men responded to this provocation with jeers. They did not believe that strikebreakers would take their jobs, but the thought of it enraged them.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

“We’ve worked fer yeh all our lives!” a man shouted. “All we want is decent pay!”

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

As the verbal battle raged, the strike leaders discussed the situation. The intention of marching with signs and banners strewn with mussel shells to the factory gates had been to titillate the Boston press and garner sympathetic attention from a jaded world. The gentlemen of the press had come; therefore, and as hoped, the gimmick would win them a few lines in the next day’s papers. As a practical matter, they might as well go home for all the good standing in front of the gate would do them, what with the scabs gathered by the factory to work that morning undoubtedly inside the workrooms.

lobortis et at montes, malesuada. et ridiculus justo montes, eu quis

But once again, the leaders had been caught off guard, and now that the company had called in the Boston constables, a principle was at stake. If they turned tail at the site of city cops armed with thick clubs, they feared the company would never take them seriously. If they allowed themselves to be pushed around, they might just as well return to work and forget about a decent wage.

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malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

The strikers heard shouted orders, and watched as a ragged collection of factory guards and local goons moved through the gates, their numbers conspicuously swelled by blue-suited officers. Thrusting out chests draped in dark-blue winter uniform coats, patting truncheons on their thighs, the Boston cops waited for the strikers to make contact, any kind of contact, even accidental, as a pretext for violence and arrests. There had to be arrests. No arrests, no extra pay.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

Beltrando was disappointed in this parade. No music. No white-uniformed band. No shining instruments filling the wintry morn with lightness and cheer. He straggled along with the other children who pushed up behind the strikers, attempting to see what was happening. The noise and shouting in front of the factory gates bewildered and frightened him, but like a wounded animal growling beneath a bush, drew his curiosity as well.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

Alerted to their presence, workers turned to shoo away the childish rearguard now clearly in the wrong place.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“Via!” shouted a man from Castle Street. “Go home, bambinos!”

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

A few of the urchins stepped back, but crept forward again when the strikers returned their attention to the ominous presence of the coppers to their front.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“What is happening?” Beltrando asked.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

None of children replied, their faces masks of fascination and fear. Beltrando turned to look when he heard grown-up voices behind him.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“Jayzus Christ on a donkey!” remarked the towering, round-bellied Shipley, who waited on the opposite side of Court Street for the fun to begin. “Their brats are right behind them! What do they think this is? A Roman circus?”

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“A circus it is,” Farley agreed. “And you, sir, are the biggest clown.”

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

Shipley cleared his throat and spat on the frozen ruts of Court Street. “And when do you expect this show to begin? I don’t intend to stand out here all day.”

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“You fellows there!” growled a hired Boston copper as if cued by the showy newsman’s impatience. He poked his stick at the chest of a small, dark-haired worker. “Whatcha doin’ loiterin’? You heard the chief just now. On yer way!”

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

The singled-out young striker froze. Determined to do nothing he could be blamed for later, his eyes followed the stick the constable swung back and forth like a pendulum.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“Yer a pack of stinkin’ vagrants!” taunted a second beefy cop, who shouldered himself into line beside the first. “Remove yerselves from the premises! Yer on private property!”

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“Beasts!” yelled a striker standing behind the small, dark-haired man being poked by the copper’s club.

malesuada. Ut lobortis fermentum vestibulum at ornare adipiscing in diam Cum tristique justo adipiscing mauris in Proin amet et euismod odio vestibulum dolor Quisque

“Go back to where you come from!” another called. “You’re not from here! You know nothin’ about any of this!”","page":"122","last":"","id":"1004","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

“I know yer all trespassin’!”

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

“And you bastards are stealin’ food from the mouths of babes!”

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

“Yer brats look healthy enough to me!”

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

At this Vincenzo Brini, still beside Benno in the hope that the muscular young man had not exaggerated the usefulness of his hands, swung round and was shocked to see big-eyed Beltrando staring at him amid the huddle of chilled, skinny-limbed children in caps and short pants.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

"Faye!” he cried in fury, knowing the girl was somewhere. “Take the boy home!”

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

Men echoed his cries, calling the names of sons and daughters, commanding, threatening.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

Lefevre heard, but reacted with a fury of her own. She was a child no more. Her foolish brother was merely a weight around her neck. Her place was on the picket line with the grown women of the neighborhood who had marched in support of their striking husbands, and now shouted curses at the blue-coated bullies.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

The copper swung his truncheon into the solar plexus of the frightened striker, a thin pale-eyed Polish immigrant who understood few of the words shouted at him. He bent forward in pain, his upper body brushing against the copper.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

“Who’re ya pushin’?” the copper hollered, shoving aside the smaller man.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

The two lines of angry men, one backed by a thinner rank of outraged, keening women, lurched forward and stumbled into one another. Guards swung their clubs. Men cried out. The blue-coated coppers raised their truncheons and looked for victims. Strikers used sign posts to deflect the heavy clubs. Punches were thrown.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

Some women leaned into the press behind their men. Caught up in the struggle, they risked their own flesh in the chaotic violence of a campaign to put food on their tables. Others fell back and howled at the sky, calling on saints for mercy, on gods for vengeance.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

Men who had nothing in their hands to combat the policemen’s clubs jockeyed away from the blows of the uniformed men, then dashed off to pry loose pavement stones from the verge of the roadway and blindly hurl them over their comrades’ heads into the swarm of blue coats.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

A stocky man in the uniform of the local police grunted and held a hand to his bleeding head.

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

“It’s Carroll!” his nearest fellow called, hauling the bleeding man off the line. “Foreign bastards!”

Nulla lacus vehicula tristique dui. sed scelerisque amet, tempor ipsum nisl. nulla. tristique lobortis a. amet, sit ipsum odio nulla.

Angered, police swung their truncheons higher, aiming at heads. A sickening thud sounded. A slender, black-haired man dropped to the pavement, bleeding. The line of strikers backed away from the clubs.","page":"123","last":"","id":"1005","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

Lefevre dashed forward to help the fallen striker by screaming into the red face of the panting copper standing over and prodding with his club the unconscious mound of flesh as if waking a drunk. He scowled at Lefevre and swore mechanically, repeating the same dull, oafish Anglo-Saxon oath, though whether at her or out of a generalized rage and fear, even he would not have been able to say.

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Two older women from the neighborhood braved the chaos to push away the girl and latch onto the arms of the fallen striker. A third pulled on Lefevre’s thin arm to drag her from the melee.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

“Do you want to get yourself killed, fanciulla?” she scolded. “This is not your place!”

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

The woman shoved away the girl and redirected her anger to the club-wielding copper. “Beast! Savage!” she raged. “Go home and beat your own children!”

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

Beltrando, his eyes red with fear and confusion, squirmed between the larger bodies to grab his sister’s hand as if it was he who would lead her from the violence. He looked at her face and saw tears. Lefevre looked past him at a man running toward her.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

“Come quickly, cara,” Vanzetti said, fighting for breath. “The beasts are out of their cages today. It is time for you to go.”

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

He placed his hands on the shoulders of the Brini children and led them away from the struggle. Strikers shouted. Factory guards cursed them. Coppers menaced the men with truncheons. Pavement blocks flew over heads.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

“Go!” Vanzetti commanded, wiped a hand on his jacket and brushed his fingers across the boy’s wet cheeks. Beltrando angrily shook his head at the sight of his tears.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

Lefevre turned her back on the noise and blows of the conflict, her shoulders tight as a board as she yanked her brother’s hand to pull him along with her. Beltrando lurched forward a few steps then shook his hand free of his sister’s and looked down at a striker’s leaflet curled around the scuffed toe of his worn shoe. Two city newsmen strode past, away from the line of tangled men, top-hatted Shipley and his smaller companion Farley loudly discussing where to get their dinner, as they need not stay until the end of the violence of the picket line because it was nothing they had not seen before.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

As Lefevre yanked her brother homeward, he whirled once more to confront the battle behind him.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

A strange silence had fallen. Two men were now lugging the fallen striker, one at the arms, one at his feet, across Court Street to a house where a woman beckoned stiffly from an open door.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

A dark-clothed, barrel-chested man stepped between the lines and held up his arms in appeal, facing first the guards and the cops, and then the strikers.

hendrerit ipsum sed eu sagittis et penatibus sed parturient quis amet, dolor justo eu Proin hendrerit. sed nisi pellentesque. nibh amet, Quisque in vestibulum ridiculus blandit

As the distant figure turned from one side to the other, Beltrando glimpsed the face of his friend.

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et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

CHAPTER 12

A WOMAN OF THE BOSSES

January, 1916, North Plymouth

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“And where was the great Mr. Conley? When this miserable fiasco, this pitting of the poor men of the Cordage against these other poor men who consent to wear their blue coats and to carry their clubs to Plymouth to earn extra pennies for knocking the heads for the rich men who own the factory?”

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

Vanzetti put down his water glass to open his hands.

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

“Tell me, Mr. Vanzetti. Where?”

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Lavinia knew all about the march of the sea shells, and the pilgrimage of the Boston newsmen assigned to entertain readers with a description of the amusing scene, and the ensuing confrontation that was not amusing at all. The town’s newspaper, in its stately, orotund, once-a-week fashion, at last delivered the news that a local policeman struck in the head by a rock thrown by a striker appeared to be recovering at home in the bosom of his family. The paper had no word on the strikers’ injuries.

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

“Ah!” Vanzetti leaned back and threw up his hands in a gesture of disgust. “Important business elsewhere,” he said in a mocking tone, imitating that of the big man’s followers. “Who knows what this business is? He is the hand behind the scenes.” He made motions with his hands of raising and lowering strings. “He is…how do I say…the puppies?”

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

“Puppets,” she suggested.

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

“Grazie. He is the puppets’ maestro.” He shook his head. “I do not know what this man is about -- aside from the union, always the union, and the easy chair this union of the workers will purchase for him and his cronies... But this is the man, the great Mr. Conley, I must see about my own business.”

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

Lavinia had an idea of what this business was. Vanzetti had talked at his previous visit of Luigi Galleani, the apparent philosopher king of the group of Italian anarchists Vanzetti recognized as compagnos in the dream of the beautiful idea. It was his hope, he’d said, to have Galleani, his maestro, present an inspirational address to the strikers.

et Sed ipsum ut est venenatis dolor ipsum et justo et amet, Etiam enim Lorem quam ipsum mi montes, quis a. et et in blandit Ut ipsum magnis

These were foreign notions. In her musings, in what were perhaps inappropriate daydreams for a widow lady with two daughters, she thought of her fascinating new friend as the Italian revolutionary. It allowed him to be different, unconventional, perhaps even romantic -- his gruppo, his comrades, and now his maestro even more so. But should this worry her? Most of the respectable Plymouth folk she’d known all her life regarded her ideas as the height of a dreamer’s folly: that a woman should not only have the vote, but should also play an equal role in the affairs of the nation, in its businesses, its governance, its schools and professions, in every aspect of public life everywhere. Why ever not? You might as well believe in fairies as did, according to

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the international press, the estimable creator of the entirely rational Sherlock Holmes. So, perhaps her friend’s idea, that an industrial strike at the Plymouth Cordage Company would somehow drive the owners from the field and leave an establishment of such obvious financial value in the hands of men who ran the machines, was no more unlikely than her own.

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

However, she had objections to this idea.

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“Some of these owners you are so eager to rid of the workers are elderly women,” she said. “Widows, pensioners own stock in the company. They have invested their small fortunes in the company’s promise to reward investors with reliable annual dividends. The company’s dividends provide their means of support.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

Lavinia had carefully chosen her words. She was uncertain as to her friend’s comprehension of these facts of life in a society he dismissed with demonic terms: capitalism, blood-suckers, monsters of greed. She was not at all sure whether some of her funds were also invested in the Cordage. Charles would know. Since her husband Nathaniel’s death, his narrow ledger-book brother Charles had handled her affairs.

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

This objection did not greatly concern her friend, who insisted that the people would care for the elderly and the widows as surely as for all those in need once control of the natural resources of the earth was gained. The natural concern of human beings for their fellows would be the only law required to bring about this universal selflessness.

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“And the poor man hit in the head by the hired ruffians?” she asked. “Who is caring for him?”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

Vanzetti winced. “That one. His name is Pio. For that I am to blame.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“You? How can you possibly be to blame for that brutal deed?”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“No, no, not for the deed. But for Pio. It was Vanzetti who sent this boy to work at the Cordage. Better there than the Dooty Brown. The factory is also better for the comrades.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“And the workers will be better because of the strike?”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“Si. I am certain of it.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“But you worked for Brown.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“As for Vanzetti, it is true that I do the pick and shovel, but no more with Brown. Now I make the hole for the new school on Cherry Street.” He smiled. “Beltrando will go to this school.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

Lavinia wondered. Was it strange, contradictory, that he took pride in his own humble but useful work?

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“So you were trying to help this young man Pio,” she said. “It is not your doing that he was hit in the head.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“He will get better,” Vanzetti said. “They care for him. But the ‘help’ as you say will come when the strike succeeds.”

venenatis Mauris Nulla mi gravida at sed Proin venenatis ante. Nulla et

“But how will it succeed -- to your expectations?”

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nascetur pellentesque. ornare nascetur et Mauris in Etiam ante. montes, augue. Nulla vestibulum elit ac venenatis consectetur tristique hendrerit. hendrerit. venenatis sagittis vitae nisi Proin ante. ipsum at consectetur tincidunt Ut

“When the workers tell the Mr. Spooner and the other bosses to go home. They are not needed. The men will run the factory themselves.”

Lavinia sighed. She could not foresee such an outcome, despite the commitment of her friend, who came by less often as the strike went on. He was traveling, he told her, to collect donations for the workers’ relief fund. Riding streetcars, begging lifts from motorists, wearing out his shoe leather.

She was about to ask where he was going next when distracted by a disturbing sight.

“Oh dear,” she said, tensing in her chair. “The woman’s back already.”

“The cook?”

“Yes. With an armful of bundles.”

She had given Mrs. Baker so many half-days off she was now forced to invent errands in advance of Vanzetti’s visit so the woman would be gone while they sat and talked. Mrs. Baker was a spy of servant-class respectability whose tongue would wag, probably already was, over seeing her mistress meet with this man. She’d draw a whole doggy pack of wagging tongues to Lavinia’s home to sniff around her domestic tranquility and slobber about the risk to her reputation. Indeed, the simple fact of a male presence in the house would set the pack a-yipping.

Alert to her persecutor’s stolid approach down Allerton Street, Lavinia stood to bid her friend an understandably abrupt farewell. Vanzetti popped up as well, a smile on his serious, gentle face, a touch of irony in his tip-toe across the parlor to the hall to await a hasty exit through the front door once Lavinia determined that Mrs. Baker had gone round to the back of the house.

They nodded farewell to one another in conspiratory silence, Vanzetti’s up-curled lip hidden by the big moustache, fingertips to his hat. Lavinia opened the door, he stepped into the opening, she pressed his hand, and he hurried out.

It was not their first touch. It meant nothing, she told herself. Just a silent gesture of goodbye.

She would maintain, for public consumption, that she was tutoring the man in English so that he might rise in his occupation, but knew there was more to their companionship than this public lie. She wished to preserve what they had. What she had. Their connection was innocent, but it was fond, very fond. Lavinia gave no thought to the future.

***

Vanzetti was on the go, as these Americans said.

The families who lived from pay envelope to pay envelope, stretching stinted wages to meet inflated prices for necessities, were making due now without even that inadequate wage. In the Italian societies and club houses of the North End and East Boston, he was

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received as a representative of his community, not as an anarchist, a believer in a revolutionarily different way of life. The shop owners, the restaurants gave him money. Never a lot, but some. The working men’s associations, the industrial workers’ unions that he did not believe in greeted him as a comrade. They met in basements, cold in the winter, listened to him praise the Plymouth rope workers’ courageous struggle to take their futures into their own hands, and gave what they could. Downstairs they froze, while up on the sidewalk, the carcasses of goose and duck and rabbit hung from the windows of the butcher shops, the spice shops smelled of sage and thyme and (somehow) of fresh basil, the cafés alluringly aromatic with the rich smoldering steam of the coffee roasters, an elixir to Vanzetti’s deprived senses. But he resisted, determined not to spend an extra penny on himself. Only the bare minimum to keep him going. A penny for a streetcar to take him to a neighborhood, a distant ward inland as far from the harbor of the city of Boston as he could imagine himself traveling without blundering into some new city, the scent of the sea replaced by the rigid smoky smell of winter and the dizzying aroma of food and drink and tobacco escaping from abruptly-opened doors.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

Someone, a compagno he knew nothing of and could barely understand his speech, the son of some region, Calabria, perhaps, a place of secret societies, the big man, the padrone of the Society of the Friends of the Republic of All Italians, referred him to an equally-placed patriarch in a district known as St. Margaret’s Parish. This society of Catholic men met in the social room of the church. The odor was different here. Tea, he guessed.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

The Irishers of this society turned up their noses at his accent. He expected better from his fellow Catholics. He heard the same words muttered, jested in the English tongue, that he’d heard from bosses, foremen, and on some occasions (bad ones) from other workers: dago, garlic-tongue, Saint Macaroni, dirty reds. Dirty reds, a strange insult to hear from working men, he thought. And dirty? As if the men of this island nation had been welcomed by open arms in the streets of Boston when they fled from the years of rotting potatoes, from the masters who permitted them to starve.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

The maestro here, a white-haired brood-mate of the padrone of his own country, told him that the men of his society did not like “the reds.” The ascending puff of his hair reminded Vanzetti of the sheaves of his father’s wheat fields, gathered and bundled and bleached white in the sun.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

“The workers have no color,” Vanzetti replied. “They are just as you and I.”

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

The padrone took off the hat called the ”derby,” placed it on the table beside him, and caressed the hard crown with something resembling affection. From a horse race, he’d been told, this name derby. Do the horses wear hats?

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

They were steamfitters in this clubhouse, said the men seated at the table, puffing out their chests. They worked very hard for a wage.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

“So also do the rope workers of Plymouth,” he replied.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

The man with white hair sniffed. “Do yer bizness then, man.”

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Vanzetti walked around the table from man to man holding the small cloth bag, unwilling to let it out of his hands. The men gave something, most of them, but not much.

sit Proin dolor Quisque ac elit diam venenatis Proin at amet mauris dis mi nascetur mus. sociis hendrerit a. sit nisi

Outside in the full dark he turned in circles in the lightless streets. The trams no longer appeared to be running. He looked for tracks, or water, something to follow. At a loss, he stopped the last of a party of men leaving a saloon to ask for directions to the South Station. In Boston, he added, in case he was now somewhere else.","page":"128","last":"","id":"1010","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

The man, who spoke English with an accent different from Vanzetti’s, took his time to reply, glancing upwards to think.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

“My friend,” he said, “I can think of no way to return to the South Station until the morning when the trams of this district begin to run again.” He sighed. “We are out of the way.”

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Vanzetti thanked the stranger for his help and turned to go. He had spent the night in a doorway before, though this would be a cold one.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

“Wait,” the man said. “What errand brings you to St. Margaret’s?”

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

Deciding to trust him, Vanzetti told him the truth.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

The thin man with a boney face smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

“A noble undertaking, my friend. I am from Minsk, where we too believed in the international workers’ movement. My name is Plansky -- Marcel. Call me whatever you wish. Come,” he said, taking Vanzetti’s arm, “you must spend the night with us. I live with a woman on Fountain Street. It is not far. We are -- how do they say it? -- common law.”

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

Vanzetti unobtrusively sniffed this Plansky Marcel encountered outside the saloon and, deciding he did not smell too badly, thanked him for his kind favor and followed him along a trail of winding streets to the basement of a small building bordering a low place that smelled of the damp. The man Plansky called it a fen, and named a nearby stream unfamiliar to Vanzetti.

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In his host’s basement dwelling, a dark place with no sign of wakefulness, perhaps because the fellow’s ”wife” did not appreciate his time away in the tavern, he quietly followed the stranger to a kitchen, where the man managed after a few tries to light a lamp.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

“Ah,” Plansky said, peering at the stove, “my simple supper.”

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

He offered to share the cold contents of a pan left on the stove. Vanzetti accepted a small bowl. The dish that smelled of cabbage was filled with potatoes and other roots. His stomach was grateful. So, he thought, the workers in the Sancta Margrit of Boston eat no better than those of North Plymouth.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

Plansky grunted with satisfaction after finishing his stew. It then became apparent to Vanzetti that despite his fatigue he would not be permitted to rest until a lengthy assessment of the conditions of the working class in this disappointing ”new world” was agreed upon between these two champions of the working class. His host spoke with flowery words, he thought with envy. The Internationale. The proletariat. The ”withering away” of the institutions of oppression.

quis tincidunt convallis enim elit. sed elit pellentesque. dui. euismod parturient quis in sagittis dolor erat

When Plansky noticed that his guest could no longer keep open his eyes, he stood and with humor and courtesy arranged a pallet on the floor beside the cooling stove for the man he insisted on calling ”an angel of the working class.” Vanzetti, who had slept in many worse places, thanked this Plansky Marcel of the courtesy and the flowery words for his hospitality, but hid his donation bag inside his trousers before he slept, just to be sure.

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He was dressing to leave in the morning, aware of raised voices somewhere in the house, when Plansky entered the kitchen.

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“Where is this place you are so eager to return to?” his host asked. “This Plymouth?”

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

“By the sea,” Vanzetti answered and shrugged. He knew it by his eyes, his senses, more than by the map.

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

“Take me with you, comrade.” The thin man from Minsk forced a grin, embarrassed by his plea. “Is there work? I can read and write the English.”

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

Before Vanzetti could reply, though he scarce knew how, a woman’s voice called the man’s name and verbally enforced the summons with a string of imprecations in a foreign tongue. German? Russian perhaps?

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

Vanzetti bid the man farewell and with a final grazie made a beeline for the door.

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

Soon back in Plymouth, the bills from his collection bag counted, rolled into tiny rounds, and stuffed into various pockets, the coins wrapped first in a handkerchief then the bag to reduce the jingle, Vanzetti consulted a mental list, his first stop Pio Lenti’s house on Mill Wharf, where the winter cold had thawed enough that a tutored nose could smell the mud of the streets. Pio’s wife, Maria, a small neat woman with a guarded demeanor, greeted him at the door, assured him that her husband was doing better and would recover, but could not yet bear looking at the light. He asked the favor of a glass of water, and when she turned to get it, he unrolled a few bills and slipped them beneath a canister on the table.

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

He made more stops, drank more water, and when the stomachs of the children in the house under whose roof he sheltered preyed on his thoughts, he walked straight to Suosso’s Lane to press a handful of coins on Alphonsina, who nodded her thanks. Then on he walked to the next household on his list.

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

In a few hours end, the effect of his money-raising labors greatly diminished, he reported to the strike committee. Wrapped in his dark muffler, Wallace Spenser made a face that implied, “Is that all?” Vanzetti did not bother to explain that he had already addressed his list of the needy.

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

The power did not belong to the verbose, high-toned Spenser. It was Bayle Conley and his bare-faced longing for power that Vanzetti did not trust. He found Conley and his faction in a barn converted to a storehouse for the wounded examples of the horseless carriage that men in stained clothing occasionally addressed with hammers and spanners and a steady flow of profanity in several languages, but mostly English. Metal panels, “hoods” they were called from the word for the head-covering, leaned against a board wall. Parts of the engines and other innards of the machines filled another corner. Conley and a trio of lanky, restless men were gathered near a large pot-bellied stove in the center of an open, ill-lit space. What is this? Vanzetti thought. The gang of thieves? The hideout?

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

“Ah, it’s the talker,” Conley said, eyeing his approach from his seat on a stool. “Which day of the month have you set for the revolution now? We don’t want to miss it, do we boys?”

dolor sit Proin justo natoque sagittis in odio et sit at dolor Proin vehicula

He glanced at his “boys,” drew their snickers.

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in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

Si, Vanzetti thought, here is the great unionist of all the Cordage workers! Sitting by the fire all day while Vanzetti wears out his shoes scraping the donations from all over the land where this Conley was born and Vanzetti was not. Yet Vanzetti is “the talker.” They told us the streets of America were paved with gold, but in fact, Senor Conley, you have neglected to pave them with anything, and now you expect Vanzetti to do the job while you sit on the haunches and pass the remarks.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

Someday he would have something to say to Senor Conley, but for now he must hold his temper. Besides, Conley and his fists had done much to bring about the strike. So now, Vanzetti supposed, he may rest upon his laurels.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

“I have brought the money to the Meester Spenser,” he began, the dutiful soldier making his report.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

“You call that money?” Conley sneered. He looked at his crew and laughed. “Money he calls it. Nickels and dimes. Chicken feed.”

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

“The wives and the children do not laugh when Vanzetti brings them the money,” he countered, ignoring the fools’ scornful looks. “They thank him. With tears, some of them, in the eyes.”

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

Conley stood from the stool to look down at the smaller man. “We don’t need your nickels, man!” he spat. “What we need is twelve dollars a week for every man in the Plymouth Cordage! And a union, so we don’t have to stand outside Spooner’s office with our hats in our hands, bowin’ and scrapin’!”

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

Banking his fury and resentment, Vanzetti replied calmly, “What you need, Senor Conley, is the pure love for the people through the knowledge of the beautiful idea. But that is the one thing I cannot give you, not even for the benefit of the workers. For that, the vision of the struggle, the beautiful idea, the master is required.”

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

“What’s this?” Conley glared. He turned and gestured to his followers, bidding them to confront the effrontery in the little foreigner’s tone. “What’s he goin’ on about?”

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

The other men could make no more of this speech than Conley. Vanzetti had spoken in his native tongue.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

Shortly after this came the wrangling.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

The strike committee met at the Vespucci clubhouse, the meetings more frequent now that the factory was being operated in some fashion by replacement workers no longer blocked by the strikers, who’d given up rough-housing with factory guards and Boston coppers. It was there at the clubhouse that Vanzetti again brought forward his proposal to extend an invitation to the master, Galleani. He suspected he would get further with other Italian speakers in the room.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

He stood with hands clasped behind his back and face turned away from Conley.

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

Disconcerted by his opponent’s tactics, Conley blurted, “What does this great man of your people say about the church, this Gal-ganny?”

in vestibulum gravida sodales fermentum tristique condimentum dolor lobortis Quisque in dolor ornare mi malesuada. et

“Gal-yanny,” the maestro’s disciple corrected, turning to face

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him. “Senor Galleani is a man,” he replied to Conley’s question. “What is a church? A stone building? A pile of gold and silver? A row of fat priests in fancy dress gowns? What does a man need with a church? Why do working men need to support a class of indolent officials who do no work themselves?”

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

Though bad Catholics to a man, Conley’s followers glared at Vanzetti.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Vanzetti said, “Senor Galleani will say nothing of the church. It is not of interest.”

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

“And nothin’ about bombs or guns,” Conley pressed. “And nothin’ about disobeyin’ the law of the land.“

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

“Si. Si. Si,” Vanzetti replied, thinking, who needs the bombs when you have honor, faith, and love for your fellow man and woman? “As for guns, Senor Galleani has known the oppressor’s fierce love for the gun. He felt it in the bullet fired into his eye at the site of the brave silk workers' strike in Paterson.”

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

“Not a word about the reds, either. The bolshies. I have it on good authority that red’s his favorite color,” Conley muttered.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

“He is not a teacher of the lee-tul bambinos,” Vanzetti said. “What does it matter what is his favorite color? Forget all this foolish talk of colors.”

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

Conley grunted, his most amiable response. He next sought a promise that the radical Italian orator say nothing that would draw the “po-lee-zi” into a brawl with his listeners. He said it this way, all three syllables, proud of his mimicry. On the other side of the room, the Italians frowned, following the dialogue, indifferently for the most part, enough to get the gist, but mainly wishing that Conley, the red-haired giant acting the padrone, would finish the preening of his reputation so they could turn to the consolation of a glass of red wine -- if wine could still be found -- and perhaps a game of cards played for matchsticks or pebbles. In these times, no one could imagine higher stakes.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

To clear the air of discord, the Italian speakers agreed to warn Galleani not to call on the strikers to seize the property of the wealthy class, or to wage acts of destruction against it, or to commit any deeds regarded as illegal by the laws of the land.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

A few of his minions stood up to go, yet Conley made no move to leave the chilly premises of the ill-heated clubhouse to return to the warm embrace of the fat-bellied stove, that mistress of wintry dreams.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

“There’s still one thing that puzzles me, Senor Vanzetti,” Conley said with a smirk for his followers, who sensed a further gibe so settled back on their stools.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

I have agreed to everything, Vanzetti thought, but to whistle the Yankee Doo-doo.

quam vestibulum elit. sagittis Mauris erat, natoque tristique dui. sit Fusce in augue. natoque erat, eros

“It’s a queer thing to me,” Conley said, “that you’re the fellow who gets on his high horse to lecture us ignorant folk concernin’ the war between the social classes...seein’ as how you’re the one with a particular friend.”

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elit. egestas. justo condimentum Etiam malesuada. sit ridiculus odio Etiam eu sit fermentum augue. malesuada. Proin adipiscing Quisque sed quis justo quam, nisl. sit malesuada. tincidunt consectetur ornare Quisque nisl.

“Particular?” It took a moment for the meaning to register. Then his heart hurt, the pain in his chest nearly radiating to his jaw. The sly smiles and open grins on the cronies; that these louts who followed their big man for the promise of ease should have been talking about her. He steeled his features. No fuel for this foul fire.

“A particular friend,” Conley resumed, turning the screw, “who springs from the very class that beats down the workin’ man, as you forever remind us, Senor Vanzetti.”

The Italians leaned their heads together, whispered a few words, sent puzzled glances his way. He remained a stone.

“It is a puzzle to me, Mr. Vanzetti, how you can fraternize with a woman of the bosses. It truly is.”

“Basta,” Vanzetti said, eyeing Conley, having come to the only possible resolution seeing how matters stood. “I tell you, Senor, that thing which troubles you will no longer be so. No more of this. Basta.”

He held himself stiffly, sore with effort. “You may rely on my word.”

***

The day was unseasonably mild. Not yet old enough for school, Vivian played by herself in the garden behind the house. She knew that Mother’s visitor, the moustached man would soon arrive, because Mrs. Baker had gone home directly after dinner. Cook was always sent home before his visits.

Sounds from the street reached her in the garden. The clip-clop of a horse’s gait; a shouted question from another family’s cook; a reply from a man’s driver. She listened for footsteps. But this occupation did not hold her. When the moustached man arrived, she would hide behind the tree where she could watch without being seen. Mother would come to the back door to let him in because there’d be no one else to do so.

“You must say hello to our visitor when he comes,” Mother had said. “Do not be afraid. It is only proper. Then you may go upstairs.”

Vivian would hide instead.

But she forgot and, wandering from her hiding place, heard her mother call, “Vivian! Come inside now!”

Lavinia held the door for her daughter, a patch on her respectability. Her friend had sent a note by a small boy. He wished to speak to her. When he appeared, looking troubled, at her door, she stilled her anxiety and behaved as always, taking him indoors.

He held his hat in his hands. He stood, ignoring her invitation to sit, his eyes shy and sadder than usual; reluctant to meet hers. His features were sad, she thought, but also noble. Earned by a life of not giving in. But something else was different.

“Your beard. You have shaved your beard.”","page":"133","last":"","id":"1015","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

It was a little beard -- his companions once called him beardito -- but its absence made the thick brush of black mustache hang with greater prominence. His mouth turned downward at the corners. The sadness, again.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

He did not respond to her observation.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“Missus,” he said, “I can no longer come.” He gripped his hat and tried not to look at her. “For the English,” he added.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

She gazed at him in alarm. What did he mean?

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

Vanzetti stared at his shoes. “I am very sorry, Missus. I will miss the lessons greatly.”

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“What has happened?”

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“Because of the circumstances. The changes.” He made vague circles with the hat in the space between them.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“Circumstances?” She forced the word past the tightness in her chest. Her breath came shallowly. It seemed to run away. She could not catch enough of it. “What circumstances? What changes?”

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

They had not gone beyond the kitchen. She wished to step closer, to close the distance between them, but feared he would back away. She realized with an ache that nothing had been said by either of them across the months of their meetings. Nothing personal. She had been a coward. English classes! Oh no, you do not get away with that. But she has never spoken. Never said, “You know, my friend, I am growing fond of you. I hope you do not mind.” Fond, indeed.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“It is nothing of you.” His hands crushed the hat, seeking something harder than its weathered old cloth. “You have been most kind, Missus Rosseetuh. The most generous in this world.”

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

Just that? she thought. Kind?

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“But we -- I mean you,” Lavinia corrected herself, looking for a convention, a place in the sun to hide. “You have been making so much progress, Mr. Vanzetti!”

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

He bowed slightly as he had that first evening in the library, in gratitude for all he had failed to put into words.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“I am truly sad, Missus.”

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

His sadness again. It did her no good. She waited for more.

Quisque Lorem Mauris sit Fusce ac et Sed ipsum nulla. condimentum consectetur nisl. Etiam

“But there is no help for it,” he said in a rush of words, as if making up for their tardiness. “You will forgive me, please, for this absence of ceremony. Scusi. I am sorry to speak so abruptly. How ungrateful I must appear! But it was not so! Not one lee-tul piece. Per niente. Of all the people of this country -- of those I mean who speak this American tongue -- I am most grateful to you of all in the world. I know how to do it much better now already.”

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elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

“But if our talks have served you well, why must we cease them?”

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

Vanzetti looked away. Turning back with a look of resignation, he said, “I did not wish to say one word. But the concealment--”

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

“Concealment? What is being concealed?” Outside of her heart.

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

Vanzetti hesitated, seeking to bury the word that had slipped out. “It is the strike, Missus. Now I have the time only for the one thing,” he said, hurrying the explanation. “Travel. Speaking. Raising the money. There is much to do.”

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

“I see,” she said, seeing only the ache she’d authored for herself. You are a fool, Lavinia. This is his work. This is what he lives for. What are you in comparison?

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

“Ah,” he said, looking past her. “The leet-ul one.”

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

Lavinia turned to see Vivian waiting, listening. “Vivian,” she said, “you may go upstairs now.”

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

The child’s eyes shadowed. Would she not get to speak her hello? But she did as she was bid.

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

“Forgive me, Missus,” Vanzetti said in the ensuring silence. “Forgive me, but I must go now.”

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

Who will I save my thoughts for now? Lavinia asked herself.

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

She watched him nod farewell, put on his hat, and walk out of her house. Concealment, she thought. Something more than his dedication to the strike. Yes, concealment. He is concealing something from me.

***

2000, Plymouth

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

Luigi Galleani was a fiery and eloquent orator, or so Mill learned from the paperback Pam had borrowed from another library, Sacco and Vanzetti: The Anarchist Background. Short, somewhat stout, elegantly dressed, possessing enormous personal dignity and exacting Old World manners, Galleani exemplified the absolutist certainty of belief characteristic of his times. By contrast, contemporary gurus pretended to be regular guys, used the latest slang, made fun of themselves, and did absolutely anything to get on TV.

elit. malesuada. quis sed nibh ipsum in Etiam elit. Fusce ac Fusce erat, Mauris

After escaping from prison for his political activities in Italy, Galleani arrived in America in time to be shot in the face during the 1913 silk workers’ strike in Paterson, New Jersey, and was subsequently charged, according to the sort of American labor justice then practiced, with conspiracy to commit violence. He disappeared, fled across the Canadian border, then slipped back into the country to set up shop in a quiet Vermont town. Good old tolerant Vermont, Mill thought. More importantly, it appeared that Galleani approved of violence against the capitalist order -- anarchists termed targeted acts

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of violence “the propaganda of the deed” -- though he did so with an indirectness of expression that kept him out of American jails. He praised men who got things done such as Gaetano Bresci -- a significant figure to Italian anarchists in particular -- who assassinated Italy’s King Umberto in the auspicious year of 1900.

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

But the violence went both ways. In the years before World War I, a series of large, bloody, apocalyptically-framed strikes challenged the status quo, many led by the radical Industrial Workers of the World. Occurring at a time when a much greater portion of the populace was dependent on wages from manufacturing and mining industries than a century later, these strikes involved thousands of workers and drew considerable public sympathy, but suffered brutal suppression by the hand-in-glove combination of big business and the civil authorities. In Vanzetti’s time, “Big Money” indisputably owned the government at all levels.

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

After the Paterson silk workers’ strike was suppressed, Galleani hid from the police and published his left-wing journal, Cronaca Sovversiva. When he wrote and published a forty-six-page long bomb-making manual enthusiastically titled “La Salute è in Voi!” (”Health is in you!”), then publicly opposed the draft after the United States entered World War I, the government pronounced him one of the most “dangerous” men in America. Under laws expressly written to outlaw criticism of America’s war effort, Galleani and a number of his followers were tried and deported. Some of those who remained at large allegedly retaliated with bombs.

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“Bernie?”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“Yes?”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“How many Americans would recognize the name Leon Czolgosz?” Mill called from his ad-hoc dining room study.

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“This one wouldn’t,” Bernie replied from the living room sofa, where she sat cross-legged, sipping rosehip tea and doing a crossword puzzle.

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“Do you know what happened to President William McKinley?”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

Bernie looked up from the newspaper puzzle and thought about her husband’s latest source of enthusiasm.

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“He was assassinated.”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“Yes. By a Hungarian anarchist, Leon Czolgosz. How about Gaetano Bresci? Ever heard of him?”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why? Who did he kill?”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“You’re on to me. King Umberto of Italy.”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“And the point of this, dear one?”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“It’s just that anarchists… You know the stereotype. Cartoon-character-looking foreigners. Little men running around carrying fat round bombs with fuses sticking out. Well, there was something to that.”

vitae ipsum et et in quis convallis convallis dis hendrerit augue. eu et Ut sed venenatis Ut amet, et tristique gravida eu parturient quam, lobortis sed in

“But in America?” she said. “McKinley aside?”

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vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Yes, in America. That’s what I’m finding out. Close to home, too. In nineteen-sixteen, the dean of the Italian anarchists, Luigi Galleani gave a pep talk to the striking Plymouth Cordage workers at the Amerigo Vespucci Hall, that funny dark old building across the street, where nothing ever happens.”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Across the street, Mill? Suosso’s Lane?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Uh-huh.”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“And this Galleani. Was he a bomb thrower?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Probably not. But his followers? Probably. At least that’s what the experts say from what I’ve read.”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“And Vanzetti was a follower?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Well, he certainly admired him. Enough that Vanzetti invited Galleani to speak to the strikers.”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Interesting.”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Isn’t it?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Mill?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Yes?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“I’m going to get ready for bed, okay?”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

“Sure, of course, I’ll be right there. I’m just going out for a quick breath of fresh air.”

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

Mill stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and walked to the middle of the street to stare at the squat, worn, unpainted building identified by faded, barely legible letters as the former clubhouse of the Vespucci Society. The blacktop beside it had been annexed by a rundown auto body shop. Maybe the old clubhouse as well. It was the sort of long-forgotten place nobody really noticed. The eyes looked but the brain refused to acknowledge it was there, timeless beneath the wheeling stars.

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

He stood, listening for ghostly echoes in the cold and dark of Suosso’s Lane.

***

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

The large man, his manner ranging from expansive to sardonic, and the thin, more serious one, met again in the subterranean, dark, slightly rancid, sour atmosphere of the Beer Club, that smelled to Mill as if resident cavemen hadn’t thrown out the old bones, skin, and offal from the previous week’s meals, the way he thought any place would smell in a womanless world.

vehicula lacus venenatis sociis ridiculus natoque sit dui. egestas. ipsum Etiam sodales blandit Fusce scelerisque parturient quam, eu quis est condimentum adipiscing nibh mauris et ipsum lacus mus.

Mill told Jeter of the disturbing, little remembered war between Italian

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anarchists and the American government in the run-up to the national nervous breakdown known as the Red Scare, all of it sad, tragic, morally atrocious, and fatal to unlucky individuals on both sides, and yet, as Mill was loath to admit, intensely fascinating. The passion of the times was perhaps what attracted him. Here were a few men who said that rather than try to nudge history in a more enlightened direction they were either going to pull down the entire foundation or die in the attempt. And of course, some did. And sometimes they killed or maimed others, some victims unfortunate bystanders, like the maid who opened a package and had her hands blown off.

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Now here’s the hard part for me,” Mill said. “The authority on anarchists that all the historians cite said it was ‘likely’ that Vanzetti was part of the Anarchist Fighters terror bombing plot in nineteen-nineteen.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Part of blowing people up?” Jeter asked.

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Not proven, but certainly inferred by a historian I call Uncle Paul. His name appears so often in everything I’ve read, he seems like part of the family. Anyway, the fact is that no one was brought to trial or charged for these bombings, or for attempted bombings.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

Mill laid out the case. During the war, anarchists and the entire radical left were decimated by prosecutions for opposing the war, and speaking out against the draft. The leaders were jailed or, in the case of Italian or Russian anarchists, deported. In response, the self-named Anarchist Fighters group mailed about two dozen letter bombs to American politicians and major capitalists. Almost all either failed to explode or were intercepted by the post office. The only injuries were to a couple of servants. The bombers apparently didn’t realize that the rich didn’t open their mail.

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Wow,” Jeter said, “considering everyone gets mail, that’s pretty scary.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Right. The whole country freaked. Other bombs were dispersed following the prosecutions, including a retaliatory bomb planted in a police station that took the lives of six policemen after a judge sentenced to death a dozen anarchists for a killing, without any direct evidence to tie them to the crime. Uncle Paul correlates the dates of these bombings to the travels of Vanzetti’s more notorious comrades.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Your historian.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Yes. He thinks Vanzetti was traveling with these guys at that time, and finds it hard to believe that Vanzetti didn’t know what was going on. He couldn’t have been quietly sitting in a corner of a room reading a paper while high-profile figures like Mario Buda or Carlo Valdinoci and other members of the Anarchist Fighters were cooking up bombings, making devices out of fertilizer, and putting into play the teachings from Galleani’s bomb-making pamphlet.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Terrorism in the good old USA,” Jeter said. “Okay, I’m buying some of this. So maybe your guy wasn’t an angel, but does your Uncle Paul have any evidence beyond guilt by association to link Vanzetti to these bombings?”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“No, but the funny thing is, he says that Upton Sinclair was ‘certain’ he did.”

faucibus est sociis Proin consectetur a. a. Cum venenatis quam Ut malesuada. quis in ac dis imperdiet consectetur erat malesuada. hendrerit.

“Upton Sinclair? The author of The Jungle?”

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ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Yes. The great muckraker.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“We ought to tack his picture on the newsroom wall,” Jeter said. “Sinclair should be a patron saint in my profession.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Should be but isn’t?”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Yeah, well, don’t expect too much from the news business these days. History?” Jeter shrugged. “I walk in a vale of ignorance, Mill. Present company excepted.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“If you say so, but stick with me on this. Aside from the judgment of the legendary Sinclair, Vanzetti was traveling in the Midwest with Mario Buda and others returning from Mexico, where a bunch of anarchists had gone to escape the draft, when the bombs went off. Period historians agree that Buda was behind these bombs. Vanzetti was a bosom buddy of his, or at least traveled with him, according to Uncle Paul.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“No physical evidence? No fingerprints?”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“No.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“So, like I said, guilt by association.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Before the Oklahoma City bombing, the biggest terrorist attack in the US was—“

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Something by this guy Buda?” Jeter shifted in his chair.

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“The Wall Street bombing of nineteen-twenty,” said Mill. “The bomb was left in a delivery wagon outside J.P. Morgan’s bank. Huge damage, thirty-three people died, hundreds injured. It tied up lower Manhattan for a day. People there tried to run away while medical personnel tried to get in to help. Uncle Paul is convinced that it was Buda’s work because the bombing occurred a few days after Sacco and Vanzetti were indicted for the Braintree crime.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

Jeter drained his beer. “I’m sensing this is a long story.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Yes, but I’m making it short.” Mill checked his watch and said, “The original premise behind Upton Sinclair’s decision to write his book, Boston, was his absolute conviction that the Sacco and Vanzetti fiasco was the worst miscarriage of justice since slavery. However, after talking to all the anarchist types he could find, those who weren’t deported, or dead, or in jail, Sinclair became convinced that his two innocent victims had to have been involved in the bombings. So that’s what he wrote in his book, which apparently ticked off a lot of people who had made Vanzetti, in particular, into an idealist, a philosopher, a saint, and a spokesman for justice for the working class.”

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“But you were convinced they were innocent, too,” Jeter said, sitting back and eyeing his friend.

ac tincidunt adipiscing diam justo augue. penatibus ante. et gravida vehicula mauris nibh diam ante. in Mauris nascetur et quis tempor

“Yeah. I still am. Innocent of the factory robbery and of the murders for which they were executed. As for the bombings, the evidence points to Mario Buda. And Buda casts a shadow over an unknown period in Vanzetti’s life. We don’t have any precise evidence. We don’t really know anything.”

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sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

“So, not as innocent as people want him to be?”

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

“Maybe that’s it.”

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

“Sounds to me like a pretty good story line for you,” Jeter concluded. “The cops bang up your guy for this crime because they think he got away with something else.”

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

“I’m not sure about that. But after railroading him for a crime he didn’t commit, and locking him up after a clearly prejudiced trial, Vanzetti spent years in jail while his lawyers pushed for a new trial. The longer Vanzetti remained behind bars, improving his English, reading, writing letters, growing more confident, charming his visitors—“

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

“The more innocent he seemed,” Jeter finished for him.

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

Mill looked down at his empty glass. “That’s about the size of it.”

***

January, 1916, North Plymouth

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

He paced in front of the Vespucci clubhouse, the cold, dark, smoke-dirty, ill-lit clubhouse, his excitement at the master’s arrival, a moment he has dreamed about, marred, complicated by everything that was not a dream. The long winter’s trip, the details of which the comrades of Vermont did not wish to discuss in their letters. They must be careful who they trust. Vanzetti knew this, but it troubles him to realize it. He has made attempts with his appearance to be presentable for the maestro, whose manner and dress, as he has been told, are the most dignified. Alphonsina, very kindly, offered to cut his hair. Grazie. But do not touch the moustache; a thing for the barber alone. Then he hid her efforts by borrowing Brini’s older hat, which still had the stiffness to the brim. He was playing with the hat, molding the crown, when the black car pulled up.

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

The Hudson, perhaps, he thought. He had no idea how to tell one motor car from another. The great man and a small tribe of followers poured out onto the unpaved roadway, stretching, looking about. The elegant fellow with the glossy black hair, a great one with the ladies you could tell at a glance, was Carlo Valdinoci. Another, a slender young man at the master’s ear, that must be Gorno, whom the maestro was grooming as his successor with the journal. Vanzetti has heard that his youthful fervor has already taken over much of the work.

sit malesuada. tristique lobortis justo quis Sed Fusce at sodales mus. faucibus gravida Sed blandit ipsum quam sit quam sit et eros in Nulla et ut

Late to the scene, the strike committee’s Italian speaker, a man Vanzetti did not consider a comrade, hurried to greet the visitors, to extend the greetings of the strike committee. An official welcome. We have three weeks a strike and already the officials. Vanzetti hovered, kept to the side. Cut out, given small tasks to do. But they know -- the compagnos -- he is sure they know from his letters who agitated for the invitation. They would know who is who in the reality of the struggle, and who is merely pretending. He chewed on the tip of his moustache. His chance would come.

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quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

Gorno pushed past the greeter, the man still spouting fatuities, guiding the maestro by the arm into the clubhouse. The greeter gave way, round-shouldered and perplexed. The visitors passed into the dark, spare interior, drawn by the aroma of food. The women have prepared a meal, he could not imagine from what, and left it warming on the wood stove. Vanzetti followed them inside. Some of Conley’s men stood by the stove, offering observations in English.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“This war is at the bottom of these troubles. It is a madness.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Monstrous,” one of Galleani’s companions replied absently, more attentive to the odor of stew.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

They found a chair for Galleani, drew it close to the stove.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“A crime,” the committeeman persisted. “A hideous crime against working men everywhere. Here and abroad.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

Someone nodded. He could bear his silence no longer.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“The last gasps of the dying man,” Vanzetti said, stepping forward into the circle around the master.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

He spoke these words in Italian. Galleani lifted his head to their source.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Do not say last,” he admonished. “Too often I have said last. Thought it. Believed it.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Si.” Vanzetti nodded. “Si.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

The master eyed Vanzetti, the lines of Galleani’s face as severe as in the photograph taken of him in Italia, but his brown eyes large and feeling. Vanzetti nodded again, in acknowledgment of the glance.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Senor,” the master summoned him.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

He stepped beside the seated figure. Galleani waited for the small talk to resume, the polished Valdinoci launching into a denunciation of the terrible condition of the roads, then asked Vanzetti his name.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Ah,” Galleani replied when told, “the senor of the letters. You are serving the cause.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Si. Grazie, Senor, for this gift. Grazie.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

The two heads leaned in together.

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“It is words,” the older man said. “Merely words I bring to you today.”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“The inspiration!” Vanzetti replied. “Who but you can offer the promise of the beautiful idea?”

quis Lorem ornare consectetur amet elit. mi sed diam gravida montes, elit. erat, nulla. mus. amet eros amet, malesuada. euismod malesuada. sit quam, magna diam dui. nulla. tincidunt in Mauris

“Words are a part,” Galleani said, his features hardening. “But the words are not enough. What the struggle needs are the deeds.”

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pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

He bid Vanzetti lower his head closer still, and spoke into his ear.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

When it was time, the room filled quickly, scores of men occupying the plain wooden benches, Conley, his fierce red head protruding above the others, seated in the room’s center. This did not surprise Vanzetti. However, he was surprised to see him squeezed in beside a little man, and none of Conley’s yes-sayers around him.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

The tall man turned his head to say something into the smaller man’s ear.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

“Si, Senor,” the man replied.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

An Italian? Of course. And here he’d thought them a mismatched pair, the tall, fair, dominating man and what Vanzetti now realized was his cowering, dark-eyed servant, a thin-faced, desperate drifter who had landed in this place at the worst of times -- winter, a strike, no work. The name came to him. Palombo. Galleani would speak in Italian. Conley, the strike leader, required Palombo’s assistance to follow the master’s words.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

Suddenly on his feet, striding to interrupt the committeeman’s fumbling introduction, Senor Galleani held himself straight and glared at the assembly with his one good eye. The room quieted at once. Old World, learned, authoritarian in manner, a padrone of the old ways dedicated to the cause of the new, he was a formidable figure just below medium height with a striking reddish goatee and a receding hairline above his prominent brow. In his stiff collar and long-tailed coat, Galleani looked like one of the men gathered around Garibaldi in a famous etching drawn from famous days. We became a single country then, we must become a just one now, Vanzetti thought.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

His first words: “Comrades! Men of the future!” roused the room and drew a discontented oath from Conley, who gripped the arm of the small dark man. Fearing some low business, Vanzetti silently vowed to keep the eye on the mismatched pair.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

“Comrades! Believers! Soldiers in the Army of Justice!” the master declaimed, launching his oration in a powerful, yet restrained voice; eschewing gestures; holding the men with his voice, his words, and his brilliant one-eyed gaze. “It is necessary to begin this account of the present condition of the workingman with a brief evocation of the dark and misty days of our beginnings.”

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

One hand tugging the lapel of his coat, the other at his side, fingers curled as if prepared but not permitted to close into a fist, an attitude of restrained power which drew the eyes of the orator’s audience, compelling them to wonder when his fingers would close and where his fist would strike, Galleani spoke of how the present inequality that so opposed the way of nature by oppressing them had had its beginnings in the theft of the fruits of the working man’s labors by the beast who now called himself master; of the rise of packs of heartless rogues who fed upon the fruits of their labors like jackals upon the kill of the lion. The good man labored in the embrace of nature, like old Adam in the garden, he said, an innocent artisan, true in his heart, unwary, incapable of evil, unable to imagine those who lay in wait to oppress him, enchain him, make him their slave.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

“Predators! Thieves! Assassins!” The denunciations rolled off his tongue like oaths, curses.

pellentesque. condimentum sagittis venenatis sociis pellentesque. sed condimentum mus. penatibus Quisque ridiculus lobortis mauris Lorem sed montes,

Abuse had not been proscribed by Conley’s conditions, Vanzetti reflected

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with a surge of pride. One could still put a name on the crimes of the wealthy. The men listened, the rise and swell of the words, the orator’s art alone sweeping them along as the master of the beautiful idea contrasted the “capitalists” and their foul lust for power, their ceaseless greed, to the innate nobility and love of family in the heart of the ”proletariat” -- a word that originated in the theories of the French socialists, and that with a thrill of pride in his study of the great works of the previous century Vanzetti now bound forever to his heart.

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

Vanzetti watched as the orator paused to gather his breath, then breathed in tune with this man who had found words for what grew in his heart.

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

Galleani mopped his brow with a carmine handkerchief and gazed intently at the roomful of spellbound men.

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

“What social distinction exists in nature?” he asked, the temperature of his voice slowly rising. “What social classes among the trees of the forest, the birds of the sky, fish of the sea? Cannot the son of a working man run faster and climb higher than the son of the factory owner? Only natural distinctions, differences of nature, are real. Only ideas with their roots in the soil are valid, true, worthy of man’s mind. For centuries, indeed thousands of years, philosophers have asked, ‘What is the real? What is truth?’ I tell you the real and enduring is before you every day. Work is real, food is real, soil is real, so is the ocean, the bearing of children, the love of one’s family. The love of one’s friends, comrades. The love of neighbors -- and surely all men should be neighbors, comrades, brothers. But, your own eyes can tell you, this is not the case today. And what you do not see, though other men may proclaim it -- rank and rule, authority and even the dominion above,” he said, pointing skyward, “such talk is merely their way of justifying their theft from you!”

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

So, Vanzetti thought, the master has spoken of the church, even without speaking its name. Such brilliance, such capacity of mind! And now the master’s tongue was burning hotter still. He could feel its effect, warming him.

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

“Social and economic distinctions are false, the mere inventions of greedy and devious men,” Galleani cried, one hand still on the lapel, the other slicing the air with each iteration, denunciation. “They are prisons of lies, crutches clasped by crippled plutocrats. The diseased notions of the decadent sons of syphilitic cuckolds, the counterfeit coin of confidence men and usurers, the mumbo-jumbo of mendacious priests, the promiscuous refuse of the rag and bone man of the aristocracy, the pipe dream of the plutocrat, the refuge of the sycophant, the last resort…” he inhaled then hissed rather than shouted the concluding term of this imaginative series of villainies… “of that company of the vain, the selfish, and the wicked who call themselves our lords and masters!”

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

The orator glared at his audience, as if seeking contradiction. The men offered none.

blandit sit ut sodales justo scelerisque ac Fusce nascetur in natoque blandit magna adipiscing sit et eros erat, est nec fermentum mauris et tempor enim sodales justo magna gravida gravida malesuada.

“Who would burden with the chains of poverty an honest man, a good man doing honest labor, but the one who wishes to oppress him, to steal from him the profit of his labor, to keep enchained what he fears to see freed?” Galleani demanded, his words rolling now like drumbeats, like hooves pounding on a mountain road of horses bearing riders to battle. “Who else would imprison him? Bind him up in laws? Blind him with fairy tales from above?” He pointed again overhead. “Bleed him with taxes and tithes? Who else but the corrupt and perverted lackeys of a dying day!”

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ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

Galleani formed and pumped his fist in a downward physical force of unleashed oppression caught in the palm of his opposite hand with a resounding slap. His listeners simultaneously recoiled, seemingly afraid of being singed by the fiery blast of words targeted at the rich and the powerful and the lackeys who did their bidding.

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Vanzetti’s lungs seized a breath, reacting as if to a blow. Squeezed amid the bodies standing in the back of the room, restrained from shouting by summoning to mind the master’s insistence on moral fortitude and inward discipline when they had spoken together in low tones before the room filled for the master’s address.

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

“Do not let them overflow,” Galleani had warned him. “Do not waste the moment in a show of anger, like vandals, like bandits picking over the corpses of dead men. Do not let the dam of the people’s anger break before its time. They must know the superiority of their own cause. They must live as those who know that justice and right is with them, and not with the others.”

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

“Si,” he had replied, seared by the master’s words. “Grazie, maestro, grazie.”

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Waves of emotion broke through the crowded room. Shouts. Arms shot out, sliced air, in imitation of the speaker’s motions. Some men appeared to be crying. Shaking their heads, getting hold of themselves. He saw the poor man beside Conley, this Palombo, bob his head and mutter under his breath. Prayers, complaints, vows, words to an absent presence or to himself, Vanzetti could not tell. Conley yanked the smaller man’s arm, drawing down his head, nearly jerking him off the seat to the floor, hissing his demands in the poor fellow’s ear.

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

“Holy Mother of God!” Conley’s voice cut through the silence. “Is that all? He must have said somethin’ more than that! He’s not tellin’ them to take the law in yer own hands, is he? He’s not sayin’ this good man of yers oughta go clobber that bad man of their’un over the head, is he?”

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

“No, Senor. No such matters. Prego, Senor, prego,” Palombo whispered.

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

Galleani’s hands returned to their former places, one to the lapel, the other to his side, fingers flexing. You are not alone, he told them. You must never think yourselves alone.

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“Your brothers, your comrades -- they too are walking picket lines and taking into their own hands the places of production, the factories, warehouses, and mines of this vast new country. This patria. And also in the old countries overseas, the brave men of the new world to come and the brave women who stand by their sides, are finding their own well-being, la salute.”

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

Salute, Vanzetti mouthed the word. Health.

ante. quis in Proin in nascetur dis amet tincidunt convallis malesuada. sed justo mauris nisi nascetur

“They too are watching with awe and anticipation as the people of Plymouth assume their place in the struggle to live the true life of free and powerful human beings intended for them by nature, without encumbrance by the ancient chains of class, of birth, of kings and their parasites, of courts and jails and churches.“ He paused then said, “Yes, churches! Do not look at me, comrades, as if you are frightened to hear hard things said of the church!”

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A stab of anxiety. But when Vanzetti scanned the room, he saw no dark looks directed at the speaker.

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“And without the law books and the frowning lawyers, the officializi, the clerks and pedagogues and the polizia with their clubs and their guns and their license to kill, the fat black-robed judge who sits on his big bottom all day, his posteriori, and sends the poor man to his doom, for not one crime in nature, but only for the innately human duty of exercising his right…” He paused, glared, and shouted… “his unalienable natural right to take what is his!”

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Galleani again pounded his fist in his hand. The slap of flesh brought men to their feet.

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“Bravo!” came the shouts.

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Vanzetti looked for but could not find the official greeter of the committee. “There!” he wished to tell him. “This is how you fortify the hearts of the men!”

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Galleani raised his hand for calm. With a hitch of the shoulder, he dug the cloth from his pocket and wiped his brow.

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“Sometimes, we grow afraid,” he said, softening his tone. There is fear. Sometimes men fall. They are jailed, penned up like beasts. But there is no defeat in the fat judge’s jail. There is no death at the end of the capitalistes’ rope. No bullet…“ He paused, blinking, as if remembering where the bullet had struck at his bold protest and left its mark…“no bullet that can kill the idea. The beautiful idea. The good of the man, and the woman, as they are by nature. The truth of the free man, free by nature, true by choice, loving by the strength of his own heart, noble in spirit, honorable by instinct, devoted to this family, his children, his parents, his comrades. The man who is made noble by the strength of his heart, the true religion of the loving heart, and made strong by his belief, his faith, his devotion. And what is the source of his devotion?”

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His words quickened, his voice rose, his question caught some of his listeners by surprise. He was coming to an end, other ears sensed, to a final turn in the current of language that had overswept them.

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“It is his faith in himself.”

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Some murmurs. “Si. Si.”

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“And in his triumph.”

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The room quieted. Conley muttered in the ear of his interpreter, but received no reply. An oil lamp guttered, sending shadows across rapt faces in the crowded room. It was growing late.

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“The necessary thing, the essential victory is the victory you must win over yourself. The oppressor torments, his cruelty grinds down the hours, turns the days to ashes. But do not give in to despair. Be only the more determined. Turn the tyrant’s oppression into the fuel for your own will to triumph. Remember always that the seed of victory lies inside you and its flowering is inevitable. Vinciamo!” he exclaimed, tapping his chest with his thumb. “Vinciamo!” he repeated, finding at last the word he wished to conclude upon, and raising a closed fist in a gesture of triumph. Once more: “Vinciamo!”

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eu Cum ornare lacus consectetur eu dolor malesuada. amet, a. ipsum fermentum euismod at diam sit ipsum

A lamp flickered wildly. In the act of applauding, a worker’s elbow had toppled it. Another man leaned to hurriedly right it.

eu Cum ornare lacus consectetur eu dolor malesuada. amet, a. ipsum fermentum euismod at diam sit ipsum

“What did he say?” Conley barked.

eu Cum ornare lacus consectetur eu dolor malesuada. amet, a. ipsum fermentum euismod at diam sit ipsum

“To the better world!” Galleani cried, unable to resist a final volley. “To the world we will seize with our own two hands!”

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Men shouted in reply. “Vinciamo!”

eu Cum ornare lacus consectetur eu dolor malesuada. amet, a. ipsum fermentum euismod at diam sit ipsum

“What are they sayin’?” Conley asked, certain now of the note of sedition in the shouts. “Why are they standin’?”

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Not only standing, some were embracing and kissing each other on the cheeks.

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“Good God!” Conley sputtered, appalled. “Is it all over? What did he tell them at the end there? What does it all add up to?”

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Standing and waving his arms as well, Palombo pretended not to hear Conley over the noise.

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Vanzetti, his heart full, turned away from the joy and the faces of his comrades to look into the eyes of the man inside himself. Could he do this thing? Persist in maintaining the just cause, expounding it to all who would listen, regardless of what might befall him? Did he have this faith?

eu Cum ornare lacus consectetur eu dolor malesuada. amet, a. ipsum fermentum euismod at diam sit ipsum

The thunderstorm of emotion was fierce, but subsided quickly in the room’s growing chill. The stove had burned out.

eu Cum ornare lacus consectetur eu dolor malesuada. amet, a. ipsum fermentum euismod at diam sit ipsum

A score of voices began to animatedly talk as men shouldered their way toward the door. Some of the strikers gathered around the speaker to shake his hand, to say “grazie, grazie,” to thank him for coming to them in their time of need, to express their admiration for his powerful ideas.

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Conley grumbled, shouldered men aside on his way to the door. Palombo struggled after him. “Meester Con-uh-lee!” he repeatedly implored. “Meester! Per favore!”

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Vanzetti waited in the cold, where, standing around their leader, the comrades appeared more at ease now that his speech was over. The few from the committee who spoke Italian surrounded him with their congratulations, the official greeter still stiff and formal, his face a mask, and a few of the men, the bolder ones, pushed forward, asking to shake his hand, to add their praise.

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Vanzetti, who’d had his moment of talk with the maestro earlier, now only wished to bid him farewell, to again thank him for coming so far to speak to a group of poor workers on a cold night in an ill-heated hall.

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“Maestro,” he said, as the others drifted off to their homes in the star-lit winter night, holding their enthusiasm like a flame in the wind.

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Galleani turned at his voice and, grabbing his elbow, pushed a few feet into darkness. He looked into Vanzetti’s face, shadowed as his own, muttered some trivialities, not without a tone of some satisfaction, and, interrupting Vanzetti’s words of appreciation, “So much mind, Maestro, such power,“ Galleani said, “No, no, it is all we can do here. I wish so much more. I wish I could say all that is true.”

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Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

Vanzetti gazed at him, silent.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“Everything. Every last word. For once, compagno, to say all that must be said and to omit nothing.”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“Ah.” Not understanding.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“Do you know what I would say, compagno d’armi, that I could not say tonight? I will say it you.”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

They squinted at one another in the shadows.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“Only this.”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

The maestro drew the flat of his hand across his throat.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

Vanzetti stared at the gesture. Had he seen it right?

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“That is for them! All of them! The rich ones, the bosses, the masters of this earth! That!” Galleani repeated the gesture. “It cannot come too soon.”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

Stunned, Vanzetti was speechless.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“Buon uomo!” Galleani said, slapping him on the upper arm. “Ciao!”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

He turned, beckoned his followers, and was gone.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

A “good man” he’d said. Vanzetti wondered. Was he a good man? Good enough for that?

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

The man approaching at haste through the darkness was Palombo, shouting to him in Italian. Did he know where Meester Con-uh-lee had gone? He must find him. Vanzetti, pondering the master’s final words in the cold, asked, “Conley? Why do you wish to find him?”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

The little man was in a state. He did not reply.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

Vanzetti shrugged. “Home, I suppose.”

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

“Where? Up there? His home is up there?” Palombo pointed to the hill that rose from the end of Suosso’s Lane.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

Vanzetti did not know where Conley lived, but did know that no one but very small beasts of fur or feather lived ”up there” on the hill. It was trees, a little wood, a piece of nature, the white flowers trailing in the spring, the view of the flat bay water, blue in the warm days, a chill-gray now. There was a path, too, though he seemed the only person to use it; a path up there that as far as he knew led only to the Cordage. Yet Palombo insisted that Meester Con-uh-lee had disappeared into the darkness there, and that now he must be found. Palombo had been promised money for translating words from the speech. Perhaps he had forgotten.

Lorem in venenatis venenatis Quisque ante. parturient at dis lacus nascetur Nulla Proin sodales quis Proin Etiam vehicula hendrerit amet elit.

Vanzetti doubted this; nonetheless, he patiently described to the agitated man a place where the path from the hills crossed the road near the factory.

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CHAPTER 13

FORGET MY NAME

January, 1916

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A dog barked. Conley stumbled in the dark and swore. He did not hear a door open, the sound deadened by the wind. The boy inside the door heard a man mutter about damned fools who would feed a dog when they could not feed themselves. The boy knew this voice. It belonged to a man he did not like. The voice conjured angry arguments in two languages by men who did not wish to understand one another. Beltrando hated the sound of angry voices. They reminded him of the parade that had become a battle; of the bloody head of the worker hit by a club.

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The boy did not move to either close or widen the opening of the door because he did not wish to draw the attention of the large, red-headed man who said insulting things -- bad words in English that his father and perhaps Mr. Vanzetti did not know, but Beltrando had learned from attending school in America. He stood as still as a statue as the man with the menacing voice reached the end of the road and unhesitatingly climbed the path to the hill where Mr. Vanzetti had taken him to look for berries and bird’s eggs, things not found there in winter. Quiet now, the neighbors’ yellow hound dog, Princessa trotted across the lane to poke its muzzle into the crack of the door and whine to be let inside.

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Conley was determined to get as far as possible from Suosso’s Lane before some poor sod unlucky enough to be outside in the freezing cold -- taking a piss maybe, or puking out his guts from a bad batch of hooch on an empty stomach -- could wonder why anyone, let alone the head of the strike committee, was wandering in the dark on a frigid night. Cold as a nun’s kiss, cold as charity, Conley thought, his eyes embracing the dark as he walked to the end of the lane and on up the path toward the scrubby hills along the shore and the eventual descent to the back road to the Cordage. Familiar enough to walk the deserted trail to High Cliff in the dark, darkness the right color for the night’s business, he thought, Conley had no desire to cross paths with some poor deluded soul returning home from the red Guinea meeting at the Vespucci Club.

in Proin natoque Nulla venenatis enim lacus convallis justo lacus nibh at et gravida gravida quis elit. elit Cum montes, nulla. mi nulla. dolor tempor nisi quis

Work. The fool he’d collared to make sense of the lingo said the speaker had talked about the value of work. Conley knew all about that. His Da had pounded into him the virtue of work -- virtue not the word he would choose to describe the formative days of his childhood. He had worked since the age of eight when his father put him to cleaning the city streets in St. Margaret’s Parish. Da labored his entire life, and his father before him, and all the way back to the year one or thereabouts, when the bloody English stole the country from his forebears while God above was busy entertaining the ladies, or whatever it was God did, and paying no attention to his poor bloody ancestors turned to bloody poor tenant farmers on the land stolen from them. Hell, Conley thought, if it’s injustice the little bearded fellow cares so much about, why doesn’t he talk about the bloody British?

in Proin natoque Nulla venenatis enim lacus convallis justo lacus nibh at et gravida gravida quis elit. elit Cum montes, nulla. mi nulla. dolor tempor nisi quis

The wood cleared on the High Cliff. He would descend from there at his ease under the cold winter stars until the way flattened at the lane that ran down to Jesse’s Boatyard, and from there follow the tracks of the freight line to the factory yard, where

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he confidently expected influential ”business associates” with ways and means the poor bastards who slaved in the factory could only dream of were waiting to receive him. Unlike them, this poor bastard had decided it was time to stop dreaming and start doing what he’d vowed -- anything to escape the fate of his father, and his father’s fathers. It was time to be of use to certain parties who’d be useful to him in turn. He shouldered no guilt over this errand. Not after the stuffed-shirt strangers -- federal men, most likely -- explained how poorly a labor disturbance in the biggest rope maker in the country sat with those concerned with the impact to a country likely to be at war in a matter of months; and how much better things would go for him if he’d provided tiny bits and pieces of both desirable and necessary information. And so, he would do the necessary thing.

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

Alerted by a sound, he stopped at the base of the ridge where the footpath led to the rails, and scrub pines wrapped themselves with branches, and listened in astonishment to the unmistakable crunch of boots on frozen ground. His instinct was to drop face-first, but there was nowhere to hide on the bare ground, and no way to avoid being trampled by the oncoming boots. He owned a sap, like any man with sense. He’d recently bloodied the ear of a scab with it, but had left it home tonight in the toe of his second-best boots. This was a peaceable errand; a quiet chat with some gents representing the public interest.

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

He balled his hands into fists and eyed the shadows for a weapon. When able in the starlight to see a human form approaching him, he hissed, “Who’s there?”

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

“Meester? Meester Con-uh-lee?”

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

Holy Mother of God, Conley swore silently. The man hung on him like a leech. He’d tried but couldn’t shake him with discouraging words: ”Get away from me, ya poor snivelin’ bastard! Yer gettin’ nuthin’ from me ’cause nuthin’s all yer worth!” No. Fists would have to do.

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

“You go away, Meester Con-uh-lee, too quick.”

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

The whine in the voice. The sadness. The appeal. Conley hated it, hated all of it.

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

“You forget the money? The money for my ticket?”

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

A couple bucks to take the train to Boston, back from where he’d come, he had followed him through the woods in the middle of the night for that. What good would it do him? He was the same poor sod in either place. The same wandering soul who’d come to the Cordage looking for work when the whole bloody outfit was on strike. Not a scab, no stomach for it. Simply too dumb, too useless for words, a poor bastard Conley had decided to leave behind in the shadows, to save himself the needless expense of a beggar’s train fare. But the man hadn’t gone begging elsewhere as expected (though begging was thin on the ground these days). The man had trailed him up to the cliff and down to the tracks.

magnis et odio quis elit. condimentum at diam sagittis quis blandit in

He could chase him away. The little rag of a fellow could be blown away with a shout. But he did not want anyone asking what Bayle Conley was doing up on High Cliff in the middle of the night on the path that led to the Cordage. Not a hint of it, not a whisper. His business at the Cordage was entirely private. No, he would not stand for it. Not from this rag of flesh. He would knock him down. He had knocked down men before, knocked men clear out of their senses ‘til someone brought them round with a splash of water. That’s what he would do. After he finished his business, he’d come back with a pail of water, rouse the poor sod, and drag him to the train station. Train to Boston, mate. Don’t want to see your face round here again. A bad penny who would not return.

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magna in condimentum natoque nulla. nulla. natoque et mus. Proin Proin nisl. dolor mauris adipiscing egestas. eros consectetur venenatis ante. et consectetur sed tristique Pellentesque parturient nisl. nulla.

Palombo scuffled forward to within arm’s length.

“Scusi, Meester, I don’t mean to bother. But this money you say for me...for the train.”

Conley struck the little man’s jaw with a fist, momentarily regretted the mark the blow would leave on his knuckles, and wished he’d thought to wrap his hand. Palombo groaned and fell backward, landing with a sickening crunch that could only mean something hard, like bone, had cracked on something harder, like the iron rail of the tracks.

In confusion and in reaction to a painful sensation of his own -- fear? regret? -- Conley knelt to see that the man’s skull had indeed landed squarely on the rail. Blood in his mouth. Blood on Conley’s fingers after he touched the back of the dented skull. Everything about the inconvenient body lying face-up beneath the winter starlight, just enough moon to make out the features, told him the miserable creature was not merely unconscious but dead. He had not meant it, but there it was.

He rose from his crouch and stood stupidly over the body. The cost of the evening’s business was rising, he told himself, calmer as the surge of his blood slowed. He would have to charge a higher price.

***

The three men slouched on the opulently-upholstered couches in the luxury rail car were fighting a losing battle with tedium and impatience. They were warmly dressed, too warm for the heated car. The relentless preaching by Speed, the new chief, did nothing to improve the mood of the other two, their mutual irritation expressed in passing glances. Wet behind the ears in their opinion, the short young man with a horsey face, severely-clipped hair, and a stubbly, thin moustache sported to hide his greenness, was deferred to out of necessity, because as Speed pointed out, he had been given a special commission by the “big boss” in Washington.

There would be trouble, Speed was saying, when the country went to war, and it was their job to learn from where it would come. He had studied the situation, Speed rat-tat-tatted in the overheated car. Reports from the field, lots of them, pointed to the red agitator, Galleani.

The two older men nodded in passive agreement, though as men in “the field” they knew the stuff in reports sometimes carried no more weight than a can of corn.

“Here’s the situation,” said the chief, his jeering tone of confidence accompanied by a wag of his bare, soft, boyish chin. “We’ve got this foreigner Galleani sitting in the catbird seat. All right, so far so good. But who’s the next to the top? Who are his lieutenants? Who’s in the chain of command? Who carries the word from on high to all these law-breaking anarchistic foreigners? Hell, I can’t understand a word of the Guinea lingo. Neither can you guys, I bet.” He gazed from one dull face to the other. “Well, can you or can’t you?”

The men shook their heads no.

Speed half-smiled, half-frowned. “All right, that’s the lay of the

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land. We can’t understand them, so hafta find people who can. And we will. I’m telling you guys right now, back in Justice, they’re signing up new guys by the roomful. New boys, agents recruited expressly for that one simple reason, who’ll keep an ear to the ground for the sound of trouble, for treason, agitation, subversion, whatever you wanna call it.”

amet, ipsum erat, sed magna et consectetur hendrerit. amet vestibulum Pellentesque amet, sed

His colleagues nodded, not wanting to call it anything.

amet, ipsum erat, sed magna et consectetur hendrerit. amet vestibulum Pellentesque amet, sed

“Still, we wanna know and we wanna know now the guys to keep an eye on before trouble breaks out,” Speed said with rapid-fire, insistent, rising intonation. “We’re gonna beat them to the punch, understand? Names, men, I want their names. I’m making a list.” He tapped the breast pocket of his suit coat. “Making a list,” he repeated.

amet, ipsum erat, sed magna et consectetur hendrerit. amet vestibulum Pellentesque amet, sed

The list in his notebook of the names of radical troublemakers was also noted on index cards in files kept under lock and key in his office in D.C. Speed made lists of everything, including every item he purchased, however small, and the maker and size of every article of clothing he wore. He bragged that because of this, if his wardrobe trunk was stolen from Grand Central Station, its entire contents could be recreated by a haberdasher. (Provided the haberdasher didn’t throw him out of the store for a lunatic, a colleague had countered.)

amet, ipsum erat, sed magna et consectetur hendrerit. amet vestibulum Pellentesque amet, sed

His older underlings had been around the block. Attached to desks in downtown offices before the government’s growing obsession with the foreign menace, they’d spent quieter days examining funny five-dollar bills, staring at the eye in the pyramid. Taking tips, building cases, cultivating informers. Betting shops were good for information. The informers, the touts, tended to speak their same language. The manner of their operation did not require the keeping of long lists.

amet, ipsum erat, sed magna et consectetur hendrerit. amet vestibulum Pellentesque amet, sed

Bored with the waiting, discreetly covering yawns with their hands, Speed’s rail car companions hoped to God the informant would get his ass there soon.

***

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Outside the railway car, the policeman’s boy shuffled his numb-with-cold feet as his old man sizzled with exasperation.

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“Will ya get yerself home then, Willy?” the policeman exploded at last. “What did I tell ya ‘bout standin’ round in the cold half the night waitin’ fer a couple a rich gent-like fellas to talk themselves silly?”

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The boy stared at the ground.

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“‘But Da! I wanna see what a real p’liceman does,’” the father whined, mimicking his son’s plaintive appeal. He frowned at the boy and added sternly, “What he does is stand on his achin’ feet in the cold! Is that satisfaction enough fer ya, boy?”

amet, ipsum erat, sed magna et consectetur hendrerit. amet vestibulum Pellentesque amet, sed

Willy Carroll, Jr., stubbornly stayed at his Da’s side, though his determination to demonstrate his manliness was fading fast. Minutes later, he nudged his father and pointed to the shadows where a large, ghostly figure with a face of ice stalked along the tracks toward the heated railway carriage.

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Patrolman Carroll barked a challenge, his hand on the truncheon at his belt as the intruder moved close enough for the light from the railway car windows to reveal his features.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“Ah, Mr. Conley,” said the officer. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t know it was you.”

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“You know my name, copper?” Conley snapped.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

Officer Carroll had seen the big strike leader walk the track to the factory yard before. He had no idea what his business with the gents in the railway carriage was tonight, but as a simple patrolman knew enough to respect the man’s it’s-none-of-your-business tone.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“Take no offense, sir,” Carroll said. “I can ferget it.”

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“See that you do, copper!” the big man muttered.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

It was all he needed, Conley thought. Seen once already that night, the consequences of that piece of ill luck still stained his fingers, though the encounter certainly proved worse luck for someone else. It weighed on him, that he killed a man. He had sometimes wondered whether he could do it, kill someone, do whatever was necessary. He had told himself he would, had placed no limits on his determination to get on, accepted none from others. Hell’s bells, he had been at the Cordage nearly a dozen years. Maybe the union was his ticket out, maybe not. A man simply did what he had to.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

He swallowed, worked up some moisture in his mouth and throat, walked past the policeman and the half-frozen boy, climbed the step to the railway car and threw open the door.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“Christ!” swore the man closest to it.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

Conley saw three suits, three hats, three men in gear from the same copper storeroom. The guy nearest the door, Bollinger seemed to know something about the factory. He had taken the lead in seeking him out, said he represented a higher authority, a cheering thought at the start, Conley’s cheer dampened tonight. Bollinger and his second mate, Henley, were looking at the car’s third occupant, a man Conley had never laid eyes on.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“Who’s he?” he asked, prodding the others to bring him into the picture.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

Bollinger threw out a name. Hooper? Maybe. Conley didn’t quite catch it.

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

“The name doesn’t matter,” the unfamiliar man said with a critical glance at Bollinger. “Mr. Smith will do for now. I’d rather my real name not get around.”

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

Simmering over his gaff and the new boss’s rebuke, Bollinger took charge. “For Christ’s sake, Conley, it’s about time you got here. We’ve been waiting half the goddamn night twiddling our thumbs.”

et tincidunt nascetur ut elit. nibh at ante. magnis Pellentesque Fusce fermentum ante. sed nisi sodales nisl. Mauris Ut sit

Conley was tempted to admit the reason for his delay. While they had sat in their

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clean clothes in a heated car, his hand had been forced into a bit of a roughhouse. Then there had been the matter of the remains. He had dragged the little man’s dead weight into the brush, saw it would not do, heaved the corpse over his shoulder, and carried the body halfway back to High Cliff before finding a place where the brush and tree cover were thick enough for his purpose. The body would be found, but not immediately.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

“Hey, what’s got into you tonight, Conley?” said Henley, a broad in the beam, narrow-faced yes-man. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

Yes. And laying it in a bit of ground had taken too much time.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

“Never mind about that,” Conley gruffed. “I’m here now. Make it worth my while.”

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

“So what have you got for us?” Bollinger countered.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

“Yes, indeed, tell us what you’ve got, man,” parroted “Mr. Smith,” his voice high and loose, as if limbered up all evening. “Time’s a wasting. We’ve got work to do.”

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

The man who didn’t want his name to get around wanted other men’s names, the names listed on a piece of paper Conley took from his trouser pocket, the names of the men who had loudly insisted that the red anarchist Galleani speak to the strikers: Bartolomeo Vanzetti, Vincenzo Brini, Nino Christophori, a couple of others. He did not pretend to offer (or to know) the names of all who had come to listen. He’d written the last name, Palombo, just to fill out the list. There was no point in holding back his name now; no way to put the poor bastard in a tighter spot than he occupied now. Better to think instead of what he’d be given in return -- perhaps even ask for more than they’d agreed to pay. The list had cost more trouble than he’d bargained for. The smell of blood stung his nose in the heated car. He was surprised that no one commented on the stink. He had wiped his hands in the dirt and fallen leaves of High Cliff, but couldn’t seem to remove the odor from his hands of what he had buried there.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

Bollinger took the folded page, glanced at it, and handed it to his boss.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

“What’s this long one beginning with a ‘V’? I can’t make it out,” said Speed.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

“Vanzetti,” Conley told him. “He’s at the top of the list ‘cause he’s the worst of the lot.”

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

Speed took out a pen to note the name and the informer’s evaluation. He nodded at Bollinger, who reached into a coat pocket for an envelope, and handed it to Conley without the courtesy of looking him in the eyes. Conley could tell that Bollinger was miffed.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

He tried to remember. What had Bollinger called him? Huber? What kind of name was that? Not that it mattered. Whatever the name, knowing it might be worth more than a few extra bucks in the envelope.

at a. justo Fusce vehicula justo venenatis odio Cum tincidunt a. quam, at

Conley smiled to himself. This was where the power in the room lay.

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CHAPTER 14

I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.

YOU’RE LOOKING FOR A HOUSE.

2000, Plymouth

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Mill rechecked his watch and shoved back his chair from the table. He stood and said, “I’ve got to go.”

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“Wait a sec, Mill,” Jeter said. “I completely forgot to tell you. My guy may have some connection to yours. Or to the anarchists.”

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Mill sat down. “Anarchists? How?”

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“Willy Carroll, the poor cop who met his end in nineteen-forty-two -- somebody wanted to blame his death on the Anarchist Fighters.”

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“The Anarchist Fighters? In the nineteen-forties? Jesus! Were they still around?”

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“I was hoping you’d be able to throw some light on that possibility.”

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“Me? I doubt it. I really, really do. But how--?”

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“Listen,” Jeter said. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

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Mill listened as Jeter described what Captain Hayes had found in the Willy Carroll file.

***

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Bernie Becker slipped through the glass doors of the giant retail store on the heels of a middle-aged couple, shook off the greeter with a brusque nod, and began a fact-finding tour of where she had placed her client, Ike Murisi, a nice young man from Ghana sent her way by the court.

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Ike’s probation plan called for steady employment starting pronto. The retailer was not a good employer in her book -- wages low, benefits non-existent -- but it was the best she could come up with on short notice. Worse, the company was infamously anti-union, a fact that set her teeth on edge, teeth cut on her parents’ old-line liberal activism. Keeping out unions kept down wages, the theory went, and the store’s resulting low prices drew customers.

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The customers were there, judging from the parking lot. Though she was trying to avoid Ike, she immediately spotted him. The green coat jarred her vision, made Ike’s

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deeply-hued skin shine, and accentuated the contrast between her client and everyone else in the small-town Massachusetts store. She watched Ike smile his beautiful smile and speak an enthusiastic welcome to a white-haired couple frowning slightly with the concentration of the hard of hearing. It made no sense to her that someone like Ike, polite, cheerful, quick of speech, and obviously intelligent, had been facing prison. Born in a crowded West African town, he had come to America because of the influence of a prosperous engineer cousin, whose career precipitously waned soon after Ike’s arrival. The cousin moved to the West Coast, fleeing creditors, disappearing from Ike’s life.

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Most of the clients in Bernie’s “The Right Track” program had landed in court because of drugs, alcohol abuse, or hanging with the wrong people. Ike’s case was different. Involved in a fight, he had seriously injured another man. Ashamed of having blackened his name by a run-in with the law, his smile vanished when she pressed him for details. Ike said he had stepped between the dealer, “a low fellow, with a nasty mouth,” and the young boy being badgered to carry drugs for him. The dealer made fun of his accent, jeered at him, provoked the fight.

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

“Where you from, boy?”

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

“Ghana.”

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

“Gonna what?”

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

Establishing his authority in the usual way, the dealer pulled a knife. When a scuffle ensued, the knife ended up in his side.

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

Everyone had a story, Bernie knew. She had heard lots of stories. She happened to believe Ike’s. He was exactly the kind of person she hoped to help find the opportunity that previous generations of newcomers had eventually discovered in America. The Right Track was structured to assist a client in getting a job for stability, building a work record, and filling in the gaps between what was earned and what was needed to live with income-eligible benefit programs, like the state’s healthcare system in which she’d helped Ike and his wife enroll. She felt Ike could make it: stay employed, take college courses at night, succeed. In that sense, his keeping a job was more important than what the job paid. In that sense, too, and despite her misgivings, the fact that it was doing a brisk business proved the giant store a reliable employer.

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

Bernie lost herself in housewares, there to look for decorating ideas, should anyone inquire, a period style ceiling molding perhaps, or very low wainscoting for the front rooms. She heard Ike’s voice, distant then close. She ducked behind a store display and watched him guide a senior tour of three white-haired ladies deep into the store. He was there, he was engaged, it was all she needed to know. She fled the massive store through the maze of aisles and the big glass doors.

nisl. pellentesque. Ut amet, est Fusce Cum eros malesuada. quis Mauris in sit ac ornare elit amet, dui. elit. justo Ut natoque amet, et euismod magna mi gravida tristique

It was a short walk to Suosso’s Lane, but, having left work early to check on her client, Bernie had time to detour on a whim down a sidestreet of pleasant single-family homes with the comfortable postwar look of having shaken free from the tumultuous twentieth century for a stroll down prosperity lane. A woman walked a dog and smoked a cigarette. A man squatted to inspect a spot of brown-tinged foliage on a conical evergreen. The temperature was mild, the autumn light ecstatic. She asked herself, were Octobers always this beautiful? Had she failed to notice when they lived in the city? A slender boy bouncing a basketball in his driveway risked occasional glances at her, a woman walking alone. A man stepped out of a gray van, his arms loaded with garments. He watched helplessly as the top third slithered off the pile to the sidewalk. He was still maneuvering a recovery -- Put down the pile? Where? -- when Bernie caught up to him and stooped to gather what looked like an assortment of robes or loose dresses.

","page":"155","last":"","id":"1037","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

Middle-aged, bearded, with a look about him, a sharper edge that set him apart from the crowd at the giant retail store, the man held out the pile so she could lay the recovered items atop dresses, slacks, tops, pullovers, a couple pairs of slippers, without causing an avalanche.

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“Thank you, Miss,” he said. “I was in a bit of a pickle there.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

He squinted behind wire-rim lenses, eyed her as if checking her image against an internal data base before offering a smile of welcome.

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“I’ll bet you’re new around here, Miss.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

Uncomfortable with being so easily pigeonholed, Bernie said, “Actually, I suppose I am.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

He nodded his head at a house. “I’m taking this stuff in to Mrs. Williamson here. Hattie, we call her. I’m Merrill Sellers. Sellers’ Used Clothes? That’s me.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“And I’m Bernie Becker. My husband and I live on Suosso’s Lane.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“Ah! Then I believe I’ve met your husband. It’s Miller -- something like?”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“Mill.” She gestured at the pile of clothes. “Maybe you should get those inside, Mr. Sellers. It’s quite an armful.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“Oh, Hattie won’t take much. She can’t make it to the store so I bring her stuff to look at. She doesn’t get many visitors.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

Bernie murmured sympathetically, said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sellers,” and began to walk away.

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“You know,” he called after her, “if you have any time to spare, the council has a friendly visitor program for homebound seniors.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“Thanks,” she called back. “I’ll remember that.”

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

Sellers waited for her to walk out of hearing distance before speaking his mind. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re looking for a house.”

***

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

The minute she walked in, she heard Mill begin to rustle papers, to re-organize his piles. Bernie didn’t buy it. He wasn’t grading, lesson planning, or working on his dissertation. He’d been reading about his new obsession.

magnis odio Fusce dolor malesuada. parturient quam magna ac quis lacus est mi mus. magnis montes, nulla. nascetur justo tristique sed

“You know what?” she said, dropping her jacket on the sofa. “There’s a whole powwow of Indians coming to town on Thanksgiving. Native American groups. Activists, I think. Protesting Thanksgiving at Plymouth Rock.”

","page":"156","last":"","id":"1038","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“Yeah,” he said, sounding distracted. “I’ve heard about that.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“You could talk to them while they’re here, Mill, maybe make some contacts. You always complain about how hard it is to find sources.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“Hmm,” he replied.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

His acknowledgment sound, she thought, picking up the jacket, walking to the closet. You have spoken, I have heard. But nothing has been promised.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“So how’s the teaching going, Mill?” she asked, dropping softly onto the couch.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“It’s okay. A lot of work to do.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“Just okay?” she gently pressed. “I wish you’d talk more about it, Mill. It’s a new job. This is a big deal for you.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

He didn’t look at her, which meant he didn’t want to talk about it.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

After a moment he said, “I’m still getting used to the place.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

Bernie flipped through the newspaper pages she hadn’t had time to read that morning before approaching the subject from a different angle.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“What are your colleagues like? Met anybody you’d like to hang out with?”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

It was one of those evenings for her of second-guessing the decision to move out of the city. Not a lot here going on for them so far, and she could use some social life.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

Her husband shrugged. “Haven’t really met many.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“You will,” she said. “I’m sure there will be gatherings…someone will throw a party.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

She wished someone would. There were things about the city she missed: movies, restaurants, options, something to do on Friday night.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

Her encouragement drew no reply. She tried again.

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“What about your boss? What’s he like?”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“My boss?” He looked up, surprised. “You mean the department head?”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“Yeah. Him.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

“We haven’t really spoken yet.”

sed lacus erat quam quam, Cum in vehicula venenatis justo justo elit. sit euismod dis condimentum Pellentesque lacus Sed

No traction, she thought. He needed time, some space. She hunted for movie listings in the newspaper, convinced that there was a theater in town somewhere; and that if she wanted things to do and ways to meet more people, she should be the one to do something about it.","page":"157","last":"","id":"1039","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

***

Belmont Street, Plymouth

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

Installed at the end of a tufted settee, Bernie admired the old house’s sitting room, its dark green walls and braided rugs over wooden floors, a good-sized room cluttered with the inevitable results of time’s bargain with diminished energy.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

She was there after taking Merrill Sellers’ suggestion to heart by calling the town’s senior center to express her interest in becoming a ”friendly visitor.” She had followed up a day later, said she knew of a woman, Vivian Devito -- a name she’d learned from Mill -- who was a ”shut-in,” the center’s term for the program’s clients. She wanted to visit this woman, she said, if the senior center could arrange it. A volunteer for the friendly visitor program was happy to comply; glad to add another connection to the program’s numbers.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

Bernie’s shut-in, the elderly, arthritic Mrs. Devito, seemed less than enthusiastic about the whole business of being compassionately visited from the moment she opened the door to critically eye the stranger who had come to lighten her solitude. This was nobody’s poor old dear. Bernie could tell at first glance. The music she’d heard when ringing the buzzer had abruptly died. The peering from behind the door was piercing. The gait of the woman who bid her to enter and follow her to the sitting room was cautious but steady, like her eyes. She parked her “friendly visitor” on the couch and excused herself to make tea, a somewhat time-taking procedure, during which Bernie’s offers of help were firmly declined.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

When her hostess returned, carrying a tray, stepping carefully from kitchen to parlor as if measuring the cost, she put down the tray on a hip-high table between them and addressed the matters of pouring: the discussion of milk, and of sugar, and if sugar, how much sugar, and the possibility of lemon. Vivian believed she had some. Bernie, a coffee drinker, first had to decide how she took her tea, and next, to cast about for topics of conversation. She had assumed they would talk about Vivian. Old people were eager to talk about the past, or so she’d thought. Mrs. Devito apparently was not that kind of old person.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

“What was the music I heard?” Bernie asked.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

“Music?” After mopping a tiny milk spill with a cloth napkin, Vivian slowly settled into her favorite straight-backed armchair. “Oh, that. Just some old opera music. I hardly know it’s on anymore. It seems to play itself in this old house.”

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

Opera was not a topic Bernie could run with.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

“Was your husband fond of music, Mrs. Devito?” she guessed, taking a stab to see if the old woman would allow her into the picture…her picture…and put some people in it.

quis mauris a. enim egestas. diam quam, adipiscing amet, nisi Nulla pellentesque. at at et sagittis ipsum

“Frank, you mean? My husband’s name was Frank, and frank he was.” Her eyes narrowed in reflection. “My husband liked to dance, Mrs. Becker. Dance music was the beginning and end of Frank’s fondness for music.”

","page":"158","last":"","id":"1040","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

So she’s unsentimental, Bernie decided. Not only that, but regardless of how seldom she sees or talks with people, she doesn’t seem eager to unload her reminiscences on human ears.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“I was thinking,” she ventured. “When you said opera music, I thought maybe your husband…”

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“Loved his highlights from Puccini?” Vivian finished for her. “No, not Frank.” She paused a moment then said, “Oh, I see. You thought because my husband had an Italian name…“

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

Bernie looked away, embarrassed, caught out.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“No, no, my dear,” Vivian said, more warmly now that her visitor had stumbled. “I’m afraid I take all the blame for the opera music.” She laughed, a polite, self-denigrating gesture that made Bernie feel better, and explained, “My fondness for that old longhair stuff comes entirely from my mother. Now my mother, Mrs. Becker, she--“

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“Bernie,” Bernie broke in. “Please call me Bernie.”

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“Bernie,” Mrs. Devito carefully intoned, as if trying to fit the man’s name to the young woman seated in her parlor. Vivian shook her head, then resumed her story.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“My mother played music like that on the Victrola. She had some favorite records, scratchy old things she played to death. I can’t think of my mother without hearing them in my mind.” She laughed again, this time at herself. “I couldn’t wait to get away from those old records, from my mother’s old house, and from everything else that was old. I wanted everything new. You know how young people are.”

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

Bernie nodded, agreeably, feeling a bit at odds. Was she a “young person?” She certainly did not want “everything new.” In fact, she admired Vivian’s cozy old sitting room.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“Back then, I wanted to dance and be gay. Oh!” Mrs. Devito interrupted herself. “Wrong word these days, isn’t it? I keep forgetting. But you know what I mean.”

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“Certainly.” Bernie smiled encouragingly.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“And then there was Frank -- dancing me off the floor!”

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

The older woman closed her eyes; the distant look again. “And the joke of it is,” she murmured, “now look at me.”

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

Her eyes fluttered open. She laughed.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

Bernie smiled indulgently, not quite sure she’d understood the joke.

dis vehicula nibh malesuada. venenatis elit hendrerit quis diam gravida Proin nascetur malesuada. nisl. Mauris Ut sit vitae vitae

“I’ve gone back to recreating my mother,” the old woman said after a thoughtful pause. “Same old longhair stuff. Not the same records, of course. My mother’s wore out ages ago. But the same old music. To think how I used to hate it when I was a girl growing up in my mother’s house.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m living my second childhood.”","page":"159","last":"","id":"1041","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

“But it must mean a lot to you if it reminds you of your mother,” Bernie offered, thinking this was what the woman wanted to hear; that this was why she’d come.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

Vivian looked at her tea cup on the small mahogany table. The tea cold, of course. Yes, it meant a lot to her, it meant she was a fool. She’d married Frank because she wanted to get on with her life and get away from her mother; because she was impetuous and not very wise. Not at all wise. Wisdom came too damn late to do her any good in this lifetime. So much for the wisdom of the old. She chose Frank because he liked her, he looked decent, was presentable in company except for those garageman’s nails of his, and was “available,” as they say today. End of story. Poor Frank. Poor, poor Frank. Her eligible young man. She laughed to herself at the thought. Well, he had two legs and a strong back. And hands, she recalled, blushing slightly.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

Vivian pushed on the arms to hoist herself out of the chair and, ignoring the carefully-positioned cane, headed for the kitchen at what would be tortoise speed for anyone else, but as fast as her age and arthritis permitted.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

“Let me put the kettle back on, I’ll warm the tea,” she said in answer to her guest’s questioning look -- an excuse and a damned transparent one to get away for a moment from her friendly visitor so she could compose her memories.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

“Frank,” she sighed softly, alone in her plain, old-fashioned kitchen.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

She had her moment and was over it. She forgot about turning on the kettle.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

“Can I help?” the girl called, rousing her from the other room.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

You old snob, Vivian silently scolded herself. You practically told her that Frank was a dummy and then accused her of jumping to conclusions about people on the basis of their surnames. You ought to be grateful she’s here. You don’t get many visitors. Of course there was that newsman.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

“You know,” she said, walking into the parlor with the kettle of un-reheated water, pouring it heedlessly into the china teapot, “you are quite right about that. The old music does help me remember my mother.”

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

Comfortably resettled in her chair, Vivian decided to try to tell the girl why, in part because she doubted the chance would occur again in her remaining lifetime. She had lived for eighty-seven years. It had taken her nearly that long to realize that she would never know anyone like her mother.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

“Lavinia Rossiter, my mother…” She paused, glanced at the girl, wondered, did the name mean something? Maybe. Maybe not. “…was a trustee of the Pilgrim Society. She knew all sorts of things about the Pilgrims, and the Revolution, and who-was-who in the Old Colony. But unlike those other stuffed shirts, the descendants of this Pilgrim family or that one, she didn’t live in the past, she cared about what was going on in her own time. She spent years and years advocating for the right to vote for women when it wasn’t a necessarily popular point of view. And she hated war.” Vivian laughed, muttered, “Maybe she knew something,” and laughed again with a bitterness she had no intention of explaining.

ac sagittis amet, dolor amet Pellentesque sodales sed Proin in in et Sed Pellentesque in ridiculus penatibus in Pellentesque nisi magna imperdiet et amet, Proin

Bernie patiently waited.

","page":"160","last":"","id":"1042","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

venenatis in Nulla quam sit dolor in Lorem consectetur mauris blandit vestibulum sodales ipsum natoque ipsum lobortis sit vestibulum venenatis magnis sit quis magna penatibus sagittis convallis quam Sed amet amet

“She cared about the immigrant people who worked in the factories long before it was fashionable, or barely decent, to take notice of them,” Vivian went on. “And it wasn’t simply a matter of visiting the poor with a basket of food for the holidays. It was…her ideas…her thinking...reading…studying...writing too, about her views of society, world issues, politics, philosophy. She was no high society do-gooder. With Mother, it was always ideas. Big ideas.”

Vivian shook her head. Remembering Mother was a troublesome pleasure. She had not always appreciated her mother’s obsession with political ideals; particularly once old enough to learn how hard it was to find her place in the world, a time when her mother’s precious high-minded ideals struck her as expensive indulgences. What good were they? Did they lead to opportunities for a coming-of-age young woman? Certainly not for Vivian, the Mayflower Suffragette’s daughter. It was one thing for her mother to prate about education for women, and quite another to not manage to send her own daughter to college.

Vivian collected herself. She’d allowed too long a silence. Old grievances were not the point.

She gazed at her visitor, drew a breath and said, “She was even involved with that big anarchist murder case, you know. The famous one. Mother took up a banner for those two men.”

The girl -- Barney? What kind of name for a girl was that? -- became noticeably wide-eyed, her expression a bit worrisome. But when her guest began to nod encouragingly, Vivian took heart. Apparently this Barney knew something about the case. It was some comfort. There were times when it seemed that her mother and the earth-shaking crises and causes of her day had simply vanished from the face of the earth, leaving no footprints for others to follow, to learn from, and perhaps, on occasion, to acknowledge. My God, she thought. If it took a woman her age to remember the trial that shook the world, no wonder she had no one to talk to about it anymore. They were gone, everybody but her, and she was almost gone.

But, no, perhaps some impressions lingered.

“Sacco and Vanzetti,” Bernie prompted, displaying her readiness to learn more, to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

“That’s right,” Vivian said, pleased by her interest. “What I mean to say is that even before it all started, before it was in the papers, and in the years before the end, when it was seen in the headlines every day and in the newsreels at the theater, when the whole word seemed to care... My mother knew the man before the whole business began.”

“The man?” Bernie said. “She knew Vanzetti?”

“He came to this house to visit my mother,” Vivian affirmed. “They used to talk. For hours.”

Her vague childhood memory was of being sent upstairs to her room so her mother could talk freely to her visitor, the man with the moustache. Yes, she remembered a man with a moustache. Along with a recollection of many tedious hours alone in her bedroom.

“Wow.”

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penatibus Ut Cum dui. at amet, tempor eu Proin Lorem penatibus nec dolor faucibus montes,

The girl smiled. Shook her head in wonder. Maybe a little too fascinated, Vivian thought, but why wouldn’t she encourage an old lady to share her memories?

penatibus Ut Cum dui. at amet, tempor eu Proin Lorem penatibus nec dolor faucibus montes,

Their talk would grow loud, two voices talking over one another, in excitement, not anger. She couldn’t quite remember. Did she tiptoe out of her room to the top of the stairway to peer down, half hidden by the railing? Did the man with the dark moustache look up and discreetly wink? She formed his face in her memory, drawing on a later time when paying a visit with her mother to a prison in the city to see a “friend” who turned out to be the man with the moustache. A man with full cheeks, dark hair, a gentle but excitable man. That was her impression of her mother’s visitor. She pictured her mother rising in anticipation when he knocked on the back garden door. The polite then happy sounds of greetings, shared news delivered in a rush as they walked through to the parlor, where Vivian, “the little one,” was greeted and dismissed. She was too young to know what her mother and the man talked about, or to imagine how they’d come from such different worlds to be friends.

penatibus Ut Cum dui. at amet, tempor eu Proin Lorem penatibus nec dolor faucibus montes,

Later, mother and daughter lost the knack of talking about things, of recalling shared experiences, of trying to ease the terrible black pain that filled the place in her mother’s heart once occupied by the man. Vivian never did know what her mother talked about with Vanzetti, never did know what she felt.

penatibus Ut Cum dui. at amet, tempor eu Proin Lorem penatibus nec dolor faucibus montes,

No, on reflection, she did not wish to speak about any of this. Not to her visitor.

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Bernie quietly sat, holding her china cup of tepid tea.

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“They talked about the world,” Vivian said with finality.

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lobortis tristique magnis tristique nisi lobortis dui. nisl. in Etiam convallis quis quis dolor ac quam, ante. nascetur ac gravida vitae Cum diam erat, sociis in Proin

CHAPTER 15

THEY FOUND AN ALIBI.

BUT FOR THE WRONG CRIME.

2000, Sea Island Community College

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The boy in his doorway had a familiar look.

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Glossy black hair. Skin tone of an unnamed color. Certainly not “red.” An angularity to the features at moments like this: a distant set to his eyes, as if behind them his mind was listening to voices in the great world beyond the pretty, boxy, helplessly suburban, post-war, commuter school campus, envisioning this place through some long-lost perspective: red hawk, grinning otter, the mishoon rider who followed the whale.

lobortis tristique magnis tristique nisi lobortis dui. nisl. in Etiam convallis quis quis dolor ac quam, ante. nascetur ac gravida vitae Cum diam erat, sociis in Proin

The boy’s surname was Wessem. Not a common name, but the same as that of George Wessem, a Pokanoket tribal elder Mill had once approached as a potential source for his thesis.

lobortis tristique magnis tristique nisi lobortis dui. nisl. in Etiam convallis quis quis dolor ac quam, ante. nascetur ac gravida vitae Cum diam erat, sociis in Proin

Rodney Wessem had lingered before in the doorway as the rest of the less than energized pod of American History students (first-semester survey: “A New Nation For a New People”) retreated from the classroom. Mill would look up, the boy would quickly turn to follow the others, and Mill would blame himself for not acknowledging him sooner.

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This time, the boy accepted his invitation to reenter the classroom to sit in the roomy student chair angled in front of Mill’s low, office-standard, teacher’s desk. Brown eyes hooded, wearing his silence like a shroud, he sat slightly askew in the chair, didn’t speak and avoided eye contact. Forced into the conventional teacher’s role, Mill trotted out the predictable questions: “Is this your first term? How’s it going? Do you have a potential major? A favorite subject?”

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Black-haired Rodney Wessem muttered responses in as few words as possible, as if the effort of speech itself was painful: “Yes. All right. Not yet. No.”

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Mill eventually accepted that his job was to shut up and wait.

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Convinced as the awkward silence lengthened that he could shut up and wait forever, Mill asked, “So what can I do for you, Rodney?”

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“Help me to pass this course.”

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“How can I help?”

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“It’s hard to concentrate.” His dark eyes flickered, stole occasional glances at Mill. “It’s hard for me to read.”

lobortis tristique magnis tristique nisi lobortis dui. nisl. in Etiam convallis quis quis dolor ac quam, ante. nascetur ac gravida vitae Cum diam erat, sociis in Proin

The class used an anthology of short, excerpted readings designed to give students manageable snippets of high-value texts, an academic diet of nuts and dried fruit, the Mayflower Compact in no more than a few sentences, excerpts from historians, including Edmund Morgan and Samuel Eliot Morrison, on the Pilgrims, and the Puritans. Mill liked to tell his students that a statue of Morrison stood in a grassy spot on Boston’s Emerald Necklace -- a rare honor for a historian. His students fought back yawns.

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adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“Do you have the book, Rodney?”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“Yes.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“So, when you say it’s hard to read, what do you mean?”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

A tougher question, Mill knew. A large percentage of the college’s students needed to take remedial courses.

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

The boy’s shadowed face closed further. “I can read,” he said.

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“So the problem is?”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“I’m homeless.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

Rodney shrugged out the words, but everything about him, his expressionless face, his posture stiffened into armored pride, indicated that it hurt him to say them; that he’d seldom, if ever, made this admission.

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

Shocked into silence, Mill groped for an attitude. He knew nothing of practical use. Where did the boy wash, shower, go to the bathroom, cook his food? Did he loiter in the student services building, staying warm, until they turned off the lights and locked the door?

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“Where do you sleep?”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“In my car.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

Mill hesitated then said, “Your parents must be worried.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“My parents are the problem,” Rodney muttered, aiming the words somewhere over Mill’s left shoulder. “When my grandfather, Longhawk, died, there were quarrels. Some people wanted to sell his Mashpee property because there was no way to divide the land. Too many people.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“Where is it?” Mill asked.

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“Mashpee.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“Ah,” Mill said, recognizing this as one of the tribal groups seeking federal recognition.

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“My father was living in a cabin on Longhawk’s land. He refused to move.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“And your mother?”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

“She lives in the city.”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

Mill waited a moment before asking the obvious. “You don’t want to live with her?”

adipiscing tempor tristique at ridiculus fermentum consectetur lobortis erat, scelerisque dis imperdiet sagittis condimentum ridiculus quis eu sed Sed

The boy shook his head. “I don’t want to leave the land.”","page":"164","last":"","id":"1046","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Lorem venenatis sit nibh sit Proin malesuada. magnis Fusce eu justo malesuada. consectetur adipiscing adipiscing parturient euismod sit malesuada. et hendrerit. Ut gravida malesuada. sed Lorem eu

“But you left your father’s cabin?”

Lorem venenatis sit nibh sit Proin malesuada. magnis Fusce eu justo malesuada. consectetur adipiscing adipiscing parturient euismod sit malesuada. et hendrerit. Ut gravida malesuada. sed Lorem eu

“My father drinks now.”

Lorem venenatis sit nibh sit Proin malesuada. magnis Fusce eu justo malesuada. consectetur adipiscing adipiscing parturient euismod sit malesuada. et hendrerit. Ut gravida malesuada. sed Lorem eu

“Oh…”

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“I have a plan,” Rodney said. “If I can pass my first year’s courses, I’ll enroll in the marine transportation course, eventually earn my pilot’s license, then my captain’s license. I want to pilot a ferry, or captain a whale-watch boat. A whale boat would be best.”

Lorem venenatis sit nibh sit Proin malesuada. magnis Fusce eu justo malesuada. consectetur adipiscing adipiscing parturient euismod sit malesuada. et hendrerit. Ut gravida malesuada. sed Lorem eu

“Have you spoken to Student Services?” Mill asked. “They offer academic help. Tutoring. It’s their job.”

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Rodney looked away and said, “I don’t like to ask for things.”

Lorem venenatis sit nibh sit Proin malesuada. magnis Fusce eu justo malesuada. consectetur adipiscing adipiscing parturient euismod sit malesuada. et hendrerit. Ut gravida malesuada. sed Lorem eu

“How about I ask for you?”

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“I guess that’s all right,” the boy said, lifting a shoulder. “Only… Don’t tell them...”

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“About your situation?”

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The boy nodded his head yes.

***

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Mill knocked on his department chairman’s door. He’d been putting it off out of an unwillingness to discuss his own, but felt safe visiting now with someone else’s problem to talk about.

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A low voice casually called, “Come in.”

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Mill stood in the open doorway. “I have a student who needs tutoring. Do you know how that works here?”

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The man behind the desk looked up, placed him, smiled and said, “Of course, I do, Mill. Come in. Close the door. Have a seat.”

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Sixtyish, graying, academically paunchy, Peter Malinsky had the body type of a person whose occupation was to sit and read, delicate hands, and a countenance full of large, nervous features. Mill wondered. Will I look like that some day?

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He sat across the desk from him, briefly explained his student’s academic worries, and mentioned a tough home situation without providing details.

Lorem venenatis sit nibh sit Proin malesuada. magnis Fusce eu justo malesuada. consectetur adipiscing adipiscing parturient euismod sit malesuada. et hendrerit. Ut gravida malesuada. sed Lorem eu

“No problem. We do this all the time,” the department head jumped in. He searched for and found a pen on his desk. “What’s the student’s name?”

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“Rodney Wessem,” Mill said, thinking he should have written down the basics to save the professor this step. Didn’t he have an assistant for this sort of thing?

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sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“I’ll tell Student Services to expect him,” Malinsky said. “We do this all the time,” he reaffirmed, emphasis on we.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

Mill stood and, thanking him, wanted to run.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Sit down, Mill,” Malinsky said, his smile quietly insistent. “Let’s catch up.”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

Mill sat. Pleasantries were exchanged. Then, the dreaded question.

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“So how’s the dissertation on those Indians progressing?” Malinsky asked.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

Those Indians, Mill thought. Here on the Cape, where the natives still roam, but in pickup trucks and motor boats like everyone else.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“It’s coming along,” he hedged. “A long way to go, of course.”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Of course.”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

Mill couldn’t tell from his tone whether Malinsky was on to him or letting him off the hook. He felt like an elementary school kid squirming under his teacher’s stern gaze.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“After all, you can’t rush it,” Malinsky added knowingly. “These things have a way of becoming more clear over time.”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

More clear to Mill was that he would need this man on his side when it came to seeking an extension on the dissertation date. Possibly a change of topic. Quite possibly. Too early to speak with Malinsky about that.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“I’m considering another subject for an article,” he mentioned instead. “I moved to Plymouth, you know, and--”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Did you? Good spot for history!” Malinsky remarked.

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Yes, so I thought—“

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Plymouth has the feel of an old town, too.”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Can I ask you, professor?” Mill more or less blurted. “Have you ever had any interest in Sacco and Vanzetti? Vanzetti in particular?”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Vanzetti?”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“He lived in Plymouth.”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

“Yes, he did. Interesting character. Some aspects of his life have been rather overlooked, I think, despite all the books written about the case. You don’t want to write another book about Sacco and Vanzetti, do you?”

sed condimentum Proin sed et at adipiscing ipsum venenatis venenatis dui. hendrerit

Mill swallowed. “Bad idea?”

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malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“Well. Not necessarily,” the man temporized. “If there’s something new.”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

There might be, Mill thought, but couldn’t say unless he had the goods.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“In any event,” said Malinsky, “you still have those Native Americans in your sights. Right?”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Mill nodded; a vague enough commitment.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“Good.”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Mill waited to be dismissed.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Professor Malinsky leaned forward to say, “To tell you the truth, I did some work on the case for a paper on Governor Fuller once.”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Mill knew the name. Fuller was the Massachusetts governor who declined to pardon Sacco and Vanzetti when much of the world expected him to do just that.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“He wanted to be president, you know,” Malinsky said, his pale gray eyes beginning to glow.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Mill shook his head no, apparently the right answer. Malinsky surrendered to the supreme academic indulgence of talking about his research, a big juicy meal of words.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“Fuller thought of himself as the perfect business executive. He could run the state the same way he ran his business. He decided to review all the evidence in the case before deciding on clemency, or a new trial, or anything. He even called in the witnesses to interview them himself.”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“Beltrando Brini, for one,” Mill said. “I believe.”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Malinsky raised an eyebrow. “You’ve gone pretty far into this, haven’t you?”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Guilty, Mill nodded.

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

Too late to stop his tale now, Malinsky asked, “Have you come across the fish receipt business yet?”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

“Fish receipt?”

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

The professor sat back in his padded chair to tell his story:

malesuada. ipsum ac tristique augue. consectetur lobortis venenatis erat sodales Etiam hendrerit magna dolor elit magna Quisque blandit justo sit sed Proin

"In the summer of nineteen-twenty-seven, young labor lawyer Joseph Machinetto hitchhiked to Boston from Philadelphia, where he had earned his law degree, to volunteer for the Sacco-Vanzetti Defense Committee. Like Italian-Americans everywhere, Machinetto thought the anarchists were being railroaded not only for their radical beliefs but because they were Italian immigrants.

","page":"167","last":"","id":"1049","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dui. dui. justo ipsum condimentum malesuada. Pellentesque convallis tincidunt vestibulum dui. sagittis eros scelerisque enim sagittis nibh Lorem vestibulum enim amet et vehicula erat, parturient pellentesque. justo natoque ut

"One of two attorneys chosen to back the case for the defense while Governor Fuller reviewed the testimony in the trial, Joseph Machinetto, and Back Bay scion, Thomas Blaine, picked apart some of the thin parts in the legalities of the prosecution, and pointed out the numerous gaping holes in the state’s stitched-together case. Fuller’s response was that while the eyewitness testimony of the Braintree murders might be contradictory, the defense had produced no documentary evidence, and absolutely nothing on paper, to place Vanzetti elsewhere on the day of the crime.

"Machinetto reacted by dragging his less enthusiastic colleague to the malodorous quarters of the fish wholesalers on Boston’s Commercial Wharf to search through old paper records in the July heat. Blaine huddled in a corner and tried not to retch while Machinetto went through ten years’ worth of invoices dumped from a bin onto the floor of a back office.

"Suddenly, one afternoon, Machinetto found the receipt for Vanzetti’s purchase of eels, dated a few days before the Christmas Eve Feast of nineteen-nineteen. Machinetto and Blaine hurried to Governor Fuller’s office and asked to see him. Fuller’s harridan secretary contemptuously eyed the sweaty, smelly men, informed them of the need for an appointment, and supported this by saying that the governor was away on business. If they left the paper with her, she would see that the governor received it. Fuller, it appears, paid it no mind whatsoever,” Malinsky concluded.

Mill sighed appreciatively, and thanked the professor for sharing that savory detail, a forgotten side-dish from the epic feast of dispute and despair cooked up by the Sacco-Vanzetti case. The professor’s fish story was a pickle, he thought, the kind of acquired, tradition-sanctified taste relished by certain cultural traditions. Like eels on Christmas Eve.

“I’m sure you realize that there were two trials,” the professor said.

“I do. First the Plymouth trial, then the big one in Dedham.”

He knew where Malinsky was headed. Already there, Mill could see the problem. It was too late for the eels; too late for evidence to back up Vanzetti’s story as to his whereabouts on December 24, 1919, the day of the Bridgewater crime, the failed attempt by a couple of men armed with a shotgun to rob a payroll car. Six months later, police fitted up Vanzetti for the crime after he was arrested with Sacco, and charged with the Braintree robbery-murders. The invoice for the purchase of the eels was evidence for the wrong case. But it pointed to what his lawyers needed to substantiate Vanzetti’s alibi for the Braintree case, the murder trial that divided the world into defenders of the status quo and sympathizers for the downtrodden working class.

Mill now needed something in writing to support Vanzetti’s alibi for the day of the Braintree crime. He again wondered if that was what Merrill Sellers was looking for and had good reason to believe existed.

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enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

***

Belmont Street, Plymouth

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

Something seemed different on her second visit to Vivian’s timeless parlor. Bernie glanced around the room. Nothing had changed. No, the change wasn’t in her home, but in Vivian herself. The frown lines had softened in the old woman’s face. She would talk more today, Bernie decided.

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

“You seem to be in a good mood, Vivian,” she said, addressing her as mutually agreed on a first-name basis. “Did something happen? Let me guess. Did you have a visitor?”

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

“A visitor? Oh, goodness no!” Vivian appeared embarrassed at the notion, but not displeased. “I rarely have visitors -- not since Frank died. He was the social one. And my mother… She had visitors.”

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

Vivian lapsed into reflection.

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

Bernie prompted her with a look, thinking, if this is where we’re going today, let’s get started.

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

The old woman gazed at her with unseeing eyes and said, “Mother had her own suffragist society, you know...”

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

Patience, Bernie told herself. This is how it will go, slowly, little steps, but you’ll get there eventually.

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

The visit ended after another twenty minutes or so. The house was quiet with the pleasant, well-meaning girl gone, leaving Vivian free to remember, to look back, without fear of giving anything away. It was after her mother died and the letter went missing that her true visitor arrived -- the important visitor, the one for whom she would always reserve that title. His was the visit that was supposed to lead her somewhere, like the summons of fate in the old stories she had read as a child because her mother encouraged reading. A call to a different life.

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

She heard the call but did not answer. Later, she was sorry.

***

1935, Plymouth

enim lacus a. Proin sagittis dolor condimentum hendrerit. Proin imperdiet dolor eu quam in sed et gravida adipiscing erat,

It was late morning, a fine spring day, the irises blooming in her neighbor’s garden, when she heard the footsteps. They were not hesitant, exactly, but different in some way, a more formal approach than that of an acquaintance dropping by to ask if she needed anything “up to town.” Yet she went to the door as she was, hair tied in a kerchief, part of her housecleaning costume.

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quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

Vivian ignored her last-minute hesitations and opened the door to a well-dressed, dark-haired man. A handsome man, she thought, neither young nor old, no one she knew, but he asked for her by name, her full married name, including the Rossiter in the middle.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

She nodded, puzzled.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

“My name is Machinetto,” he said. “Joseph Machinetto. From Philadelphia.”

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

Was she supposed to recognize the name? She did not.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

He was an attorney, he said. His good dark coat and self-possessed manners argued for the title, but he smiled, which the lawyers she encountered in town tended to do with reluctance. He smiled at her, encouragingly. She knew if she invited him in he would gladly accept. But the baby, the second one, Benjy was still in diapers, and the house was not ready for company.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

The stranger begged her pardon for disturbing her, his dark-brown-eyed gaze resting on her face.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

“What can I do for you?” she said, suddenly aware of having looked too long at his eyes.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

“I think you may be able to help me.”

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

He was a visitor to the town, having traveled from Philadelphia to Boston for the convention of an organization with a name that meant nothing to Vivian, but that her mother undoubtedly would have recognized. Finding himself a mere hour’s train ride from Plymouth, he decided to visit the town where a man he had known “all too briefly, someone I consider a great man,” had made his home.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

The stranger smiled winningly in response to her silence. “This must seem a curious explanation for knocking on your door,” he admitted.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

“I’d certainly like to know who you consider a great man from this town,” Vivian said.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

He laughed at this, then his face grew serious. “Vanzetti,” he said, looking at her as if to discern whether he need say more or had already said too much.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

Vivian closed the door behind her, signaling her intention to speak to him on the stoop. Briefly, she thought, though not too briefly, she hoped. Sharing the stoop brought them closer. She could smell his cologne. But it was his manner that impressed and charmed her. This assumption that he was talking to an equally intelligent person, though surely she was not. Maybe life was somehow easier in Philadelphia, despite hard times.

quis mus. venenatis eu justo ac justo in Nulla amet, hendrerit. lobortis Nulla Proin convallis Lorem justo ac Proin ipsum Quisque est ut malesuada. elit. blandit egestas. gravida a. euismod

“Yes, Vanzetti,” she said. “Of course I know who you mean. But I don’t know that many folks in this town would agree with you…about his being a great man, that is.”

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ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

The stranger acquiesced with a shrug, conceding the point. “His trial was a source of controversy for many years,” he said, with a neutrality that shielded his partiality. “I know people have tired of hearing the same old arguments.”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

His voice was like a comforter, she thought, a thick blanket wrapping his words.

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“You are surely right about that. But why knock on my door, Mr. Machinetto?” Vivian asked, surprised by her boldness. “Are you knocking on all the doors in town?”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“No, not that many,” Machinetto replied with his easy laugh. “You New Englanders don’t let very much get past you. You like to peer behind the curtains to see what’s really going on. It’s the old Puritan way, perhaps.”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“Pilgrims,” she automatically corrected him. “The Puritans were in Boston.”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

Machinetto smiled. The distinction meant nothing to those not born in Plymouth.

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“Your name was Vivian Rossiter,” he said. “You are the daughter of Lavinia Rossiter. That explains why I chose your door, doesn’t it?”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

She already suspected it. The something -- never quite sure exactly what -- that connected her mother to the man who had been executed. But now that the Mayflower Suffragette was gone, Mother could not answer queries from strangers, even charming ones. There was only Vivian to answer for her now.

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“I was a little girl then,” she replied, still saw herself as such, though halfway through her teens by the time the whole business ended. “My mother was very much affected by the case. And by Mr. Vanzetti’s death. Great man or not, Mother believed his trial was a terrible injustice. Many people did, as I understand it.”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

She paused, but he did not comment. She would have to be blunt.

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“I don’t see what more I can tell you, Mr. Machinetto. I was too young to understand the importance of what was going on.”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

The handsome lawyer nodded his understanding. But his eyes seemed to say, ”You are not too young now.”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“I see,” he said. “Nevertheless, Mrs. Devito, if you would be kind enough to allow me to ask you just a few questions...”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

She nodded her head yes. It was hard to say no, unequivocally, to those eyes.

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“Did your mother ever speak of Vanzetti?” The question sounded lawyerly. “Did they have a regular acquaintance? Did he ever visit your house?”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

Vivian shook her head in reply to each, a little too firmly.

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

“Any letters?”

ac adipiscing hendrerit hendrerit. sed Proin sit a. est ac Proin Proin Sed

She hesitated. The charming stranger’s features tensed in expectation. A give-away, she thought.","page":"171","last":"","id":"1053","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

“No, nothing like that,” she said, holding back the truth now that she knew what he wanted, though a part of her ached to confess the whole sad business. Why not tell him? Would a better confessor ever knock at her door?

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

Vivian sighed. “Frankly, Mr. Machinetto, I don’t see what sort of acquaintance Mother could have had with Mr. Vanzetti, given their different backgrounds. Their spheres wouldn’t have crossed very often.”

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

Plausible, on its face. It was the sort of thing she said whenever the subject came up. It was better than telling the truth. And the bitter truth for Vivian was not that her mother cared for Vanzetti, had wept when he died, had given up afterward, basically. Vivian accepted the hard truth that her mother’s life had been broken by what happened to that man. The unbearable truth for Vivian was that she had failed her mother. She had thought only of herself.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

Could she tell that to a stranger, however kind and handsome? She looked away.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

The stranger cleared his throat and gently began again. “You see, I have been told–“

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

“Yes,” Vivian interrupted. “I know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard the story, too. That my mother and Mr. Vanzetti liked to get together to talk politics.”

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

“And you don’t believe it?”

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

“You know how people talk,” she said primly. An evasion.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

“Did you ever see him when he came to visit your mother?”

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

“I don’t know that he did visit Mother, Mr. Machinetto,” Vivian replied, sniffing out this lawyer’s trick, wondering if he’d sniffed out hers. “But, no, I never saw him.”

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

A lie. A direct, straightforward lie.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

She gazed steadily at the man on her stoop -- a good man, she thought, someone her mother would have liked -- and went cold inside.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

She had once spent a long afternoon in her upstairs bedroom with a touch of fever and chills, while the man with the moustache and the kindly manner sat downstairs talking to her mother. Their laughter rang out, reached her, made her jealous of their pleasure. But her mother never spoke of him to her, even after the trial when his imprisonment dragged on year after year. She spoke only of the letter. It is my legacy, she said, my gift of the heart.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

After her mother’s death, Vivian appointed herself guardian of her reputation. She wrapped herself in Lavinia’s stalwart solitude, wound it around herself like invisible armor at times like this, calmly returned the glance of the friend-of-Vanzetti, attorney Machinetto, with his trim brown moustache, his neat man-of-affairs haircut, and his sensitive brown eyes.

in euismod Mauris adipiscing venenatis Etiam nisl. mi erat, lacus mi consectetur hendrerit magnis

Strangers, but also a man and a woman, they stood on the stoop and contemplated the meaning of each other’s silence while the careless world greened and chirped around them.","page":"172","last":"","id":"1054","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

The caller leaned slightly forward, as if trying to hear what Vivian was saying to herself. Had she seen a ring on his finger? Had she failed to look?

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

“No,” she said lightly, as if continuing a casual conversation. “I’m afraid I never laid eyes on him.”

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

The visitor hid his disappointment behind a forgiving smile, then said, “After your mother passed away, Mrs. Devito, perhaps you didn’t have time to look through her papers.”

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

“Oh, I looked,” Vivian assured him. “Why do you ask? You’re not the sort of lawyer who comes calling with news of an unexpected bequest, are you?”

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

He laughed. “No, I’m afraid I’m never that kind of lawyer.”

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

I made him laugh, she thought, with a flush of pride. She smiled. “I didn’t think so.”

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

“No, I do not bring people wealth. Though sometimes, perhaps, I bring them hope.”

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Vivian stiffened. What did he mean by that?

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

But the baby, her second son, her precious, mewling Benjy, needing her, helpless without her, was about to wake. She could almost hear his kittenish coos turning to whimpers. And what reason could she offer to keep the stranger standing on her doorstep any longer? Not the truth about the letter, that sore spot she taught herself not to touch. That little death she buried along with her mother. The dull anguish that accompanied thoughts of her mother. A shadowy room she did not wish to enter.

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

She sensed each of them waiting for the other to speak some word that would end the interlude, and in the resulting silence heard birdsong warble and squawk on Allerton Street. An old suitor up to his tricks, a rare, red bird, an unusual visitor this far north, the cardinal she’d seen perched on a dogwood tree some time that week was out of place, and stunning.

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Was this man her rare bird? Was that what the world was trying to tell her?

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Vivian sought some pithy observation to express about the cardinal. Nothing came.

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Her visitor sighed and regained his courtly manner; resumed the guise of the curious sightseer; smiled a final smile.

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Tipping his hat, he thanked her for her time, his eyes saying more, something more complicated than the conventional civil speech of his tongue.

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Each of them said goodbye, wished the other a good day. He took his leave.

erat, sagittis in penatibus nisi magna enim amet est amet, ridiculus et sit gravida adipiscing in parturient ante. lacus dis montes, blandit Fusce in amet, at venenatis ac

Vivian watched him walk the street toward the location of the eccentric, oversized memorial to the town’s ancestry, the Forefathers Monument, and wondered what he could hope to find of Vanzetti there.","page":"173","last":"","id":"1055","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

He had already tried a more promising door. But she had kept it locked.

***

2000, Plymouth

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

Jeter arrived as the others were leaving the briefing room of the Plymouth police station, where even the chunky girl straight out of college covering the police for the bargain-basement community shopper was down to her last question, flipping a page in her reporter’s notebook and staring at her own troubled handwriting.

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

Jeter nodded to Jason, his onetime colleague. They didn’t say much when they ran into each other in public out of some primal competitive instinct that kept cards held to the chest. Jason half smiled now, gesturing with his head at the police captain, as if asking, ”What gives?” Jeter pretended not to notice.

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

Captain Hayes waited for the regulars to leave the weekly police blotter briefing before turning her attention to Jeter. With her cop hat off and her perm brushed out, she looked more human and less authoritative to him. Less like a cop.

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, the cop still in her voice.

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“I’m a member of the news media, remember? I have a question.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

She shrugged. Jeter didn’t buy it. She was interested.

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“Have you ever heard of a guy named Machinetto? Joseph Machinetto?”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“No. Why? Was he in one of the gangs?”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

Jeter shook his head and switched gears. “I talked to a friend of mine who’s studying this anarchist stuff. He told me there were no anarchists in town, or anywhere else, in nineteen-forty-two.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“Like I said, the letter was probably a prank.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“Okay. So here’s my question. How was that letter signed? I mean exactly.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“Let’s check.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

She frowned. “I can’t show it to you without getting the chief’s permission first. And that would be a pain.”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“Will you check it for me?”

Proin in et malesuada. at amet sit ipsum penatibus condimentum erat, montes, vestibulum justo ante. Mauris et Proin nisl.

“That comes under the category of favors,” she said.

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dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“Understood. And a favor deserves something in return. So why not let me buy you a drink at Delaney’s when you get off duty. I’ll explain my interest then without taking up your time now. I think you’ll see how utterly harmless my interest is, by the way, but that’s for you to decide.”

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

She laughed and said, “So at the very least, I get a free drink out of it.”

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“Exactly.”

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“I’m off in an hour. I’ll meet you there.”

***

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

She wasn’t his type. Too big. A laughable opinion for someone his size. Anyway, he wanted to see her out of uniform at least once, and figured Captain Hayes wouldn’t be seen with her badge on while talking to him at Delaney’s. An architecturally bland but roomy hangout on the town pier, Delaney’s was where town hall types went to drink after meetings and ran into off-duty cops and former fellow high schoolers. You said “hi” to somebody at one table and two tables away threw that same somebody under the bus.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

He liked the captain’s bluntness, her tacit acceptance that the game was afoot. Maybe he wanted to see if he could get information from her. Maybe she wanted to see what she could get from him. Maybe it was something more. Maybe that’s why she’d laughed. If that was the case, she might play along, out of curiosity.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

She was nothing like Mindy. Mindy had a warm, sensitive-but-smart quality that attracted him. She could laugh at herself, but also had the brains to get his jokes.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

Karen Hayes did not keep him waiting long. Definitely out of uniform, she was wearing jeans and a loose overshirt. He was similarly dressed in jeans and a big baggy sweater with a V-neck and a couple of buttons.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

He ordered drinks, beer for him, gin and tonic for her, and launched the conversation by asking how she’d gotten into police work.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“I found it interesting,” she said.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“Academically?” Jeter asked, caught her frown and added apologetically, “I mean, you knew all about the gangs when we talked. You told me about the Conley gang straight off.”

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

She pursed her lips. Her lipstick was a modest shade, little more than a gloss. Jeter hadn’t noticed whether she had it on at the station. Something about a police uniform overshadowed the personal touches, defeated gender. Besides, there was something about policing -- all that car time, the sitting -- that was tough on the human figure.

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“Whenever you learn more about any subject you become more interested,” she said. “You probably know more than most people about newspapers.”

dui. sit lobortis elit. egestas. magnis nulla. sed Proin gravida enim imperdiet justo elit. montes, vehicula amet

“Not really. In college I was interested in all sorts of things. Philosophy, political studies. History. Art and music.”

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in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“So what happened? Did you do anything with it?”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“I’m doing it,” Jeter said and immediately regretted his defensive tone.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

She stared at him.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

Right, Jeter thought. We’re all doing it.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“You know how it is,” he said. “Had to make a living.”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

She nodded. “I do know how it is.”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“Anyway, I promised to tell you why I’m interested in this old piece of criminal lore. Want another drink first?”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“I’m fine, but I’ll take a glass of water.”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

Jeter caught the waitress’s eye and asked for the water and another beer. He then explained that his initial interest in the Willy Carroll case was a result of Vera Blaine’s request that he investigate “Uncle Willy’s” death.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“I learned of a close family connection to Carroll, an elderly woman named Vivian Devito. In talking with her, I discovered, completely by accident, that her mother was connected to Bartolomeo Vanzetti of Sacco and Vanzetti fame.”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“And?”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“Well, that’s why I became curious when you told me of a note that blamed the anarchists for Willy Carroll’s death.”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“And fooled nobody,” Karen added.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“Right. But the thing is, could there be some kind of connection between Carroll, or his family, and the anarchists?”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“I don’t get you.”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

Jeter swallowed beer while collecting his thoughts. He then offered his take of the story in journalistic fashion.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“Okay, in a nutshell, back in the twenties, this well-known local suffragist, Lavinia Rossiter, campaigned hard to get Vanzetti off. They apparently had some sort of prior connection. There was talk about them in town. One of Lavinia Rossiter’s daughters married a cop who later wound up murdered. Somebody wrote a crank letter to the police blaming Willy Carroll’s death on anarchists. Why? I mean, in nineteen-forty-two, why not blame it on Nazi sympathizers, or Fifth Columnists? Or Communists, maybe, if you wanted to go in that direction?”

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“Questions, but not answers,” Captain Hayes efficiently summarized his case.

in sagittis convallis Mauris consectetur gravida elit. ac faucibus et sociis mus. dolor lobortis fermentum a. at convallis Etiam et Quisque vitae

“Not much to go on, is there?” Jeter conceded. “Probably some nut tossing around the anarchist word. Nothing of substance to take to court.”

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sit Fusce magna sit ante. nulla. ac amet ipsum imperdiet dolor condimentum fermentum

“Who said anything about court?”

sit Fusce magna sit ante. nulla. ac amet ipsum imperdiet dolor condimentum fermentum

Jeter was after a story. Something new about a long-forgotten crime. He hoped she could help.

sit Fusce magna sit ante. nulla. ac amet ipsum imperdiet dolor condimentum fermentum

“Okay, so look, I’m admittedly getting ahead of myself,” he said, “but we media types tend to operate by a lower standard.”

sit Fusce magna sit ante. nulla. ac amet ipsum imperdiet dolor condimentum fermentum

“You’re telling me,” she muttered. “Anyway, I see where you’re going with this, and agree that the anarchist tie-in could be nothing more than coincidence. Like you said, some nut who simply liked the word. On the other hand, if they knew about the family connection, about Carroll’s connection to this bleeding-heart family, maybe they were mocking on him.”

sit Fusce magna sit ante. nulla. ac amet ipsum imperdiet dolor condimentum fermentum

“Why would anyone mock on a dead cop?” Jeter said. “Seems pretty cold.”

sit Fusce magna sit ante. nulla. ac amet ipsum imperdiet dolor condimentum fermentum

Karen leaned forward and, pumping her shoulders to Delaney’s loud music, said, “Well, honey, it may come as a surprise to you, but some people out there just plain don’t like us.”

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condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

CHAPTER 16

THEY WILL NOT MAKE A SOLDIER OF VANZETTI

April, 1916, Plymouth

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

The Italian anarchist prophet had come and gone. Lavinia knew the role her friend must have played in that visit. A few weeks later, the strike was over, the workers settling for a modest increase. It was hard to see what difference it had made. The only difference Lavinia could point to was that her friend no longer came to see her.

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

From the window of her “library,” her late husband’s grand term for the small room in which she wrote her letters, Lavinia watched the advance of the season. Robins pecked in the back garden. Lilac tree buds grew dark and began to purple up, like bruises. When the generals of the Western Front once again ordered troops to advance against machine guns, barbed wire, shelling, and dug-in positions, hundreds of thousands of men lost their lives. Survivors crawled back to their holes.

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

Defeated as well, a wave of humanity trooped to the Plymouth Cordage factory each morning -- obscuring the white-flowering arbutus that sprung through the grasses at the edge of Holmes Field -- and shuffled back home in the evening shadows, too tired, Lavinia assumed, to work in the green and hopeful garden patches her erstwhile friend had planted in her mind’s picture of Suosso’s Lane. Workers’ families planted gardens there in every patch of ground, a few tomato vines in a bucket outside a doorway if nowhere better could be found. Or so her friend had told her.

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

The car came for her that evening, her brother-in-law’s black, bristling machine, to transport her to the Cordage library to teach her English class, an act Charles Rossiter appeared to regard as a family duty. Ordinarily, she preferred to walk, which displeased Charles, but when the clouds drifted in from the ocean and wept on the shore, she was glad to see it, though the car’s canvas roof did a less than perfect job of keeping out the rain.

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

Lavinia was taking a moment to drip dry inside the library’s trim little doorway when she saw him. Her friend…or student…or former friend or student…standing beside a shelf of books in the reading room in the company of two black-haired children, their curious faces attentive to what he was saying. His philosophical expression wore a sadder aspect, she thought. Chastened, perhaps. Or perhaps she was imagining this. Without the little beard, his face had a starker look.

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

She looked away when he noticed her, covering her reaction by shaking the moisture from the cuffs of her worn coat. She could not let him know how eager she was to greet him. But her breath tugged at the sight of him, and her hands gripped the volume of Stevenson she’d brought along to read from to her class, and had she not looked away, her facial expression would surely have betrayed her.

condimentum amet in adipiscing lacus lobortis ipsum condimentum erat, Pellentesque elit. tristique amet, adipiscing sed ridiculus justo convallis Sed tempor faucibus

He pretended not to see her, his attention wholly concentrated on the two slender children, a boy with dark, round eyes, and a girl, older, taller, with the same black hair and eyes. He spoke softly, his shoulder brushing the bookshelf, seeming to draw confidence from the nearness of the books, leaning toward the curious faces of the children.

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American children, the future, Lavinia thought, wondering if she’d have seen them that way had she not grown close to Vanzetti -- close, now apart, reduced to a chance meeting, perhaps a casual greeting: “Ah, I see you have company.” Yes, that would have to do.

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

Lavinia looked to see Vanzetti eyeing her with what now appeared to be surprise, followed by a rapid series of emotions that climaxed in a warm smile. He tilted his head, nodding, perhaps beckoning. They walked toward one another, halving the distance. The children hung back, sneaking looks at the female stranger.

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“It is for the children I come to this place now, Missus,” Vanzetti said, smiling as he gestured with a hand at the book shelves where his young charges waited in curious silence. “These are my angels, i miei angeli.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“They are children of the family you lodge with?”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Yes, Missus. Sometimes they lend me their wings.” He beamed at this flight of fancy and quicker with his words added before she could reply, “Always they wish for the books. Books and more books!”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

She said something approving as he turned to face the children. The children stared big-eyed at the stranger, then looked away from her nod. She thought he meant to call them over, but he did not. He wants his worlds separate, she thought.

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“You love books yourself, Mr. Vanzetti,” Lavinia said. “But these books here are in English, are they not?”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Sure, sure. The children read them better than poor Vanzetti.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Then you must come back to our sessions, Mr. Vanzetti. We will read them together,” she said, surprised at the cool propriety in her voice. You are a dissembler, Lavinia, she silently scolded, a scheming woman.

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

When he did not reply, she spoke with greater urgency. “Truly, Mr. Vanzetti, you must continue your lessons. You cannot rest with the job half done.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“You are kind, Missus.” His words trailed. He hesitated, unable to speak freely, perhaps, in front of the children.

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Not at all.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Grazie, Missus Rosseetuh,” he said, freeing himself from reserve. “Sure, sure, I am happy to come back. I miss our talks.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

Lavinia felt warm, flushed.

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Consider it settled, Mr. Vanzetti. Call on me Thursday at the old time and let us continue where we left off.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

“Yes,” he said, smiling, self-conscious, drifting back with a hint of anxiety to the children. “Make it so.”

penatibus sed condimentum et vitae eu in ac Quisque augue. mi amet, in

Voices from the stairwell. They worked on pronouncing the name of the holidays that evening: “Thanksgiving! Chriss-muss! Fourth of Joo-lee!” A Babel. Some Russian, she thought, or Polish. German, certainly. And Portuguese. No Italians tonight?","page":"179","last":"","id":"1061","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

vestibulum augue. elit. adipiscing Quisque elit. ornare in consectetur justo amet quam augue. blandit parturient blandit malesuada. malesuada. euismod justo Mauris Proin hendrerit. augue. tristique Lorem

The old time, she thought. Let us continue where we left off. She asked herself. Is it the old arrangement you hunger for, or something more? Never mind that, she thought. The parlor needed airing, and the drapes must be taken outside and beaten on the next clear day. She would ask Mrs. Baker to bake something for their tea, and name some other, imaginary visitor.

What a devious creature you are becoming, Lavinia. What a conventional woman.

***

They sat outdoors in her pretty, cramped back garden on an iron bench with curved armrests shaped like the tendrils of wild pea vines. Somewhere nearby, Vivian managed her own tea party with a cloth doll. Vanzetti idly played with the white daisy he had plucked rather cavalierly from her thinly blossoming flower bed. Flowers, she took it, were more profuse in the Italy of his childhood.

Their talk did not flow as freely as once it had. Her friend seemed despondent beneath his surface charm. She needed to know the reason. Had his faith been challenged?

“Why did the strike fail, Mr. Vanzetti?” she asked, thinking, come, let us take on some subject of lively interest.

“The men were betrayed, Missus,” he said with a shrug, as if the subject of the strike, the ostensible cause of the hiatus in their connection, no longer interested him.

“Betrayed by whom?”

“The committee. The Meester Conley. They want only the union for themselves.”

“They do not seek ‘the beautiful idea?’”

Vanzetti appeared surprised then unhappy to hear those words from her.

“But your maestro, Senor Galleani, he came to speak,” Lavinia said. “Did he not encourage the men?”

“He spoke the truth,” Vanzetti replied. “Bello. It was a beautiful thing to hear.”

“But beautiful speeches do not mean victories,” she countered provocatively.

“The victory! The failure!” he stated in a tone of exaggerated mockery. “No single strike can win the victory! There must be many strikes! All the world must be on strike! It will come today. Or tomorrow. This we know.”

Knowing she’d touched the wound, Lavinia asked, “But do the other men, the greater part of them, agree with your views of social transformation? Are their minds not set on concrete, practical gains? More pay in the envelope, more food on the table?”","page":"180","last":"","id":"1062","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

He bridled at this implicit slight against “the people.” His people, not hers. The old Plymouth families were beyond the pale of his vision.

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

“You do not understand, Missus,” Vanzetti said, with force. “You do not know what it is to live each day by the labor of the body. Pardon me for saying this, Missus.”

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

“No, no,” she said, gesturing for him to go on.

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

He stood from the bench and walked to pick off the ground a seed case blown from a neighbor’s tree. He deftly opened it, emptied the seeds, and handed the shell to Lavinia.

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

“This is what a man is like who works in the factory,” he said. “At the end of the day, there is no man left inside, this shell of a man. No man to pick up and kiss his children. No man to embrace his dear wife and speak gently to her. No man to look at the stars in the sky and the leaves on the trees.” He gazed at the red-blossoming maple and the tall, now flowerless lilac bordering Lavinia’s garden. “And so we should not be surprised that this shell of a man grasps for the first little thing, the first fruit that is offered, the one more dollar in the pay envelope, and cannot see the forest that is growing all around him.” He pointed toward an unseen horizon concealed by rooflines. “This shell of a man cannot see the mountain, cannot see the road through the trees to get to this mountain.” He returned to sit beside her on the bench. “The future is a hard place to live, Missus, when you fear you may fall down dead before the end of each endless day.”

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

After a brief silence, Lavinia replied, “You are correct, Mr. Vanzetti, I do not know all that, but there is something you do not understand as well. You do not know what it is to be sentenced by birth, by no more rational agency, to the kitchen, the bedroom, and the nursery.” She pointed, a vengeful angel, said, “There is your domain, woman!”

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

Her friend did not respond. He must understand this, she resolved.

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

“Because of this banishment, this exile, from the public sphere, Mr. Vanzetti, women must play a secondary role throughout their lives. Why? Why are there no women mayors, nor governors, nor presidents? Why are there no women judges, generals, chairwomen of the board? No female captains of industry? No female physicians, attorneys, professors, newspaper publishers, peace officers? Why are there no women ministers? What is the reason for that? Because God would not listen to a woman who dared to put on priestly robes and lead her congregation in prayer and supplication? Then God must share the demeaning opinion of women expressed by so many of his male worshippers.”

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

Vanzetti gravely regarded her, but gave no sign of wishing to interrupt.

sociis amet, justo sit nisl. in sit lobortis Cum Etiam amet, amet, ornare elit. malesuada. Cum elit. diam at blandit vestibulum eros nisi at vehicula dui. Fusce justo

“Who has decided these matters?” Lavinia went on, wound up. “Are the opinions of women solicited on this division of labor? I’ll ask again, why are there no learned women on either side of the bench in the courts of law, no female physicians?” She grimaced. “Oh, I have read now and then of a few brave souls who fought their way through frowning, disapproving medical colleges, shunned by fellow students, derided, hazed by means of various crude practical jests involving anatomized animal parts.” Her expression softened. “In older times, women were healers. They knew the herbs, the medicines, they attended the births. The wise woman was sought for her

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remedies, her simples, her preparations. Now, women may only nurse, they cannot doctor.” She paused, felt she’d said more than enough, but couldn’t help adding, “You must see, Mr. Vanzetti, that to the female sex this world appears very one-sided.”

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

Vanzetti attempted to smile. Curiously inert, his hands began to rise.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

“These priests, these physicians, these judges, these attorneys,” he said, waving his hands, ushering off stage these symbols of authority, “these are the creations of the old regime, the old ways of darkness. Of the ignorance. Of the walls between the people. Of the establishment of the few as the powerful and the many as the servants. The less worthy, the slaves.”

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

Ah, Lavinia thought, his answer for everything.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

“Why would the women aspire to climb a weary stairway to the towers of privilege that must then be pulled down with their own hands?” Vanzetti asked, emphatically demonstrating this action with his hands. “All these things -- these courts, these prisons, officials of the state! All these, we must pull down. The men and women together.”

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

It would have to do, she decided, until she could show him better.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

“The strike,” he said, gesturing with his head up the road, toward Plymouth Cordage. “It was a step.”

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

“So,” she said, “a step. I desire very much to take a step as well.”

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

Vanzetti nodded his understanding.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

All right, she thought, we will call it a step. We have both taken a step.

***

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

They continued to meet as before, on the old footing. She hid their sessions from the cook, told no one about them. Felt guilty, and self-centered, when walking familiar streets past the old houses of families who were once her friends. School friends. Cousins. Her husband’s family. The alienation, the growing apart, was almost always her fault. They did not wish to hear about her “views.” And these were all she wished to talk about.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

Lavinia chided herself. She was too judgmental, too absolute. She encouraged Vanzetti, her Italian, her anarchist friend, her sole source of informed conversation, encouraged him too much, perhaps, but, dear heaven! It was truly a relief to have someone to talk to! Someone intelligent! And yes, informed.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

The old rapport was enhanced by a new freedom to express disagreement and be attended with patience and respect. They agreed about the war. They disagreed about whether Wilson could be trusted to stay out of it.

Fusce sodales et Proin et amet, a. ac erat nec ridiculus scelerisque Nulla nec Sed sed eu ipsum ac ante. justo Mauris

“Great progress is being made in the western states even while the old

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colonies such as Massachusetts dither,” Lavinia maintained, quoting from her recent missive to the New York World. “When the nation’s voters (male voters, she nearly amended, but no need in this company), go to the polls this November, women in twelve states will vote also for president. And I’d like to add that I very much hope they vote for Wilson. He is in my opinion the better choice. You know his slogan? ‘He kept us out of war.’ I rely on that promise.”

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

Vanzetti shook his head. “This President Wilson, he says this, he says that, but in the end he will go where the bosses, the big bosses, wish him to go. It is the wealthy ones, the Rockefellers, and the Morgans, and their companies, who decide what will be in this country, and not the simple people who line up for the vote. It is the wealthy who decide when to pull the trigger. When the time is right, they will shoot their guns. Mark my words, Missus Rosseetuh.”

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

Wilson won the November election. Lavinia felt hopeful. She wrote a letter, published in a Boston newspaper, congratulating women for the role they had surely played in turning some of the western states in Wilson’s favor. In a close election, they may in fact have proved the difference. It was a hopeful sign, she thought. Important, too, now that it was apparent that the United States could not be dragged into the war, the European powers had no choice but to make peace. The fighting would end, the victors, as always, would divide up the small countries, and the world’s governments would go back to their unjust, short-sighted ways. Still and all, even that would be less catastrophic than raising a tower of corpses to the gates of heaven, depopulating towns and villages, turning family members into widows and orphans.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

Unfortunately, these things foreseen by Lavinia did not come to pass. Less than a year after his re-election, Wilson, the idealist, the man of peace and reason, cited repeated German violations of American neutrality, and asked Congress to declare war.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

Sick at heart, Lavinia read the news in a morning paper that illustrated the declaration with a cartoon of American soldiers kicking a German helmet like an old tin can, while enemy soldiers lay sprawled on the ground.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

The following afternoon, the old town bell rang in the steeple of the stone church that towered over Town Square, as if summoning the townsfolk to confront a sudden disaster. Was the town on fire? The wooden predecessor of the stone church had burned to the ground twenty years before. Lavinia remembered that sad day as, joined with others, half running, slowing to a pant, she approached the grassy square where neighbors and townspeople, including faces she had not seen in years, pushed forward to learn why the bell had rung.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

Groups of men talked loudly among themselves on the cobbled lane between the houses of worship belonging to two venerable congregations with Pilgrim roots -- her family had attended one, Nathaniel Rossiter the other, Lavinia had attended neither -- the cause of the alarm clear in the faces of the men. There was no fire, no cause for mourning. This was a celebration. Young men and some considerably older shared the excitement, the cheerful anticipation of how sweet and fitting it would be to die for their country. The women stood back, did not restrain their men, added their enthusiasm to the overflow of high spirits.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

“Now we will find out who the real Americans are!” a woman proclaimed.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

Elspeth Barnes, Lavinia noted. A fool sharing her impassioned ignorance. But Elspeth stood amid a throng, while Lavinia stood alone.

penatibus gravida Proin tempor vehicula Etiam nulla. dis hendrerit. hendrerit erat, Cum malesuada. Cum quam enim

“There will be spies among us,” Elspeth opined. “You may count upon it.”

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venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Who would spy on Elspeth Barnes? Lavinia silently scoffed. Or any of the Barnes’s circle, a complacent old badgers’ den of dried up hypocrisy.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“Hear! Hear!” a man cried.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

A circle of men helped another man, a slight, timid-looking figure, climb to the top of a wooden bench in the grassy public square.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Dear God, Lavinia thought. Reverend Marsh, callow and self-conscious, foolishly pleased with the deference shown him. Reverend Marsh was one of the principal reasons she no longer attended the stone church.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“Friends,” Marsh began in his precious church-school manner, “too long we have borne the insults of a barbarous nation.”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

It was war, of course, the great civic disaster, that drew the town together. What other prospect could please so many?

***

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Vanzetti sat among the family on Suosso’s Lane. He would be sad to leave the Brinis, this house, this family.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“Where will you go?” Alphonsina reasoned. “Where in this world? Where will you go where there are no bosses, no capitalistes?”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Alphonsina protested the family boarder’s decision while patiently stirring the soup on the iron stove. The loud adult talk drew the children. Beltrando crouched in the doorway to listen, his dark eyes wide. Lefevre stood beside her mother, ready as always to lend a hand with the meal preparations.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Vanzetti stood. Unable to sit. Excited by the talking. Brini stood, too. Seated, he would feel smaller than the others. Vanzetti noted the man’s thinning hair.

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“Where will we go?” he said. “This is to be decided. But to a place where this government will not know where to find me or the others.”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Had they heard him say “we?” Did they know of the comrades?

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

He would not burden them with too much knowledge, would only say with some pride, “I am not the only one, of course, who will go away to escape this slavery. Many of our men are leaving as well.”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

Alphonsina frowned. “A migration? Is not coming to America far enough? How many?”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“A dozen, maybe. Maybe more.”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“Your friend?”

venenatis quam, diam quam egestas. nascetur nisl. augue. penatibus egestas. Nulla ut Nulla hendrerit ac ipsum malesuada. malesuada. et dolor ipsum erat,

“Nicola? Yes, Nick, will come with us.”","page":"184","last":"","id":"1066","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

His comrade called himself “Nick” in the American tongue, in the shoe factory where he’d been made a foreman and given keys to guard the building at night. His comrade, Nicola Sacco, had decided to leave his wife and daughter, to go with the other men to find a better place to build a real new world, and to then return to fetch his family.

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

“And so these men will live together like the monks,” Alphonsina concluded with some mockery. “Tying one another’s robes and cutting their hair with bowls?”

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

Vanzetti disliked the comparison. Monks were like the fat priests who took their food from the mouths of the poor. But he held his tongue.

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

And no more was said as they stood together in the kitchen, all feeling sad. As he looked from face to face, Vanzetti realized with fondness that he’d lived here with this family longer than anywhere else since he was a boy back in the Piemonte.

***

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Lavinia opened her kitchen door, surprised to find her friend standing on her doorstep, calling at a much earlier hour than usual, and bearing the ominous news that the United States Congress had approved a military draft.

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

“Now thees Congress, which no one needs, has done the bidding of thees President, who is no true man,” he said, emotion accenting his speech. “So now the Americans will go to thees war -- thees terrible war no working man desires. And thees armies which serve the rich will be filled with sons and brothers and husbands and fathers of the poor. And the homes of the lost ones will drown with tears. And the jails will be filled with those who will not go. Mind you, Missus Rosseetuh, you will see if it is not so.”

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

“Come in and sit down, Mr. Vanzetti,” Lavinia appealed.

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

She did not wish to hear her friend speak of jails. She had read the news about military conscription. It was no surprise. It was what countries did when they wanted to fight a war. But the word “jail” had not been in her thoughts.

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

“This is very distressing,” she added. “Won’t you please come in?”

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

Vanzetti shook his head. “I have come to say goodbye, Missus Rosseetuh, my friend, my good true friend. But they will not make of Vanzetti the soldier.”

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

Lavinia felt something collapse inside her; a noiseless, bottomless tumble, like a shadow falling down a stairwell. So she was to suffer -- personally, and not merely in sympathy for those who lost loved ones -- because a leader she had supported pursued a course she detested.

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

“Goodbye?” she questioned. “What do you mean?”

blandit eu Quisque diam adipiscing Proin quam fermentum nibh sed ridiculus at Fusce augue. est sit quis

“We will not fight,” Vanzetti stated, his arms pressed to his sides in an effort at calm. “The comrades have decided. We know thees war is not for us.”","page":"185","last":"","id":"1067","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

Lavinia nodded her understanding. Her friend was a man of principle, as inconvenient as those principles were for their friendship.

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“And so it is concluded that we must go where thees government cannot find us.”

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“Where?” she blurted. “Where will you go?”

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

Vanzetti shrugged, his anger at a war-eager world replaced by regret. His hands escaped their confinement. He opened them, palms up.

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

He looked to her like a boy hiding a secret, the place of his secret hide-out. He was not going to tell her. It hurt that he would not tell her. It hurt that what “we” decided was more important to him. Was she not his “comrade” as well?

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“When?”

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“Soon. This week, perhaps.”

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“But surely, when the war is over…”

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“Sure, sure,” he replied. “Certo. Perhaps, when the war is over, things will be different then.”

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

Things between us?

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“I will miss our talks,” she said. She could think of nothing more. There was no…basis to say more. Though why wasn’t there? Why not?

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

“And I.” He bowed, avoided her eyes.

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

In a moment he was gone. Out of her life. An extinguished star. A vanishing rainbow. She watched him go. A short, sturdy, black-coated, laboring man passing beneath the leafy trees of respectable Plymouth.

***

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

Lavinia’s desk was a heavy, black-walnut piece that poor, well-meaning Nathaniel had bestowed upon her to demonstrate that his embarrassment at being the husband of the prolific letter-writing Mayflower Suffragette had been overcome. The desk was a kind of second home, a sanctum sanctorum installed in an anteroom off the parlor. She sat at it now, soothed by the familiarity of this act, to compose a more difficult letter than any written before. After three weeks, she could only assume that Vanzetti had indeed gone away. She had hoped for a message. He sometimes sent notes by a boy from the neighborhood. But it now appeared that if there was to be communication between them, she would have to initiate it.

lacus mus. amet, in ipsum adipiscing nulla. quis consectetur amet mauris quis nascetur nibh elit. erat Cum consectetur Lorem lacus at nibh

The house was quiet. Her older daughter, Marguerite, was abroad in the company of the young man Lavinia disapproved of, a sad word, disapproved. Was she becoming a sour old widow lady, interfering between her daughter and a beau not “good enough” for her? Yes, well, she would gladly step aside and let the young people have their fun if

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she was convinced they were having any; if only Willy Carroll didn’t seem “good enough” for any woman of spirit. Willy was an old man posing as a youth; a young, unlined body ruled by a rigid, withered mind. His mind had mental wrinkles where it ought to have passions, humors, hijinks, japes, jests, enthusiasms of any sort. He ought to have wild appetites and commit daring breaches of decorum. But no, Willy counted his pennies at an age when he should have been scattering his wild oats.

nulla. amet nec dolor nascetur gravida scelerisque ipsum consectetur justo adipiscing quis malesuada. sit dis nisl. justo ante. Nulla

This oncoming blunder by Willy and Marguerite was merely a distraction. Lavinia had affairs of the heart of her own to attend to. She flinched at the associations of that phrase, but it fit, she knew it did. Vanzetti had called her ”my good, true friend,” words she would cling to in addressing him, though she wondered why he could not tell his good, true friend where he was going. Admittedly, their views differed in some matters, but could he possibly doubt on some innate, unexamined level that Lavinia, a daughter of the ruling class, was truly on his side? Did he not trust her to keep his secrets?

nulla. amet nec dolor nascetur gravida scelerisque ipsum consectetur justo adipiscing quis malesuada. sit dis nisl. justo ante. Nulla

She shook off her hesitations, her scruples, her old baggage, her concern for a town full of nodding acquaintances with people she no longer visited. She blew on the tip of her steel-nibbed pen as if offering the dull instrument some share of her divine spark, and began the laborious but familiar process of applying ink to her heavy-bonded stationery. Her hand took over, guiding her thoughts. She scratched away in the silent house, the rapid slashing of her pen timed by the rhythmic tick of the mantelpiece clock.

nulla. amet nec dolor nascetur gravida scelerisque ipsum consectetur justo adipiscing quis malesuada. sit dis nisl. justo ante. Nulla

Dear Friend,

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I hope some friend to your cause, and ours (as you surely believe that I share your cause), will see to it that you receive this letter. I trust that it will find you in good health and circumstances. Please believe me when I tell you that only the most powerful certainty in the rightness of the views which I will strive to give form to here could impel me to the expedient of this correspondence. In the intervening weeks since our last, too brief interview, I have thought of you often, my friend, and recalled, also, among the sad words of that parting, your promise to write to me when you had settled into your new circumstances.

nulla. amet nec dolor nascetur gravida scelerisque ipsum consectetur justo adipiscing quis malesuada. sit dis nisl. justo ante. Nulla

Please do not consider it a reprimand when I mention my disappointment that no letter from you has been received. I cannot believe that you intend to abandon our friendship -- for whatever reasons -- even the necessities of that struggle for those very great and noble ends which your words alone have caused one who considers herself your truest friend to understand and embrace as her own.

nulla. amet nec dolor nascetur gravida scelerisque ipsum consectetur justo adipiscing quis malesuada. sit dis nisl. justo ante. Nulla

I say “friend,” for I know not what other term to use for those of like mind, such as we surely are, whatever differences in station and gender may exist. I do not presume to say “comrade,” for perhaps we are not comrades in the sense I understand you to employ that honorable term when you speak of those who labor beside you to bring about that higher social condition for all you have spoken of so eloquently on numerous occasions. I make no claim to have undertaken those labors -- no, not comrades then, not yet! But perhaps in some better day to come! How limited the cause I profess as my own must seem to you and, I confess, it begins at times to appear somewhat in that same light to me. But now that you have shown me greater horizons and a stronger sun to shine upon them, do not blot out that light for me by the shadows of too absolute a silence.

nulla. amet nec dolor nascetur gravida scelerisque ipsum consectetur justo adipiscing quis malesuada. sit dis nisl. justo ante. Nulla

I need to continue our interconnection and those exchanges of ideas and experiences which belong to the deeper side of the human personality. I would say “soul” -- is soul allowed us, dear friend? Or is that old supposition banished too

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with all the rest of the unnecessary claptrap of church and state? Forgive me, I do not mean to appear impatient, but I am afraid that without the stimulation of your ardent and eloquent expression of the nature of the great idea, the beautiful idea as you so fittingly call it, I may lose sight of that new world, that new continent of human aspiration, which your example of deep and radiant love for one’s fellow man has opened to me.

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

Lavinia read what she had written, rose from her straight-backed chair, and turned about in a little circle. Was she resorting to flattery? What, in fact, would her Italian friend make of the mere fact of receiving this letter from the American woman who had invited him to visit her for the purpose of improving his English? In an imperfect word, she lectured the auditors of her own mind (the members of her women’s society, perhaps; her comrades, presumably): We cannot expect each shaft to hit the target. Still we must let fly.

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

The house remained still. No sound could be heard from the upstairs, where Vivian, who sometimes had bad dreams, was precociously reading Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Lavinia allowed her written words to stand, inked the nib of her pen, and added:

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

Let me not appear unmindful of those difficulties and indeed dangers of which you spoke in our last conversations. I acknowledge and applaud your decision to continue to labor for the workingman, and not against him by participating in this terrible and unnecessary war. Yet if it is possible, my friend, for you to recommence something of our former connection -- or should it become possible after some interval of time -- I beg that you lose no time in writing to me to allay what I believe are very natural concerns about your well-being. Perhaps the press of circumstances has been too great for you to spare time and thought for me. Perhaps this invitation will receive no response for some weeks still. Yet, you may be sure that I will continue to anticipate your reply and rejoice when it arrives.

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

I remain your hopeful friend, and one who, although accorded the title “teacher” by you, now eagerly proclaims herself your student.

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

The hand that signed her name at the end of this missive -- hurriedly, before losing her courage -- had written thousands of missives, advisories and pleas, epistles, invitations, rebukes, proclamations, and veritable dissertations on the sacred cause. But in the months that followed, Lavinia Rossiter, the Mayflower Suffragette, thought only of this outpouring when she murmured the words, “my letter.”

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

What will he think of my letter? Was my letter too bold? How will I get my letter to him?

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

Seated inside the black touring car that belonged to her fat, prosperous, embarrassed-by-her-anti-war-statements brother-in-law, Lavinia directed the driver to park on the side of Court Street by Holmes Field, where she waited for the children of the factory workers to walk home from the Cornish and Burton grammar school. She would rely on intuition to choose among them the messenger to deliver her letter.

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

The driver wore a smart dark cap with a shiny brim, his wavy hair curled over his ears, he more expensively dressed than she, she wagered, and he obviously displeased with waiting in this place, from time to time glancing at her in the rearview mirror until she sharply told him to stop.

dolor consectetur penatibus malesuada. tincidunt nascetur malesuada. diam justo in in magna at Pellentesque ornare enim quis Sed nisi

They came largely in groups, as lads did, elbowing one another and talking loudly until quieted by the curious sight of the big black car parked on the roadside. Lavinia withheld her errand from these youthful bands. A single, serious-looking boy would be more the thing. A tidy, self-contained, reliable boy.

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sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Young man!” she called, leaning an arm and shoulder out of the car’s open window to wave to a pensive, solitary lad walking a measured distance from the larger groups. “Come here, please. I wish to speak to you!”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The boy inched his way toward the back seat of the car.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

Lavinia smiled, beckoning him closer. “I have a job for a boy,” she said. “A boy who can be relied upon to do me a service. Can I rely on you?”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The slightly built youth with large brown eyes appeared unable to find his words.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Are you that boy?” Lavinia prompted.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The child managed to nod and say, “Yes, sir.” The boy’s softly-featured face reddened. “I mean yes, Missus.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

Paying no mind, she asked, “What’s your name?”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Primo.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Very good, Primo. You are the boy I have been waiting for. I have a letter for a man who lives in your neighborhood. Do you know a Mr. Vanzetti?”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The boy shook his head no. Lavinia suppressed a sigh, but her disappointment showed.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Dolly knows him, Missus!” Primo offered brightly. “Mr. Vanzetti lives at Dolly’s house.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Good, good,” Lavinia said, encouraged. “I want you to go to Dolly and ask her parents to see that Mr. Vanzetti receives this letter.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The boy appeared puzzled. Uncomfortable.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Here, Primo, I will give you a nickel to do this for me,” Lavinia said, holding out the coin. “Take it from me, please. Don’t be afraid.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The tongue-tied boy hesitantly accepted it.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“And if you bring back word to me that you have delivered the letter to Dolly’s family, I will give you a second nickel.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The child nodded. “Si. I mean yes, Missus.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

“Come straight back to me as soon as you have delivered the letter,” Lavinia said. “I will wait here for an hour.”

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

The driver sighed.

sociis erat, nisl. eu nascetur sit vehicula sed nisl. sociis amet, blandit dui. dui. diam quam, convallis adipiscing

She waited, increasingly impatient as the autumn sun descended to meet the land and depart from the broad reach of sky over the harbor. The boy did not return. Perhaps the promise of another nickel had not been enough. She knew nothing of the going rate for small-boy errands. Or perhaps this Dolly was nowhere about.","page":"189","last":"","id":"1071","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

The exasperated driver cleared his throat. Again. A nervous habit? Insolence?

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

“Very well,” she said. “We may go now.”

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

She would come back, even if forced to do so alone. There was hope. The boy had given Vanzetti a local habitation: he stayed with Dolly’s family. She would return in a week’s time and waylay that same boy.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

A week passed. Lavinia did not return to Holmes Field. Something happened, something she’d never experienced. Lavinia felt seriously unwell. A doctor she hadn’t seen in a dozen years diagnosed an infection of the lumbar region. He called it, “somatic intemperance.”

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

“Intemperance!” A laugh tore from her weakened lungs. The word that meant too much to drink to her could hardly be more inaccurate.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

“Of the soma,” the doctor gravely replied. “The physical constitution.”

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

The laugh was one of her few that winter. She followed the prescribed rest cure, kept to home and often to her bed for months. Her pain began to lessen in the spring, but her customary vigor refused to return. She suffered shortness of breath when she ventured out of doors. She was grateful when Lila Maynard, a young woman who made her living applying her long, quick fingers to a typewriter, offered to hold the Women’s Society meetings in her parlor. Perhaps the girl would take over the society altogether. Lavinia appeared to have little use for it herself.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

Rather than attend the meetings, she sat in her parlor with the heavy furniture and the good piano that her daughters did not play, and drank Mrs. Williams’ Healing Preparation, which looked like brown tea and tasted of elderberry wine and grass cuttings. Puckering against the taste and thinking of Vanzetti, she wondered how old he was, for she’d had no occasion to ask him. She suspected that while his thick moustache made him look older, he was certainly the younger and she the elder of the two. She felt old now, period. She avoided her mirror.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

It was a damp spring, even in June. Achy and unsettled, Lavinia nonetheless sensed that if she did nothing to lift her spirits, she would spend the rest of her life hiding in her hole like a badger, under a cloud. The decision was made. The fresh air would do her good.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

She stepped off a streetcar on Holmes Street to save herself the greater part of the walk and picked her way from there through the commercial blocks and sidestreets of North Plymouth, the dusty part of town where Mr. Vanzetti had boarded with an Italian family.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

Lavinia had to know. What had happened to her letter? What had happened to Vanzetti? She had received no reply. Someone must know.

et quam, diam sit gravida venenatis scelerisque mauris consectetur et Proin scelerisque tempor magnis sit nec diam erat et dis Proin mauris natoque

North Plymouth was made up of narrow lanes stemming from a portion of Court Street that hadn’t received a proper grading since winter’s end, victimizing passing autos that slowed too late to avoid the ruts and landed on cranky springs with metallic screeches. The heart of the village, where the stores advertised dry goods, drugs and sundries, penny candy, household goods, stabling and tack, boots and shoes, the services of

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hair cutters, launderers, dressmakers, haberdashers and coalmen, struck Lavinia as a muddled succession of low, characterless buildings, the occasional good stone structures lost among the unpainted wooden ones. Some of the storefronts appeared to be given over to saloons, clubs or cafés, their doors shut at this hour, but open later when the factories closed for the day. Up ahead of her, the road curved long and lazy around the millpond that in its early days had powered the Plymouth Cordage Company. Steam boilers ruled the world now. Lavinia did not plan to walk quite that far.

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

Among the few pedestrians, women carrying netted bags hugged the edge of the road where the footing was firmer. A man stood in front of a shop with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled, his hands combing through his hair. Perhaps he had just washed his hands and face and was drying off in the sun, Lavinia thought, reminding herself that manners and customs would differ here.

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

Some of the merchants had laid stones on the ground before their doorsteps to encourage a custom, a succession of stones indicating the semblance of a pedestrian path. Approaching a group of the more prosperous looking storefronts, Lavinia stopped in front of a shop with the oddly apposite name of “Sellers.” The open door offered passersby a view of the jumbled merchandise, including sticks of furniture and bales of cloth. The next shop appeared to be a sort of chemist. Lavinia peered through a window, curious as to whether the shop sold Mrs. Johnson’s Healing Preparation. Squinting at her from inside, the dark-bearded proprietor’s narrow-eyed expression seemed less than inviting. Was it something about her appearance that told him she was an unlikely customer?

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

The deeply-rutted, muddy lanes that smelled of smoke promised worse traveling on the turn down from the main road. Fatigue building inside her, knocking on her bones like an unwanted visitor who planned to stay, Lavinia stopped at the next corner, planted her thick-soled walking boots on a merchant’s doorstep to save them from the soft road and, looking down the narrow sidestreet, asked herself a series of questions: Has he ever paused on this corner? If I walk down this lane will I find my Italian friend loitering somewhere just out of earshot, conversing with a circle of friends, opening his hands, lifting his arms? Will he vanish from sight, waste my strength if I try to approach him? More realistically, will I encounter a woman or child to address as to the whereabouts of a child named Dolly? Or my messenger boy -- what was his name? Primo.

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

Noontime of a Saturday, school over for the week, a final stream of children, the boys still in knickers, trudging down Court Street. A dog raced across the muddy sidestreet in pursuit of unseen quarry. The scent of cooking enriched the air, the aroma from one of the dark compact houses she scrutinized, willing her friend to appear. A woman’s voice, singing or complaining, exulting or scolding, she could not be sure which, sounded from a distance.

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

Was this ”life”? Is this what it looked like here in a world of muddy lanes, foreign tongues, strange smells, some of them oddly stirring despite their unfamiliarity: rich, evocative fragrances arousing sensations in her weakened body for which she had no name? It struck her as poor, even shabby, yet oddly compelling.

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

She inhaled a deep breath of North Plymouth’s heady perfume and, surrendering to weakness, turned to retrace her steps down Court Street. Then, she saw the boy. Her boy. He was walking rapidly toward her, avoiding mud and soft spots in the road with a youthful dexterity she envied. Beside him, another boy picked a similar path.

erat hendrerit dis diam fermentum Nulla Nulla nibh eu tincidunt elit lobortis ipsum amet, ac adipiscing diam imperdiet est malesuada. sit dui.

“Ha!” she cried, revived by this piece of good fortune. “I’ve found you, my boy, my messenger! Do you remember me, child? I am certain you do.”

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in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

The boy froze a dozen feet away. He elbowed his companion. The boys stared at their feet. A woman on the opposite side of the street paused to study the unusual pairing, the American lady and the neighborhood boys, before continuing on her way.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“It has been a long time since I promised you that second nickel,” Lavinia said, with a surge of assurance.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

The boy looked up at this reminder, but did not speak.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“So, tell me, please, Primo. Why have you not come for it?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

He pointed to his friend and said, “Dolly.”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

The second boy lifted his round, thoughtful face.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

Only then did she understand. The boy in the library. “This is Dolly?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“Bel,” the boy said, frowning. “My real name is Bel.”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

She put aside her surprise. “Very good,” she said. “May I pose my question to you, Bel? Where may I find Mr. Vanzetti?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

The boy’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, Ma’am.”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“You don’t know?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

Thin-legged, round-shouldered, Bel stiffened. “Nobody knows.”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

Lavinia’s hope plunged. She felt a stabbing need to sit down, but there was no suitable place among the spare houses and closed doors.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“What street is this?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“Suosso’s Lane, Ma’am,” Bel replied.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“You live here?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

The boy nodded his head, his upper body twisting slightly toward the end of the lane.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

“And Mr. Vanzetti lived with your family,” she stated knowingly. “Will you point out your house to me?”

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

Beltrando led the way; carefully sidestepped the ruts as if conscious of the lady’s expensive shoes following his worn pair down the lane to a stop in front of his house. Struck by its absence of singularity, no sign that read, “Vanzetti, the keeper of your heart, slept here,” Lavinia ached to look at it, to see that the house was not quite as poor as the others, faded and brown, but standing straighter with a certain tightness about its door and windows. There would be an upstairs, she noted, a garret.

in sagittis nulla. erat, dui. vehicula et et consectetur vitae erat, Lorem ac convallis et fermentum sit a. eu Pellentesque Pellentesque malesuada. quis hendrerit consectetur

She stood in the lane, keeping her distance, unthreatening. “Bel,” she said softly, “will you please tell your mother that a lady wishes to speak with her?”

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justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

The boy nodded and quickly walked to the door of the house, glanced back, troubled, opened the door, and disappeared inside.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

A minute or so passed. The door opened, a woman stepped out. Dressed in black, as Lavinia expected they all did, the woman’s hair was not loosed, as was typical, but pinned up, as if to mimic Lavinia’s customary style, as if the woman had taken a minute to fix her hair before appearing before the stranger.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“Good day,” Lavinia greeted her. “I am sorry to disturb you.”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

The woman acknowledged this with a nod.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“I am a…” Lavinia paused. A what? A friend? She swallowed the word and began again. “I am a teacher. Mr. Vanzetti is one of my students. I wished to send him a letter.”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

Let the words stand by themselves, she thought. There was no convenient explanation; no innocent explanation.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“I know, Missus,” the woman said.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

So there it was. She knew. They studied one another, the woman’s eyes meeting hers. Proud, she thought, almost resentfully so. Protective? She cares about the man. Why shouldn’t she?

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“Do you have my letter?”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“No, Missus. I sent it.”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“You sent it?” Her nerves hurt, her eyes stung. She could not decide whether this was good or ill tidings. She could not stop herself from blurting, “Where?”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“Mexico.”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

“Mexico?”

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

Her shoulders sagged in admission of the futility. Mexico seemed so very far. Far to her, yet her friend had already crossed an ocean. Lavinia never had. But at least it was a clue, a definition of space, a somewhere. Vanzetti was somewhere.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

Almost too exhausted to walk back to the streetcar stop, Lavinia stepped carefully, determined not to make more of a spectacle of herself. Would they not talk about her? The Yankee lady who came chasing after one of their men?

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

She had not asked Bel’s mother for the address, conscious of the gap between them, aware that both she and the woman were fearful of the crossing, of making the attempt and risking a rebuke. But she had made one gesture. She begged to be allowed to repay the cost of the postage for the letter mailed to Mexico. This was turned down. The cost had been nothing, nothing to speak of, the woman said. Nothing at all.

justo ornare amet, ridiculus et diam adipiscing ipsum mi tincidunt in dolor enim sit montes, Ut vehicula sagittis dis hendrerit. Fusce ridiculus elit. quis egestas. quis nibh sed imperdiet ac

Oh, but Lavinia had paid the cost. And she would go on paying.","page":"193","last":"","id":"1075","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

CHAPTER 17

IS THIS YOUR PROPAGANDA OF THE DEED?

2000, Plymouth

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

Bernie knew her husband was brooding. He was silent but not quiet. He stood up from the table used as his desk and aimlessly ambled through the downstairs rooms of the house. No observations. No notice paid to Bernie seated on the living room couch, reading the newspaper. No gazing out the window to come up with a reason for their going outside because of his need of distraction. No. Just the relentless inward focus, zipped up, locked in a wrestling match he couldn’t seem to end -- could neither throw down the demon, nor wrestle his angel to a draw.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“C’mon, Mill, let’s go for a walk,” Bernie said, discarding the newspaper with an energetic flip.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“Huh?”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“Look, we have to do something to change the atmosphere around here. You’re drowning me in grim.”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

She read his reactions in his face. A pretense first, wide-eyed and innocent: Grim? Me? Then his face fell and he shook his head, freeing the tips of his ears from the fine light-brown locks that needed trimming. Coming clean. Or cleaner.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

He didn’t confess the cause for his personal cloud. He simply nodded agreement and obediently trotted to grab his jacket from the coat, vacuum cleaner, and cleaning supplies closet.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

Outside, Bernie suggested they climb the hill to look at the water. Headed that way, hoofing down Suosso’s Lane, two inveterate walkers falling into stride, she looked at him and asked, “So why so grim? What is it, Mill?”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“I don’t know… Just stuff I’m thinking about.”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“What stuff?”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

He shrugged.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“I take that to mean you doubt I’d be interested,” Bernie gently probed.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

His sheepish, sidelong glance admitted as much.

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“It’s more of the anarchist business,” he said in an apologetic tone. “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about it.”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

“Actually, I’d love to hear more.”

blandit Pellentesque nascetur tristique nisl. erat, erat blandit sed nec imperdiet nec a. euismod dolor sociis mus. Nulla justo Pellentesque fermentum

They shared a smile.

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quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Mill said. “Simply put, it only makes matters worse whenever a revolutionary movement resorts to violence.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

Typical, thought Bernie. Ask him how he’s feeling, get a thesis in reply.

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“So,” she said, “I guess this connects to Sacco and Vanzetti.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Yup.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Sounds as if you’re in pretty deep.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Right.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Touch bottom yet?”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Nope. Nowhere near.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Okay. At least we know where we are,” she said, thinking, on the anarchists not the Indians, that’s where. “So, bombings? Assassinations?”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Bombings. In nineteen-nineteen, after Galleani was deported.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Why was he deported?”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“For opposing the draft. So was Emma Goldman, and a lot of others. So then, in what writers of this period refer to as a campaign of revenge by Galleani’s followers, thirty bombs were mailed to the sort of people considered responsible for his deportation: government officials; judges; owners of large companies. The bombs failed to reach their targets, but the country went crazy.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Understandably.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Riots broke up leftist meetings. Labor rallies were attacked. People were arrested for marching in May Day parades. Marchers in Roxbury were attacked by the police.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Roxbury?”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“Good old Boston, birthplace of liberty.”

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

They had walked the path to the crest of Castle Hill, where Mill and Bernie stood, looking down at the chipped-glass surface of the cold water of the bay, the water bathed in November gray.

quis et nec Quisque et elit. Proin sit sed dolor et ipsum gravida dis scelerisque scelerisque

“The second round of bombings, this time carried by hand to targets in seven cities, came with leaflets signed by ‘The Anarchist Fighters,’ who wrote that, because the government had deported and murdered workers’ leaders, and shut down presses like Cronaca Sovversiva, they had to strike back with dynamite,” Mill said, settling into more talk than walk. “Their biggest target was the home of Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer. A bag of bundled sticks of dynamite left on his doorstep blew up half his house. Amazingly, no one inside was seriously hurt. These bombings led directly to the ‘Red Scare’ and the ‘Palmer Raids,’ to the jailing

","page":"195","last":"","id":"1077","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

and beating of thousands of aliens, and the deportation of hundreds. J. Edgar Hoover, the new guy on the scene, was placed in charge of the deportations, but Hoover didn’t get to deport nearly as many so-called aliens as he’d hoped because the courts stepped in and stopped it.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“So your point is that the bombings hurt the people they were trying to protect.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“Basically.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“And the Galleani anarchists were responsible for those bombings?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“The historians think so.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“But don’t really know?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“I’m sure they do, but technically, no. The government created a federal division headed by Hoover to find the people responsible for the bombings, but no one was ever brought to trial.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“So was Vanzetti blamed for these bombings? Was he involved?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“Was he blamed?” Mill said. “Yes and no. Not publicly. But the general consensus is that Sacco and Vanzetti didn’t receive a fair trial because the judge and the jury and the entire state apparatus were prejudiced against radicals, particularly foreign-born radicals, so yeah, I think you’re on to something. A lot of people may not have said so, but probably thought of Sacco and Vanzetti as the kind of criminals capable of planting those bombs.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“What about my other question, Mill? Was Vanzetti involved?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“Here’s where it gets dicey. People who’ve studied this maintain that the Galleani group was responsible for the bombings. By simple association, Vanzetti was thought to be either directly involved, or at the very least, aware of what was going on.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“What do you think, Mill?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“I’m not sure.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“Is that why you’ve been grumpy?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“Grumpy?”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“Moping around. Nothing good to say.”

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

He stared at the ocean, the big picture, then turned from the contemplation of natural forces -- wind, waves, winter, the cold and morally indifferent state of nature -- to consider the woman beside him, and her efforts to even the societal playing field for people like Ike Murisi, and visit shut-ins in her free time.

in odio justo et at est dui. ipsum at Proin convallis euismod parturient

“The thing is, Bernie, America was getting better a hundred years ago. In a way it was better than now,” he said, and then thought to add, “And just so you know, that’s not a conclusion I’m happy to be drawing from this whole business.”","page":"196","last":"","id":"1078","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mill.”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Well, in the nineteen-twelve presidential elections, Eugene V. Debs campaigned as an avowed socialist candidate and won hundreds of thousands of votes from Americans who believed the country needed to become a fairer, more just, and more compassionate society. Because of the gap between rich and poor. Because when panics wiped out savings, farmers were thrown off their land, factories closed, and workers and their families could go to the wall as far as the well-off were concerned. This growing awareness, which included the votes for Debs, allowed progressive reformers like Teddy Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson to ram through big, foundational changes: a federal child labor law; rules to limit what big companies could do; laws that gave the workers rights. The New Deal programs in the thirties -- Social Security, federal job programs -- cashed in on the momentum of a couple of generations of social and political thinking, agitation, and organization for causes that bettered the lives of ordinary people, the ‘common man.’ American lives, and government, and laws, weren’t better a hundred years ago, and wouldn’t become better for ordinary people until the reformers’ changes bore fruit. The political momentum, the country’s energy, was all in that direction. Toward fairness. Some economic justice. More sharing of the wealth produced by American workers. All of this stuff that had once been regarded, and denounced, as radical.”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

He paused. Bernie knew more was coming.

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Then came the reaction,” Mill continued somberly. “Forces within American society, and within government, used their wealth and power to protect the status quo. The way to do that was to demonize the thinkers and organizers of the left; to make people see them as criminals; to use actual crimes, like those bombings, to smear those who criticized the concentration of wealth, and wanted to give more power to ‘the people.’ Sacco and Vanzetti were their poster boys. The Red Scare, fed by anarchists’ bombs, taught Americans to fear the ideas, the call for change from the so-called left wing—“

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

He stopped, looked at Bernie, and asked, “Why are there no American socialists today? No left-wing theorists with any following? Radical ideas were everywhere in this country a hundred years ago. They’re still debated today all across Europe and the rest of the world.”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“But if that’s what you really think, Mill, if you’re truly persuaded, if you know what you believe, then...”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Then what?”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Then why are you so torn up about it?”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Because Merrill Sellers seems to have ended up in exactly the same place, and Merrill Sellers is a paranoid fruitcake. And holier than thou, to boot.”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“So don’t be like Merrill Sellers.”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Yeah, but it’s more complicated than that…”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

dis tincidunt Ut amet hendrerit in parturient quam, mi ridiculus ridiculus egestas. sodales

“I really think that if I’d been one of those factory workers in Vanzetti’s day, I’d have wanted

","page":"197","last":"","id":"1079","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

what the anarchists wanted. Share the wealth. Give the profits to the workers, not to the fat cats. Would I have been tempted at the worst of times to throw a bomb at a house or an office or bank or jailhouse? Yeah, I think I would have.”

euismod Lorem dolor vitae sed Pellentesque vehicula nibh nulla. condimentum lacus in justo erat, vitae gravida parturient et venenatis consectetur amet, venenatis quam, Nulla Cum ipsum dolor Proin Etiam

“But violence doesn’t work, you said so yourself,” Bernie retorted.

“You’re right. That is what I’m saying. The bombs incite repression, repression incites more violence, the cycle repeats and repeats.” His features became clouded. “A lot of it began with Sacco and Vanzetti. I think we’re still paying for it, Bernie.”

“So that’s what you’ve been brooding about?”

“That, and there’s an Indian kid in one of my classes who’s homeless.”

***

Winter, 1918-19, Plymouth

In the midst of a dank, featureless afternoon on a sea-dampened day, Lavinia heard a timid knock on her back door. The travel-worn version on her doorstep of the person so often in her thoughts looked more like the vagrant Mrs. Baker once tried to shoo from her door than the object of her heart’s longings.

“Mr. Vanzetti!” she exclaimed. “So now the war is truly over!”

“Si,” he said, in what seemed to her a tone of self-deprecation. “Vanzetti is back from the wars.”

“Could you not have written me once in all this time?” she scolded. “I had no idea whether you were dead or alive!”

He held in his hands a soft traveler’s hat. The expression on his face was apologetic. His eyes seemed to say that his presence was the only recompense he could make.

While Lavinia had always thought he looked older than his true age, the new lines in the corners of his eyes and his downturned mouth made him appear still older, and certainly sadder.

“My good, dear friend,” Vanzetti said, squaring his shoulders, pulling himself together. “I hope I see you well.”

She had not been, of course. She wondered. Did it show?

“Well enough,” she replied. “I hope the same may be said of you, Mr. Vanzetti.”

“Ah,” he said. “As for that...”

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et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“Come in,” she urged. “You must come in this minute.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“Certo,” he said, smiling, stepping inside. “You are kind.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“You have chosen your moment well, my friend. Mrs. Baker is up to town, paying visits to her favorite merchants and spending my money. But I will put the kettle on. And we will have some bread. And cheese.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

He liked simple food, she remembered, and would not eat unless she did as well.

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“At last this war is over and, as you see, I am returned to Plymouth,” Vanzetti said as she heated the kettle and hunted for things put away by her cook. When the clatter of her search quieted, her friend added with an ironical flair, “I am enjoying what they call the ‘normalcy.’”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

Lavinia wondered what normalcy for them might mean.

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“How long have you been back?” she asked. “And where have you been for so long? Mexico?”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“Si, Mexico, yes. But not only Mexico. The Tex-sus. The Kan-sus. Ah, so many cities that dwell in the places in between. The mountains on one side, the ocean so far away.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“You have traveled to all of these places?”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

He shrugged. “Some of them.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“And here am I, a native of this country, and I have seen only photographs of so much of it. I have traveled only as far as New York.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

Her honeymoon. Nathaniel was not a bold traveler. To be honest, neither was she.

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“It is different,” he said, after a moment.

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“Because I am a woman?”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“Because I am poor.” He opened his hands, but did not smile. “The poor will always share the little they have. And they do not object if you sleep beside them on the side of the road.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“You did this? Slept on the side of the road?” she asked, thinking, must his poverty remain a barrier between us?

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“Some times. A few nights. Most of the time, wherever we went, we stayed with comrades. Or paisanos. There was always someone.”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“And the others? The men who went to Mexico with you?”

et hendrerit imperdiet hendrerit Mauris Nulla gravida ut adipiscing eros penatibus nibh ac nibh Proin amet, sit nisi dolor et est elit. ante.

“The others, the compagnos, they could not stay away for long. They had families, wives. The letters they received from home…“ He shook his head. “Such letters! Too much sadness, the separation of the loved ones. Such sadness could not be borne.”","page":"199","last":"","id":"1081","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

So others had received letters when he might have received letters as well, Lavinia thought.

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“The men began to go home in ones and twos,” Vanzetti said. “My good friend Nick returned to his wife and son in Stoughton, near Boston. The single men left in the spring before the weather grew hot. The rest of us began to travel through the middle states, staying with our comrades in the cities and towns. Sometimes the men labored on farms. Sometimes whole families moved from place to place to work in fields, pick crops, take in the harvest. Many migrants, who lived worse than factory workers, dwelled in shacks and camps and shanties grown up around the orchards, or the slaughterhouses and the packing plants.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“I wrote to you,” Lavinia interrupted, unable to defer the subject any longer.

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

His glance was serious but he did not speak.

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“I did not know your address. But the kind woman in whose house you lodged forwarded my letter to you.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

She did have a kind face, Lavinia thought, though her manner was guarded. It was a shame they could not speak freely to one another.

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“Si. The good Alphonsina has told me this. It is a misfortune,” he said, opening his hands, “but I did not receive this letter. You see, I had many addresses. Many addresses, but no true home.” He smiled and in a wistful tone added, “Troppo cattivo. Too bad. It would have been of some cheer to have a letter from a friend.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“Then why did you not write me?” Lavinia countered. “Surely you knew my address?”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“The writing, the English…” He stopped, as if ashamed of himself for making excuses.

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

After a brief silence, Lavinia said, “It would have meant much to me, Mr. Vanzetti, to know that you were well.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“I am sorry, Missus.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“And I accept your apology, but do not think you should call me Missus any longer. We have been friends long enough. And if we are going to continue to be friends, you must call me Lavinia.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

Vanzetti silently practiced the pronunciation before carefully enunciating her name, “La-vee-nee-uh.” Encouraged by his teacher’s smile of approval, he said, “And I am Barto. Or Bart, as some say in this country. Or Bartolomeo. Si, Bartolomeo Vanzetti.”

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“Bartolomeo,” Lavinia said, delighted in the fluid sound of his name, and the voicing of it at last.

Nulla ipsum elit. dis Pellentesque malesuada. amet, nec ipsum venenatis enim gravida

“So I say again, I am sorry I did not write, and regret that I did not receive this letter you speak of,” Vanzetti said, and with an impish smile suggested, “Perhaps, per favore, you could tell me what you wrote.”

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mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

***

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

Things were bad, Vanzetti answered when asked. He smiled shyly at his friends. They smiled at him. He had learned to guard certain events from his tongue. He could not say too much.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

Time stood in the doorway when he greeted the Brini family. The children were older. He could no longer say, “my little Beltrando, my sweet Beltrando.” The boy was still thin, but no longer in short pants. He would never be sturdy, but his face was older, self-conscious, and thoughtful as opposed to timid. Vanzetti knew better than to treat him like a child. And the sister… Lefevre was now a young lady who would coyly avoid his glance then quickly grin in acknowledgment of old times when with one hand holding hers and the other holding Beltrando’s he walked them to the library.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

“They have sent the maestro back to Italia, where the tyrants will put him in jail,” Vanzetti said to Brini. Man talk, it was.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

Brini muttered an indifferent curse. Gaunt now, he looked to Vanzetti like a man whose hands had been grasping a ring of fire in a determined effort to hold tight to the daily round while passing through the furnace of his life -- to breathe what smokes he must; to suffer and endure the lacerations. Vanzetti was glad to find him alive.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

Only Alphonsina looked the same. Something both caring and skeptical in her mild looks, looks that measured him. The authority of her dark eyes dismissed the children. A flurry, brother and sister, children again, quick steps on the stairs, a boy’s whisper. Adults sitting in a moment of silence, seated at the table where they’d shared a thousand meals, where Alphonsina now said they no longer had a room for him. Faye was growing up, she said. She was no longer the bambino.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

Certo, Vanzetti agreed, this was very clear. Both the children were growing up. He should have considered this. Say no more.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

They felt sorry they could no longer accommodate him, Alphonsina said, her tone the formality of anticipated sadness. Brini murmured agreement. They would miss his company. Sad looks all around.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

“But we have made arrangements for you elsewhere, our dear friend,” Alphonsina said, smiling, happy now that a matter touching her children had been cleared up. “Do you remember Mary Fortini, who lives on Cherry Street?”

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

“Si. Very well.”

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

“Mrs. Fortini has told us she would be very happy to give you a room in her house. The address is not far away. You will come to us often.”

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

What did Vanzetti need for a house? A place to sleep. Truly it would be a great kindness if the woman cooked the meals. It was more than he deserved.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

“Bene, bene.” He thanked them.

mauris erat, sit montes, lobortis elit elit. Mauris ridiculus sit in justo adipiscing

And now, Vanzetti said, he had a surprise for them. He had encountered a man with

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a cart to sell, a man named Raymondi, who was returning to Italia. Determined to become his own boss, he had agreed to buy the cart from this Raymondi, and would use it to go into the business of selling and delivering fresh fish to the door. Proud of this plan, he added that perhaps some employment could be offered to Beltrando when an extra hand was called for.

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

The Brinis nodded, and held back smiles. Husband and wife shared a knowing glance that implied that it was a good thing Mr. Vanzetti was not very fond of money.

***

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

Things -- larger things, the state of the world -- were very bad indeed. Vanzetti thought about this while debating whether to go now to the Fortini home on Cherry Street, or to wait until evening. So many of the leaders were gone or in hiding, their voices silenced. The demons running the country had put Debs in prison! Debs! One of their own! A man who had run for the country’s highest office, and won thousands and thousands of votes so precious to the apologists of this land! Inspired by his conscience to speak out, Eugene Debs had been jailed!

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

The matter of the bombs made Vanzetti uncomfortable. He would not speak of this to anyone, of course. Some of the comrades said it was time to fight back. He understood. He felt the same. And yet.

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

He turned from Suosso’s Lane to walk up Court Street, heading toward the world, passing through the old Plymouth that looked so familiar, just as remembered. Stopped by the thought that Mrs. Fortini might not be ready for him, nor he for her, he abruptly spun about to walk back down the lane to the end, where he took the path often walked with the Brini children to the hill, away from the world. From the hill he would descend to the shoreline.

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

This life was always the more complicated than the pure heart wished, he thought. It was like the dirt of the road, some of which still clung to him. In Mexico, they had lived on nothing, on stones and sunlight, lost weight, suffered in the heat, seldom found work. The revolution there had not quite gone as it should. The country was wild in ways that people to the north could not imagine. He had seen nothing like it in the old country. In the Piemonte, the poor men were generally gentle souls. Few carried a gun. In Mexico, gangs of violent men lived in the hills. Rumors constantly circulated among the otherwise voiceless peasantry of battles and campaigns in various districts.

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

It was true, as he had told Lavinia, that the married men had been homesick. It was also true that Vanzetti’s feet had also itched from the moment they'd arrived to live in that place of baked earth and snakes under the wicked sun. He took his chance to leave when the torrid seasonal heat had moderated enough that the roads could be walked without inviting death from the sun. By this time, some of the comrades had returned home, others would soon follow, and Vanzetti had decided to visit a comrade in a part of America he had yet to see, though the way was long.

ac consectetur hendrerit amet ridiculus Quisque amet vehicula Nulla Proin ipsum elit. condimentum fermentum condimentum

He had not stayed in the Tex-sus, which in his opinion should still be part of Mexico, given its wildness, its emptiness. They grew nothing but cattle in the Tex-sus. They thought he was Mexican and despised him for it. He had quickly passed through there and the Kan-sus, where some grass was grown, but no fruits or vegetables that he could see. Thirsty places, these. He had been happy to be among higher numbers of people as he neared

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the great river. That was something to see! It was not the ocean, but a great beast of water lumbering through a continent, a massive river crossed as he’d worked his way at last to the city from which his comrade had written, describing it as a good place. This Youngstown proved in fact to be a city of smoke. Yes, there was work in the factories, but little to be seen in the skies but what was burned of the Earth.

et adipiscing faucibus odio nibh gravida vitae vitae Pellentesque dolor sagittis adipiscing blandit nec Mauris faucibus vitae ipsum augue. dolor

Restless from his thoughts of the recent past, Vanzetti turned on his heels to stare at the deep footprints in the tide-graying sand that marked his walk to the shoreline -- a shiny grotto of ocean-smooth stones, and a salt-watery grave for the old bones of a long-idle wharf. He surpassed his tracks, heading for the Jesse Boatyard to see if the fishermen were there, remembering now what he had and hadn’t told his American friend. There too, he had omitted the greater part of his absence.

et adipiscing faucibus odio nibh gravida vitae vitae Pellentesque dolor sagittis adipiscing blandit nec Mauris faucibus vitae ipsum augue. dolor

He had not spoken of the day when, shortly after the great American nation had entered the war to preserve its fabled democracy, these polizi of the great American nation entered the office of the Cronaca Sovversiva to shut down this freedom of the press. They confiscated unsold copies of the newspaper, and of “Your Health is in Your Own Hands!” the manual that maestro Galleani regarded as his personal contribution to the better tomorrow; his epic poem of dynamite. They arrested the men in the office, searched for those involved in the publication of the newspaper, and confiscated the file with the names of the subscribers.

et adipiscing faucibus odio nibh gravida vitae vitae Pellentesque dolor sagittis adipiscing blandit nec Mauris faucibus vitae ipsum augue. dolor

As a result, Vanzetti knew for a fact that his name was now in the hands of the federal polizi sworn to frustrate the efforts of those who believed as he did and spoke to all men and women, as indeed he did, of the vision of the better world. But even then, they had failed to capture the lithe and elegant Carlo Valdinoci, who kept a step ahead by moving his base to Connecticut, from there boarded a train with a party of Galleanisti planning the long trek to Mexico, and alone escaped the tightening of the noose when polizia swooped in to arrest those disembarking to change trains in Providence. Notified? The tip-off? Vanzetti wondered. It was hard to keep the mind from wandering to this old matter, like the tongue to the sore tooth.

et adipiscing faucibus odio nibh gravida vitae vitae Pellentesque dolor sagittis adipiscing blandit nec Mauris faucibus vitae ipsum augue. dolor

The beautiful Carlo of dark curly locks carried on the journey to Mexico. The government then tried and sentenced the labor men, Tom Mooney and Warren Billings; the New York anarchists, Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman; and Debs. Many of Vanzetti’s comrades, the Galleanisti, were also behind bars, awaiting trial, or deportation. Naturally, a man could take only so much, and so the banner of retaliation was raised. They must fight back. This was the true purpose of Mexico. To gather the reliable men in a place that could not be infiltrated, observed, spied on, interrupted by gangs of toughs recruited by the government, preyed upon and prosecuted by the officials of the American state, the corrupted bridegroom of the goddess of riches and luxury. To plan, perhaps also to train, to teach, to learn what Mario Buda named the special language of the dynamite.

et adipiscing faucibus odio nibh gravida vitae vitae Pellentesque dolor sagittis adipiscing blandit nec Mauris faucibus vitae ipsum augue. dolor

It was not a speech Vanzetti could wrap his tongue around. But he had been there, sharing meals and talk with others, sometimes all under the same roof. He could not pretend to not know what was discussed.

***

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A New York City postal clerk reading the newspaper while on a subway ride home to Brooklyn had heroically raced back to the main parcel post storehouse to confiscate and secure for police packages identical to the one reported to have exploded.","page":"203","last":"","id":"1085","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

When the package bombs were uncovered, Lavinia was afraid, but her fear differed from that of fellow residents hurrying past the post office in the heart of town as if one of these packages, this brood of identically-wrapped serpent’s eggs, had made its way to Plymouth. And who did they suppose was important enough in this backwater to merit the attention of assassins? Lavinia scoffed.

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

No, she was not afraid of any of that. She was afraid for her friend.

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“The bombs, Bartolomeo, what do you think of the bombs?” Lavinia said. “The newspapers are full of it. The bombs have reportedly been sent to judges, congressmen, the owners of the largest companies. The judges had sat on cases brought against anarchists; had sentenced them to jail, or worse. The congressmen had proposed laws, some that passed, some too extreme even for wartime, that criminalized the speech of those who opposed the war or the draft. That would be you, would it not?”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“Certo.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

After a moment, she said, “And me as well.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“Vero,” Vanzetti replied. “But you do not belong to a group that proclaimed these views publicly and in writing.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“So, I am not in danger from these laws, but you are?”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

He reluctantly nodded his head. Vanzetti had gone to Mexico to escape such conversations.

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“So,” she resumed, “given these events, these bombings, should you not now consider yourself to be in danger?”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“No, no.” He shook his head. “Not from these wartime laws.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“Not from the laws, Bartolomeo, but from those who will hunt for the men who sent these bombs.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

He was silent. Then, “I do not know who sent these bombs.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“They are not from…“ What was the right word? “…your comrades?”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“Of that,” he said tersely, “I do not wish to speak.”

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

Lavinia felt the blood drain from her face in reaction to his bluntness. Except in terms of his ideas, he had not spoken of these comrades. She did not know the names of those with whom he met and spoke, joined in their advocacy, their newspaper, their “gruppo” meetings in Boston, stood beside them when workers went out on strike.

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

They studied one another.

consectetur quis gravida dui. faucibus Etiam imperdiet sociis montes, elit. Fusce nec quis consectetur ipsum sociis ridiculus nec erat magnis sit eu sit gravida ridiculus

“It is hard to know what to say, Bartolomeo,” Lavinia eventually admitted. “But it seems to me there is much we do not wish to speak of…perhaps too much.”","page":"204","last":"","id":"1086","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

He appeared uncomfortable, the flesh of his upper face taut, his expression wary.

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“Are we agreed, Bartolomeo?”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“Si.”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“Good. Then let us be more open,” she proposed. “Let us open our minds to one another.”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“The cards on the table?” he said.

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“Yes, that is a way of putting it.”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“But I must tell you one thing first,” Vanzetti cautioned, squaring his shoulders in soldierly fashion. “There are cards in this deck of thoughts I cannot place face-up on the table.”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

She waited.

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“These are things I have pledged never to speak of.”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

“Yes -- to the world. Of course not. But to me, Bartolomeo? Not to speak to me?”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

He slowly inhaled and exhaled. “No, Laveenie. Not even to you.”

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

They would overcome this check, she thought. Get past it. It was a secret, perhaps even a secret the world would consider shameful, a secret he would not share with her. But now that he had shared its existence he had created a bond between them.

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

Later, in the quiet after her friend’s departure, Lavinia heard her daughters talking in Marguerite’s upstairs bedroom. One of the two voices surprised her. The child’s voice, Vivian’s, suddenly seemed less childish. They talked as sisters, Marguerite with her knowing airs, Vivian her girlish curiosity, and her hope to learn things of use that did not come from a book.

***

June, 1919, Plymouth

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

Headlines filled with horror and fear. Bombs in seven different cities. Bombs going off in the night. No one knew how. Police were still gathering information.

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

Leaflets signed “The Anarchist Fighters” had been found close to the sites of these attacks. Amazingly, few people were injured. In Boston, the home of a judge was nearly demolished by a pipe bomb in apparent retaliation for his severe punishment of May Day marchers for the “crime” of being attacked, chased and beaten by a hateful crowd of ruffians and Boston police during a labor parade. The explosion damaged five neighboring houses. The judge’s family was unharmed.

sit mus. malesuada. consectetur Etiam diam malesuada. sociis Mauris imperdiet Sed odio elit. ipsum augue. Fusce sagittis a. justo gravida erat sed amet, quis consectetur Proin gravida nulla. Ut elit.

A far more daring target, the Washington, D.C., home of Attorney General Palmer had also been targeted.

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at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“I fear this, Bartolomeo,” Lavinia said when Vanzetti arrived at her kitchen door that afternoon. “It is like a declaration of war. And they will blame the followers of your Mr. Galleani.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“Si,” he said. “It is like the war. As for Galleani, they have cut off the head from the body.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“And what will the body do? It will not die?”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“They suffer, this body of men. They are wounded. They cry out in pain. They want the reprisal.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“Yes,” she said. “I can see that.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“The comrades…they say there is the propaganda of the word. The talk, the meetings. The books and the journal, which now they have shut down. But after so many attacks from the rich and their servants, they say it is time for the propaganda of the deed. An act of resistance.“

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“These are bombs, Bartolo,” Lavinia reasoned. “Bombs, again, like those sent through the mail. Only more powerful. This is propaganda?”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“Many people have the maestro’s little book, ‘La Salute è in voi!’” Vanzetti said, indicating the size of the pamphlet with a thumb and forefinger. “Do you know what that means, Veenie? It is to say that your health is in your hands.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“Yes,” she replied, “we believe this, too. And so, the women of our movement have acted for ourselves for fifty years. Without violence.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“With men it is different.” Vanzetti paused to carefully weigh his words. “Truly, I feel the urge myself. If I could strike the one who oppresses -- not me, but all the people -- I would do it. Not for the revenge, but to better the world.” He eyed her and added, “And even now, I cannot put aside my feelings. I am...only a man.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“I understand, I do, Bartolo,” she said. “But you would not do what was done this last night. To plant the bomb at the house of your enemy is to forget that it is not only his, but the house of his wife, his children. Servants, too.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“The wives and children of the workers have been harmed as well,” Vanzetti countered in a slightly hardened tone.

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“Yes, but not by the wife or servant injured by the bomb.” Lavinia leaned forward. “Listen to me, Bartolomeo. I know you are a man of goodwill and in your heart believe as I do. We are responsible for our actions. Not for those of others, but for ours.”

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

“Si, si.” He shrugged, the gesture impatient. “But this is easier to say when you and I are sitting inside this fine house.“

at mus. Proin imperdiet sodales quam, nascetur consectetur amet, elit. imperdiet

Her face reddened. “You know that I am hardly well-off, Bartolomeo,” she said. “I am a straitened widow with two girls.”","page":"206","last":"","id":"1088","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

“Si, but to the others, this is the big house. And the cook! No, Laveenie, to the others you are a woman of the bosses.”

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

“Bartolomeo! You know that is not fair! None of us can help the way we are born! If I’d been born like you, and as a man, perhaps I would be in your movement. And Mrs. Baker? She is only here because I fear she would not find another place if I told her to go. Would you have me do that?”

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

“No. Non.”

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

After a time, Lavinia said calmly, “I will try to understand your comrades, Bartolo, but I believe they should not take this path. It will only make matters worse.”

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

The girls would be home soon. They stood on the back stoop, the narrowness of the space edging them close together. The day had warmed. Lavinia noticed a faint flush on her friend’s full cheeks.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

“Ah,” he said, smiling wanly. “My Veenie. Let us not quarrel.”

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

She gazed in his eyes. He had taken to shortening her name, making it comfortable for him to say. A good sign, she thought.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

He did not say more. His agitated silence responded to hers as they stood, motionless, on the brink of departure until, leaning forward to remove a speck of dust from the bridge of his nose with her handkerchief, she erased the distance between them.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

Minutes later, Vanzetti walked north on Court Street. He did not wish to go anywhere in particular, his purpose merely to walk, though he knew that once headed toward the shore a destination would occur to him.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

What now? he thought. Something would happen, must happen now. Would they become lovers? Afternoon lovers when the cook was away? Vanzetti did not wish to put this thought into words, to closely examine it. He wished to walk by the sea and be happy.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

Yet later, when sitting among the dilapidated posts of an obsolete boat landing, idle now that the business of putting out to fish and returning with the catch had relocated up the coast, he found a letter in his coat pocket. A letter from a comrade. The letter that told him that Mario Buda, also a comrade, was coming his way. This information was indirectly phrased lest the wrong eyes should read it, but to him the meaning was clear enough. The news of Buda’s coming served as a warning of hard, possibly dangerous times for Vanzetti and his gruppo.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

A bomber had struck in Boston. It did not surprise him, because Mario Buda was there. But his thoughts were heavy. And his heart had been so light.

elit. at lobortis Etiam erat lacus in nisl. eu malesuada. et elit. justo at sagittis et magnis sagittis augue. adipiscing Lorem hendrerit eu sodales Nulla amet blandit montes,

He rose from the old pilings and began to walk. He had earlier told one of the fishermen who brought in his catch to the town pier that he would stop by the Jesse Boatyard at the end of the day to speak to him. Vanzetti wished to learn whether the local men could supply fresh fish for his new business.","page":"207","last":"","id":"1089","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

***

Christmas Eve, 1919, North Plymouth

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

As it turned out, most of the fish he ordered was transported by train from the Fisherman’s Pier in Boston to the depot in Plymouth. So here he was, rubbing his hands together, reminding himself that he had always worked outdoors, and looking forward to the toil of pushing the cart from the depot in the town center to the village of North Plymouth where his customers lived. Experience told him that ten minutes into the long trek he would cease to worry about the cold.

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

The supply was not always regular, even from Boston. Sometimes the supply was bluefish, not cod. Would his customers eat bluefish? A man did not wish to order what he could not sell. The cold weather of December meant the fishing was poor and his business slow. But as Christmas approached, Vanzetti thought to place an order for fresh eels, knowing every Italian family would require them for the Feast of Christmas Eve.

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

He waited, shuffling his feet, speaking to no one. These were not good days to be known as an immigrant “fella” from Italia with radical ideas. You did not know whose name was on a list. Or who had a list in his pocket. The federal men did not wear the uniforms. They too were fishermen -- fishing for men, names, souls, minds that did not think as the federal men did. As he had feared, things became much worse after the bombing of the house of Palmer, the man in charge of the police who hunted for radicals, anarchists. Now Palmer had loosed the hunting dogs of the so-called “immigration reform” law, which declared that any alien considered an anarchist could be deported from the land of freedom. In this way, Palmer exacted revenge on the people who had come to America for freedom or a better life because they were the “alien” and not the true American. In Boston, three thousand people, four thousand maybe, he did not know how many, were paraded through the mob to the harbor, packed like sardines into ships, and sent away to an island prison where they waited in the cold and the poor shelter to be deported to their homelands. But for all of this, the government men did not catch the bombers.

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

So when waiting by the tracks, he was Vanzetti the fish peddler. He still attended meetings with Nick Sacco and the others of the “Gruppo Autonomo” in East Boston, but in Plymouth, people would say: “Bart Vanzetti? He is the Italian man with the moustache who sells the fish.”

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

He had by force of necessity become no one. An unmarried man who roomed in the house of a landlady and her elderly husband. A friendly man, though a man with no family. A man without a woman. Let them think that. They did not know about Veenie. That was just as well.

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

He had pushed the cart past the open field of Mr. Holmes by the time he encountered Beltrando. They happily greeted each other. It was a feast day.

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

“Your parents, Beltrando,” Vanzetti said. “They are well?”

est in in sit dolor nascetur Fusce ac et at mi Sed ac mi sociis

“Very well, thank you. And do you know, Mr. Vanzetti, we will be playing music in the school this year?”

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justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

He did not know. He responded with enthusiasm. The boy’s face shone, and not only from the frigid breeze off the water. If the school had a music teacher, perhaps soon it would have an orchestra, and then life would be well for Beltrando.

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

They took turns pushing the cart. They had done this route before. They knew how to work together, to shift the tasks between them, one pair of cold hands delivering the newspaper-wrapped fish to the kitchens of the customers while the other cold pair wrapped the next order. Today the route was longer, for nearly every house waited for its delivery of eels to eat on the feast of the eve of the Savior’s birth. People were in good moods, some because their work day had been cut short, others because the family members who had gone to work would soon return home to a feast. All were filled with the joy of anticipation. Houses would be warm, aglow with lights. Precious things would be taken out and put on display. The painting of a saint. Fat candles. The anarchist Vanzetti never ridiculed nor joked about these icons. He remembered his family’s Christmas Eves. He thought of his mother.

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

Beltrando worked fast as well, enlivened by the excitement he sensed in others, the mothers of friends, the old men who forgave him for being young and innocent, at times in his eagerness running across their gardens to deliver parcels. They smiled and wished him “Buon Natale!” The boy blew on his hands after digging the eels from the ice to wrap them in paper, then shoved his red hands deep into pockets so his friend would not see. When Vanzetti noticed, he took over the job of preparing the orders while the boy’s quick, thin legs hurried him to the doors. At one, a woman waved to Vanzetti as she handed coins to the boy. Vanzetti waved back. “Buon Natale!”

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

For who did not like Vanzetti? He was the man who brought the fish and charged his customers as little as possible. Now they would have eels for the feast!

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

They turned left on Centennial Street, worked their way down Standish Avenue to Cherry Street, and before turning south on Spooner Street, stopped at the Fortini house so Vanzetti’s landlady would receive her delivery while the eels were still at their coldest.

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

Eager to help with the preparations for his family’s celebration -- thirteen years old; still a good boy -- Beltrando separated from his friend and ran home with his household’s order when they reached the corner of Suosso’s Lane. Vanzetti delivered the last few orders alone.

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

On the walk back to Cherry Street to warm himself in Mrs. Fortini’s kitchen, the peddler thought, this is how the world should run. You help others to their happiness and others will help you.

justo tempor hendrerit in eu convallis nisi consectetur nibh ipsum ridiculus elit venenatis et malesuada. consectetur Etiam nulla.

Later, he would go to Veenie, where there was always happiness.","page":"209","last":"","id":"1091","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

eu sed consectetur hendrerit tempor quis consectetur odio natoque magna Mauris lobortis dolor gravida nec ornare justo est nec et convallis nascetur gravida nascetur nulla. Fusce nisi ac hendrerit. sociis

CHAPTER 18

WE SHOULD WELCOME THESE HARDY SOULS,

NOT SEND THEM BACK TO THE TYRANNY

THEY LEFT BEHIND.

April, 1920, Plymouth

“Well, Lavinia.” A tip of the hat. “It has been some time.”

At the door of Howard’s News and Sundries, there to retrieve the morning papers, she turned to greet the town’s Episcopal minister, the rector of the church to which her lifelong churchgoer husband had taken her with commendable regularity during their marriage years. Lavinia had stopped going a year after Nathaniel’s death.

“Reverend Marsh,” she said, correctly, scrupulously. “Good day to you.”

She bit her tongue against further observation. In her mind, Marsh’s self-elected wartime role as the mouthpiece for the masses’ desire for patriotic gore -- a crowd thoughtlessly pleased by the prospect that others, Americans now, would meet a violent end in a distant land -- justified her treating him with nothing beyond mere civility. If he was truly a man of God, Lavinia had no further use for divinity.

The reverend did not simply reciprocate her coolness with a brisk nod and a quick departure. Annoying man, he held her with his pale glance, playing at some meaning.

“Well Lavinia,” he repeated, winding up his pitch, “now that women have the vote, what will you write about in those letters of yours?”

“You are kind to say so,” she said, thinking just the opposite, “but women do not yet have the vote.”

“Oh, surely now it is only a matter of time.”

It did appear so. Lavinia could not honestly dispute the assumption that approval by the necessary two-thirds of the states was a near certainty now that Congress had approved an amendment enfranchising the nation’s women. The war had ended. Women’s support on the home front was widely lauded in the capital. The western states had already enfranchised women. The Massachusetts General Court promptly scheduled a session to vote on the amendment backed by leaders voicing flowery approbations as if behind the cause all along.

“I shall write about immigration,” she said in answer to what she knew he had intended as a rhetorical sortie. “The new restrictive law is unduly harsh. We should welcome those hardy souls who desire to throw in their lot with us, not look for an excuse to send them back to the tyranny they left behind.”

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nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

“Really? You surprise me, Lavinia! After all this…” He hesitated to say what he had in mind: this bloodshed, violence, bombing, terror. Were these suitable terms for a passing conversation with a lady?

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

Lavinia knew Marsh to be a bellwether of convention. If he was blaming the bombings on immigrants, his followers surely were as well.

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“After all this trouble?” she supplied.

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

“Trouble is a good word for it, Lavinia.”

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

“And I believe we are the cause of that trouble, Reverend Marsh,” she professed. “Perhaps we should demonstrate more tolerance for dissenting points of view. Instead, we harass, beat, and jail those who hold them, and drive radicals to the wall.”

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

The minister’s eyes darkened. Lavinia suffered a pang of doubt. Could he possibly have learned something about her she would not want him to know?

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“Please give my regards to your aunt,” she said curtly, and stepped through the doorway of Howard’s News and Sundries.

***

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

Whether or not Marsh knew anything of her personal life, his bandying sally over suffrage had struck a sore point with Lavinia. Next month or next year, regardless of when the 19th Amendment passed into law, her great crusade was coming to an end.

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

Did a movement that had endured for three generations have any further goals? Any further use? The ability to adapt to societal change? Would exercise of this new right by women make the world a better place? Should the name be changed of her Society for the Advancement of Women’s Just and Natural Entitlements, or should the society simply cease to exist? Other than suffrage, what were these entitlements? The right to do what?

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

The last of her protégés, the romantic Elvira, was learning the trade of telephone operator to prepare for a new kind of life, another intimation that both the campaign for suffrage and her role as its advocate and publicist were truly played out. Her movement belonged, as perhaps she herself, to an earlier century. The smart young women of today, the very ones who once would have been her natural allies, wanted to cut their hair, raise their skirts, smoke cigarettes, and go everywhere men did, even into saloons. They were thwarted in this last desire, but only because other women, those righteous advocates of temperance, the oldest of all reform movements, had succeeded the previous year in closing the saloons.

nec ipsum elit. enim ornare et Mauris justo Proin montes, erat,

The “new women” wanted to drive fast in roadsters, work in offices and factories, dance and laugh and grow tipsy with their new-found freedom. They did not want to sit in parlors to drink tea and discuss the issues of the day. They did not wish to be old maids writing carefully-worded letters to newspaper editors; old maids earning and living on mean respectability. They did not necessarily wish for the ball and chain of a suitable marriage to a man of their class, as Lavinia had by accepting the hand of the well-intended Nathaniel Rossiter. Women like Lavinia had changed the world. Changed it quite possibly to a world that no longer believed it needed them.","page":"211","last":"","id":"1093","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

At home and at leisure, the house quiet, the girls at school, examining the headlines, Lavinia was startled to read that federal police had arrested a man with an Italian name in New York City, and had hinted that he played a role in the bombings that had shocked the nation and created a wave of repression that had not yet receded.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

It had been a year since those terrible bombings in Washington and Boston that had in some contradictory and inexplicable way driven Lavinia and Bartolomeo into one another’s arms -- as if clinging to a slip of safety in a turbulent world; a strip of soft sand on a wrack-strewn beach.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

The world had done its work. A terrible world; terrible work. Though she clung to this result.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

But she’d thought the terrible time over, the crisis passed. There’d been no bombings since. Not until now. The very government whose leaders she would soon participate in choosing had loosed its hounds. They had hunted and hunted for a year before finally detecting a scent in a forest of intrigue.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

Why could they not leave well enough alone?

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

Why could the world not leave Vanzetti and his Veenie alone?

***

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Vanzetti sat on the curbstone, an attractive slab of granite planted by some of the merchants in front of their shops along Court Street. His compact torso curled downward. He stole a glance at his shoe leather. He was uneasy in his mind. He knew that the news of Salsedo would throw him into the embrace of the comrades. He has never lost faith. Of course not. The active men of the gruppo would be comrades, the lovers of the beautiful idea, all his life. Nick, the first of them. He had often gone to Nick in recent days to provide the reassurance. Of course, the need ran both ways.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

Perhaps, Nick said, the revolution will first come to Italy. He had heard much talk of this idea since the end of the war. And then -- a dark stroke. Nick’s mother had died. The news delivered in a letter edged in black. Vanzetti would go to Stoughton to see Nick. And then, if his comrade did not wish to go with him, he would go alone to the gruppo meeting in Boston. After news of Salsedo’s arrest, the comrades had behaved, each one, like men seeking the door out of the room where the fire blazed. But when most realized that there was no door they wished to open, they had turned to confront the danger.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

What information, they asked, could be learned of Salsedo and the conditions under which he was being held? Vanzetti, who had lived too long to hide the truth from his eyes and ears, knew that they meant: What has Salsedo told the pitiless federal police? At the next gathering, the comrades would not ask the question seen in their eyes: Who among us would also be considered guilty by the police, the courts, and the state, simply for our knowledge of and association with the person who did the deed? No, this was not discussed, but the matter of an attorney was: Could not a man of law win Salsedo’s release? Vanzetti grunted and shook his head. A sad broken-off laugh at himself. Here were the brave anarchists seeking salvation from the despised man of the laws.

penatibus diam ante. at elit venenatis quam tincidunt vestibulum pellentesque. sed tristique

He knew now that it would fall to him to travel to New York to learn what could

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be done for Salsedo, and of equal importance, what Salsedo had told his captors, and what his captors would likely do with that information. Because it was to him, among all the comrades, that Salsedo had penned the letter, his plea for help, successfully slipped past the government men.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

And so it was with a heavy heart but a settled mind that Vanzetti walked from the East Boston station to the tiny room in the back of the Garibaldi Hall where the gruppo met.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

A familiar face greeted him. Mario Buda, a little dog with big teeth.

***

April 15, 1920, Allerton Street, Plymouth

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

“Something has happened,” she said.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

Lavinia could tell by his face and stance, by the lack of movement and freedom of expression in his bearing. She had thought him a handsome man with an open, gentle face, broad forehead, and deep-set candid eyes when she initially met him at the library. It was not merely time that had tightened his face and tugged down the corners of his mouth, it was the acknowledgment of looming incipient sadness, of a seed waiting to grow. It was the hardness of his life, the conflict and tension of the cause, the danger, the hiding, and the secrets held within. She knew he would never tell her everything, nor could she know how much he withheld, but it had grown, this weight he bore alone, hidden from her like a hump under a thick coat. This hump that weighed on his spirit had apparently become heavier over the weeks when, to her worry and hurt, he had not come to her. Today, finally, a note, which, of course, also worried her.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

His note had been brief, businesslike. One or two words misspelled, but the meaning perfectly clear.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

“Come in, Bartolomeo,” she urged, reaching for him.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

Vanzetti smiled but resisted her touch. “Let us sit on your bench,” he said, glanced at the sky and, as if she had failed to notice, remarked, “This is the spring.”

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

She nodded her agreement, aware that the path to this meeting had been more difficult for him than her.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

He walked her to the wrought iron bench in the garden behind the house. He gestured for her to sit, and chose to pace before her.

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

“Si, Veenie,” he said, coming to a standstill. “Something has happened.”

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

“And I assume it has to do with this Mr. Salsedo, the man recently arrested in New York.”

sodales montes, faucibus sit malesuada. mauris mus. a. odio lobortis Lorem Pellentesque adipiscing justo justo parturient parturient ut Proin Proin blandit mus. Lorem pellentesque. imperdiet

Frowning, he eyed her.

","page":"213","last":"","id":"1095","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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Lavinia wondered. Did her guessing even this much bother him?

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“Si, it concerns Salsedo.” Vanzetti paused a moment then said, “I am sorry, Veenie. I have not wished to worry you with my affairs.”

Proin eu quis mus. et lacus augue. blandit Nulla justo nec dolor sagittis Cum nisl. gravida ut

“But I am worried,” she replied. “I am worried for your comrade. I am worried about the man’s family. I am worried for a society in which agents of the government are permitted to hold men in secrecy for an indeterminate time, and for unstated purposes, and with no questions asked.”

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Vanzetti grunted in agreement.

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“I know you do not have a high opinion of our laws,” Lavinia said. “But surely you realize that without the protection of laws, matters may become even worse for ordinary people.”

Proin eu quis mus. et lacus augue. blandit Nulla justo nec dolor sagittis Cum nisl. gravida ut

“I do not wish to dispute with you in matters of law, Veenie.”

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“No, Bartolo, we will not quarrel over law, or politics, or anything in the world. No matter what happens, no matter what it is, we will not quarrel.”

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He looked at her but did not speak.

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“So,” she said, “what do you wish to do about the matter of Mr. Salsedo, Bartolo?”

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“I must go to the place where they hold him. I must try to find out--”

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“Go?” Lavinia interrupted. “For how long?”

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“A few days...maybe the week.”

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“And what will you do there?”

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“I must talk to the comrades closest to him, to see what is the what.” He pawed the earth with the toe of a boot. He sighed and sat beside her on the bench.

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“And what is the risk, Bartolo?”

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His guilty look proved that she’d asked the right question, the right ones always the hardest. His silence made her voice catch in her throat. Losing him to the Mexican exile was bad enough, but far more fearful was another destination, some dark Thermopylae of the soul, a faceless country of men whose crusade was lost, but who were determined to fight to the very last man.

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“This is no time for desperate measures,” she said.

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“No, no, Veenie,” he said, visibly alarmed. “It is no such thing. I am not running away for a place to hide. I go to speak to the comrades, to seek the information. That is all.”

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“But why must you go anywhere?”

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“Someone must, and I am the best choice.”","page":"214","last":"","id":"1096","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“What about my choice?”

elit Mauris Fusce elit. penatibus sit Cum Fusce dis Proin blandit amet, Ut dolor condimentum nascetur vitae malesuada. consectetur magnis venenatis nascetur malesuada. natoque et

He stared at her with narrowed eyes. He did not appear to understand.

elit Mauris Fusce elit. penatibus sit Cum Fusce dis Proin blandit amet, Ut dolor condimentum nascetur vitae malesuada. consectetur magnis venenatis nascetur malesuada. natoque et

“You may stay here, Bartolo,” she whispered. “Here, in this house, with me, and be safe.”

elit Mauris Fusce elit. penatibus sit Cum Fusce dis Proin blandit amet, Ut dolor condimentum nascetur vitae malesuada. consectetur magnis venenatis nascetur malesuada. natoque et

His mouth opened. She feared his response would be negative. She had to speak her mind with perfect clarity.

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“You may stay in this house, Bartolo, and use this time as wished. Perhaps to write of your ideas. A pamphlet, the story of your journey. Start a new journal as a replacement for Galleani’s chronicle. Think of it, Bartolo! To tell your story of what this country lacks by pointing out the injustices seen since coming here from afar and experiencing so much.”

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Vanzetti said and did nothing to either stop or encourage her.

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“There is a place for you here,” she persisted. “You could have a room upstairs and work on your writing. It is quiet. The girls are in school all day.”

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“Veenie,” he said softly. “My Veenie.” He smiled.

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Why hold back? Lavinia said to herself, and to him, “We could live as man and wife. Without the convention -- the mere, unnecessary convention -- of marriage. Without the church, or the law.”

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He seemed at a loss for words. Lavinia knew what these words must be, as clearly as if spoken: There was no safety in her house, or in any house. There were no safe places for Bartolomeo Vanzetti.

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“My good, good Veenie.”

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She understood this to be all the answer she would get.

elit Mauris Fusce elit. penatibus sit Cum Fusce dis Proin blandit amet, Ut dolor condimentum nascetur vitae malesuada. consectetur magnis venenatis nascetur malesuada. natoque et

“This is the hard life we live, Veenie. Look at Vanzetti,” he said, as if inviting her to see things through his eyes. “What has he accomplished? What good has he done for the beautiful idea? What man or woman has he set free? What does he have to show for his life? Does he have the wife, or the children, or the home?”

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She faced him. Her chest felt tight.

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“And you, Veenie, so long a widow.”

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He looked away. Perhaps to spare her a recitation of hardships he then said of himself, “And what is the world’s opinion of Vanzetti? It is said of Vanzetti that he has never known the love of a woman.“

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“Do not say that, Bartolomeo!” Lavinia objected. “You know you cannot say that!”

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“Ah.” He lifted a hand. “Then I will not say it.”","page":"215","last":"","id":"1097","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“Certainly not! You must know by now how I feel and what you mean to me.”

hendrerit nulla. ornare et Pellentesque odio erat vehicula augue. ante. quis hendrerit. in nisi Ut sociis est eu penatibus fermentum in venenatis hendrerit venenatis Proin

“Si. Si. Certo. You need not say more. It is understood between us. I promise to say only what is true.”

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She longed for this, for him to say what was true.

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Vanzetti smiled. “Someday soon I will speak to you of my mother.”

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So that was as close as he could come to what was understood between them, Lavinia thought.

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At the sound of a voice, her friend looked away, then up at the delicate shimmer in the red-blossomed maples. The voice, Lavinia knew, was Vivian’s. She was walking home from school with a friend. The atmosphere changed, their moment of truth-telling abruptly over.

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“Do not fear for me, my Veenie,” he said, standing, almost formally. “Some of the comrades are returning to their country. My good friend, Nick, already he has bought tickets for him and his wife and his fine son Dante on the ocean boat. They say the revolution will come to Italy now that the folly of war is over and has washed their land in blood. But Vanzetti will not go back. I think perhaps the revolution will come here after all, in this wonderful America, where the bosses build the walls of the mansions ever higher until the day the strong push from the people below topples them.” Vanzetti demonstrated this with his laborer’s hands.

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Then, with a faint smile about the eyes, inwardly laughing at something -- Himself? Who else? -- he glanced about to be sure they were still alone.

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“I am thinking of becoming the citizen.”

***

2000, Suosso’s Lane

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Mill and Bernie were driving around, sightseeing. Committed walkers, they weren’t the sort of people who jumped in the car to “go for a drive.” They got in the car if they had a destination: a museum; an old house; the red-brick town near Philadelphia where Bernie’s parents lived; the latter a tough drive, so happily enough, not done too often.

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“We’ve already seen some of the places connected to the case, like Suosso’s Lane and the Cordage,” Mill said. “I’d like to see the others.”

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“Yeah? Like what?”

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“South Braintree Square, where the robbery took place. If it’s still there. The shoe factory where Sacco worked in Stoughton. Puffer’s Place, in Bridgewater.”

","page":"216","last":"","id":"1098","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nulla. Nulla amet, lacus Etiam mauris imperdiet magnis vestibulum penatibus in diam tempor magna parturient ut nec nulla. dis Fusce Nulla hendrerit est diam

“Interesting name.”

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“Yeah, Puffer was the name of the original owner of the small house in West Bridgewater rented by some anarchists. Sacco and Vanzetti were headed there on the night they were arrested.”

nulla. Nulla amet, lacus Etiam mauris imperdiet magnis vestibulum penatibus in diam tempor magna parturient ut nec nulla. dis Fusce Nulla hendrerit est diam

“What were they doing that night?”

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“Good question…wait a minute…which way is Bridgewater?”

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“Want me to get out a map?”

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“No. I think I see a sign up ahead.”

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“Yes, I see it, too.”

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“Anyway, the explanation given in court was that they were gathering radical literature.”

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“What literature and why?”

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“Don’t know. Never been explained. But I—“

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“Let me guess, Mill. You have some theories. And please watch the road.”

nulla. Nulla amet, lacus Etiam mauris imperdiet magnis vestibulum penatibus in diam tempor magna parturient ut nec nulla. dis Fusce Nulla hendrerit est diam

“I am watching the road.”

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“Good. Now tell me about these theories of yours.”

nulla. Nulla amet, lacus Etiam mauris imperdiet magnis vestibulum penatibus in diam tempor magna parturient ut nec nulla. dis Fusce Nulla hendrerit est diam

“Well, maybe it wasn’t literature they were hiding until the Salsedo business blew over, maybe it was bomb-making material, like fertilizer, that they didn’t want found in the possession of their anarchist friends. Or, it may have been another kind of incriminating evidence, such as copies of the original broadside that credited the bombings as the work of the anarchist fighters. But that’s just speculation.”

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“What did the prosecution say they were doing?”

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“The prosecutors didn’t care. The big point pushed by them was that when asked what they were doing, both Sacco and Vanzetti fabricated a story about visiting a friend in Bridgewater. The prosecution was content to suggest that if the two men lied about their errand, they must have been up to something nefarious. Lost in all of that was there was no real reason to arrest Sacco and Vanzetti in the first place.”

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“Sounds like guilt by association,” Bernie said.

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“Something like that, yes. The car used in the Braintree crime was found abandoned in the woods in Bridgewater. The police chief there knew of an anarchist in town, figured he’d had something to do with the crime, and ordered a stakeout of Puffer’s Place. That same police chief’s hatred for foreign anarchists was the reason behind their eventual arrests for the Braintree crime of a payroll robbery and two murders. Sacco and Vanzetti were arrested because they were ‘suspicious characters.’”","page":"217","last":"","id":"1099","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

In Bridgewater, they drove from one end of town to the other without finding anyone who had heard of an old house known as Puffer’s Place, or of the Sacco-Vanzetti case.

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

“Sacco and Vanzetti?” said a woman in a convenience store. “Isn’t that a magic act?”

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

On a last pass through town, Mill pulled over to speak to a policeman behind the wheel of a patrol car parked at a construction site. He got out of his car, walked to the patrol car, waited for the patrolman to notice him and lower his window. Mill’s capsule account of the Bridgewater connection to the famous 1920’s trial did not appear to ring any bells.

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

“What case was that again?” the patrolman asked.

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

“Sacco and Vanzetti.”

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

“Were those the two guys who killed a police officer?”

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Mill said no, apologized to the officer for bothering him, and walked back to his car.

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

“No one remembers them,” Mill informed Bernie. “Probably because no one around here cared for Sacco and Vanzetti back then.”

Lorem a. Fusce sodales Proin hendrerit hendrerit ante. mauris nisi lobortis pellentesque. vehicula tristique Proin tempor parturient Etiam

He started the car.

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“I’m not sure that’s quite true,” said his wife as Mill pulled out onto the road.","page":"218","last":"","id":"1100","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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CHAPTER 19

THE KEY? WHAT IS THIS NEW FAIRY TALE?

May 5, 1920, Bridgewater

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There was a chill this night in the time of year the people born in this country insisted on calling “Spring,” though it was nothing like the spring, prima, remembered from his childhood on his father’s fields as a season of mild breezes, flowering trees, and the marbled cooing of the dovecote. Vanzetti clapped his hands against his arms as he waited with Nick to board a streetcar for the little town of Bridgewater. Short, lithe, quick-spirited, Nicola Sacco paced the sidewalk and looked up and down the road. A bantam cock, a comrade called him. Vanzetti did not like the comparison. Cock fighting was inhumane. It reminded him of how the rich pitted worker against worker.

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When told of this errand, Nick would not be left behind. Away from home, where his wife Rosina was expecting their second child, his restless energy more pronounced, he disturbed Vanzetti’s pace by repeatedly asking him the time and whether he believed them late for the rendezvous. Better to have done this business alone, Vanzetti thought, but the others had not told him where he must go. No. Mario Buda had said that Vanzetti must be shown the way.

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As suspected, there’d been a reason behind Buda’s visit to the gruppo in East Boston. The little dog with the nasty bite had bitten the government, a bigger dog that did not care who was stepped on as it chased the mouse that had pinched its toe. So now they must find in Bridgewater, on the back road among the trees, the old cabin called Puffer’s Place, where the comrade Coacci had lived with his wife before his recent deportation, of which he had boasted, “What luck! A free passage home!” and where Buda had stayed in the vacated cabin only long enough to place his automobile in a mechanic’s garage across the road.

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“Why must we have the car?” Vanzetti had asked.

eros imperdiet et ut quam, tristique enim eu augue. pellentesque. justo enim Ut sed sociis enim dolor quam sit nec ipsum Proin condimentum

“To travel quickly, to find all these places,” Buda had answered.

eros imperdiet et ut quam, tristique enim eu augue. pellentesque. justo enim Ut sed sociis enim dolor quam sit nec ipsum Proin condimentum

Ah, he had thought, then why do you need Vanzetti?

eros imperdiet et ut quam, tristique enim eu augue. pellentesque. justo enim Ut sed sociis enim dolor quam sit nec ipsum Proin condimentum

He had answered this himself. Someone they would see would not willingly yield the “literature” to Buda. He needed Vanzetti to talk to this man, a friend of Carlo’s, perhaps not a man but a woman. It was said by the others that Vanzetti, the bachelor, could talk to women because of his sincere belief that all women were beautiful and carried within a sacred gift. This was true.

eros imperdiet et ut quam, tristique enim eu augue. pellentesque. justo enim Ut sed sociis enim dolor quam sit nec ipsum Proin condimentum

Vanzetti also knew what most of the world did not: the name of the man who had carried the bomb to the house of Palmer, the head of the government police; that Carlo Valdinoci, the comrade everyone admired and loved, had died as a result of this final daring deed; and that a bomb could kill a man like Carlo, a man of genius, of destiny, as easily as any ordinary man, any poor beggar, any servant, any old woman who answered the door. Whoever had made this bomb (Buda, for one, certainly among “the action wing”), Carlo had volunteered to carry it. Never caught though followed for two years, Carlo did not

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fear his enemies, nor fear walking the world in the person of the carefree young man. He wore the disguise at times, but the bomb did not care for disguises. The bomb exploded when it chose, not when its makers willed. And so, the soul of the movement had paid for his temerity with his life. The “propaganda of the deed” campaign had died with him.

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

And yet here Vanzetti was, walking the back road with Nick, called to a rendezvous with Buda and another comrade, Orciani, to round up and bury the evidence, to follow Valdinoci’s long funeral march led by the lingering smoke and stink and blood of the explosion. Vanzetti stilled these thoughts with an effort, and when asked again, calmly assured Nick that they had not missed the meeting with Mario and Ricardo, and that all they need do in Bridgewater was to pick up Mario’s car from the garage.

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

Attuned to the rhythmic chant of the early spring along a damp wooded stretch of dirt road, he had learned this name, “peepers,” tiny frogs living like birds in the trees, calling out for their beloved in the night.

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

“Listen,” he said to Nick. “It is nature’s opera.” He lifted his hands. “Performed in the trees. And for the stars above.”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

Alerted by the sound of an engine, they turned to see Ricardo Orciani’s small motorcycle. Seated in the sidecar, Buda shouted and pointed as the scooter rattled past at a pace barely faster than a man could walk to a stop in front of a modest, wood-frame house. Vanzetti and Sacco followed on foot.

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

Orciani waited in the evening shadows while Buda pounded on the door. Chilled by the night air, Vanzetti and Sacco stood with hats pulled down over their ears and hands in their pockets.

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

“This is the place?” Sacco asked.

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

“Certo. It is the mechanic Johnson’s house,” said Buda, a compact, wiry man with a tense, sardonic expression. He stepped back from the door to peer up at a window in the garret. He pointed. “There is a light.”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

Sacco frowned. “Do you trust this man?”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

“Si.”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

”Why does he not answer?”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

“Perhaps he is asleep.”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

Buda stepped to the heavy front door and knocked again, louder. Pausing to listen, hearing the men mutter in Italian, he snapped, “Silenzio!”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

The door opened slightly. A woman’s voice called, “Who’s there?”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

“It’s Mike, Missus, Mike Boda,” Buda said, offering the anglicized version of his name in his best Yankee diction. “I have come for my car. Mr. Johnson has it in his garage.”

magna magnis Proin nibh odio sit ac nec venenatis convallis sodales sociis elit. augue. fermentum et sagittis eu Etiam amet ac ante.

The door closed. The woman could be heard consulting with someone inside. Her long face reappeared in the partially-opened door. “Please excuse me a moment, Mr. Boda,” she said, closing the door before he could respond.","page":"220","last":"","id":"1102","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

The four men waited in what lengthened to an uncomfortable silence. Sacco’s breathing was audible. Vanzetti shifted his weight from leg to leg. Ricardo muttered to himself. Buda stared at the door as if willing it to open.

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“You said you trusted him,” Sacco finally complained. “What is this foolishness?”

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The door was again opened by the woman. She stepped out of the house, her movements stilted and self-conscious as she confronted the strangers at her door, her plain, harried features hidden by the upturned collar of her old coat. “Excuse me,” she said to no one in particular. “I am leaving to see my mother. Mr. Johnson will be with you in a minute.”

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She slipped past the men and began a stiff-legged trot down the dirt track toward a sprawling county house with a broad, farmhouse porch, and a light above the front door.

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Her sudden departure made the men uneasy.

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“Does she think we have come to rob her house?” Vanzetti said. He meant it as a jest. The attempt fell flat.

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“Where is this lying woman going in the darkness?” Sacco hissed.

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“Be easy, Nick,” Vanzetti said. “She is going to see her mother.”

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“Her madre? Does she wish the kiss good night?”

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

Buda pounded on the door, his patience at an end. “Mr. Johnson! It’s me, Boda! Mike Boda!” he shouted, more loudly with each word. “I have come for my car! Is it ready?”

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A voice replied indistinctly from inside. A moment later, a tall, gaunt man dressed in a bathrobe appeared in the doorway, apparently roused from bed, though the hour was hardly late.

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“You want that Packard of yours, Mike?” he said, squinting at Buda, ignoring the others. “I’m not sayin’ how good she runs yet.”

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“It is fixed?”

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“It’s a might ways fixed. You’ll see for yourself if you go down there to take a look.” He tugged at the lapel of his robe. “I was just fixin’ to retire. Wait out here a minute or two. I’ll put on some clothes and meet you at the garage.”

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“We have already waited,” Orciani muttered in Italian.

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“Si,” Sacco agreed.

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“The car,” Buda urged Johnson. “It is ready to drive? Can I take it now?”

vitae blandit dis Lorem eros et condimentum malesuada. ipsum eu dolor parturient gravida consectetur sagittis amet, Quisque tincidunt Quisque

“Not without plates on it,” Johnson said, stepped back and closed the door.","page":"221","last":"","id":"1103","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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Unable to follow the English conversation, speaking in Italian, Sacco asked crossly, “What did he say about the woman? Where does this woman go?”

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Buda appeared to have nothing to offer, so Vanzetti responded, “She is merely walking down the road to visit her mother, as she has told us.”

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“Where she is going, I tell you, is the polizia,” Sacco grumbled.

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

Buda swore at these words, though whether he found the notion wholly unreasonable or deeply troubling was not clear. After another minute’s wait and no sign of Johnson in his garageman’s overalls, Buda declared in Italian, loudly enough for the man inside to hear, that he was fed up to the chin -- his hand indicating where -- with this lying, cheating, penny-pinching Yankee nonsense that had him standing in the cold waiting for the return of a car that was rightfully his while a grown man pretended to put on his trousers.

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This verbal outburst produced a reply from the other side of the closed door.

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“You fellas’ll just have to wait a bit. I can’t hurry it none,” the mechanic hollered. After a brief silence, he shouted, “I’m lookin’ for the key!”

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“What is this new fairy tale?” Sacco sneered.

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“Chiave, key, he is looking for the key to the automobile,” Vanzetti explained.

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

“The key? It is not in the garage? With the car? No, no, this I do not believe!”

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

“Lower your voice!” Buda ordered Sacco, then whispered to Orciani, “What do you make of this buffoon?”

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

Orciani did not know. He was uneasy. Yes, he thought they should go.

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The four men debated in agitated whispers, with Sacco doggedly insisting that the situation smelled to him like di trappola.

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

“Basta,” Buda abruptly decided. “Enough. We go.”

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

He yelled to the man in the house that the hour was growing late. He would return in the morning with new plates for the car. Seated on the scooter, feet firmly planted, Orciani appeared poised to vault the machine forward by the mere force of his thin legs. Vanzetti trooped after Sacco, who stomped down the dirt track, muttering to himself.

scelerisque elit in condimentum erat tincidunt montes, nisi in ipsum eu penatibus

“So now we must come back to this place again?” Sacco turned to ask Vanzetti as the scooter motored past, and Buda, in the sidecar, bid them ciao with his hand.

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Before answering his comrade, Vanzetti had to first ask himself what the mastermind had hoped to accomplish this night. At the meeting of the Gruppo Autonomo, Buda had said that there was no way of knowing which name or names had been offered by Salsedo to placate brutal jailers before his sad end. Buda had warned that any man who possessed them

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should destroy papers or other materials that could connect him to the bombings of June 13, 1919. It was not, he had said, the time for souvenirs. So, what was the purpose of the Bridgewater rendezvous? To see someone who had not attended the meeting or had never been part of the gruppo? Someone foolishly stubborn? Or -- a new thought, a new turn of the screw, a mere suspicion -- perhaps to see someone with something Mario Buda still wanted. What? Something to make the new explosive? To execute another scheme?

Fusce penatibus tincidunt Proin sodales sagittis faucibus erat, sed ornare diam pellentesque. hendrerit et hendrerit. Fusce imperdiet sociis nascetur Mauris adipiscing vestibulum penatibus et tristique

Vanzetti caught up to his friend. “No, Nick,” he said. “We do not return to this place.”

Surprised, Sacco eyed him a moment, nodded his head, and slowed his pace to match Vanzetti’s on the walk to the main street to catch the streetcar to Brockton, where they would change to the line for Stoughton. They walked for a time without speaking, with the peepers’ high-pitched chorus resounding sharply in the penetrating chill of darkness. Increasingly anxious, Sacco pivoted his head to look over his shoulders time and again. He did not like it, he muttered. He did not like the whole business. He would not be at peace until home in Stoughton. No, he amended, he would not be at peace until back in his own country.

“Be easy, Nick,” Vanzetti consoled. “What can they do to you? Send you back to Italy? Already you are going back on your own.”

Vanzetti hid his unease, which had less to do with the failure to retrieve Buda’s car than with the bulge in his belt. Before leaving his house, Nick handed him a revolver presented to the gruppo by Buda, who had advised that the men be armed that evening. Nick told Vanzetti to take it, said he would carry a gun given to him by the owner of the factory where he worked. Vanzetti frowned, but accepted the revolver without objection. Now it felt wrong to have done so. Without the distraction of their mission, however futile, the gun’s weight inside the waistband of his trousers pressed on his consciousness like a sore tooth. Why armed this evening? Did Buda believe the federal men were on his tail? If that was the case, did he imagine that guns would make them safer? That they could win a shooting war with the government? Had he somehow forgotten that Valdinoci, the boldest of them all, had eluded the dragnet of pursuing police without resorting to gunplay?

They reached the main street. The streetcar came at last. The comrades boarded, paid the fare, and walked to the back of the nearly empty car. Slumped in his seat, relieved to be leaving Bridgewater, Nick folded his arms across his chest and tried to sleep as the streetcar slowly rattled forward.

Twenty minutes later, as it crossed the city line into Brockton, the car shuddered to a halt.

“Why are we stopping?” Sacco fretted. “What new treachery is this?”

“Silenzio,” Vanzetti whispered. “It is nothing.”

A solitary police officer climbed into the car, hand on his holstered revolver as he slowly walked the aisle, studying the faces of the handful of passengers.

Alarmed, Sacco grabbed his comrade’s elbow and whispered in Italian. Vanzetti shook off his hand and composed himself in silence.

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Proin malesuada. Cum vestibulum venenatis Nulla Fusce egestas. est Pellentesque a. Fusce sit quis erat, elit. augue. justo et mi eu sagittis Ut sodales a.

The heavyset officer stopped beside the two men and, shifting his bulk, allowed the light of a streetlamp to illuminate their foreign faces. He smirked and then announced that he was taking them off the streetcar and placing them under arrest. He removed the firearm from its holster and, holding it before their eyes, asked if they were armed.

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Vanzetti shook his head, as if by will alone to transport himself to some other evening in his life. It was not his custom, he said, to go about his business armed.

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sociis malesuada. Proin ac odio natoque vestibulum egestas. nulla. pellentesque. vestibulum mi Proin consectetur Lorem Ut erat sit Lorem nibh Fusce quis pellentesque. dolor

CHAPTER 20

MY FATHER CARED ABOUT

THINGS THAT MATTERED

2000, North Plymouth

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On his way home from work, Mill cruised into the parking lot of a North Plymouth big-box store to see if it stocked handguns. Not that he wanted to buy one. He certainly didn’t want to own one. He simply wanted to know how a gun would feel in his hands, or tucked in the waistband of his pants.

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Two guys in jeans and work shirts stood in front of a van parked in the middle of the lot, the panels of the van decorated with painted slogans, the antenna with a tied-on American flag. The men waved and smiled to win the attention of shoppers heading for the glass entryway, and offered reading material to those within reach.

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As Mill neared him, the young-faced man with a sandy mustache said, “Did you know that to afford to keep a roof over the head of a family of four in the state of Massachusetts, you need to earn an hourly wage of twenty-seven dollars and twenty-nine cents? That’s a government figure! We didn’t make it up!”

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Mill shook his head. “No way. Really? I didn’t know that.”

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Encouraged by his audience of one, hoping to draw a crowd, the sandy-haired guy asked in a louder voice, “And do you know what the average wage for retail workers in America is? Eight fifty-five an hour! Big difference, huh? That’s a government figure, too.”

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“Wow. I had no idea.”

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“Yeah, well get this. Know what the fine people of this store pay their workers? Six dollars and twenty-five cents! The minimum wage in Massachusetts. In other states, the wage paid per hour is lower.”

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“I’m surprised that people can live on that,” Mill said.

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“Shit, no, people can’t live on that! The workers in this store can’t! The employees here would be homeless if they actually tried to live on what this store pays! That’s why so many American workers have to work multiple jobs to make ends meet.”

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“I get it,” Mill said, taking the man’s literature and folding it into a pocket. “You’re trying to organize this store, right?”

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“Hell yes! Sound like a good idea to you?”

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Mill smiled. Anxious to get away, but troubled by another thought, he said, “Are you trying to keep people from going into the store?”

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The union guy frowned.

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

“Not today,” said his companion, older, stockier, hairier-chested in his open denim shirt. “This is an informational action. We are merely exercising our right to inform the public.”

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Mill waved and walked away, toward his gun-browsing expedition, which seemed comparatively trivial. Still, he wondered, was it easy to walk around with a gun in your pants? A purely academic question, which was perfectly okay because he was an academic. Technically, at least. This academic wanted his work to mean something, which perhaps explained why he couldn’t shut up, do his job, and try to get published like everybody else.

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

At the door, he sidestepped two uniformed store security officers sporting do-not-disturb-the-customers-by-causing-a-nasty-scene smiles as they headed out to confront the union guys. It was a polite bum’s rush compared to the Pinkertons of Vanzetti’s day, Mill thought. No need to clobber heads with sticks. Company lawyers had better weapons now.

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Mill’s errand was disappointingly brief. The young male clerk in the firearms department wasn’t sure if it was all right for a customer to stick a gun in his pants just to get the feel of it. Mill shrugged and walked away. Back in the car, he noticed on the drive home an old man feeding ducks on the millpond, a man-made circle of water once used to power a rope mill, now prettied up and preserved for esthetic reasons. Something about the man’s straight-backed posture brought to mind the slender figure seen in the Cordage factory photos.

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Later that evening after reading the union leaflet, Bernie said, “Shit, I have someone working there.”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

Surprised by her reaction, a daughter of union-member parents, Mill said, “But you must have known about the bad pay.”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

“It’s not about the pay scale, Mill, it’s about staying employed. My client, Ike, has to have a job to stay out of jail. If they try to organize a union there, the store will close the doors, and I’ll need to immediately place Ike somewhere else.”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

“Okay, but what’s the union movement supposed to do? Ignore things like lousy pay?”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

“You’re preaching to the choir, Mill.”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

“I know. I thought you were a big fan of unions.”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

“I am. But I’m also a big fan of jobs. And keeping clients out of jail.”

at sed eu ridiculus est scelerisque quis nibh dis natoque dui. justo

Mill stood up from his seat at the end of the table piled with student papers and his own school notes -- his little pile of ceaseless woe.

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Bernie looked up from her book. She was leaning against an arm of the couch, legs extended, slightly bridged at the knee across the cushions like a gentle ridge above the plain. Mill wished he was crashed on the couch, too, part of that pleasant topography.","page":"226","last":"","id":"1108","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“You know, I keep thinking...” he said.

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Bernie waited.

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“When we looked for the Braintree square where the shoe factory was, what did we find? A strip mall. A bank branch, some fast-food places. No factories. And at the Cordage site? Retail.”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“And your point?”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“We’ve come full circle. Those industrial labor jobs turned into good-paying jobs once the unions took control. Now that the factories are gone, the consumer economy has taken over. No unions and lots of low-paying jobs.”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“Gee, Mill, sounds to me like a new contemporary slant for a guy who usually views things from a historic perspective. Those union guys must have really gotten under your skin.”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“Well, my training is history, but maybe I’ve been studying the wrong things.”

***

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“I want to find out more about Joey Machinetto,” Jeter said.

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

He stood, facing the pond, in the small off-road parking area at the back end of Morton Park. The swimming season had ended. The lifeguards, swimming teachers, kids, moms, high schoolers, and college kids had all gone home. No one visited the park in November, which was the way Jeter liked it.

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“Want to go for a jog?”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“I never go for a jog. I’d feel stupid,” Mill said, tensing his slim shoulders against the breeze.

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“Okay, let’s walk. Maybe some time when you don’t mind feeling stupid we’ll go for a jog.”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“Doubtful,” Mill muttered and, starting to walk, said, “Anyway, you asked about Joey Machinetto. Here’s what I know. Joseph Machinetto had immigrant parents. They lived near Philadelphia. He went to college -- University of Pennsylvania or some big school. He became a lawyer and took labor cases at a time when unions were fighting to organize, and union leaders were arrested on trumped-up charges well beyond basic trespassing. Joey Machinetto defended them for almost no fee. In nineteen-twenty-seven, with the Sacco-Vanzetti case a daily feature in the newspapers, he decided to join the defense camp in Boston.”

pellentesque. augue. blandit Proin quam ac tincidunt ut erat lacus enim ac ipsum

“Because he was Italian,” Jeter ventured.

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“It wouldn’t surprise me if that was part of it.”

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“Anything more?”

","page":"227","last":"","id":"1109","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“There was the business of finding the fish invoice.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Right. You told me. So, Machinetto joined the fight to defend justice and keep the two guys alive, but he failed, everybody failed, and Sacco and Vanzetti went to the electric chair. What happened to Machinetto after that?”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“He dropped out of the story,” Mill said. “Ten years later, out of the blue, he returned to Plymouth to look up Lavinia Rossiter’s daughter, Vivian.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Okay, final question. Could he possibly be alive?”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

Mill did the math in his head. “Unlikely. Probably very unlikely.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“This is totally off the subject, but I have a question for you,” Mill said.

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Shoot.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“What did you study in college?”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Where the hell’d that come from?”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Just curious.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Long story or short?”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

Mill checked his watch. “Short’s good.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Okay, I had this football player build but a spectacle-wearing outlook, so I wound up on the debate team in high school and at one point thought I wanted to be a lawyer. In college, I majored in philosophy for a while but switched to political science when matters in the airy world of abstraction threatened to become unappealingly abstruse. Abstract was okay, abstruse was not. In the end, neither path proved a decent meal ticket.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“And now?”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

Jeter smiled. “It’s been a nice walk. Walking always makes me feel like I’m getting somewhere, if only temporarily.”

***

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“Philadelphia,” Jeter said. “I’m looking for someone born in Philadelphia.”

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

“That narrows it down to something slightly less than an infinite number of people,” Pam Lawson quipped.

ipsum Ut penatibus ipsum magnis sit Quisque diam nisi amet, quam, Pellentesque ridiculus sit quam nisi mi lobortis

He pointed at her desktop computer. “I need to find someone related to an old-timer named Joseph Machinetto. Might be something on the Internet.”","page":"228","last":"","id":"1110","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“Well that’s not a very common name, so how about...”

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From her expression Pam was only pretending to think hard. Was toying with him? Making fun of him?

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“How about what?” Jeter asked impatiently. “Where do you think I should look?”

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“In a phonebook?”

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Jeter left the library. In his car, driving home, thinking things through, he decided that these were the salad days when the unctuous publisher of Tide Lines, Bryan Dolhous, who liked playing with his new magazine but did not know much about print media, would not miss the money. In these halcyon days of the magazine owner’s enchantment with the shiny new vehicle custom-built for his pleasure, money would flow. At some point, of course, he would realize the cost of keeping it on the road. In the meantime, a favored writer might just as well find out what he could get away with. A roundtrip flight to Philadelphia? That wasn’t much, was it?

***

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Big Bill Machinetto, the fourth Machinetto listed in the city of Philadelphia phonebook, a facilities manager for a large utility plant outside of Philly, proved a confident enough individual to agree to meet a complete stranger in an airport lounge to talk about his father.

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“My father was born in nineteen-oh-four. I was born thirty years later. I knew he was involved in the case. It was a source of family pride. But he didn’t talk about it much,” said large-boned Bill, leaning back, drink in hand, legs stretched under the isolated booth. “A few years before I was born, he went back to Plymouth. I think that was kind of the peak of things for him, the whole business kind of an obsession, if you know what I mean. He told the people who wouldn’t stop questioning his continued interest in the case that he was planning on writing a book. Probably said that to get people off his back because he never wrote one.”

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“Did he ever tell you what he hoped to accomplish?” Jeter asked.

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“He wanted to prove they were innocent. That’s it in a nutshell. I think maybe in the old days, in the thirties, he still thought it was possible because a lot of people were still alive -- people other than Sacco and Vanzetti, that is. People who knew them. The witnesses. The district attorney. I think my father was hoping to get a line on how the frame-up took shape. Was it that D.A.? What was his name? Katzmann. Yeah. Was Katzmann cooking it up to get a high profile conviction? And that police chief, Stewart. Was some higher up telling Stewart to do everything possible to see these guys got fried? Someone federal? J. Edgar Hoover himself?”

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“Lots of unanswered questions,” Jeter said. “Speaking of which, did your father know anything about the Willy Carroll case?”

Lorem adipiscing scelerisque Nulla et vitae at Lorem justo quam, dolor quam sodales ante. ac

“The cop who got killed? That’s a good question. I wish my father was still around so you could ask him. I really do. But yeah, too late for that. Dad’s gone, but the thing hasn’t died. Not completely. I mean, here you are. Anyway, I’m not sure about Willy Carroll, but I think he knew about that other guy you mentioned.”

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consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Palombo?”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Yeah. He was hoping to find someone in Plymouth who’d remember Palombo from the strike days. And maybe he did. It was twenty years after that Plymouth strike, but a lot of men still working at the Cordage might have remembered a guy who’d disappeared like that. I can’t say for sure, though. But you know, there was never a big sacking at the factory after that strike. They didn’t fire a lot of guys, they took everybody back. Vanzetti was wrong about that, I guess.”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Okay, so he went to Plymouth to nose around, dig a little deeper,” said Jeter. “What did he come up with?”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

Big Bill shifted in the vinyl booth seat. “I don’t know if I can be much help there. I didn’t hear about most of this until his later years. Eighty-six. Right. Dad died in eighty-six. There was more time to talk in those last years, after he got sick. Kind of a shame when you think about it. But I think he always knew I was interested in the things he had done as a young man. Actually, that part of his life was more interesting to me than the later stages. He was pretty successful by the end, you know. He had gone from unions to the whole benefit side of things. Health care, retirement, disabilities. Negotiating the plans, the deals. He was a pretty good negotiator, I guess. He was like that at home, too, always very reasonable, not your I’m-the-man-of-the-house kind of dad, if you know what I mean. Anyway, that was the dad I knew. I didn’t know much about the fiery young lawyer who tried to save two guys from the electric chair while the whole world watched.”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“But he did talk about it later, from what you’ve said.”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Yeah, well, I’m sure I don’t remember every last thing he told me, and I probably didn’t think to ask him the questions you’re asking me now. That’s your job, asking questions, right?”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Right. And I guess we’ve covered Carroll and Palombo. Did he ever mention visiting Vivian Devito in Plymouth?”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

Big Bill thought a moment. “Seems to me he talked about a young lady by that name -- that’s the way he put it, ‘young lady.’ Dad could be gallant with the ladies. He had his way. Anyway, he didn’t mention a name, only said he hoped this young lady could tell him something about Vanzetti. Something…yeah…let me think…something to do with Vanzetti’s whereabouts on the day of the crime. Of course, the woman he visited twenty years later would have been a little girl back then, so I’m not sure how he thought she could help.”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Little girls can sometimes be surprisingly observant,” Jeter said. “You know, hear things, see things.”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“True.” Big Bill shook his head. “I wish I could remember everything he said. I think Dad mentioned her mother, but I can’t recall why.”

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Hard to remember everything, or to know, out of all we see and hear, the important things to remember,” Jeter philosophized.

consectetur nibh Cum odio Pellentesque et fermentum ante. diam blandit blandit erat Lorem montes, dui. odio nibh blandit erat, et gravida consectetur quis dolor Quisque

“Well, I hope I’ve been helpful,” Big Bill said. “It’s a little embarrassing, you coming all the way down here to talk to me and--”","page":"230","last":"","id":"1112","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“Embarrassing? Why?”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“I mean, a guy can’t help but think he has to try to make it worth the other guy’s while.”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

Jeter smiled. “It was worth my while to have you agree to meet me. Not everyone would.”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“Hard to say no. I enjoy talking about my father. I’ve always meant to go a little bit further, to read up on what’s happened to the case since Dad’s time.”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“Like the Dukakis thing?”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“That was in seventy-eight, so Dad knew about that. I remember him saying that the governor didn’t go far enough.”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“Any idea if your father took another trip to Plymouth in nineteen-forty-two?”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“Forty-two? No, not that I know of, but I would have been, what, eight years old? I suppose he could have traveled somewhere without my remembering it. Forty-two? That was a war year. I definitely remember the war. But now you’ve got me curious. What happened in forty-two?”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

Jeter cleared his throat. What happened in forty-two? Willy Carroll didn’t survive it. Damned if he knew why, damned if he ever would, so, damn it, why wasn’t he prepared with a plausible excuse for mentioning that particular year?

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“Uh, there was some talk that year of anarchists still being around Plymouth,” he said. “Maybe the talk was brought on by the war.”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“My father believed in Sacco’s and Vanzetti’s innocence,” Big Bill stated solemnly. “But he was never an anarchist. He was a union man.”

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

Jeter closed his notebook. He believed he had learned some things about Joseph Machinetto, but not enough to ask his son what he really wanted to: Do you think your father could have returned to the scene of the crime fifteen years later to kill someone who had helped to frame Vanzetti?

***

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

Suspicious of new ideas, the locals gave North Plymouth’s combination antique shop/coffee bar six months at most. Mill and Jeter sat, talking about the Philadelphia trip, at the table beside The Penny Dreadful’s plate glass front window with a partial view of Sellers’ weathered store across the street. Inside, a few copies of genuine antique potboilers were displayed with vases and glass figures on a shelf over Mill’s head. Unnerved by breakable antiques, focused on the potboilers, Jeter wondered what the dime-novel writers would have made of Willy Carroll’s death. One thing was for sure. The Willy story would need a villain with a nasty sneer and a score to settle.

justo tincidunt tincidunt at sit est amet penatibus gravida et justo Pellentesque mus. Quisque Nulla Etiam quis magnis elit eu in amet augue. imperdiet consectetur sit fermentum

“So, Machinetto’s son confirmed that the trip to Plymouth had something to do with Vivian’s mother,” Mill said.

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Proin tempor nisl. tristique venenatis consectetur mauris nisl. sociis augue. ac Sed Proin in scelerisque Proin pellentesque. convallis nibh nascetur egestas. sit sodales lacus condimentum fermentum quam hendrerit. blandit

“Yup. Big Bill said his father was there to ask questions about Vanzetti. And he said he recognized Vivian’s name. Pretty remarkable, I thought, that he knew that much. I guess old man Joseph Machinetto wanted someone to know.”

“Sounds like his account matches Vivian Devito’s pretty closely. Age to the contrary, Vivian has a good memory.”

“Lucky for me she does,” said Jeter, “because I think I’m going to need it.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I’m basing an outrageously speculative hunch on her memory.”

“How outrageous?”

“It’s a reach, so tell me if you’d buy it. I’m thinking that old labor-lefty Joey Machinetto snuck into Plymouth on an early winter night in nineteen-forty-two to commit a revenge killing, to satisfy some sort of old-world Italian debt of honor, to pay a long overdue debt for the deaths of Sacco and Vanzetti.”

“Machinetto wasn’t an old-world guy, he was born in America,” Mill reasoned. “His Americanness made him valuable to the defense.”

“Okay, but what about this? Joey Machinetto’s son recognized the name Palombo.”

“So his father talked about Palombo.”

“Must have, yeah.”

“What was his father’s interest in Palombo?”

“He didn’t know.”

“I’d say there are more than a few holes to plug in your theory.”

Jeter felt deflated. It was always the way. You asked a few questions and ran from an interview like an excited kid clutching new marbles, and later realized that you’d left a lot of marbles lying on the ground.

***

Ike asked himself. Was he a union man?

Ike mused about this as he wandered the aisles of the megastore, a piece of earth that had come to feel like a desert despite the bounty, the abundance of merchandise on the shelves, because there was no life there -- not for him. He moved through the store like a vanished one, a ghost, a thing without spirit, forcing his body to attend to the given tasks, forcing his mind to remember the rules -- smile, greet everyone you see, keep moving -- though his soul had taken flight.

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Every morning before leaving the house, he gave his soul to his mother and wife to keep for him. He boarded the train from the city neighborhood, a place of indifferent buildings and shabby storefronts with some life, some living spirits within, changed once for the commuter line, and arrived on the platform behind the North Plymouth store. An easy commute, the good Mrs. Becker said. Maybe, he thought, but the distance from the hard streets of the city to the soft, but empty-hearted place of his work days wore him out inside. He did not smile real smiles there. He was paid to smile constrained smiles. Could he not find a desert closer to home to bury his days in the lifeless sands and watch the hours blow away? He had not found such a place. And Mrs. Becker, the only person who helped, had found for him this job. It was almost as much to not disappoint her than himself, his wife, his future, that he continued to work there.

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

But for how long? As he walked the empty hours of soulless days, he knew it could not last.

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

So yes, the union men had returned to the parking lot. He was not allowed to talk to them. He’d risk his job if he did. But was it all right to look at them? Ike did so as he drew near. Something was different. Yesterday, the men were white. Today, with the pavement frosted with icy granules, winter’s first nasty spittle (Ike did not warm to this inhuman American winter), one of the union fellows was a brown-skinned man. Spanish, Ike guessed. Maybe they observed who went to work at this store. True, no other workers with skin as dark as Ike’s marched inside before the doors opened to the public, but a good number of employees showed a spot of color to their complexion -- Mexicans, Filipinos, a Vietnamese woman who worked in the back, a woman from Somalia. Ike wanted to walk up to the pair of union men and say, “Brother, you do not need to change colors to talk to me. But these others? No matter what you look like, they will still be afraid.”

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

He opted instead for a middling, reasonably cautious approach. He made eye contact with the Latino man, then looked off in the direction of the pizza store, one of the small storefronts that clung like fish to the belly of the whale. He walked past the parked car of the union men, who cradled literature in their arms like a baby they wanted to keep warm, and entered the pizza store. The Spanish-speaking union man joined him at a small table two minutes later, which, to Ike’s calculation, gave him all of three minutes before he had to punch in. The union man had black, tightly-curled hair, cut short, and calm features. His name, he said, was Issy.

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

The union man began to deliver to Ike the same concise speech as to those within earshot that morning in the parking lot of the big store. It was a speech designed to be made to people with maybe less than a minute to listen.

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

“When the store refuses to raise wages, it is like a pay cut for all the workers,” Issy said with the rapid-paced directness of a man accustomed to making quick pitches to passersby in parking lots. “This company that employs you and thousands of other workers pays lower wages than any other chain store, and because it does, other chains pay lower wages, too.”

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

“Chains,” Ike repeated, savoring the word’s implications.

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

Issy blinked, but picked up where he left off.

gravida Pellentesque dolor venenatis ipsum in Lorem lobortis tincidunt Proin in montes, diam nec scelerisque mi convallis dolor consectetur quis penatibus tempor montes, elit. justo Quisque

“These other stores, maybe they pay a dollar more an hour -- not much, but something -- but when seeking to borrow money to open new stores, the bankers say, ‘Why do you pay your workers so much? You don’t have to. You would make more money if you lowered the wages like the big chain stores.’”

","page":"233","last":"","id":"1115","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dolor elit. dui. eu gravida quam Quisque Proin ac Cum ipsum convallis et quis nibh malesuada. magna Lorem sagittis magnis convallis mus. mus. quam

Ike nodded, blood waking fast now from the somnolence of the train ride, and the chill blow of the walk through the frigid parking area.

dolor elit. dui. eu gravida quam Quisque Proin ac Cum ipsum convallis et quis nibh malesuada. magna Lorem sagittis magnis convallis mus. mus. quam

“Do you know what the name is for driving down the pay scale?” Issy asked. “It is called ‘a race to the bottom.’ Do you want to help them win this race?”

dolor elit. dui. eu gravida quam Quisque Proin ac Cum ipsum convallis et quis nibh malesuada. magna Lorem sagittis magnis convallis mus. mus. quam

Ike shook his head no. “Yet there are so many who need the work,” he said to this union man, Issy, who impressed him with a directness that neither the store-dictated false smile nor the hardness of the sell could do. But what could this honest Issy say to the Vietnamese woman, or the Filipino teenager, the others who walked with downcast eyes past the union men to their jobs? “No matter how little the pay, they will accept it,” Ike told him.

dolor elit. dui. eu gravida quam Quisque Proin ac Cum ipsum convallis et quis nibh malesuada. magna Lorem sagittis magnis convallis mus. mus. quam

Issy acknowledged this with a nod, but closed his pitch. “It’s past time for workers to organize. We need workers in this store right here in Plymouth to lead the way. Better pay for these workers will raise the whole industry.”

dolor elit. dui. eu gravida quam Quisque Proin ac Cum ipsum convallis et quis nibh malesuada. magna Lorem sagittis magnis convallis mus. mus. quam

Ike smiled. “An uprising for a raising up,” he said, enjoying this small English word play. He folded the union man’s paper, shoved it deep into his pants pocket, offered a respectful, perhaps encouraging nod to the union organizer, and left for his job.","page":"234","last":"","id":"1116","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

CHAPTER 21

I WOULD BE THE ONLY DARK-SKINNED

FELLOW ON THE STREET

2000, Plymouth

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Mill left no stone unturned in a methodical search for descendants of the people who had testified at the trials: Carol Balboni, John DiCarlo, Rosa Balboni, Therese Malaguti, Adeladi Bongiovanni, Margherita Fiochi, Emma Borsari, Esther Christophori, Vincent Longhi, and others.

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“Yes, that was my father,” one man said. “He’s the one you should be talking to. He knew everything about the case. But he passed away a long time ago.”

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“My grandmother never believed the things they said about that poor man,” a woman told him.

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

“What did she think of him?”

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“She said he was a quiet man.”

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“Did she share any stories about him? Things that didn’t come up at the trial?”

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“No, nothing like that. Nana told my mother and my mother told us kids that he was quiet.”

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

The decades-old trail was cold but for one remaining possibility. The overturned stones had yielded the estimable, straight-backed Hugo Stiles, who sat most days when the weather was fine on a bench by the millpond of the old factory. More inclined to brag of his longevity than to slice a decade from the reckoning, the one-time Cordage worker with thin white hair cut close to the scalp volunteered that he was eighty-nine years old. Hugo Stiles could not recall seeing Vanzetti in Plymouth, but said he remembered Beltrando Brini very well.

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

“We played together in the Plymouth orchestra, you see. I played trumpet in lots of bands…dance bands, ordinary bands…but the orchestra was something special,” Stiles reminisced, running a hand over his small, pecan-shaped cranium. “Brahms, Tchaikovsky, the ‘1812 Overture,’ bass drum booming. Now that was worth hearing.”

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

Mill nodded politely.

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

“But you wanted to talk about something else,” Hugo observed.

a. euismod ipsum euismod nisi pellentesque. sagittis nisi sit eu mus. nulla. et sed gravida nisi ante. dolor ipsum diam lacus gravida Proin lacus vestibulum nibh erat, gravida consectetur

“You mentioned Beltrando Brini. You said he’s still alive?”

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“He was last spring when I called him. Beltrando was all right, but couldn’t come to the phone. Trouble hearing, I guess. I spoke to his wife. Wonderful woman. Said she’d pass along my birthday greetings.”

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elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“You remembered his birthday,” Mill said, impressed.

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“He was a fine man, Bel was, a good friend. A fine violinist. Quiet, a little reserved. Especially for an Italian. Thought more than he spoke. Let on less than he knew.” After a pause, Hugo went on, “It bothered him. Bel never forgot it. He said one day that he had to go to court. I joked about it. ‘What have you done now?’ I said. He told me he had to testify for some inquiry, something about the Sacco and Vanzetti case.”

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“After he testified, did he talk about it?”

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“No. Never. Not once in all these years.”

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That’s it then, Mill thought. He stood, shook the hand of his last hope, and thanked him for his time.

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“Want his phone number before you go?” Stiles asked.

***

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A woman answered the phone and listened as Mill explained the reason for his call.

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“A visit?” she said. “Oh no, he can’t have a visit.”

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

Mill hesitated, unwilling to give up on a chance to speak to the only person he’d found who actually knew Vanzetti.

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“I was hoping to ask him some questions,” he said. “Would there be a better time to see him?”

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“My husband is not well,” the woman explained. “But if you wish to mail written questions to me to ask when he is at his best, I will write his answers for him.”

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“Thank you, Mrs. Brini. I will do it today.”

***

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

Mrs. Brini sat on the edge of the bed to listen for the hitch in breathing that meant her husband was awake. When it came, his eyes opened, unseeing.

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“Bel,” she said softly, “we received a letter today from that man I told you about. The man who had questions about Mr. Vanzetti.”

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

Her husband closed and opened his eyes in response.

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

“He wrote his questions on a piece of paper," she said, waited, then asked, “May I read them to you?”

elit. lobortis elit. ipsum quis scelerisque imperdiet quis elit euismod adipiscing nulla. eu amet, venenatis diam condimentum eu vehicula enim ac

No eye movements this time, but she decided to try.","page":"236","last":"","id":"1118","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

“Do you know of anyone who might have been with Vanzetti on April fifteenth, nineteen-twenty, the day of the Braintree robbery? Not the day you were with him, Bel, but the day of the big crime. The murders.”

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

His breathing caught.

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

“The man who called is looking for a person who never came forward,” said his wife, “but may have known something about Mr. Vanzetti’s whereabouts that day.”

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

He lay silent for a long time, his breathing a little quicker. Speech cost him. Cost him the air laboriously pumped into his lungs.

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

“A man…named Conn-ee…never trusted…” he rasped.

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

Connie? She wondered if she’d heard him right. What kind of name was that for a man?

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

She wrote her husband’s words. She pressed her husband’s fingers, then stood and left the room.

***

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

It was a part of the city Bernie didn’t know well, with rotaries that were unique, even by Boston standards. A wrong choice on one had veered her off course onto a seared, treeless street that was nowhere to be found on her printed directions. Bernie knew at once that people like her did not willingly drive streets like this past shabby storefronts open for cashing your check, paying your bills, buying your gold, pawning your possessions, feeding you ribs. Middle-class types reluctantly pulled in to a cramped gas station and carefully looked around before leaving the cars to have a credit card cleared by a person manning a pillbox of bullet-proof glass with a taped-on cardboard sign warning that the cash register was locked. People like her were discomforted by cautionary reminders of lurking human predators.

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

Did Ike really live around here?

nascetur tristique Lorem malesuada. in enim dui. eros justo parturient sociis convallis nascetur blandit malesuada. elit. sed mauris eros

Home visits were not part of her job. But she was not going to lose a client -- not someone like Ike -- over an unexplained absence from work. The day had started with a call from probation. Ike had missed an appointment. They could pick him up any time, warned the low, gravelly voice of the probation officer, his bedside business manner seemingly borrowed from cynical detectives in cop movies. The officer asked sardonically if Ike was “still on the right track,” the Right Track the name of the nonprofit for which Bernie worked to place people on the wrong track in jobs and productive roles. She hated the careless mockery of the probation supervisor, his obvious pleasure in the casually-uttered threat, but had to later admit that his question had merit when she phoned the store at the Cordage shopping plaza, and was tersely informed by a manager that Ike hadn’t shown up for work, and hadn’t bothered to call. Stress level clamping on her inner organs, Bernie said she was sure there was an explanation. The manager grunted in reply.

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There to find out what the explanation was, Bernie rang the doorbell of a two-story building in serious need of a paint job with two rusty mailboxes on either side of the single wooden door. She stepped back to wait on the stoop. She heard someone holler and the thud of footsteps on stairs. Ike opened the door. Arms cradled against a thin sweatshirt, he appeared both chilled and unhappy.

in est fermentum sed magna Proin hendrerit nulla. Fusce quis nec Sed dolor parturient justo nisl. blandit Fusce erat, ridiculus sed quam, nisi Lorem

“I’m sorry for barging in, Ike,” she said. “But you didn’t answer your phone, and I need to talk to you.”

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“Mrs. Becker!” he exclaimed, life warming his features. “I am most sorry! I did not know the call was from you.”

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“Are you all right?” she asked, wondering, who is he avoiding?

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“A cold,” he said. “It is just a cold.”

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Largely though not completely reassured, she thought, a cold, not a drug withdrawal? No, Ike had no history of drugs.

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“I called the store,” Bernie said. “I was told that you didn’t show up for work as expected.”

in est fermentum sed magna Proin hendrerit nulla. Fusce quis nec Sed dolor parturient justo nisl. blandit Fusce erat, ridiculus sed quam, nisi Lorem

He frowned. “I called to tell them I have a cold, just as I have now told you.”

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“The manager I talked to didn’t know, I guess. He called it an unexplained absence. Frankly, Ike, it worried me.”

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“Who was this manager?” Ike muttered, exasperated. “Was it Harry? ‘Smiling Harry’ we call him because he smiles when about to do something bad. I spoke to Eddie, he is the shift supervisor. Smiling Harry does not speak to his people. He assumes you have done the wrong.”

in est fermentum sed magna Proin hendrerit nulla. Fusce quis nec Sed dolor parturient justo nisl. blandit Fusce erat, ridiculus sed quam, nisi Lorem

“When you spoke with Eddie, did you tell him you were ill?”

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“A cold,” he repeated. “Sometimes I feel the heat, like I am home again in Africa. Sometimes I feel like ice water is pouring down my back.”

in est fermentum sed magna Proin hendrerit nulla. Fusce quis nec Sed dolor parturient justo nisl. blandit Fusce erat, ridiculus sed quam, nisi Lorem

“Jesus, Ike, that sounds awful! You shouldn’t be standing outdoors.”

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Bernie waited, gave him a chance to invite her in.

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Ike nodded his head at the stairs behind him and said, “Up there, the women are unhappy.”

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As excuses went, it was candid, she thought.

in est fermentum sed magna Proin hendrerit nulla. Fusce quis nec Sed dolor parturient justo nisl. blandit Fusce erat, ridiculus sed quam, nisi Lorem

“C’mon,” Bernie invited. “Let’s talk in the car. I’ll turn on the heater.”

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She turned and after a moment heard his footsteps behind her.

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“Have you been to the doctor, Ike?” she asked once settled in the front seat of the Honda.","page":"238","last":"","id":"1120","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

He shook his head. “I wish you would drive somewhere, Mrs. Becker. I have been nowhere but home and work for weeks.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“We need to talk, Ike. I’m worried. I don’t want you to lose this job.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“Did this store manager say something to you? Do they complain of my being sick?”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“No. Actually, I’m more concerned about the call this morning from your probation officer.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“Ah! It is the same thing! Mr. Eisley and Smiling Harry. These are my bosses. My governors. The rulers of my existence.” He looked at her with angry eyes. “Tell me truly, Mrs. Becker. Is it not because I am from Africa?”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

The hurt in Ike’s tone bothered her. She needed to respond carefully yet decisively; without knowing whether racial bias influenced the actions and thinking of the people he’d named; knowing that the store had rules, and this job could be saved.

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“No, Ike,” Bernie said. “These are little things. A phone call, a missed probation check-in.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“If they are little, why all this trouble?”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“Little things matter in the real world, Ike.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“I see.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“So here’s what we’ll do,” Bernie went on. “Leave Eisley to me. I’ll tell him you were sick, but have promised to make the next check-in on time. That’s your part of the deal, Ike, that and you need to call Eddie to be sure he told Harry that you called in sick. It shouldn’t count against you.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“You are good to me,” Ike said, smiling faintly. “So I cannot say that everyone is against me.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“Please don’t feel as if everyone’s against you, Ike. It isn’t true, you know.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

He stared at the car windshield, as if it offered some escape.

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

"Ike.” She touched his elbow. “How are you really? Are things…hard at home?”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“Home?” Ike echoed. “Is this place a home? In this place I speak to no one unless I pass them on the stairs. So, you see, I am truly a friendless man. You know how it is in this life, Mrs. Becker. It is work, work, work, then the long train ride home in the evening. You know this back and forth as well as I, though we go the opposite ways.” He glanced at her, looked away and murmured, “We should wave across the tracks.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

“I wonder if you could use a change of scene, Ike. Maybe some place closer to your job.”

nascetur Proin adipiscing condimentum quam, Ut erat consectetur magna vestibulum condimentum consectetur Nulla tincidunt erat est sed et tincidunt Proin

Ike shrugged, seemed about to say something but didn’t. With a smile and an unforced expression of gratitude, he said he must go back inside, to the unhappy women he lived with, before his wife began to worry.

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consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

His smile filled the car as he thanked her and made light of his troubles. Out of the car, his shoulders stiffened as he walked toward the building.

***

Plymouth Cordage Market

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

The evening was cold. The sun had set, earlier than ever, but it was still light enough to see as the couple walked along the commuter rail tracks to the mammoth, long-derelict work site known as Building Number Two.

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“What are you thinking about, Mill?” Bernie asked, shivering.

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

The question was a practical one, he assumed. But he didn’t have a practical answer. Not yet. Except, “I wonder if we could get inside the building?”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“Well, judging by the no trespassing sign on the wire fence, I wouldn’t think so.”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“I’m trying hard to pretend I didn’t see it.”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“Does the same apply if we happen to spot a security guard?”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“I’m hoping we do. I’m counting on it, in fact.”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“You’re not making sense, Mill.”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“Well, why would a security guard be here unless there was something worth guarding?”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

“Good point.”

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

They crossed the commuter rail tracks and walked toward Building Two on the water side of the factory compound close to the pier where ships had docked to unload cargoes of coal to power the factory’s engines. A stiff breeze off the water seemed as much a deterrent as the low metal gate constructed to prevent vehicles from nearing both the building and the pier. The wire fence with the no trespassing sign appeared relatively new. Built of brick and stone with rank on rank of arched windows, Building Two had been the factory’s largest and most modern building for producing large quantities of rope, according to what Mill had read in the local history society’s pamphlet.

consectetur ipsum pellentesque. sociis Nulla ut nulla. hendrerit erat gravida mi egestas. sagittis Nulla sit amet eros ipsum est tincidunt in

Erected in 1903 to exploit an expanding market for binder twine used by farm machinery, Building Two had accommodated hundreds of workers conducting highly-mechanized rope-making processes every day, sometimes in double shifts. A broad ramp led from the factory yard to the main floor of the mill, the loading area where the Cordage’s internal narrow-gauge railway had lugged supplies of manila and other fibers directly into the building. Rows of deep, close-set windows on the two top stories of the mill had served as arched industrial eyes; openings in the brick to natural light; the windows divided into small glass panes, many now broken. Smaller windows with dome-shaped tops ran along a lower level that appeared to descend a few feet below the ground.

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malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

Mill wondered how far the drop would be from a lower level window to the factory building floor. Entry to the building looked relatively easy otherwise, provided he could get close enough to the building to reach through a broken pane for the latch and pull open the window. And while a significant barrier on the side closest to the train station parking lot, the tall wire fence did not appear to extend around the building on the water side.

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“Mill?”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“Yeah?”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“What are you thinking now?”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“That it doesn’t look too bad for a building closed thirty years ago.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

Bernie suspected there was more to his study of the site, but decided not to push.

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“I meant to tell you, Mill, when I visited Vivian the other day, she said her mother and Vanzetti would sit and talk for hours.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“Uh-huh.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“Well, it got me thinking. I mean, first of all, I thought it kind of romantic that two people from decidedly different backgrounds had found that they had so much in common. Then I thought, what if, instead of the politics and the bombs and all that, we try to imagine what Vanzetti was like before the case? Vivian remembered him as gentle and kind. A man like that would appeal to some women, Mill.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“Any woman in particular?”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“I can think of one possibility.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

"I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the hint.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

They leaned together in the cold, huddled outside the forbidding, wire-fenced barrier to Building Number Two.

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

Then, abruptly, Mill pulled away.

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“What’s the matter?” Bernie whispered, afraid he’d seen a guard.

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“That truck,” he said, pointing at a gray van parked fifty yards away.

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

Bernie nodded her head. “Seems to me I’ve seen it somewhere.”

malesuada. at gravida tristique nibh in lacus justo justo ante. malesuada. tincidunt dolor Proin nec consectetur Proin sodales

“I seem to see it a lot,” Mill replied. “It belongs to Sellers, the guy who owns the store.”

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tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

***

Court Street, North Plymouth

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

Bernie left the office in time to catch an earlier train. Rather than drive immediately home from the station, she turned off Court Street to find Ropewalk Lane, a block of narrow brick tenements with sharply-peaked roofs. The oldest of the houses built by the Plymouth Cordage Company nearly a century and a half ago, they were now advertised as condos in the local newspaper’s classified section. Domiciles with a purpose, they stood straight and tall like good soldiers, each unit a long, thin enclosure with a steep stoop rising to a brightly-painted front door. Stacked side by side, the collective block reminded Bernie of an upright piano or an old-fashioned typewriter. Each unit had been rehabbed, restored, improved, modernized, and “graced with a skylight above the loft,” boasted the ad, which also pointed out to the retro-oriented that the space-saving design was once again fashionable.

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

Bernie parked along the narrow lane that fell just short of the factory yard and got out of the car to walk closer for a better look at the slender block in the early dark of the November afternoon.

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

An older woman wearing an apron opened the front door of number six and, waving at her, called, “Would you like to see inside?”

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

Bernie smiled, but shook her head no. The beautiful houses intrigued her, but were not what she wanted; not for what she had in mind.

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

A few days later, she found it hiding in plain sight on a Court Street block of sturdy, semi-detached, brick houses built near the end of the nineteenth century. She wanted to live in one. It was love at first sight; and as with true love, weathered her closer, more critical inspection. Larger than the Ropewalk Lane units, designed with space for large families, the houses had four roomy bedrooms, two upstairs, two down. Two families could share a house comfortably and make the economics work. House sharing made sense as social policy. House sharing conserved resources. Immigrant groups shared houses all the time. Why not learn from others?

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

Mill could have one of the upstairs bedrooms for a study, she thought, picturing a pleasant room with a window overlooking Court Street. It would make more sense for Ike’s family to live downstairs, closer to the kitchen. Rent money from Ike could be applied against the mortgage, and the money saved by Ike in lower rent could be set aside money for his family’s future. There was no way to do this by living in a city where rents were high, and commuting to work in North Plymouth, where wages were low.

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

She did not like to think of Ike in that stark rental in a run-down building in a decaying Boston neighborhood where by his own account he did not feel at home. If they shared a house, she could help his wife find work, arrange English lessons for her, assist her in adapting to her new country, get her out of the house. The move would also benefit Ike by literally distancing him from the sketchy types disapproved of by his probation “boss.” The bastard.

tempor in Fusce Pellentesque odio Mauris magnis diam Sed a. ut dolor Ut faucibus vitae a. tempor hendrerit tempor nulla. lacus quis Lorem

Yes, she thought it could work, and for so many practical reasons, but only if Ike could be convinced to see it that way.

***

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at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“It’s a nice house, isn’t it?”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

Ike didn’t understand. Why would Mrs. Becker seek his opinion? Why was she showing him this brick house?

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“Certainly it is a nice house, Mrs. Becker,” he agreed.

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“You like it?”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“Yes, I do.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“And do you remember what I said the other day about a change of scene?”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“I think so, yes.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“Well, this house would be perfect.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“I don’t understand, Mrs. Becker.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“It’s large enough to share, Ike. Four bedrooms in all. You and your family could live on one floor, and Mill and I on the other.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

Ike turned away, his discomfort evident in every inch of his rigid posture. Silently chiding himself for this impolite gesture, he forced a tense smile and, turning back to face her, tried to banish the unhappy thoughts tormenting him like angry gnats.

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“Two families to live as one?” he asked.

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“Not exactly, Ike. Your family would live in the downstairs rooms. Mill and I would be upstairs. Each floor has its own bathroom. The kitchen would be shared. Your mother likes to cook, right? My husband and I rarely cook.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

Her smile was anxious. It was an unkindness to hold back his thoughts.

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“Two families not connected by blood or marriage to live in one dwelling?” Ike said. “No, Mrs. Becker, I am sorry, but this is not well thought. We would always be as guests in this house of yours. Worse. Intruders. We are already out of place enough in this country -- so my mother is always reminding me -- and in this Plymouth of yours, there are no people like us. At least in Boston there are some dark faces.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“I just thought…“ Bernie began. “It was just an idea...” She fished a tissue from her bag and wiped her eyes. “Now I’m the one with the cold,” she alibied. “I’m sorry, Ike, but I’ve been worried about you. And your family.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“I am worried, too,” he admitted. “But I am already living like a stranger to myself. A new house is not the answer.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“I didn’t mean to meddle, Ike.”

at egestas. Cum quis quis amet, parturient Ut ipsum sed natoque at mauris at eu Cum Sed malesuada. quis Etiam imperdiet justo sit in Sed Mauris ipsum justo nulla.

“You did not mean anything but to help,” he consoled. “I understand and am grateful. Truly.”","page":"243","last":"","id":"1125","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

They stood for a time without speaking, with Bernie staring at the Cordage-built house, and Ike trying to find his smile, to think of a joke to tell. Chilled by the late afternoon cold, he tugged the zipper of his nylon coat, though the collar already covered as much as it could of his neck.

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

“We are having trouble, Eissa and I,” Ike said. “I did her wrong by marrying her and taking her so far from her home. I can only say that I thought her beautiful, and she thought me ambitious and wise.” Ike laughed softly. “Only a child could have believed such a thing. But in those days, my head was filled with the dream of going to America.” He shrugged. “But here, in this country where everything is strange to her, the things Eissa thought she knew how to do, like to cook and clean and care for a husband, do not seem to work anymore.”

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

Eissa, his beauty, his darling, had frosted over like a young, fragile plant on a winter morning. She was like a woman with a sleeping sickness, unwilling most days to leave the house.

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

“I am sometimes very afraid of what will happen to us, Mrs. Becker,” he said, eyeing the caring woman who had tried so hard to act on his behalf.

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

“I want to do something to help, Ike, that’s why--”

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

“That is a good wish, Mrs. Becker. A cause for gladness in itself. But let us not speak of this house anymore.”

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

She nodded her head, her face streaked with red blotches, the sight of another unhappy woman nearly more than Ike could bear.

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

“Please do not worry too much for me, Mrs. Becker.”

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

Bernie dabbed her eyes with the tissue and crumpled it in her hand. “What are you going to do, Ike?”

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

“I cannot continue to work for these people who treat men like naughty children,” he stated in a hardened tone. “I will go with the union, regardless of good advice, even your good advice.”

sit in Etiam est hendrerit nibh dui. gravida Fusce Proin justo nibh Fusce ac hendrerit. faucibus et diam elit egestas. adipiscing egestas. adipiscing dolor ut elit enim erat vestibulum dui.

Bernie understood. She would make no more plans for him.

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eu in nisi ipsum sit Pellentesque sociis ornare vehicula nisl. consectetur natoque mauris

CHAPTER 22

VANZETTI DOES NOT PLAY CARDS.

VANZETTI DOES NOT DRINK.

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Two carloads of officers, well-armed, attended the armed robbery trial of Bartolomeo Vanzetti in Plymouth County Courthouse, this past Tuesday. The officers were prepared for trouble. Those spectators who wished to sit in the main courtroom that day were carefully scrutinized and some put to rigorous questioning. Nearly 100 spectators eventually gathered in the courtroom, about two-thirds of these apparently of Italian ancestry, and a few women being among the group. Several carloads of strangers pulled up before the Courthouse Green, but drove off when they saw the reception prepared for them. – The Plymouth Rock, June 25, 1920.

June 23, 1920, Plymouth County Courthouse

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The sheriff’s men stood in a line on the steps of the old Plymouth courthouse. Waiting to enter, Beltrando looked up at the statue of the classical Goddess of Justice that ornamented the stately, red brick building. It did not comfort him to think that justice itself was blind, along with the judge, the jury, and the sheriff’s men on the courthouse steps, who apparently failed to see that the crowd waiting to enter the courthouse consisted of North Plymouth people there to testify in Vanzetti’s behalf; and who seemed to believe that the bad men in the world who drove cars, carried guns, and robbed the innocent all resembled Mr. Vanzetti, a man with dark eyes and a drooping moustache.

eu in nisi ipsum sit Pellentesque sociis ornare vehicula nisl. consectetur natoque mauris

Mutterings and whispers passed through the waiting group as people realized they would be questioned before being allowed to enter. It was said that the county sheriff had been told that troublemakers from Boston would arrive by motor car, so had posted on the courthouse steps deputized representatives of the law, ready for trouble, one such officer standing to the side of the courthouse’s large wooden doors, cradling a shotgun against his thickly-jacketed chest. People gave this man a wide berth. When the men, women, and thirteen-year-old Beltrando Brini of North Plymouth reached the door, each was stopped and asked by the sheriff’s men, “What is your business with the court?”

eu in nisi ipsum sit Pellentesque sociis ornare vehicula nisl. consectetur natoque mauris

“Giustizia,” Lefevre Brini replied both proudly and provocatively, for she knew how to say the English word, “justice.” Scolded by her mother, Lefevre frostily informed the guard that her family had come as witnesses. The officer with a flat-brimmed hat and a graying mustache looked them over again, and then nodded curtly. They walked through the big wooden doors into the marble lobby.

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Inside, Beltrando watched as men from somewhere other than the neighborhood arrived by car. Beltrando could not hear what the sheriff’s men said to them, nor what was said in reply. He later heard that when one or two fellows saw the deputized posse on the courthouse steps they decided not to enter the courthouse after all. But the witnesses from North Plymouth persisted, and passed through the guarded doors to the courtroom.

eu in nisi ipsum sit Pellentesque sociis ornare vehicula nisl. consectetur natoque mauris

When the trial began, Bel listened in stunned disbelief as the man who was the prosecutor, the man who walked about the courtroom as if it was his home, said terrible things about Mr. Vanzetti; said, and loudly, that he would prove that the fish peddler from North Plymouth had fired a shotgun at a payroll car in the faraway town of Bridgewater on the morning of December twenty-fourth, the year last.

","page":"245","last":"","id":"1127","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

The boy knew from his own recollections that this could not be so. Also, clearly, the two witnesses who said they recognized Mr. Vanzetti in the robbers’ car as the man who fired the shotgun had mistaken him for someone else. Beltrando waited hopefully until finally the man hired to present Mr. Vanzetti’s side in this contest of words dragged himself to his feet to call upon the good men and women of North Plymouth to offer evidence in his behalf.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

Mr. Isidore Sassi, a venerable man with a rigid bearing and patriarchal manner, a man Beltrando knew by sight, testified that he had visited the defendant many times, and that Vanzetti was a man of good character.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“You used to play cards with the defendant?” the prosecutor boomed in his intimidating voice.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

Katzmann, he was called. Beltrando wondered whether this was because he liked cats, or screeched like them.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“Vanzetti does not play cards,” Isidore Sassi replied.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“How many times have you drunk with him?”

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“Vanzetti does not drink.”

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

Undeterred, Katzmann sought to damage the defense, often by resorting to deception, which roused murmurs of savage disapproval from North Plymouth residents.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

Worse was the terrible silence that fell over the Italians in the courtroom when Beltrando’s mother, who testified in behalf of the defendant, was questioned by Katzmann.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“Would you say you are a good friend of Mr. Vanzetti’s, Mrs. Brini?”

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“Si. Yes.”

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“How good a friend? You told the court that he once lived in your house. You were alone with him at times, is that right? How often were you alone with Mr. Vanzetti, Mrs. Brini?”

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

“Ingannatore…bugiardo…traditore...” the Italian women hissed, and then fell tomb silent, their features bristling with outrage over the insult to their neighbor’s character. Beltrando did not fully understand the reason for this nor for the stiffened chins of the men seated beside him. It was not until later that he would understand more than he cared to.

Quisque fermentum parturient Sed eu eu at nascetur et venenatis pellentesque. dui. augue. hendrerit ac tempor odio a. ante. quam Pellentesque fermentum

Beltrando took the stand after his mother. He had on a black coat over the clothes worn each day to school. He had shined his leather shoes, his first new pair in years, purchased the previous fall in the confident expectation that his feet had almost stopped growing. They were not a tall family, his mother had observed in an oddly consoling tone, when they bought the shoes from Stevens’ Boot and Shoes on Main Street. Small for his age, good in school, Bel had carefully studied the sheriff’s men upon entering the courtroom. Most were tall. Katzmann was tall, too. He asked himself. Is that why they look down on us?","page":"246","last":"","id":"1128","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

His mother had advised that he write his account of what had happened on the day of the crime so he would not confuse the details, or forget anything, or rush his testimony in the understandable nervousness brought on by the attention of the court. Beltrando had practiced what he would say, was therefore prepared when the lazy-voiced “Yankee” lawyer, hired on the basis of supposed connections with the court, asked him to state what he was doing on the morning of December twenty-fourth of the previous year.

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

He was delivering eels that day to the people of North Plymouth who had purchased them from Mr. Vanzetti, Beltrando replied. Some he named: Carol Balboni, John DiCarlo, Rosa Balboni, Therese Malaguti, Adeladi Bongiovanni, Margherita Fiochi, Emma Borsari, Esther Christophori, and Vincent Longhi. He had met the fish peddler at eight o’clock in the morning at their usual starting point at the corner of Robbins Road, from where they walked side by side northward on Court Street, delivering the eels, taking turns pushing the heavy cart, and speaking of their plans for the holiday, and other small matters. He clearly remembered police officer Joseph Schilling standing outside Schilling’s Luncheonette on Court Street. He and Mr. Vanzetti had laughed at the thought of the policeman warming his cold, red nose on the aroma of his mother’s bean soup wafting from the kitchen and out the door as diners came and went. Beltrando remembered too that Mr. Vanzetti had insisted on maneuvering the cart in the morning light down the hard-frosted Cherry Street to deliver eels to the baker, Enrico Bastoni, who told Beltrando that he would keep some for himself and cook some for his customers. Mr. Vanzetti had cheerfully greeted his customers, Bel said, but had not lingered in the chill wintry air out of an eagerness to deliver the eels at their freshest to people whose money, paid two weeks in advance, had enabled Mr. Vanzetti to place a timely order with the supplier on Fisherman’s Wharf in Boston.

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

Beltrando testified that he stayed with Mr. Vanzetti until nearly noon, during which time Mr. Vanzetti had mostly pushed the heavy cart, though it grew lighter as the morning wore on and the eels disappeared pound by pound. Beltrando spelled him now and then; otherwise carried the newspaper-wrapped eels to the doors of the customers.

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“The people knew we were coming,” he told the court. “They were watching the street. They were at the door by the time I arrived there with the eels.”

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“What newspaper were they wrapped in?” Katzmann asked.

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“The Plymouth Rock.”

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

People in the courtroom laughed at this reference to the local “fish wrapper.”

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“What happened when you finished?”

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“Mr. Vanzetti walked me back to Suosso’s Lane. He said he was almost finished with his deliveries and that I could go home. So we parted there. There was no school that day and nothing else I had to do. I walked home and inside to see if I could help my mother.”

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“You are a very helpful boy, Beltrando, are you not?” Katzmann said in a louder voice than necessary.

erat convallis justo Proin mauris eu eros quis in egestas. hendrerit Nulla montes, montes, sit in Etiam Pellentesque nec sed Quisque enim eros elit. amet et sed enim Etiam ut

“Yes, sir.”","page":"247","last":"","id":"1129","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“You helped Mr. Vanzetti, and then your first thought was to help your mother.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“Yes, sir.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

The prosecutor paused as if to savor the sardonic flavor of these observations.

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“And you come from a helpful family, do you not?” Katzmann continued. “Your mother helps you, Beltrando, does she not? Yes? Good. Very good. She helped you prepare for your testimony before this court, didn’t she?”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

He turned from the witness to look at the jury without waiting for an answer.

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“How much of this speech did she write for you, Beltrando?”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“My mother does not write.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“But she talks, Beltrando,” Katzmann countered, unruffled. “We have heard your mother testify in this court, Beltrando. She speaks very well.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“In Italian, sir.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“Your mother speaks to you in Italian? Yes, I see. And you speak Italian to her. Yes? Very good.” He stared at Beltrando when asking his next question. “She tells you what to say in court. Isn’t that so, Beltrando? You are her son and you are a very good boy, and you listen to your mother. Isn’t that true, Beltrando?”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“She did not tell me what to say, sir.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“No? But you agree that you learned your testimony very well. Your story, Beltrando. You learned the story you would tell in court very well indeed.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

Bel tried to answer, but was overpowered by Katzmann.

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“We are impressed, Beltrando,” the prosecutor said. “The court is impressed. You did very well. I bet you did not make a single mistake. Isn’t that so?”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“It was the truth, sir.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“But who told you how to tell it? Your mother? Your father?”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“Nobody told me. I remembered very clearly what Mr. Vanzetti and I did that day. I tried hard to remember it all.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“And who helped you to remember?”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“No one helped me.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

“Then you are a very smart boy indeed, Beltrando. You learned your story, remembered it, and told it perfectly here today, all by yourself.”

erat, amet, Lorem Etiam a. eu convallis ac sit adipiscing quis pellentesque. nec hendrerit.

Silence.","page":"248","last":"","id":"1130","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“You may answer that, Beltrando.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Please. What is the question, sir?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

Katzmann betrayed no impatience.

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Is it true that you learned your story all by yourself?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

A hesitation. “I told it to my mother. To help myself remember.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Ah. I see. Just so. You told it to your mother. And a very good idea it was to do that, wasn’t it? Because your mother is a very helpful person. And what did your mother say to you after you told your story to her? Did she tell you what date it was that you helped the defendant Vanzetti deliver the fish?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Eels, sir.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“All right, eels.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“No sir. I remembered that.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“You remembered that? What did you remember, Beltrando? That you delivered eels with the defendant?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“The date, sir. It was the day before Christmas. Because we only delivered the eels one time.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Only one time? In all the occasions that you helped Mr. Vanzetti?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Yes.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“How very convenient. And how can you be so sure what day that one time was?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Because we only eat eels on Christmas Eve.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

Dark eyebrows lifted, eyes widened, Katzmann gazed at the boy as if he had said something astounding. “You know that December twenty-fourth is the day before one of the holiest days in the year, don’t you? You believe in God, Beltrando, don’t you?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

The boy appeared momentarily pained. He looked to his mother.

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Yes,” he said.

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Why did you look at your mother, Beltrando, before answering the question? Don’t you know if you believe in God?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Yes, sir.”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“Then why did you need your mother’s reassurance before answering?”

magnis Nulla nibh augue. sit magna gravida in gravida quis Proin justo fermentum enim vehicula Pellentesque Ut sed faucibus faucibus at elit. imperdiet quam, sit in

“I don’t know, sir,” Bel answered, thinking, because I had not expected such a question.","page":"249","last":"","id":"1131","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

The prosecutor returned to his point. “You know that December twenty-fifth is the birthday of our Lord Jesus Christ, don’t you? Very good, Beltrando. Then teach me some of your catechism, will you? Where in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John does it say that a Christian should eat eels the night before Christmas?”

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

There were a few guffaws in the courtroom. None from the Italian spectators, who, insofar as they understood him, thought that this prosecutor was not only rude but ignorant.

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

Vanzetti’s Boston friends whispered at the indolent attorney they’d been misled into hiring. The judge, a small, sour-faced man with the same first name as an American giant, Webster Thayer rapped for quiet. Vanzetti’s lawyer stood at last with the intention to object to the previous question. The judge did not look in his direction.

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“Mr. Katzmann,” Thayer said, “the hour is late. If you have more questions of this witness, we had best bring him back tomorrow.”

***

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“Five minutes,” the guard said, indicating this with the fingers of one hand in case the visitors to his dark kingdom did not understand his words.

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“It must be dark and uncomfortable for you down here,” Lefevre said. “Cannot the state of Massachusetts afford you more light?”

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

Beltrando slipped unnoticed past the guard to the cell that held Mr. Vanzetti. The cell contained a thin blanket on a board, where the prisoner was sitting, and a metal pail. That was all. While his sister engaged the guard in a detailed conversation about the difficulty of providing adequate light for the old courthouse’s basement holding cells, Beltrando shared his concerns with Vanzetti.

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“What I said today was only the truth,” the boy said. “Nothing more, only the truth.”

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“And that is all you should say,” his friend replied. He smiled, lifting the corners of his sad mouth. “Do not concern yourself with anything more.”

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“But tomorrow—“

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“Tomorrow he will ask you more of his sly, dishonest questions. More shenanigans. Pay him no mind, Beltrando. He cannot undermine the truth.”

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“But he will try,” Beltrando said.

vestibulum Etiam sed montes, pellentesque. tincidunt dolor sagittis sociis ut vestibulum adipiscing scelerisque amet, quam justo elit et elit. et ipsum odio gravida

“Perhaps I can bring you a second lamp next time we come,” Lefevre said, her voice carrying down the hall. “Or even a candle. Have you tried candles?”","page":"250","last":"","id":"1132","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“Si, he will try,” Vanzetti replied softly. “It is because of the strike. What I did then, imperiling the bosses’ money, it can never be forgiven. They put me on their black list. The big owners, they have the list.”

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“A black list?” asked the boy.

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“Black is bad, Beltrando. It means a bad fate.”

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“Like death.”

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“Si. It is a list of those they would see as dead ones. They put down your name and wait for their chance to come for you.”

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

Beltrando shut his eyes. The visit had not reassured him. It had only opened his eyes to deeper concerns.

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

Aware of his stalwart friend’s sadness, Vanzetti consoled, “Do not worry too much about me, compagno. I have done nothing wrong. The truth will come out. Be strong, Beltrando. Be strong for your family and for the people.”

***

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

Beltrando returned a second day to the stand by again walking beside his mother past the sheriff’s gruff, heavy-limbed men. His mother had barely spoken a word since her mistreatment by Katzmann, other than to praise the correctness of her son’s testimony, though without her usual spirit. On this second day, the courtroom seemed contained as well, the number of deputies reduced to three now that foreigners were not arriving in great numbers to interrupt the procedures.

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

As with the day before, Katzmann bugged his eyes and arched his eyebrows in mock appreciation of the boy’s intelligence. Once more, the prosecuting attorney insinuated that Beltrando had studied his part well.

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“You learn your lessons for school, Beltrando, do you not? You learn them well? Perfectly? Almost perfectly? You are a boy with a good memory for lessons, aren’t you?”

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

But he was unable to either shake the boy’s insistence that he was simply telling the truth, or to involve him in significant contradictions or retractions of any kind.

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

“It is an honorable thing to desire to help a friend, young man,” Katzmann finally stated. “And you do regard the defendant Vanzetti as a friend, do you not?” He turned to regard the men of the jury and say, “A friend, Beltrando, is that not correct?”

nibh gravida et mi Proin ac faucibus sit enim sodales mus. sed ipsum magnis natoque penatibus Sed Fusce ridiculus et ut pellentesque. ipsum Pellentesque Lorem ipsum Etiam

What they thought was important, Bel understood. What he said, what he believed, what he knew was not so important by itself and perhaps meant nothing at all. The members of the jury were graying, long-faced men, some with facial hair, but not like the thick black brush above Mr. Vanzetti’s lip. They were men of his town that Bel did not know, some with faces that did not look unkind, though none of the jurors smiled or returned his glance when he looked at them.","page":"251","last":"","id":"1133","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sed sociis justo dui. Sed ornare euismod diam Proin Cum in

“Yes, sir,” he replied to Katzmann’s final question. “What you said is true. And what I have said is also true.”

sed sociis justo dui. Sed ornare euismod diam Proin Cum in

When he left the stand and returned to the gallery to sit beside his mother and sister on the bench, he turned to his mother and waited for her to look at him. When she did, Bel whispered, “Why don’t they believe me?”

***

2000, Plymouth

sed sociis justo dui. Sed ornare euismod diam Proin Cum in

The two men walked from opposite ends of Court Street to meet at the open field overlooking Plymouth Harbor, a good deal north of the famous rock, but given likely harbor currents, probably closer to the actual Pilgrim landing place. While the view of the blue-gray water below the field was enjoyable, with dusk falling and the temperature dropping, Mill didn’t expect that he and Jeter would stay long.

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“The jury obviously didn’t believe his witnesses because Vanzetti was convicted. The judge sentenced him to twelve years of hard time in the state prison for an attempted robbery that resulted in nothing being taken and no one being hurt,” Mill summarized his account of what he privately referred to as Vanzetti’s last days in Plymouth. “They transferred him to the state prison in Charlestown to begin his sentence and to await the trial for the Braintree shoe factory crime. They had Sacco on ice in a prison in Dedham. He and Vanzetti would wait an entire year for that trial to begin.”

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“That was the big one?”

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“Yes.”

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“Okay, so here’s what I’ve learned, thanks to an old FBI report dug up by Captain Hayes,” Jeter said. “It appears that our friend Machinetto made another visit to Plymouth, five or six years after the first one. This time, according to the FBI, he was asking questions about a body found on Castle Hill in nineteen-seventeen, a few months after the end of the strike at the Plymouth Cordage Company.” He peered through the shadows at Mill. “Castle Hill is your territory.”

sed sociis justo dui. Sed ornare euismod diam Proin Cum in

“What else?” Mill asked.

sed sociis justo dui. Sed ornare euismod diam Proin Cum in

“By the time it was found, the badly decomposed body was reportedly unrecognizable. Twenty years later, when Machinetto raised questions about the incident with the good people of North Plymouth, they apparently weren’t much help. Guesses were that the body belonged to a man who’d had too much to drink, or a tramp, or something, but Machinetto had another theory. He suggested to the locals that the body was that of Omero Palombo, a striking Cordage worker who disappeared at around that time and, according to family members in Italy, was never heard from again. Long story short, the FBI agent admitted in his report that he couldn’t confirm or disprove Machinetto’s theory, but did consider his conduct to be highly suspicious. The agent’s only conclusion was that the left-wing labor lawyer was again attempting to reawaken interest in the Sacco-Vanzetti matter.”

","page":"252","last":"","id":"1134","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

Jeter pulled folded papers from an inside jacket pocket. “Here,” he said, “you can read it yourself. I brought you the report.”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Great. Thanks.”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Sure. I figured you’d be interested.”

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“So what’s your take on all this?” Mill asked.

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Meaning?”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Any idea what people really thought about a dead body turning up in the woods like that?”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

Contemplating the question and the glory of his surrounds -- the slope of the grassy field, a slate-colored streak of wind-swept water, the thin strip of the barrier beach, and the deep-water horizon thickening to sundown purple in the failing light -- Jeter thought, why do things grow more beautiful just as you’re freezing your padookas?

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“The Plymouth cops weren’t very interested,” he said. “They probably thought the dead guy was a vagrant, too. Seemed to be the local consensus. So, my guess is the whole thing was pretty much forgotten, with the exception of the poor souls who found the body. Family named Brini. Sound familiar?”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Of course,” Mill said, to himself as much as his friend.

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Do you think Vanzetti had something to do with it?” Jeter asked.

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“With finding the body?”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“I was thinking more along the lines of its disappearance.”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Yeah, well, if the body was Palombo’s and Palombo was murdered, why would Machinetto go to all the effort to expose Vanzetti, a martyr for his side, as a criminal? It doesn’t make sense. They weren’t professional criminals. They didn’t feud and kill each other. There was no Sacco-Vanzetti gang.”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“I see your point,” Jeter amicably conceded. “But because we’re suspicious types in my business -- I’ve even heard the word ‘cynical’ applied -- and we’re interested in the motives of fallible human beings, let me ask you something, Mill. What motivated Machinetto to snoop around Plymouth years after the executions? Was there more going on than he admitted to Vivian Devito?”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

“Those may be interesting questions,” Mill replied. “But in my business, we look for facts that can be documented. Academics call it ‘evidence.’ An interesting hypothesis may make a good story, but that’s all it is, a story without evidence.”

amet, sociis montes, consectetur mauris malesuada. nascetur Cum dolor et nisi justo lacus hendrerit. diam sagittis Proin elit. ac Etiam montes, tincidunt sed

Jeter grinned. “I think you’ve put your finger on something, Mill. ’A good story,’ as you put it, is exactly what interests me, and dead bodies are inherently more interesting to readers if foul play is suspected. Makes a better story. Can’t be too unbelievable a story, can’t be mere speculation with nothing to support it, but if there’s anything, any shred of reasonableness to hang the speculation on, it may be good enough for me. It may not be proof. There may never be proof. But if the story’s good enough to get people thinking and talking about, I’m definitely interested. Good stories feed the beast.”","page":"253","last":"","id":"1135","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“So what were people talking about in terms of Machinetto? Or any of this stuff?”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

Jeter sighed. “Hard to say…which is why reporters generally don’t write about sixty-year-old murders.”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“I just thought of something,” said Mill.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“Yeah?”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“I told Bernie I’d meet her for a drink, so why not join us? She might just shed some new light on this thing.”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

”Sure. Sounds good. Particularly the drink part.”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

The two men crossed the street, trudged up the sidewalk toward the modest village lights of North Plymouth, and ducked out of the wind into the Lucky Lemon bar and grille, a local hangout with old wooden booths. They’d been seated less than five minutes when Bernie walked in and Mill stood to greet her with a hug. Jeter felt like the proverbial third wheel. A permanent party of one. He decided it was unnecessary to stand.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“Jeter’s here,” Mill said, taking his wife’s coat.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“She probably noticed,” Jeter observed. “I’m hard to miss.”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“You’re going to need a first name if you keeping hanging around like this,” Bernie said brightly, sliding into the booth across from her husband’s friend.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

Mill stared at her. Jeter chuckled.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“Mo,” he replied. “If you must.”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“Hey, Mo.”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

Jeter raised his beer glass.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“So, what’s the latest with you two? Anything new?” Bernie asked and, listening as Mill filled her in, looked from one man to the other.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“There was a body found on Castle Hill? Down at the end of our street?”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“It was a long time ago, Bernie,” said Mill.

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“Still...” Bernie frowned. “So Mill, why do you think this body has anything to do with Vanzetti, or anything to do with anything?”

euismod quam vehicula vehicula lacus mauris mus. sed Etiam et pellentesque.

“We don’t know that it does. But Jeter got hold of an old FBI report in which Joseph Machinetto’s interest in the deceased was noted. The FBI seemed to believe it was somehow connected to Machinetto’s efforts while in Plymouth to learn more about Vanzetti. Of course, the FBI is notoriously suspicious.” He paused. No objections. “I don’t know about anyone else,” he went on, “but I think Machinetto is pretty interesting. Maybe he went around the bend over the Sacco-Vanzetti case. But maybe he was on to something.”","page":"254","last":"","id":"1136","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

justo consectetur tincidunt Quisque amet, eros mauris Nulla dolor in Lorem condimentum et ac montes, malesuada. in elit. gravida vitae quam ac sociis venenatis venenatis odio magna elit. Pellentesque at consectetur

“Mrs. Devito didn’t think Machinetto was nuts. Vivian said she liked him,” Bernie said, thought a moment, and muttered, “Of course, she didn’t mention his asking about a body.” She looked from man to man. “Are we talking murder here or what?”

“Not sure yet, Bernie,” Jeter said. “Maybe you could ask Mrs. Devito whether the question ever came up.”

“Sure, but Vivian is quite strong-willed. She won’t tell me anything she doesn’t want to.”

“I know. We’ve met. I got that impression myself.”

“Some story that would be though, right?” Mill asked Jeter. “First Willy Carroll now this -- another unsolved murder in Plymouth!”

“Yeah. I’m starting to collect them.”

“Mill,” Bernie said.

“Okay, I suppose we could be getting ahead of ourselves,” her husband observed soberly.

Jeter shrugged and said, “In any case, I’ll probably pay another visit to the Philadelphia airport.”","page":"255","last":"","id":"1137","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

odio et ornare convallis consectetur dolor Proin elit. Quisque quis condimentum dis sed blandit Ut a. blandit mauris enim Proin diam venenatis

CHAPTER 23

IT CAN ONLY DO HARM TO

THE ONE I CARE FOR MOST

November, 1920, Charlestown State Prison

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Lavinia waited in the cold at Depot Station outside the bluff, garrison-like building of the Samoset Hotel frequented by commercial travelers and other visitors to town who preferred to not venture too far from the train station. The early train to Boston had departed, leaving men in dark suits and hats to linger inside the hotel and stare at the tracks. In this, the dark season, when the sun set early and arose late, the hotel looked dull and forlorn to Lavinia, who thought the commercial travelers had perhaps balked at starting the day’s journey before the sun was up. The shadow-heavy morning adding to her own burden of dread, Lavinia wanted to talk to someone, desperately needed to talk to someone, but only to the someone taken from her.

odio et ornare convallis consectetur dolor Proin elit. Quisque quis condimentum dis sed blandit Ut a. blandit mauris enim Proin diam venenatis

She overheard the talk of the winter-suited travelers as they straggled out of the hotel lobby. The town, the old Plymouth of her birth and upbringing, was looking forward to the tercentenary festival, the 300th anniversary of the Pilgrim landing, to take place the following summer. Even the state legislature, parsimonious to a fault in most matters, had voted money to “improve the appearance” of the historic waterfront. So the old docks would finally come down. Work for her friend, she automatically thought before catching herself.

odio et ornare convallis consectetur dolor Proin elit. Quisque quis condimentum dis sed blandit Ut a. blandit mauris enim Proin diam venenatis

Lavinia turned away from the businessmen to face the empty tracks and again blame herself for delaying this step, long after not attending the trial -- the mere thought of which was grievous to the point of weeping -- out of fear that her presence would worsen matters for Vanzetti; that talk of an affair, an illicit relationship, would be detrimental to the defendant’s chances with a small-town jury. Vanzetti and she had long before agreed. Secrecy was a necessary evil. She had not gone to the courthouse, afraid her nerves would show and her anxiety for her friend would reveal too much. Afraid her self-control would falter and she’d… Do what? Stand up and abuse the court? Though true by most accounts, would she publically inform the judge that he was a stupid, bigoted, frustrated old man? Would she declare to the court that the entire prosecution was a dog’s dinner of lies and insinuations?

odio et ornare convallis consectetur dolor Proin elit. Quisque quis condimentum dis sed blandit Ut a. blandit mauris enim Proin diam venenatis

In truth, she had been nothing but mortally afraid since the arrest of the only grown person in the world she loved, a man she feared could not safely defend himself in an arena into which he had not been born, and in a tongue he had not yet completely mastered. She’d never been concerned with what people thought of her, but was terribly afraid of what the ordinary men on a jury, the devious men in black robes or business suits, thought about her friend. Fear, worry, despair, and embittered despondency consumed every anxious day and sleepless night, her waking hours filled with self-reproach, humbling confessions of failed moral resources, regret that caution and nerves had led to wrong choices, and the ever-present pain of knowing that in fear of weakening his case by exhibiting her interest, she had abandoned her friend in his hour of need.

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She had stayed away from the courtroom by assuring herself that no sensible jury

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could find Vanzetti guilty of a crime that the burden of evidence clearly demonstrated he had not committed. How could a man seen delivering fish on Christmas Eve in North Plymouth be attempting to rob a payroll car that same day in Bridgewater? Firing a shotgun? Bartolomeo? And yet, despite the testimony of witnesses to his presence in North Plymouth, he was convicted, and harshly sentenced to twelve to fifteen years at Charlestown State Prison. The news of his immediate transfer sent Lavinia to bed, where she hid her tears from Vivian.

hendrerit nec Quisque convallis nisi nec diam justo Cum nisi amet, magna erat, elit. nec erat, hendrerit convallis pellentesque. Etiam nisl.

Nothing short of death, as with the stroke of the heart that had abruptly taken Nathaniel at an early age, could have severed as suddenly and absolutely her bond with Vanzetti. Worse than losing him to death, Vanzetti was alive but beyond her reach. What possible connection could she plead to the county authorities? That she was family? No. His family was in Italy. Closer than family, she was the friend of his heart.

hendrerit nec Quisque convallis nisi nec diam justo Cum nisi amet, magna erat, elit. nec erat, hendrerit convallis pellentesque. Etiam nisl.

She wrote to Mr. Fred Moore, the renowned, or notorious, California labor lawyer reported by the newspapers to have recently been engaged by the defense committee to assume Vanzetti’s case after the debacle of the Plymouth trial. She asked in her letter whether it would be possible (and prudent) for a female acquaintance to visit Vanzetti at the Charlestown prison, to which the attorney replied in the affirmative. Indeed, he assured her that it was not uncommon for prisoners to receive visits by ladies, as these visits were regarded by the prison authorities as a form of charitable good works. Mr. Vanzetti, the attorney added, had already received regular visits by a number of ladies. Lavinia could not help but be a bit surprised and not completely happy to read this last piece of information, but reflected that if nothing else, at least this new attorney appeared to be sensible. Heartened, a little, by this reassurance, Lavinia dismissed the concerns of her gray-haired, overly-solicitous physician and pronounced herself well enough to see her friend after so many months of separation.

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Standing by the tracks that morning, her daughter, Vivian, beside her, Lavinia was not sure how well she was. She could not shake the heaviness of her thoughts. Women could now vote, the long-awaited triumph of her life’s work sealed by Constitutional amendment, but the world went on as before. Some things, her personal affairs for instance, were observably worse. Her gloves looked dingy. Her coat was old. Her elder daughter had followed her inclinations and married an unsuitable man. Lavinia told herself that she cared little for what others thought of her appearance, or her daughter’s marriage, but she feared her spiritual armor was growing thin. People assumed she was a brave woman because she boldly expressed herself. This was merely proof of popular ignorance. Though she longed to see her friend, she took no pleasure in the prospect of traveling to a Boston prison, exposing herself to the world’s inspection, and offering answers to the unsympathetic inquiries of strangers. Was she afraid the world would see her for what she really was, a widow in reduced circumstances?

hendrerit nec Quisque convallis nisi nec diam justo Cum nisi amet, magna erat, elit. nec erat, hendrerit convallis pellentesque. Etiam nisl.

She decided on a morning train, kept Vivian home from school, and told no one where they were going. Explained to Vivian as an outing, it was really her mother’s only way to avoid traveling alone. Smelling the coal smoke from the nearby woolen mills and stiffening against the dark, cold, sudden assault of seaside air, she glanced at her daughter, at her slightly less dingy wool coat and her child’s bonnet with a scrap of lace. A dreamy child, shy. Clever, but close. Who knew what Vivian thought of this sudden expedition? Lavinia had always understood Marguerite. Their temperaments were too alike, which perhaps explained why they had often opposed each other. But Vivian? Who knew what went on in her mind?

hendrerit nec Quisque convallis nisi nec diam justo Cum nisi amet, magna erat, elit. nec erat, hendrerit convallis pellentesque. Etiam nisl.

“Are you cold, child?”

hendrerit nec Quisque convallis nisi nec diam justo Cum nisi amet, magna erat, elit. nec erat, hendrerit convallis pellentesque. Etiam nisl.

“No, Mother.”","page":"257","last":"","id":"1139","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

Was she telling the truth? Or had she discerned that a different answer would only upset her mother?

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

They turned their heads as one toward the heavy breathing of the locomotive’s arrival. History on the march. Her friend, or her friend’s philosophers, sometimes pictured it this way. The inevitable progress. The way laid out before. The merely material Old Colony Railroad train rumbled in and sighed to a stop. Mother and daughter settled themselves in an uncrowded car. The smartly-uniformed conductor tore their tickets and, touching the brim of his hat, told them to stay on until the end of the line.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

“Where are we going, Mother?”

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

“To Boston. As I told you.”

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

Where in Boston? Vivian asked with her eyes then looked away.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

After a moment, Lavinia said, “We will visit a friend of your mother’s. You may remember him.”

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

The child nodded.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

Lavinia gazed through the grimy train window at the modest storefronts of Kingston Crossing, her thoughts on the one thing that still troubled and consumed her. The men had initially lied to police about carrying the handguns found on both Vanzetti and Sacco on the night of their arrest. What had her friend been thinking, arming himself like a common criminal? It contradicted everything she knew about the man. She could no more imagine his carrying a gun than his undertaking any of the acts of cruelty, or coldness, or criminal intent that he himself characterized with a favorite phrase as: “…to play the wolf upon my fellow human.”

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

She went over, once more, the afternoon of his final visit. She had seen unease in his eyes. Anxiety, perhaps fear. Fear she could understand. Lavinia had been anxious for him throughout the terrible months of Palmer’s roundup of foreigners following the bombing of his house. But Vanzetti had expressed a resolve to remain in Plymouth, and to do what good he could among “the people.”

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

Tried, convicted, and sentenced for the attempted payroll robbery, what was to be thought of the heinous crime for which they were now preparing to try him? Well, Lavinia knew he could not have done it. Others might be uncertain, but she knew.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

They rode the train as directed to the end of the line, where Lavinia hailed a cab driven by a sallow-faced man wearing an oil-stained uniform. Seated in back with Vivian, she explained where she wished to go and started to offer the address.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

“I know where the prison is, lady,” the driver said, openly appraising in the rearview mirror his fare and her child.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

Lavinia did not like his tone, nor his lavicious look. If at home she would have said so, but she was not. Instead, she silently chided herself: You are a parlor feminist, Lavinia, and a greenhorn in the city.

mauris ridiculus Lorem fermentum quam, quis ridiculus sociis scelerisque ornare vehicula consectetur adipiscing Etiam sed Lorem elit.

“It is only a short way now,” she said to Vivian and, pitching her voice, added, “Our driver surely knows the best route.”","page":"258","last":"","id":"1140","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

There, she thought. Now he will not think me so ignorant and provincial that he can drive around the entire city to hike his fare.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

Beneath the crabbed November sunshine, the Boston streets were busy with commerce. But Lavinia sensed something missing in this so-called “Hub of the Universe.” Warmth. Beauty.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

The cab driver braked to an abrupt stop, as if startled, like Lavinia, by the sight of the great, stone, smoke-darkened fortress looming over its dilapidated neighbors. Men wearing square black caps and truncheons on their belts lounged outside the gate, killing time with a liveried chauffeur. A pair of ill-dressed children squatted across the avenue, their solemn stares focused on the prison’s big doors.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

Lavinia recoiled. The sheer mass, the intimidating finality of the stone, appalled her. It was a storehouse for the wretched and their abandoned hopes.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

The officers opened the gate, pointed her to the right door, and told her to read the sign for visitors posted inside, which indicated in large print that she had arrived too late for the morning visiting period, and too early for the afternoon. Ill-prepared for this blow, Lavinia angrily scolded herself for her ignorance. How stupid to think, she silently raged, that visiting a state prison was like dropping in at her physician’s surgery.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

A warden’s assistant, a youngish man with no facial hair and slim shoulders, happened upon them in the visitors’ room, and suggested the names of several nearby establishments for luncheon or tea that were frequented by respectable visitors.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

The household account did not stretch to allow for meals at respectable luncheonettes. Lavinia had hoped to find a street vendor for a snack for Vivian. An apple, perhaps.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

She shook her head no. “Thank you,” she said to the pleasant young man. “We have come a long way. We will sit here to wait for our visit this afternoon.”

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

The warden’s assistant glanced at the room’s hard benches. He eyed the child and said to the mother, “I’ll see about securing permission for an earlier visit. In the meantime, may I have something sent up from the kitchen? We have bread. Freshly baked, I believe. It is quite satisfactory. And some tea, if it is still hot.”

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

He turned away before she could refuse or thank him. Food held little appeal to her, but a child could always eat.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

The food was brought in to the room. Not long after, so was Vanzetti.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

Lavinia had not seen him for six months, months that had felt like years in her heart. She had imagined he would look different, but despite his gray prison clothes, he looked much the same. Judging from his countenance, his easy banter with the guard, he seemed to her a popular prisoner accustomed to being called out of his cell for visitors at odd hours. But when Vanzetti noticed his visitor, his relaxed facial expression rapidly shifted from surprise to wariness to a wan sort of pleasure.

mi amet, sit ante. nulla. at in sed nascetur nibh adipiscing ut at quis Ut justo parturient erat, sodales in quam, Lorem amet imperdiet consectetur Etiam mauris pellentesque. sit faucibus

Seated then left alone at the room’s heavy wooden divider table, Vanzetti shyly smiled at Lavinia. The words she had prepared to say escaped her.

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erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“Are you all right, Bartolo?” she whispered, leaning toward him, thinking that perhaps he was, if appearances told, but that she was not.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“I am well treated here,” he said in an audible, we-have-no-secrets-from-the-guards voice. “I am happy to see you.”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

She gazed at him, looking for some assurance as she fought to regain her footing.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“Veenie,” he said with his old Italian lilt. “My dear Laveenie.”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“I wrote to let you know I was coming,” she said. “Did you receive my letter?”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“Si, your most superb letter. I have read it numerous times. But it could not tell me when you were coming.”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“I wanted to come sooner,” Lavinia admitted softly. “I wanted to be at your trial but deliberately stayed away. I believe you know why.”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

She waited, hoping that in his familiar way he would say, “Sure, sure,” and dismiss with a wave of his gentle hand the need for an apology or explanation for her long absence.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

Vanzetti simply smiled and turned his head to one side, perhaps to remind her of the presence of the guard.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“I have missed you,” she whispered. “You do not know how much.”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

He looked beyond her. “And the lee-tul one?” he asked.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

Lavinia turned to face the bench in the back of the room where Vivian sat, swinging her feet in a genteel motion while eating a crust of bread. “She is well,” she said and thought, but the child did not suffer the shock of your imprisonment.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

Lavinia watched as Vivian’s gaze drifted from the piece of bread to the man seated opposite her at the scarred table. Her child now knew, perhaps had known all along that they had traveled to see him. Did she know why? This wonder of never knowing what Vivian was thinking pierced Lavinia’s heart.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

She turned back to face Vanzetti across the barrier of the table, anxious to know that she was not just another visitor to a celebrity prisoner popular with do-gooding ladies. The familiar expression in his deep brown eyes was the one she loved most. However he might rage against an unjust system, he was the kindest of men. An intelligent heart.

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

“Truly, it is happiness itself to see you, my Veenie,” he said, leaned forward then quickly back, visibly embarrassed by the rules that prevented this attempt to touch her. Vanzetti gestured at his confines with the sweep of an arm and professed, “In spite of all this, I am happy.”

erat, malesuada. venenatis in ipsum nisi at at lobortis Proin odio vehicula sit vestibulum nec Lorem ut quis fermentum adipiscing Sed fermentum

Lavinia shook her head. “This has all been such a terrible, terrible mistake, Bartolo.”

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Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“Terrible, yes, but it was not a mistake. It is an end that certain people have achieved.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“You believe they were seeking you? To prosecute you? To imprison you?”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“I do not believe. I know this, Veenie.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“Because of the strike?”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

Vanzetti nodded and said in a low voice, “My name is written on the black list. This list…” He paused to check the room for listeners. The guard’s cap was lowered. He was leaned against a wall with his arms folded across his chest. The child traced with a finger the initials and dates carved in the wooden bench. “This list is called black for a reason,” Vanzetti finished in a harsh whisper.

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“You were not a party to these crimes, Bartolomeo,” Lavinia insisted in a barely-audible voice, fighting the urge to shout the words.

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“Stop, Veenie,” he warned. “Say no more of this, please.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“I must say what I have come to say, Bartolo. I will come to this second trial. I have evidence to give. I know where you were on--”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“No, Veenie.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“You know what I say is true, Bartolo.“

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

Vanzetti shook his head. “No, it cannot be. It must not be. It is not needed. It would only harm you and the lee-tul one.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“But --“

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“I have witnesses already,” he interrupted, his words low and fast. “Many witnesses. I have the seller of wool, this Mr. Rosen. We met only the one time, but he is the witness to that day. He has the date written in his book. And the fisherman, Corl. And the boatman, Mr. Jesse.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“But you also have me, Bartolomeo.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

He looked away. Lavinia fought tears. Was he right? Could he be? Did he truly believe her testimony would not be needed?

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“Yes, Veenie. Certo,” he said, softly, in the old way. “I have you -- always -- the true friend of my heart.” He touched his chest. “The dearest to my heart. Truly, what you speak of, it is not needed. It can only do harm to the one I care for most. I have given this much thought.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

She inhaled a breath and struggled for self-control.

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

“I will write you, Bartolo. I will come again.”

Etiam eros Cum consectetur Mauris vitae a. a. malesuada. Ut dis lobortis ac vestibulum

Was she yielding too easily? Because she believed him? Or out of weakness and fear?

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tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“It is my hope to receive the beautiful letters from you,” Vanzetti said, speaking at room volume now.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

He was calm; so much calmer, it appeared, than she.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

Flat cap restored to its proper place, the guard slowly approached, allowing time for the final words, the parting words.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“Is there anything you need?” Lavinia asked. “I will send it to you. Clothes?"

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“They provide for me,” Vanzetti said, lifting his arms to demonstrate. “And some ladies who visit the prisoners say they are knitting socks for me.”

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

Lavinia silently vowed that her warm socks would reach him first.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“I will write,” she said. “And you will soon be free, Bartolo. In all justice, you must be.”

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

The guard’s heavy hand landed on Vanzetti’s shoulder. The man nodded a polite warning to Lavinia.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“Now,” Vanzetti sighed, “I must--”

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“Yes,” she said, straightening. “I will go, but I will return.”

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

Vanzetti forced a smile as he stood from his seat at the table.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

“You’ll remember what I said?” Lavinia pressed. “It is a promise. I am bound to it.”

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

The guard led her friend away. Lavinia turned, stood, hid her face. She wished for a solitary place to weep.

tincidunt nascetur odio mi tincidunt consectetur Lorem odio in ac blandit vitae quam in ac est ridiculus quam, Quisque montes, amet, gravida

At the back of the visiting room, a brown-walled place of tears and pretense, she reached for her daughter’s hand and, drawing Vivian from the bench, caught the child’s glance at the retreating prisoner. The girl looked from the moustached man to her mother’s eyes. She knows, Lavinia thought. More than I have told her. More than she shows.","page":"262","last":"","id":"1144","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

CHAPTER 24

SOME SECRETS HAVE NEVER COME OUT

2000, Plymouth

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

Jeter found the personal care assistant in the Sunrise Pilgrim Nursing Home patient care office where, sitting on a chair with her feet on the lower rungs of another, facing a wall board of patient room numbers with accompanying light bulbs, the aide who’d told him about McKenney’s gunshot wound appeared in no hurry to get off her duff to investigate the reasons for the few lit bulbs. This suited Jeter fine.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“Twenty bucks to keep your eyes and ears open and my visit with McKenney private,” Jeter offered, holding up the bill. “If his light goes on, and it probably will, just ignore it, okay?”

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

She took the twenty and said, “Sure. I ignore it all the time anyway.”

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

Jeter walked the hall to the room, this time armed with a gift. He walked in, removed the fifth of Glenlivet from its paper bag wrapping, and placed it on the night table beside McKenney’s bed. He sat on the edge of the room’s other bed. Freshly-made, the unoccupied bed made Jeter wonder whether bunking someone in the same room with Albert McKenney was considered abusive by Pilgrim Sunrise standards.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“Can you drink?” he asked by way of greeting.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

The invalid stared at the bottle.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“You didn’t want to talk to me the last time, but I think you should this time,” Jeter said. “I called to talk to your daughter. Vera has a genetic disorder. She blames you for not telling her about it. She could have been tested and undergone early treatment had she known.”

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

Jeter waited for this to sink in, unsure whether pity for a natural daughter would penetrate the tortured psyche of Albert McKenney, a former, low-ranking member of the Conley gang.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McKenney grumbled. “How was I supposed to know about this thing, whatever it’s called.”

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“Clive’s Syndrome. It makes it harder to breathe.”

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“Jeezus.” McKenney averted his red face.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

Sentenced to decades of riding a bed at a nursing home, he was conditioned to enduring countless hours of television, boredom, and loneliness, but certain blows still appeared to penetrate McKenney’s mind. He pretended to ignore his visitor, but betrayed himself with a twitch of the head. He turned his face from the window. The season’s early night had begun to fall. There was nothing left to see.

lobortis sit convallis tristique a. Cum venenatis Proin quam, scelerisque malesuada. dolor Quisque ut venenatis

“What’s your business with Vera?” he asked.

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adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“I’m not sure anymore,” Jeter replied, accurately enough. “She asked me to find out what I could about the Willy Carroll business, damned if I know why. To put it another way, her business is not necessarily my business. Anyway, my chief reason for coming back here is to ask what you can tell me about a man named Conley.”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Conley?” McKenney’s red face darkened to a shade suggestive of second degree burns. “You done your homework?”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Some of it. I have a sort of partner, a professor friend who’s a walking encyclopedia.”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Well, you can tell your friend that the truth about Conley isn’t in the encyclopedia,” McKenney scoffed. “Some secrets have never come out…never will if certain people want it that way.”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

Jeter poured whiskey into a plastic water cup. He handed the drink to the bed-ridden man and said, “Are you afraid of what will happen if you talk?”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Afraid? Hell, no! Used to be, before I was shot and left a cripple. I mean, what more could they do to me? I’m a dead man lying in a bed, peeing in a bag. Got no one left in the world who gives a damn about me.”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“If you don’t mind talking, people say I’m a good listener,” Jeter said, freshening the old man’s drink.

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Okay, so, back in forty-two, I was a hungry kid with quick feet. Willy Carroll was a small town flatfoot going nowhere. He wasn’t even a has-been. He’d never done anything except miss two wars and marry a woman whose family looked down on him. But I guess he wound up in a bad situation. Someone must’ve thought he knew too much.”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Know what I don’t get?” Jeter fished.

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“What?”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“What was Joey Machinetto doing in Plymouth?”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Machinetto?” The patient’s anger flared rewardingly. “That slimy red lawyer bastard?”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“You didn’t like Machinetto? Why? What did he do?“

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“What did he do?” McKenney echoed with freshly-lubricated fury. “I tell you what he did! His nosing around got Willy Carroll killed!”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“Why Carroll?”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“I remember thinking the same thing at the time. What the hell could Willy Carroll have possibly done to get himself killed? And by Conley.”

adipiscing amet, enim sed Fusce ac at parturient Lorem dui. quam nascetur erat, est in Proin tincidunt nibh Mauris sit sed amet

“So Conley was involved.”

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pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“Chrissake, yeah, Conley was a kingpin. Nobody messed with him, nobody said no to Conley. But you know what they say: ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’” He grinned at Jeter. “That’s the only thing I remember from school.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

Jeter refilled the plastic cup in a toast to McKenney’s knowledge of Shakespeare. “So tell me about Conley.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“Conley was just another Mick, common as dirt. He had a job in the factory. The workers went out on strike. Conley somehow rubbed up against some feds. He gave them some tips about the local Reds. They rewarded him with information that helped him to get started in various rackets, like black market luxuries and medicines during World War One, guns to Ireland when the Sinn Fein boyos staged their civil war, and all the wonderful opportunities opened up by Prohibition.” McKenney paused for a swig of whiskey. He wiped his mouth with a hand and said, “But, Conley was acting scared. The story was that Conley was haunted by ghosts, one in particular. I was told that he’d killed this little guy, a sniveling little foreigner, way back when. The dead guy wouldn’t leave him alone.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“You mean Conley was bothered by the memory?”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“Dreams,” McKenney said. “And he couldn’t rid his hands of the smell of the poor stiff’s blood. The first time…the first dead man has that effect.” He looked away from his visitor. “You forget the later ones, but that first corpse never really dies. You wake up in the middle of the night. ‘Who is it?’ you shout, with your hand on your gun. You stare at the darkness. Nobody’s there. But you know you heard something. You tell yourself you dreamed it. But you don’t go back to sleep.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

Jeter wondered. Who was haunting Albert McKenney? Was it Willy Carroll?

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“How’d you get pulled in to the Carroll business?“ he asked.

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“I was a dirty-faced kid back then, before the war. Practically grew up in the High Street alley. Hardly knew my father. Ma lived in a low-rent dump. I knew nothing about nothing, except I wasn’t going to get anything in life unless I took it. So, I got pretty good at breaking into buildings by finding unlocked doors or loose windows. It was a learning challenge, you know? A kind of sport for a hood in training.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“Interesting way to put it,” Jeter said.

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“Yeah. Anyhow, make a noise in the lane. That’s what he told me. Something sure to draw a copper.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“He?”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“A man. A tall man, a stranger, in a long dark coat. It was a beautiful overcoat, must’ve cost a bundle. One look at him and I told myself, this guy knows a few things, you should listen to this guy. So, like I said, he told me to wait ‘til dark, make a noise, and run down the old stairway in the School Street alley when the copper came after me. ‘You know which alley I mean?’ he says to me. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I know all the alleys.’ So I did exactly what he told me. When it was over, the man in the overcoat paid me and told me to keep my mouth shut.”

pellentesque. mus. Ut ac malesuada. hendrerit parturient et justo penatibus elit. dui. nec gravida Lorem dolor ac Cum ac elit.

“Did you witness the murder?” Jeter asked.

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et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“Couldn’t see it from where I was hiding in the alley. Heard it, though. I’ll never forget the sound of the body hitting the ground.” McKenney eyed the empty plastic cup and muttered, “I sure could use another drink.”

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

Jeter served him the last of the whiskey.

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

McKenney slugged it down, crumpled the plastic cup and tossed it on the tray table. Glassy-eyed, speech slurred, he told Jeter the rest of the story.

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“I was scared but smart. I proved I could be trusted by keeping quiet about Willy Carroll’s death. Other jobs came my way. Years later, when nobody in Conley’s gang remembered me as the rabbit who’d led Carroll into a death-trap, I overheard the man in the expensive coat -- an old guy by that time with a smile as thin as a worn knife blade -- explain why Conley had wanted a small-town copper dead. Someone had been nosing around Plymouth, asking questions about a body found in the woods twenty-five years before. The story reached Conley’s gang, as most stories did, inquiries were made, and the nosey individual turned out to be a mouthpiece named Joseph Machinetto, a union lawyer and some kind of Red. Alarm bells went off like you wouldn’t believe when the gang found out that Machinetto was one of the lawyers who’d tried to spring those two Guinea anarchists, Sacco and Vanzetti, from a murder rap. And it wasn’t because Conley was afraid of some slimy lawyer. Conley had his own slimy lawyers. The question was, who was behind Machinetto? That was another story.”

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“Which was what?” Jeter prompted.

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“Conley picked up on a rumor, this one from Europe. He had lots of customers over there. Everybody wanted guns, and guns were the Conley gang’s specialty. Anyway, Conley was told by European contacts that Mussolini was sending operatives to America to raise a helluva ruckus so the U.S. would stay out of the war. You know, like the bomb that exploded outside J.P. Morgan’s bank smack in the middle of Wall Street, and the bombs Italian Reds mailed to judges, politicians, and businessmen. Conley remembered all that. And then, a couple of gumbahs, two nothing fall guys fried in the chair, and word was that comrades of Sacco and Vanzetti had a score to settle. ‘A debt of honor’ is what they call it in Black Hand country. So, this platoon of stealthy paisanos schooled in the payback trade was supposedly due back in the States any day to settle the debt and raise a little havoc.”

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

McKenney paused to size up Jeter with a glance. “Valdinoci. Buda. Names sound familiar?”

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

Poker-faced, trying to look smarter than he was, Jeter nodded his head yes, sure Mill would know.

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“What happened was this,” McKenney went on. “Bayle Conley wondered who in the world could possibly tie him to Vanzetti? Who could put two and two together and come up with Conley carrying in his pocket a list of Red agitator names with Vanzetti’s at the top to a cozy meeting one night with the federal boys in a railway car parked outside the old rope mill in Plymouth?”

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“You’re sure this happened?” Jeter asked.

et in faucibus a. tristique sit vehicula amet, tristique est at eros ipsum Etiam justo Quisque imperdiet ac lacus dolor ac venenatis sagittis ac venenatis

“That’s what the guys in the gang said. I heard it more than once.”

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elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“So who could have put two and two together?”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

McKenney arched an eyebrow and said, “Guess you can’t, so I’ll spell it out for you. The only human being on the face of the earth to see Conley enter that railway car was a no-account copper named Willy Carroll.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“Bingo,” Jeter muttered.

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“Yeah. Of course it all came out later. They whacked Willy Carroll for nothing.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“It was all a bunch of bullshit. Rumors and stuff. Mussolini didn’t give a shit about Sacco and Vanzetti. He hated all those Red bastards. And Machinetto? Never said why he was looking for a Plymouth cop who knew something about Vanzetti, he simply stuck his big Guinea nose in other peoples’ business. And at the wrong time for Willy Carroll what with that old bastard Conley scared shitless, hearing and seeing ghosts.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

McKenney snorted with disgust and cynical satisfaction. This quickly broke down into a bout of hacking.

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“Want some water?” Jeter said.

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“Water?” McKenney coughed. “Hell, no. I piss water.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“Sorry. I forgot.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

McKenney shook his head. “Poor sucker never knew what hit him. He felt bad about it, Conley said, when his only real regret was doing something stupid and maybe giving people the impression he was losing his grip.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“You think Conley was afraid?”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

The old man grunted. “Damn right. And I know what he was afraid of.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

The bed-ridden victim of a gunshot wound didn’t need to explain.

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“What happened to Conley?”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“What happens to anyone? Died. In bed in his case, twenty-five years ago. In one of those fancy North Shore towns. Lived in a big house with a high wall all around. Never got to see it myself. My invite must’ve got lost in the mail.” He looked around the room, his prison, and added, “Could’ve died myself when I learned the truth, but I was already marching in Conley’s band, and a man don’t get out of that kind of line so easy. Still, all these years, I’ve never been able to shake the thought of what I did to Willy Carroll, knowing I was the Judas who put the poor bastard’s neck in the noose.”

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

After a long silence, Jeter decided to ask his last question.

elit enim ante. elit amet, consectetur hendrerit. justo lobortis ridiculus faucibus at nibh dolor amet, quam pellentesque. in est magnis Ut

“So why did this happen to you?”","page":"267","last":"","id":"1149","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Haven’t you been listening for chrissake?”

***

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Sounds like you’ve got your story.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

Jeter shrugged and smiled, moderately satisfied with Mill’s conclusion. Retelling and remulling the details of the McKenney visit over a cup of now cold Penny Dreadful coffee, Jeter’s take differed.

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

Sure, he had a story. Maybe even a scoop. McKenney’s account was good, possibly great, but it was full of holes. Holes raised a lot of questions, as in, who was the well-dressed man with the long coat? Was there anything to back up McKenney’s claim that Conley had arranged Carroll’s murder? If not, and with Conley long dead, did it matter how the story went out? Would his publisher buy in to the low probability of a lawsuit? Was Jeter willing to put his ass on that kind of line?

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“So how does it work now?” Mill asked. “My guess is you simply sit down and write it up.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Oh yeah, I’m good at the sitting down part. The write up isn’t as simple.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“I know the feeling,” Mill muttered.

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“So, where are you on this thing?”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“I tracked down someone who knew Vanzetti. Knew him well, in fact. He testified at Vanzetti’s Plymouth trial.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

Jeter thought a moment. “Brini?”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Yeah, Beltrando Brini.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“But?”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“What?”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“I’m sensing a but.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Yeah. I couldn’t see him. I spoke with his wife. She said he isn’t well. Not surprising at his age. Anyway, she said if I mailed her some questions she’d discuss them with her husband when he felt up to it.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“But?”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Mrs. Brini wrote in a return letter that the only thing he said was that he never trusted Connie.”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Connie?”

sit sit amet, nec ipsum nibh fermentum in consectetur mi tristique gravida quis amet nec ut venenatis condimentum imperdiet in vehicula sit elit odio condimentum mi a. euismod at Cum

“Right. Who’s Connie? I can’t find anyone by that name, even on the witness list.”","page":"268","last":"","id":"1150","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Maybe he meant Conley,” Jeter said. “A sick old man, maybe that’s what Brini was trying to say.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Makes sense,” Mill agreed. “From what McKenney told you, Conley’s definitely in the mix.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Sift through it,” Jeter suggested. “Maybe there’s a clue in there somewhere.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

Mill sloshed the cold coffee in the bottom of his paper cup.

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Or have you lost interest?” Jeter added.

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“The thing is, I’ve spent the whole semester thinking I could write a paper featuring things about Vanzetti’s life in North Plymouth that haven’t been picked through already, but what have I found?” Mill swiped at the hair on his forehead in a left-handed gesture of frustration. “Zero.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

Jeter grinned. “The semester’s not over, my friend. It’s even too early to file for an incomplete.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

Mill half-smiled.

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Seriously, though, I think I understand the problem,” Jeter said. “You’ve been looking for something in black and white to prove that Vanzetti was somewhere else on the day of the crime.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“At this point I’d settle for anything with his name on it. A shopping list. An IOU.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“But he had witnesses who placed him in Plymouth on the date of the crime, right?”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Yes, but his best witnesses, the cloth salesman and the guy who bought fish from him, said they saw him in the morning, and the robbery took place in the afternoon. The prosecution argued that even if he was in Plymouth in the morning, Vanzetti could still have made it to Braintree to commit the crime. His witnesses for the afternoon, the fisherman and the boat guy, weren’t as solid. They said he spent the afternoon hanging around the Jesse boatyard. Unfortunately, both men admitted to being unsure of the date.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Okay, so you need something for the afternoon. Like what?”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Seeing a doctor for an ingrown toenail. Signing for a package. Picking up a load of fish at the Plymouth train depot. Paying a bill and getting a receipt. Something in writing. Something with tracks to follow.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

Jeter leaned back and considered. “Maybe there’s something in writing about Vanzetti and friends at a political meeting that afternoon.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“The likelihood is slim,” said Mill. “And I say that because Vanzetti refused to name the friends he supposedly was visiting on the night of his arrest.”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“Were those particular friends working on more bombs?”

pellentesque. nibh nibh Fusce nec elit. Quisque et amet, augue. Sed nec a. blandit dolor et fermentum in gravida condimentum malesuada. venenatis

“There’s no evidence of that, but I can’t rule it out. I can’t rule anything out.”

","page":"269","last":"","id":"1151","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit in nulla. mauris vitae lobortis malesuada. dolor scelerisque in lacus nascetur malesuada. nec erat fermentum Nulla Proin tristique adipiscing Proin sed Lorem hendrerit ridiculus nisi tempor quam, nascetur

“Want my advice, Mill?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Forget about the political angle. If it did exist, that’s the kind of paper trail that was either exposed or erased long ago.”

Mill shrugged. “It’s an assumption.”

“Sure, but let’s say we make it. What does that leave? Something personal. Right?”

“What do you mean?”

“How about an affair?”

“An affair?”

Jeter grinned. “People, even famous ones, have been known to have them.”

“But in terms of Vanzetti, there’s no hint of anything like that in the court record or in books about the case,” Mill argued.

“Maybe they tried to keep that stuff off the record in those days,” Jeter countered. “Anyway, he was human, right? Vanzetti probably had a thing going with someone whose husband worked in the factory, or out of town. Maybe he met her when he was delivering fish.”

“Speaking of which, I think you’re fishing now. How would something like that be kept quiet this long?”

“It’s possible, Mill. That poor miserable bastard in the nursing home has been hiding his part in a murder for fifty-eight years.”

Mill sat back in his chair, unconvinced. He watched through the coffee shop window as Merrill Sellers stepped out of his store and locked up early.

“You know what I think you should do?” Jeter said. “Look for something the way astronomers search for new stars and planets. Start with a hypothesis as to where something would most likely be found, and then focus a telescope there.”

“Only I don’t have a telescope,” Mill remarked.

“I think you do.”

Jeter leaned across the table to tap the side of his friend’s head with his forefinger.

***

“I made a fool of myself with Ike,” Bernie admitted during dinner.","page":"270","last":"","id":"1152","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Ut vitae quis vestibulum tempor scelerisque nascetur ridiculus dui. at amet venenatis enim Proin penatibus magnis vehicula diam vitae elit. odio erat, ipsum sed justo penatibus erat natoque sit imperdiet

Fork poised over his square of lasagna, Mill was about to make a wisecrack about her falling for the hard cases. Her serious expression stopped him.

“What do you mean?”

“I did something I shouldn’t have.”

“What?”

“I told Ike he could share a house with us…Ike, and his wife, and his mother.”

Mill put down his fork. “You can’t mean here.”

“No, I found a house for sale on Court Street, a big old townhouse with lots of bedrooms. I fell in love with it, Mill. I thought we could buy it, and apply rent from Ike’s family against the mortgage payments. We’d live upstairs and they’d live down, closer to the kitchen.”

This was upsetting in various directions. Mill didn’t know where to start.

“You want to buy a house?”

“Well, maybe. When we’re ready. But that’s not the bad part.” Bernie eyed her plate of uneaten food. “I thought I should try to get Ike out his dreary Boston neighborhood, and cut down his commute. It seemed like a good plan, but who was I to be making plans for someone else’s life?”

Like mine, thought Mill.

“It was humiliating!” Bernie cried. “I was standing next to Ike, showing him the place, and he’s looking at me like I’m crazy. I suddenly realized I must be. I mean, there I was, a white, middle-class female interfering in his personal life.”

“You were trying to help, not interfere.”

She shook her head and said, “Ike didn’t ask for help. I was interfering. And the worst part of it is, I didn’t discuss the idea with you before springing it on Ike.”

Right, he thought, bad move. Then, what if this guy had said yes?

“Is that it?” he asked. “Confession over? Any other personal commitments or major expenditures I don’t know about?”

“No, nothing like that. Mill, I’m sorry.”

Mill smiled his philosophical smart-ass smile. “But you made up for it,” he said. “Good lasagna.” He gathered a next forkful.

“You’re not mad?”

“Considering the way the way things turned out, no. Though, yeah, I think you should have run it by me first.”","page":"271","last":"","id":"1153","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“And if I had? Would you have been ready to talk about buying a house?”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

Mill pointed at his lasagna-stuffed mouth.

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’m through with making plans for other people.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

I should write that down, date it, and have her sign it, Mill thought.

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Maybe I haven’t… I don’t know… I’ve been so wrapped up in Vanzetti, I’ve talked about nothing else for weeks, which means there’s a lot I haven’t said, too.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

Bernie smiled, pleasantly surprised. “So what do you want to talk about?”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“There are lots of ways to communicate.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“Words are good.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“True. But so are actions.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“Uh-huh.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“Like touching.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“Gee, Mill. And here I thought it was sackcloth and ashes for me.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“That’s your Catholic upbringing.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“Good thing I’ve been able to rise above it.”

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

Bernie stood to clear the table. Mill stood to take the dish from her hand and put it back on the table. She leaned her forehead against his. He kissed her and took her by the hand to the bedroom.

***

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

He was sure it was no big deal, wasn’t sure how it happened, but it had. The television was on with the sound off. It was late. He and Karen Hayes were sharing the couch in his walk-up apartment above The Maid in the Moon, a “new age” gift shop in the center of town. On friendly terms, they were watching a basketball game and half-dozing. At least he was.

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

“I think I know why you were so hot to go to Philadelphia,” Karen said.

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

No reply.

et Fusce Etiam montes, penatibus sagittis in odio vehicula blandit elit. faucibus amet, hendrerit. Etiam natoque magna adipiscing

She gently elbowed him.","page":"272","last":"","id":"1154","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Huh?”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“I said I know why you were so hot-- ”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“So I’m hot now?”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Right. A red-hot snoring couch potato.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Sorry.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“I figured something out,” she said. “Something you haven’t told me. You leave out a lot, you know.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“What did you figure out?”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Why you went to Philadelphia to see that man.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Okay. Why?”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Because you thought his father murdered Willy Carroll.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

Jeter yawned.

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

She elbowed him more forcefully. “Don’t act the stupid male. I’m talking to you.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

Jeter straightened and made an effort to concentrate.

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“You said I was into crime. Or was that just a line? Anyway, you’re right. I am interested in crime,” Karen said. “So when you approached me with this Willy Carroll business, I thought, the poor guy was a cop for crying out loud. Why was his murder never solved?”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

Jeter found and pulled the remote from under his large thigh. He killed the TV.

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Most people didn’t believe he was murdered, but had died accidentally. The consensus at the time was that police called it a suspicious death to try to win a bigger payoff for the victim’s family from the town’s insurer.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“Yeah, but if you believed that, you wouldn’t be doing stuff like flying down to see some guy in Philadelphia.”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

Jeter acknowledged her point with a soft grunt.

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“So you met with the guy,” she said. “What did he say?”

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

Jeter told her what he remembered of Big Bill Machinetto’s account of his father’s activities.

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“What’s the story on Palombo?” Karen asked when he’d finished.

in augue. mi eu mauris Proin Ut dolor blandit et Sed amet, ridiculus eu mi in ac justo justo ipsum venenatis lacus ipsum parturient vitae Mauris imperdiet diam nascetur

“A couple years after the Plymouth Cordage strike, a decomposed,

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unidentifiable body was found in a wooded area by the family that had housed Vanzetti. Joseph Machinetto apparently put a name to the body after learning that an Italian immigrant had disappeared at around that time, and that his family in Italy hadn’t heard a word about him since.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“So it was Machinetto who made the connection, who said it was Palombo?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Yes. That was his guess.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Why was Machinetto interested in Palombo? I mean, how did Palombo’s death tie-in to his attempt to clear Vanzetti?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Damn good question. I wish I knew the answer. Actually, I don’t even know that it did tie-in.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Meaning?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Maybe Machinetto believed that Willy Carroll killed Palombo, and offed the cop in an alley strictly for revenge. Or, he may have thought that Willy Carroll was aware that friends of his, the strikers, the radicals, had murdered Palombo for cooperating with police during the Cordage strike. Machinetto may have returned to Plymouth in nineteen-forty-two to protect his friends by silencing Carroll.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Sounds pretty wild to me, big guy,” Karen said.

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Spoken like a skeptical, former police prosecutor.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Yeah? Well, what did Machinetto’s son say when you asked about his father’s return trip to Plymouth in forty-two, the year Carroll was killed? That’s the most suspicious thing in the entire story. To my ears, it’s the only suspicious thing. Machinetto had gone to Plymouth once to sniff around about Vanzetti. As far the son knows, Machinetto didn’t uncover anything new. So why the return visit?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

Jeter thought about this and said, “I’m back to what you just called my ‘wild’ speculations.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“What did his son say?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Nothing.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“Nothing?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

Jeter chewed his upper lip.

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“You asked him a critical question and he said nothing?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“I don’t think I asked him.”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“You didn’t ask him? How could you not ask him?”

hendrerit quam, pellentesque. consectetur Lorem penatibus tempor gravida tincidunt elit. enim augue. sit et Ut condimentum at nisl. ipsum montes, at in amet, Sed nulla.

“I guess I forgot.”

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justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

***

2000, Philadelphia International Airport

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

“Might as well get straight to the point, Bill,” Jeter said. “I came down here again because I think your father did visit Plymouth a second time.”

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

Maybe a third time, too, in secret, Jeter thought, but didn’t ask. He kept his notebook in his pocket, inviting confidence. They sat in the same bland airport pub, a quiet, midday, nearly empty atmosphere, thanks to Jeter’s having avoided commuter flight times. He was not facing a day packed with meetings. Jeter was facing a single man who appeared perfectly content to make time for him.

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

He had been surreptitiously observing Big Bill: the big man’s easy, heavy-boned movements; the casual handshake and social manners. Was the perfectly composed son of an interesting father any more anxious this time than the first? No diff so far.

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

“The second visit, I believe, was in nineteen-forty-two,” Jeter continued. “Again to make contact with people who knew Vanzetti, but also to ask then residents of North Plymouth about the body found twenty-five years before on Castle Hill. Your father thought it was a man named Palombo, who disappeared during the Plymouth Cordage strike. Remember that name? We mentioned him last time.”

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

Bill nodded his head yes.

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

“On his second visit he really stirred things up. Not that he necessarily meant to do anything more than spread the word of his interest in talking with people who remembered that business. But in making some noise about Palombo’s disappearance, and possible murder, your father caused a loud enough stir for word of his activity to get back to an organized crime boss named Conley. Have you heard of him, Bill? Did your father ever mention him? Well, this man Conley had ears. In his business, it paid to have good ears.”

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

After a long silence, Big Bill leaned back, crossed his legs, and with no sign of embarrassment for not saying so before, said, “Yes, I believe he did go back to Plymouth. I think he said it was right before Pearl Harbor. ”

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

He’s a negotiator like his father, Jeter thought. Negotiators deal with things they know can’t be avoided.

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

“I wondered a bit about what happened on that second trip,” said Bill. “Dad didn’t say much about it.”

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

“Huh,” Jeter said, staging a tactical retreat, hoping Bill would assume the topic dropped and loosen up.

justo quam, scelerisque enim penatibus Fusce adipiscing Lorem ac augue. et sociis nascetur hendrerit Cum quam, nisl. et nascetur tempor

“You know, the older I get, the more interested I am in the life my father lived, particularly in the old days. The days when he worked with union organizers. Practically was one himself. Getting them out of jail. Going to court to stop the company goons from busting heads,” Bill said. “Believing. That’s the thing about Dad’s life I miss. I picture my father as a young man, fresh out of school, ready to

","page":"275","last":"","id":"1157","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

hang his shingle. But instead, he hitchhiked across three or four states, at a time when there were far fewer cars, to get to an unfamiliar city to offer his legal services, pro bono, for a cause he believed in. That’s it. That’s the whole reason. I wonder what that was like? What it was like to feel that strongly about something. Have we lost that? I wonder. Maybe during World War Two. I missed it. Too young. I believed in my country, of course. I would have given anything to get into the service then. Instead, I got Korea, and what was that for? Then Vietnam. That was worse.”

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

He snorted his dismay. Jeter nodded in agreement.

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

“But Dad’s world. The case in the papers every day. Front page. Demonstrations in the big cities everywhere. And it was up to him -- not really, of course, but he might have felt it was -- up to him to save them. Two innocent men. Working men. There’s a word, an idea, that’s lost its magic big time. But back then, people knew right from wrong. At least they believed they did.”

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

Jeter murmured an acknowledgment; a gesture of sympathy with this point of view. Still waiting; hoping.

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

“Are we just more selfish today? That’s what I ask myself. Oh, I’m one to talk. I’m aware of that. I sat behind a desk most of my working life, an easier life than most people have. And here it is, another century. Is there anyone today who believes in things, in making things better for ordinary people, and people on the bottom, the way my father once did?”

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

Jeter shifted in chair. He was interested in Joseph Machinetto’s younger life too, but for different, less philosophical reasons.

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

“Do you know anything about the Conley gang, Bill?” he asked.

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

Big Bill looked over Jeter’s shoulder, through the pub’s glass window at the segment of quiet airfield beyond, and in a vacant voice said, “Sometimes, I wonder. Am I the last person around who still thinks this way?”

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

Jeter began to speak, to approach the revenge-murder theory more directly, but was abruptly cut off.

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

“Look,” Bill said, glaring. “Let me make this clear. My father never had anything to do with a gang.”

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

Jeter had been told to shut up before. He knew when to do it. This was one of those times.

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Not a wasted trip, he thought, waiting for his flight back to Boston. His source had confirmed one part of McKenney’s story. Joseph Machinetto had returned to Plymouth just before Willy Carroll’s murder.

justo consectetur eu ac Ut tincidunt nec Etiam nascetur consectetur elit. Etiam quis enim fermentum dis condimentum fermentum lacus malesuada. Lorem in at hendrerit in

But Jeter had not learned all he wanted to know, not by a long shot. What else might have been going on in Joey Machinetto’s mind?

***","page":"276","last":"","id":"1158","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

Mill sat back from the stack of student papers piled on the dining room table, and in a more decisive motion, stood and crossed the room to the window. The sight of the cold November rain made the late autumn night seem longer and darker.

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“I was looking at the dates again,” he said, thinking aloud. “After Vanzetti was found guilty of attempted robbery in the Bridgewater case, he and Sacco sat in jail for a year before the Braintree case went to trial. A full year.”

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“That long?” Bernie said, putting down her book and folding her legs on the cushion beside her. The signs were as clear as the storm clouds advancing from the northeast. Her husband needed to talk.

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“The state knew the case was weak,” Mill explained. “Initial evidence was based on a few questionable eyewitness identifications of the robbers by shoe factory employees.”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“Questionable? Why?”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“The workers who saw, or said they saw the robbers, also said they dove for cover when they heard the shots.”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“So may not have had a good look at them.”

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“Right. The four main witnesses also had legal or ‘character’ issues, so were vulnerable to police pressure. One was wanted for bigamy in another state. One was a former prostitute. A third had a drinking problem. The fourth, Mary Splaine, was regarded by co-workers as a complete nutcase who’d do anything for attention.”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“Are you saying the prosecution threatened them?”

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“They offered them deals, like closing old cases, and looking the other way on new offenses. A combination stick and carrot,” Mill said. “A couple of these people changed their stories when the defense attorney got ahold of them. When the prosecution regained control, the stories changed back.”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“I see what you mean by questionable.”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“Yes, particularly considering the couple dozen other potential eyewitnesses from the factory who failed to identify either Sacco or Vanzetti. Some identified photos of convicts in jail somewhere as the murderers; others testified that Sacco and Vanzetti were not the men seen at the crime. That was the sort of evidence the prosecution chose to disregard; that, and the opinion of the state police commander who said the payroll robbery had the markings of a professional job. The prosecution pulled him off the case and gave it to the Bridgewater police chief, who believed the crime was the work of radicals, and whose hatred of radicals had led to the stakeout of Buda’s car, and the streetcar arrest of Sacco and Vanzetti in the first place.”

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“This isn’t exactly one of your objective, balanced summations, is it?” Bernie said.

montes, nisl. justo et tincidunt et vestibulum amet, nascetur est natoque amet, nec quis ipsum nec sit enim

“No, and I’m not finished. For physical evidence, the state contended that one of four bullets found in one of the murdered men, the guard, could have come from Sacco’s gun. The best of the eyewitnesses, and the doctor who performed the autopsy, said all four bullets were fired from the same gun. How could one be different?”","page":"277","last":"","id":"1159","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“I don’t know. How?”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“Well, planting or manufacturing evidence comes to mind. Firing a bullet from Sacco’s gun and substituting it for one of the bullets removed from the body of the guard.”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“But the jury must have bought it. Why?”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“Because the jurors were biased toward conviction. For two years, the government, the press, and all of the state’s big Anglo-Saxon institutions -- there’s no other way I can put it -- had professed that dangerous radicals were actively trying to undermine the country.”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“So it was prejudice.”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“The race argument was being made back then, in respectable, even academic quarters. The acceptable theory seemed to be that southern and eastern Europeans were inferior due to their inability to self-govern, or to appreciate individual freedom. Italians, Portuguese, Russians, Poles, Jews, Greeks, Syrians, you name it, were considered people of inferior races. The jury and the public, the judge and the prosecutor, were the ‘us’ versus ‘them’ at the Sacco and Vanzetti trial, where the condemning sentiment was that ‘they’ could not be trusted nor expected to tell the truth. The defendants had lied about carrying guns and lied about what they were doing. The defendants had dodged the draft. It wasn’t a leap from there for the jury to conclude that the accused were robbers and murderers as well. A juror later said that he didn’t care if Sacco and Vanzetti had committed the crime or not because ‘they’ should all be eliminated. ‘They’ were un-American radicals, subversives, trying to destroy the country.

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“The famous moment came when the prosecutor asked Sacco, ‘Do you love this country?’ Though he could barely speak a sentence or two of English before becoming completely unintelligible, Sacco managed to answer yes. Katzmann asked, ‘So why did you run away when asked to serve the country?’ Sacco’s attempt to reply bordered on hysteria. He seemed on the verge of a breakdown. This made him appear both a coward and a liar.”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“Why did the defense put Sacco and Vanzetti on the stand?”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“They decided it would look worse if they didn’t.”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“What was the defense’s case?”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“They had alibi witnesses who saw them somewhere else on the day of the crime.”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“What did Vanzetti say he was doing that day?”

imperdiet Quisque sit eu mi eu eu sit Proin consectetur penatibus eu magnis ac sit erat montes, ipsum sed vitae natoque magna venenatis dui. blandit et Proin

“Here’s the rundown. Vanzetti doesn’t have the Brini boy with him because he has only a few deliveries to make that morning. Finished, he goes to Ventura’s Restaurant on Court Street, and runs into a cloth salesman named Rosen, who has just stepped off a train, and wants to sell Vanzetti cloth for a suit. Vanzetti tells him of a friend who knows cloth. He asks Rosen to go with him to her house, because he wants her opinion of the material before he buys. The friend, Alphonsina Brini, who had once

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worked in the Barnes woolen mills on Water Street, invites them in. The three of them talk about cloth and whatever else. By the time the two men leave the house and part company, the midday factory whistle is blowing. Vanzetti wanders down to Jesse’s Boatyard, where he talks for hours with fisherman Melvin Corl while Corl mends his nets. The ocean is still cold, Vanzetti complains. The big boats that dock at Fisherman’s Wharf in Boston don’t have enough fish for little guys like Vanzetti.

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“The prosecution really attacked this part of the alibi after Corl couldn’t prove that the afternoon he spent mending his nets and talking to Vanzetti was April fifteenth. The boatyard owner, Jesse testified to seeing the two men, but couldn’t swear to what day it was. Katzmann also questioned the testimony of Vanzetti’s friends, the Brini family.”

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“And Sacco?”

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“Sacco didn’t work that day. He was getting ready to sail back to Italy, so went to the Italian consulate in Boston with a family photo to use in his passport. No longer in the country at the time of the trial, the consulate clerk testified by affidavit that the encounter was memorable because he and his assistant shared a big laugh over the fact that the photo was absurdly large. The witness wasn’t there to respond, of course, when, for the benefit of the jury, Katzmann said he wondered how the clerk remembered the date.”

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Mill gazed at the window. The light in the room made it impossible to see through. He heard an engine turn over. Headlights swooped across the window as a vehicle made a U-turn at the end of Suosso’s Lane and headed back to Court Street.

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“A whole year before the trial began,” he said to himself. “A lot of things can be invented in that time, and a lot of things forgotten. And maybe, just maybe, a few things hidden.”","page":"279","last":"","id":"1161","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nulla. Proin sociis sed condimentum Mauris consectetur eros nascetur Lorem ipsum erat in quis Cum

CHAPTER 25

YOU ARE A LIAR!

June, 1921, Dedham Court

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When he saw the cage and understood that the officers were leading him to it, Vanzetti thought, so now we will be locked inside a fence, like animals. He had overhead a discussion of the cage that had sounded to him like words from a fairy tale. He would look through wire, be seen through wire. Officers of the polizi would stand on either end. Surely such dangerous marauders would not escape to ravage the courtroom.

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Vanzetti wondered, do they also have the guillotine in the palazzo?

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Suddenly, as if flown miraculously from the separate hell in which he had been imprisoned, Nicola was beside him in the cage, his features gaunt and angular. No miracle there.

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They leaned to kiss each other on the cheek as men did in their country.

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“How is the food, Nick?”

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“Bah, garbage. I do not eat it. They are trying to poison me.”

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“You are ill?” Vanzetti had heard rumors of this.

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“It is a pain. All the time.” He did not indicate where.

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They spoke of this and other matters until the entrance of the judge, his stern facial expression darker than his black robe.

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So the comedy begins, Vanzetti thought. A cattle parade of men swept up from the town to pose as impartial jurors. In this land they speak proudly of the jury of the peers, but these are not Vanzetti’s peers, these are pawns of the state. The man who said he read books and had an open mind was dismissed. The other beast, Katzmann, the state’s assassin, muttered to the judge, and the judge told this man to go. In his place no doubt they would seat a pliable fool.

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Days later, long hot days, the parade of liars began. Among them, a woman who had gone with men. Vanzetti knew such women, and suspected the power the police would hold over this Lola, who said she saw the face of the man stooped over the poor dead guard, Berardelli. She was asked if this man was in the courtroom, and if so, to point him out.

nulla. Proin sociis sed condimentum Mauris consectetur eros nascetur Lorem ipsum erat in quis Cum

“That man, seated over there,” she said, indicating Nick.

nulla. Proin sociis sed condimentum Mauris consectetur eros nascetur Lorem ipsum erat in quis Cum

“Is that me you mean?” Nick cried, rising. “Are you pointing at me? You have never seen me in your life!”

nulla. Proin sociis sed condimentum Mauris consectetur eros nascetur Lorem ipsum erat in quis Cum

This long parade of wretches and fools, whose oppressive miseries had been twisted to suit the purposes of the state, led to the buffoon of the policeman in his deep blue

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uniform who had come for them that night on the streetcar; who was so proud of his courage; of his playing the role of the lawman in the opéra bouffe. He tells a story of escorting the dangerous radicals -- anarchists! the terror of the bigots! -- in the car back to the station, and how one, that one over there with the moustache, tried to slip his hand beneath his coat to produce his dangerous weapon. This Vanzetti could not endure.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“You are a liar!” he shouted.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

How even such a demon judge as this could permit a play-acting dunce to tell his lies in a court of law was a marvel to him.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

Weeks of tedium. Endless quarrels, the long-haired Moore, the laboring man’s friend from the California, who outraged the judge by pacing the courtroom with his coat off, the sweltering courtroom. “Denied!” shrieked the judge, as if to lash this consorter of radicals with his voice, his expressions, whenever the defense raised the objection.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

Vanzetti at last is freed from his cage to tell his story.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

He spoke a long time, having planned what to say. Mostly, Vanzetti told the court that he had worked every day since coming to Plymouth. When the defense attorney, not Moore but the other, McAnarney, asked him to explain his trip to Bridgewater on the night of his arrest, he spoke of the persecutions of the radical movement, the jailings, the deportations, to explain the need to gather and hide literature from persecutors. Good enough at the start, his English faltered as the hours wore on and the beast Katzmann took his turn to batter away at his laboriously-constructed sentences.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

If they did not already know, the jurors now learned from Katzmann that Vanzetti was one of those they had been taught to hate. Moments later, they also knew that he had fled to Mexico to avoid fighting in a war he opposed.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“You ran away when your country was at war so you would not have to fight?”

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“I will refuse even in Italia.”

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

Vanzetti then helplessly watched and listened as the beast twisted and tortured his tale into a measure of depravity. Why would not such a man, a coward who had refused to fight, why would this man not rob and kill as well? And so, the beast demanded, what were you really doing that night when the police arrested you? And he could not respond, as a free man in a true world should be permitted, could only say to himself, “What we were doing is of no concern to you. What law were we breaking?”

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

Katzmann confronted him with the lies told the police after their arrest.

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“You lied?”

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“Indeed we told the untrue story. We sought to protect the names of the others.”

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“What others?”

vehicula tincidunt Proin malesuada. Cum montes, in Ut in tempor nisl. Proin Proin amet, tempor magnis nisi in amet, gravida

“Those others whose names I do not wish to speak in this courtroom any more than I wished to speak them that night when we were detained for -- as we must think, since no reason was given -- possessing those radical beliefs that no man is permitted to hold in a free country. For at that time you may recall many members of the radical movement were arrested, taken from their homes and families, and jailed to await deportation.”","page":"281","last":"","id":"1163","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dolor Etiam Cum dolor gravida gravida elit lacus in elit. magnis enim in fermentum eros tincidunt enim Mauris elit ante. Lorem blandit sed in elit. nisi Etiam in condimentum quam,

“So you refuse to say what you were doing?”

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“I have already said. To gather the radical literature. Pamphlets, books, the like.”

dolor Etiam Cum dolor gravida gravida elit lacus in elit. magnis enim in fermentum eros tincidunt enim Mauris elit ante. Lorem blandit sed in elit. nisi Etiam in condimentum quam,

Not that he would this say either, but Vanzetti truly did not know why he and Nick had agreed to go to that cursed place at night with the other two men. To do as Buda wished? Or as they believed the gruppo desired? To drive places in this automobile to speak to unnamed comrades of the revived threat to the followers of Galleani, and of the need to temporarily remove those writings that if found in their possession might trap them in the maw of grief gripping Nicola and Vanzetti? He could not explain this terrible mistake any better in English in open court to the American jury than he could in his heart to himself.

dolor Etiam Cum dolor gravida gravida elit lacus in elit. magnis enim in fermentum eros tincidunt enim Mauris elit ante. Lorem blandit sed in elit. nisi Etiam in condimentum quam,

When asked why he was carrying a gun that night, he responded that times were bad. He did not add, but knew that the bombings had worsened those bad times. The bombs, the poof, he thought, with a dark, humorless, inner laugh. We are paying for a few bombs which almost always failed to reach their targets. And now the comrade Buda has blown up a bank, a most prestigious bank in the middle of New York. Does he believe this act will help us? Has he not instead pushed us through the portal of the prison cell and locked the gate behind?

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Poof! Vanzetti thinks. The bomb is the make-believe, the fantasy that all will be changed when the smoke clears. He imagines the courthouse flying in pieces into the sky, its cast of dour and unattractive characters transformed into angels. Policemen, prosecutors, jurymen, judge, all denuded of character, tossed topsy-turvy above the roof of the world, transformed into bambinos for second births into the better world created in the absence of greed and pompous prejudices by the true people of the earth.

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He came to himself, and to the realization that in the dark old courtroom in the old Yankee town of Dedham, the real trial had proceeded more slowly, more agonizingly slowly, and far, far worse than imagined. He had not won the battle of words. He had not defeated the lies, insinuations, the twisting and torturing and slandering of his words. Only once had he made his position clear. The moment he stood and shouted at the buffoon on the stand, “You are a liar!”

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A different policeman, his watcher, pushed him back down onto the hard bench inside the cage.

***

July, 1921, Dedham Courthouse

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“The defense may proceed.”

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The long-haired defense attorney, Sam Moore, a westerner from the informal state of California, removed his jacket in a ceremonial act of defiance and folded it over the back of his chair at the defense table. Outraged, sputtering his disapproval, Judge Webster Thayer commanded him to put on his coat in the courtroom. The outsized attorney turned his back and pretended not to hear.

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Everyone in the Dedham courtroom perspired in the summer heat. Seated beside his mother and sister after the arduous journey from Plymouth, too warmly dressed in his one good black jacket, Beltrando hoped that injustice would not again triumph. But the signs did not look good. The man who had badgered him the year before at his friend’s Plymouth trial was picking away at the witnesses in this new arena; this new battle in which the boy understood the stakes to be higher. The same judge, Judge Thayer, glared at the man defending Mr. Vanzetti, and always agreed with the loud-mouthed Katzmann.

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On the stand for the defense, Abgel Guidobone testified that Vanzetti had delivered codfish to him on the morning of April fifteenth, a date he easily remembered as four days before his appendectomy on the nineteenth. Cross-examined by Katzmann, asked how he could be certain the fish was delivered that day and not earlier that week, he heatedly replied that his fish was always delivered by Vanzetti on Friday.

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Katzmann spread his arms in one of his annoyingly theatrical, courtroom gestures of mockery and disbelief.

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Stupid man, Guidobone thought, scowling. Doesn’t he know that everyone eats fish on Friday?

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“Do you think I keep fish in the house for a week?” he spat.

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Melvin Corl said that while mending holes in his fishing nets, he’d shot the breeze with Vanzetti during the afternoon of April fifteenth, the day of his wife’s birthday, and added that they’d also talked with Frank Jesse, the boatyard owner. Jesse testified that he remembered the conversation, but could not be sure of the date. When Rosen took the stand, the cloth salesman confirmed the date of the morning spent with Vanzetti in North Plymouth by referring to the guest register of the rooming house where he’d slept that night, and to the tax payment made that same day. Unfortunately, under Katzmann’s badgering, Rosen seemed to remember little about any other date of that entire year.

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When Lefevre’s turn came, Beltrando watched with pride and a twinge of anxiety as his passionate, sharp-tongued sister confidently took the stand, wearing not black, but a long dress of dark-olive cloth, and a hat with a feather. The man defending Mr. Vanzetti had said that Lefevre would be a good witness because she was well spoken in English, and unlike some, was not apt to wither under the bullying tactics of the prosecutor. Beltrando believed this, too.

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Lefevre turned to regard the jury, as Moore had instructed, to testify to the fact that Mr. Vanzetti had brought fish to the Brini household early on the morning of April fifteenth, before she left for work. When Katzmann questioned her ability to remember the exact time and date of Vanzetti’s delivery, she refused to betray any uncertainty.

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“The defendant is a friend of yours,” Katzmann said. “An old friend, Miss Brini. Isn’t that so?”

in in consectetur ornare nulla. nec quis imperdiet magnis augue. sit eu malesuada. elit quis Etiam vehicula ante. justo nascetur nibh lacus est

“He is a friend of my family.”

in in consectetur ornare nulla. nec quis imperdiet magnis augue. sit eu malesuada. elit quis Etiam vehicula ante. justo nascetur nibh lacus est

“Yes, the Brini family has been a great friend to the defendant. I believe your mother testified for him in another matter.”

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Sam Moore stood to object to this back-door reference to the Plymouth trial.","page":"283","last":"","id":"1165","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“Strike it,” Thayer conceded.

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“It is very convenient for Mr. Vanzetti, the defendant, that he brought fish to your house on the morning of April fifteen, isn’t it, Miss Brini?” Katzmann continued.

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

Mindful of Moore’s advice to stick to her story and not bandy words with the prosecutor, Lefevre replied, “It is true.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“Tell me, Miss Brini, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

Beltrando watched his sister flare at the word girl.

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“Please answer the question, Miss Brini.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

Lefevre bit her lip. “Yes.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“You wouldn’t lie to this courtroom to help a friend?”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“I do not lie.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“Of course not.” Katzmann smiled smugly. “No one lies in a courtroom.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

The remark aroused a lazy, collective chuckle from the sweltering spectators.

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

Moore slowly stood to request that the prosecuting attorney save the comedy for his own witnesses, who were a pretty funny bunch to begin with. The comment drew laughter from Vanzetti’s supporters, and a curt rebuke from the thin-faced judge.

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“Gentlemen,” Thayer said, eyeing Moore while addressing both attorneys. “These smart-alecky remarks are fit for the vaudeville hall, not the courtroom.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

Katzmann expressed rote contrition to the bench. Told to proceed with the questioning, he asked the witness, “But even if you would never lie, Miss Brini, you might make a mistake. Isn’t that true?”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“I have made no mistake.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“But how can you be sure of the date the defendant brought fish to your home? Was that the only day he ever brought fish to you?”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

A hesitation. “I have a good memory of the event.”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“You have a good memory? I see. Can you use that good memory of yours, Miss Brini, to tell us whether the defendant brought fish to your home on April sixteenth? On the seventeenth? The eighteenth?”

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

A longer hesitation. A look of unease tempered her defiance.

lacus imperdiet fermentum Etiam sed Proin faucibus ut eu hendrerit sociis quis in egestas. Lorem nisl. erat amet, dui.

“No, just that one day.”

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“Just that one day? It was a memorable day, was it? Why was that? It was a memorable day because Vanzetti brought fish to your home?”","page":"284","last":"","id":"1166","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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She did not respond.

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“What else can you tell us about that day?”

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“My mother was also home when he arrived with the fish. She had been laid off from work.”

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“Your mother was laid off on what day, Miss Brini?”

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Lefevre’s confidence wavered slightly. “A few weeks before.”

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Katzmann nodded. Then, frowning theatrically, seemingly attempting to remember something, too, he said, “Miss Brini, can you tell me what happened on March the eighteenth?”

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Lefevre stiffened.

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“Miss Brini?”

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“No.”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“You cannot? Are you sure?”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

She shook her head.

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“You’re shaking your head, Miss Brini. Don’t you fix March eighteenth with that good memory of yours? It’s only a month before April fifteenth, and you remember that day as clear as a bell. Doesn’t that date mean anything to you? March eighteenth, nineteen-twenty? Not even one little thing?”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“Why should it?” Lefevre countered angrily, provoked by his mockery.

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“Is that your answer to me?” Katzmann asked, and paused before adding, “Do you love your mother, Miss Brini?”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“How dare you ask me this?”

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“Answer the question, please.”

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“Yes.”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“On March eighteenth, your mother was taken to the Jordan Hospital with stomach pains. You don’t remember that date, Miss Brini?”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“I do remember!”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

“You did not. I asked you and you did not. But you claim to be certain of the date Vanzetti delivered fish to your home.”

fermentum eu malesuada. vitae Mauris elit. ipsum justo lacus enim ut sit venenatis lobortis mi justo consectetur Lorem in enim a. tempor euismod amet, sagittis lacus quam, nisl. Nulla justo eu

Asked no further questions, red-faced, glaring at everyone, Lefevre was excused from the stand, shortly after which Judge Thayer brought down the gavel to signal the end of the session.

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Pellentesque odio ante. sit quis nec Pellentesque Cum Pellentesque augue. penatibus sodales

Standing in the crowded courtroom with the insides of his pants stuck to his legs, Beltrando caught sight of a lady in a blue dress and a prim hat with a veil that made her look like a bird in a cage. He thought at first she was the Plymouth lady who a few years before had written a letter to Mr. Vanzetti, but realized he was mistaken when the well-dressed woman turned his way to leave.

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The Brinis could not afford to travel by train to the courtroom every day, so Beltrando was not there four days later when the jury found Sacco and Vanzetti guilty of murder.","page":"286","last":"","id":"1168","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

elit magnis vestibulum at est adipiscing penatibus imperdiet Sed montes, ut ac malesuada. malesuada. Sed enim nec eros consectetur Cum eu Proin ornare quam, quis

CHAPTER 26

YOU NEVER CRIED OVER FATHER

Winter, 1922, Allerton Street, Plymouth

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Wiping her eyes, Lavinia insisted to herself that it was merely perspiration from lighting the oven a good half an hour before, and then leaning over the work table with the book borrowed from the Plymouth Library open to the chapter on, "Simple Instructions in the Art of Preparing Fowl." Forced to let Mrs. Baker go because even the slightest indulgence was shockingly expensive, now that she was wearing the apron, it occurred to her that cooking a chicken was a riskier venture than writing once more to the governor. Surely there was no call to be hasty in the undertaking, she thought, though she wished she could remember how long the business was supposed to take once the fowl was placed in the oven. She flipped back a page of the book to search a sixth time for guidance from the author, who was so intent on describing various approaches to turn the drippings into gravy that the matter of how long the thing needed to roast to be edible was not readily found.

elit magnis vestibulum at est adipiscing penatibus imperdiet Sed montes, ut ac malesuada. malesuada. Sed enim nec eros consectetur Cum eu Proin ornare quam, quis

Guilt had driven Lavinia to put down her pen at the hour of three to turn to the chore of cooking the chicken. She had failed to provide much in the way of hot meals for Vivian since letting cook go, crying poverty. In truth she was poor enough, but the real reason was that the woman had increasingly gotten on her nerves. In the absence of visits from Vanzetti (she blinked at this recollection and reminded herself not to dwell), the days were long enough without the unwanted intervals of companionship from Mrs. Baker, who took any pretext to bustle out of the kitchen for a discussion of necessary foodstuffs and wicked prices, encounters that tended if left unchecked to spill into reports of the latest Market Street gossip. Lavinia no longer cared to hear what the town idlers thought about the case of the local man convicted of a terrible crime. Lavinia wished to change what they thought.

elit magnis vestibulum at est adipiscing penatibus imperdiet Sed montes, ut ac malesuada. malesuada. Sed enim nec eros consectetur Cum eu Proin ornare quam, quis

After the verdict, the despicable verdict that everyone else had fully expected while Lavinia held tenaciously to her candle of hope, she took to her bed to cry in peace for a day before throwing off the bed clothes to rise like Lazarus, return to her desk, and fill the letter-to-the-editor columns of regional newspapers and journals with passionately-reasoned demands for a new trial. Women’s suffrage had taken decades to achieve. This new campaign would require harder work because she did not have decades to wait.

elit magnis vestibulum at est adipiscing penatibus imperdiet Sed montes, ut ac malesuada. malesuada. Sed enim nec eros consectetur Cum eu Proin ornare quam, quis

Six months later, Lavinia was still giving herself pep talks: Do not despair, woman! Many motions are underway, half a dozen or more, according to Mr. Moore, all firmly grounded on some mischarge of justice in the course of the trial, or the discovery of new evidence. The defense is firmly hopeful of new evidence. Yet, no one can say when these motions will be heard or ruled on by the judge -- astonishingly, the same judge who conducted the trial with such blatant hatred for the defendants and their cause.

elit magnis vestibulum at est adipiscing penatibus imperdiet Sed montes, ut ac malesuada. malesuada. Sed enim nec eros consectetur Cum eu Proin ornare quam, quis

Her pilgrimages to Charlestown had diminished. Lavinia sometimes considered giving them up altogether. Leaning forward across a rigid barrier in the often crowded visiting room was in no way the same as speaking with the friend of her heart in the privacy of her home. On one occasion, she had been forced to wait while a certain grand and widely-regarded lady monopolized her friend. High royalty at the prison, the newspapers called her Aunt Bea, her doings apparently chronicled in the society pages. Wearing a black hat with a sliver of veil, Aunt Bea was accompanied by a younger woman at whom she periodically glanced for confirmation of her remarks. Vanzetti was all gratitude, of course. “With the bests of happiness,” he saluted his visitors. “All my wishes.”

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nibh Pellentesque Lorem tristique montes, elit fermentum tristique condimentum et ut sodales gravida vestibulum nulla. eu at nisi nec Cum ac dolor dolor

Still, it rankled. It hurt to visit the prison and know that her claim to Vanzetti did not supersede all others. It was better to stay home and write letters. Despite no discernable effect as yet, the letters honed her arguments for the more direct campaign she was preparing to launch on behalf of the defendants.

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Lavinia wrote to the editor of the New York Sun:

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We who are the fortunate stewards of American freedoms and American justice do not say that only some people are equal, that government may interfere with the rights of certain classes of people, that we will turn a blind eye if police power is abused when it is relentlessly impressed upon the activities of those of whom the majority -- the powers that be -- the nation’s rich and powerful classes -- do not approve. Let me be perfectly clear on this question. All men, and all women, whether they are radicals, socialists, Bolsheviks, suffragists, or anarchists may say what they wish, write and publish and speak before assemblies as they wish, subject to no limitations that do not fall by reason and law upon the rest of us. And they must not be made to suffer because of these opinions.

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Her suffragism was unemployed. This was her new cause -- defending the rights of those who held unpopular beliefs. It was to save her friend, but also to rouse the nation to the new challenge staring it in the face. That was the next great cause -- the eradication of prejudice based on national origin. American women whose rights had been secured by the previous cause, suffrage, would carry the banner of this new broadening of American freedom. As was altogether fitting, it had to be. Its time would come. Lavinia’s lifelong championing of the political rights of women would not be in vain. And the right of her friend to spread his revolutionary social gospel would be protected.

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Her plans for this campaign were coming together even now, with her hand inside the cavities of a dead chicken laid out on the scarred work table. She planned to begin with advertisements in the local press for the lectures she was preparing on the Sacco-Vanzetti case. A case study, she would call it, on matters of freedom of belief, speech, and conscience, and on the assault of these most American of rights by the growing prejudice against foreigners, people of other races, and unpopular opinions expressed by certain segments of American society.

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Oh heavens, Lavinia thought, straightening from her labors to wipe her brow with her forearm. How hard can this be?

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Lavinia manhandled the lightly dressed bird with head and neck removed and innards mostly left inside into the once handsome range her late husband had installed almost twenty years ago. This activity agitated new thoughts. She asked herself: Are we not all birds of a feather? Are we not all made of the same stuff under the skin?

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Lavinia wiped her hands on a kitchen rag, and retreated from the kitchen to her desk to put this new thought into words. The carcass would have to get along without her attentions for a while.

***

April, 1922, Allerton Street, Plymouth

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Marguerite had always seemed grown-up to Vivian, who was seven years old when her sister went to the altar with the man she was told to call “Uncle Willy,” who

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seemed older still, though in fact he was not. Marguerite’s husband struck Vivian as strange and rather forbidding, especially in his dark-blue uniform, which circumstances sometimes obliged him to wear to her mother’s house, though, or perhaps because, Mother grew stern at the sight of any uniform.

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There was a war between those two, the child understood. The uniform made Mother grave and short-tempered, uncharacteristically short of speech at times. Marooned in the parlor with his thick legs and blue-draped bulk smack up against his mother-in-law’s stiff silence, Uncle Willy sucked the life from the house. Seated in the low chair that was hers, trying to remember to keep her knees together, Vivian fought an urge to fly for safety. (“Vivian, where are you running off to?” Mother would demand, with more than ordinary impatience.) Vivian had learned to sneak away without being seen; choosing the moment of her getaway to take advantage of distractions such as a query from the kitchen. “Should you want extra places set at the table, Ma’am?” cook would ask when cook was still with them before “economy” (that cruel mistress) had sent her away. “Would Mr. and Mrs. Carroll be staying?”

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One dismal Sunday afternoon, when the east wind blew hard from the harbor, chilling the house, Vivian had slipped from the room during a stiff exchange between her mother and sister over a dinner invitation Marguerite ultimately declined. Safely out of sight, Vivian paused halfway up the stairs to her bedroom to listen as her mother insisted on engaging Uncle Willy in a discussion about her preference for the Italian opera.

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“For the life of me, Mother Rossiter,” Uncle Willy remarked, “I just can’t understand what an educated American woman like you finds to admire in that awful foreign music.”

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“William!” scolded Marguerite, who did not enjoy the prospect of her husband making trouble in her mother’s parlor, where if there was trouble to be made, she preferred to make it herself. “You and I have spoken on this very subject, and I have asked that you refrain from needless controversy,” she observed in a stilted, dignified tone.

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“No, Mrs. Carroll, let the man speak,” her mother said, needling her daughter by using the married name reserved for such moments. “Mr. Carroll is your husband. Your lord and master.”

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“I believe I am capable of remembering that fact without your assistance, Mother,” Marguerite replied tartly. “And need I add that a wife has her rights as well?”

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“Though not enough,” Lavinia riposted. “As you would know full well had you examined the pamphlet on the legal impediments to women’s progress I loaned you some time ago.”

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Willy suddenly boomed, “If interrupting a man when he opens his mouth to speak his mind is some notion of your rights, Peg, I say…I say…well…” Short of words, flustered, he blurted… “I say that’s a fine state of affairs!”

penatibus egestas. in elit sit lacus mi ridiculus tempor ornare at lobortis quis mi in Fusce amet adipiscing Pellentesque sodales Pellentesque venenatis erat,

“Quite right, Mr. Carroll,” Lavinia said, confusing him more by agreeing, and swiftly changing course to ask, “Will you permit yourself to be turned from your original subject, Mr. Carroll? Will you be so easily diverted?”

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“Well I won’t, Mother Rossiter, I thank you for saying. The point is, as I was saying, before this other business came up…“

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tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

He lost his thread, thought a moment, and said, “This wifeliness--“

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Willy! Be still!” Marguerite commanded in a harsh whisper.

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“You were about to say, Mr. Carroll, that you could not comprehend my appreciation for the opera music of the Italians, people of a foreign nation,” Lavinia supplied helpfully.

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“That’s it! That’s the nail on the head!”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Mother!” Marguerite protested. “Must you lead him on?”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Now Peg. Dearest!” said Willy, his voice softened to the crunch of feet on gravel. “Will you let a man speak?”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Indeed, Daughter,” Lavinia plied sweetly. “We are having a civilized discussion.”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“You won’t be for long,” Marguerite snorted. “Knowing you two.”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

Ignoring her, bestowing a smile on her son-in-law, Lavinia said, “You wish to know why I admire this music, do you not?”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Yes! For the love of God, Mother Rossiter--“

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Willy!”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

Lavinia smiled. “You were saying, Mr. Carroll?”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Only that it’s a natural wonder to me.”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Then I shall answer you, Mr. Carroll. Are you by any chance familiar with the libretto -- that is to say, the written program -- of the opera Tosca by the composer Puccini?”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Not a word.” He folded his arms across chest. “Not any bit of all that.”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Then I shall describe it to you. I think you will find it a very interesting story indeed.”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“Mother, please.”

tristique quis sit vestibulum sed adipiscing Proin enim ornare consectetur vehicula Etiam nibh sit venenatis mauris scelerisque nisi gravida magna nibh montes, quis

“An artist is painting in a church when a dear friend of his bursts upon the scene seeking sanctuary,” Lavinia fluently narrated, effectively overriding her daughter’s objection. “This poor soul has just escaped from an awful prison where he had been held prisoner as an enemy of a cruel, unjust regime -- that is to say, the government of Rome. It is the time of Napoleon Bonaparte, who is marching against the old regimes of Europe. The fugitive is a supporter of the Republican views, the freedom-loving ideas behind systems such as ours…well, as ours purports to be…and he is being persecuted for his beliefs by the reactionary Roman government, which has no use for the ideas of equality and democracy that were spreading across Europe in the wake of the French Revolution. Are you with me, Mr. Carroll?”

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nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Hunh,” Willy grunted skeptically.

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Very well. Now. This frightened, abused man is pursued by a policeman, a man wearing the uniform of the state, who is therefore, in the manner of policemen everywhere, like you, Mr. Carroll, bound to do the state’s bidding.”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“My word! Mother!”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“You are quite right, Marguerite. Dear me. My apologies, Mr. Carroll! I spoke rather broadly.”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“But you see, that’s where you’re wrong, Mother Rossiter,” Willy replied, thumbing the lapels of his good brown suit. “These are my own clothes you see me in. When a native-born American takes off his uniform, he is his own man again.”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“So you say, Mr. Carroll, and we will leave the matter there. Nevertheless, this policeman in the opera Tosca never takes off the uniform. The uniform, so to speak, exists in his mind and shapes his every thought.”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Oh enough!” her daughter wailed.

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“No, Peg, I’m willing to hear what Mother Rossiter has to say. Only stick to the matter at hand, and leave the personal observations aside,” Willy proposed.

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Indeed, Mr. Carroll, to the matter at hand. Now, the artist I spoke of, seeing his friend’s extremity, bravely offers to hide him in his house. No sooner has the offer been accepted than the central person of the drama, the heroine Tosca, a beautiful woman who is the painter’s lover -- don’t look shocked, Mr. Carroll, you know the word -- enters the church. After some love complications between them which I will not further outrage your delicacy by recounting, Tosca is followed by the chief of all the Roman police, the cruel policeman I spoke of, a man who has a terrible reputation for the brutal methods he uses in suppressing rebellion and dissent. Terrible methods! Can you believe such things happen, Mr. Carroll?”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Can I believe it?” The policeman’s voice rose once more to its natural bullhorn volume. Marguerite placed her hands over her ears. “Why ask me that? I don’t believe a word of any of the whole nonsensical business. And I don’t see how this story that some Eye-tal-yan made up long ago has anything to do with me.”

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Not so long ago. And such practices are still known in our world today, you may take my word for it, Mr. Carroll.” She ignored a muttered reply and rushed on. “In any event, the political fugitive and the painter who gives him succor have just managed to escape when the notorious policeman Scarpia, whose name has become a byword for official cruelty, discovers Tosca in the church. But since the artist has left his materials behind, he puts two and two together -- this Scarpia is one of your clever policemen, Mr. Carroll, cruel and cunning -- and realizes that Tosca must know where the fugitive has gone to hide. So he summons her for questioning, ‘downtown,’ as the men of your profession say, and there offers her a very nasty surprise. The artist, Cavaradossi, the heroine’s lover--“

nec justo hendrerit. nisi adipiscing at diam ut vitae Proin odio tincidunt convallis malesuada. elit consectetur erat sagittis egestas. venenatis eros vehicula nascetur elit.

“Mother, enough!”

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elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“…is already under custody, and the methods his lackeys are preparing to use for interrogation on this poor man are, shall we say, quite nasty.”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“I understand this is all just some bit of tom-foolery,” Willy said, “but it doesn’t sound to me like a very decent story. Especially--”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“For a woman?” Lavinia interrupted. “For a woman to hear or to speak of? Yet it is about a woman, a woman’s life, and women are perhaps the best judge of how much truth and how much ‘foolery’ -- to use your expression, Mr. Carroll -- such tales contain. Hear a little more, Mr. Carroll. The infamous Scarpia has Cavaradossi tortured just enough so that Tosca will hear his cries and spill the beans, so to speak, concerning the hiding place of the fugitive. That is hard enough on poor Tosca. Yet worse is to come when Scarpia confides to her that her lover has been condemned to death for aiding the fugitive, and will be executed this very dawn unless she, Tosca, consents to become his lover--“

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“Oh this is outrageous!”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“I do think we’ve heard about enough, Mother Rossiter,” Willy said, rising.

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“Oh, but Mr. Carroll, Officer Carroll, we are now at the very crux of the matter. What is a virtuous, though passionate woman to do? She has her honor to save on the one hand, and her heart, the object of her love, on the other. Which should she choose? Which sacrifice? Her honor and her reputation? Or her heart?”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“But it’s all stuff and nonsense, Mother Rossiter!”

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The passion of their voices drew Vivian down the stairs to the place where she could peer into the parlor from behind the potted rubber tree.

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Uncle Willy stood, his face reddened. “I may not have one of your so-called higher educations, Ma’am, but any man can tell this is nothing more than a cock ‘n bull story--”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“Willy!”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“…about something that happened in some horrible foreign country where they have no sense of right and wrong. No decency! It is all some outlandish make-believe.”

elit. gravida nisl. montes, lacus quis dolor Ut imperdiet egestas. fermentum condimentum Fusce lobortis

“Oh is it, Mr. Carroll? Is it truly?”

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He stared, uncomprehending.

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“There is today, let me remind you, the case of one Mr. Vanzetti, a man of our own town, and a Mr. Sacco--“

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A moment later, all three were standing and shouting past one another.

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Words were flung from one reddened face to another: “Travesty of Justice!”; “Law and order!”; “Disgraceful prejudice!”; “Trial by jury!” Vivian clapped her small hands over her ears during the shouting, and wondered if it would be safe to slip upstairs without being noticed.

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dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

Her mother abruptly sat down and began to fan herself with one of the Oriental fans that lingered in the house from a previous century.

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

“How warm it has become in here,” she remarked.

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

Marguerite turned her back on the others and walked into her mother’s library, where she gazed at the titles of the books on the shelves.

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

“Well, Mother Rossiter,” Willy said, after a troubled silence. “Pardon me for a tin-eared flatfoot, but I still can’t see the pleasure of the business.”

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

“I realize it is not to everyone’s taste,” Lavinia replied. “You must pardon my tendency to enthusiasm.”

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

When enough time had passed so that all could pretend the quarrel was forgotten, Marguerite removed a dark volume from a bookshelf and said, “All these books, Mother. Have you really read them all? Such forbidding titles: The Coming Disaster in American Capital Formation; The Manufacturing Laborer and the Theory of Value.”

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

Marguerite replaced the hefty tome then removed from the shelf a thin, softly-bound volume no larger than a pamphlet, titled in a foreign tongue. When opened, a folded piece of paper fell from between its leaves. Marguerite stooped to pick up and glance at the paper. Her expression darkened. She shoved the paper into the bodice of her dress, turned away, and announced to her husband that she was quite prepared to go home.

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

Lavinia extended her hand. “I will have that paper, Marguerite.”

***

Autumn, 1922, Charlestown Prison

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

He woke in darkness, a weight upon his spirit, as always, and heard footsteps. Yes, he thought, today they were taking him outside the walls of the prison. It was a year since he had been allowed to breathe fresh air. A year of dampness and prison stink, the moldy smell of the iron-press room, the poor visibility of the corridor lighting, mere hints of the light of the world stealing into the prisoner’s cold cell. He woke to the wintry numbness of the toes, the pinched tips of fingers, and the point of the nose frosty to the touch. He would not wish anyone to touch him, hold his fingers, kiss him anywhere on the cold, rancid flesh of his face, not in his current condition. A year of bland, tasteless, cold food. But today, at least for a while, he was leaving the prison walls to go to where there was life.

dolor Ut nulla. Pellentesque Pellentesque et malesuada. ipsum condimentum elit. fermentum vehicula amet, consectetur vehicula ut amet, ac malesuada. Nulla pellentesque. erat parturient eu a. in

And where there was life, even in the hellish days of courtroom mockery, he found some goodness. People he did not know became the supporters, and friends. Twelve women, so he had read in the Boston newspaper, women who fought for women’s rights like Veenie, attended his trial on a daily basis. A few of these Boston ladies, fine ladies with their good clothes and beautiful voices, came to see him now, brightening the prison’s bare visiting room with their presence, their talk, their smiles, their lives. The one the others called Aunt Bea came often and brought fine gifts of things

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to eat, which he shared with Nicola, and the guards who did him the favor of carrying a half a loaf of bread, a couple of oranges, or a cut of salami to Nick’s cell on the other side of the century-old prison. There was the young woman Kathryn too, who was much younger, and who volunteered to bring books, paper, and pens to Vanzetti, and to teach him the finer correctness of English spelling and written composition. He must write to Kathryn, tell her how much this meant.

sit faucibus ac a. et ut sed nec Lorem Ut erat, sed odio et ridiculus hendrerit sociis lacus venenatis sagittis sed lobortis dui. amet, scelerisque lacus mus.

The cell grew light enough for the prisoner to rise and dress in the morning chill. He was ready when the guards came at last to get him for his return to the courthouse in Dedham, the only place in the entire world where the prisoner could see the light of the natural world.

sit faucibus ac a. et ut sed nec Lorem Ut erat, sed odio et ridiculus hendrerit sociis lacus venenatis sagittis sed lobortis dui. amet, scelerisque lacus mus.

It was already the fall of the year. He knew this. Blinking in the unaccustomed sunlight on the city street outside the prison gates, Vanzetti took in this unlived passage of time in the few, thin trees of that desolate place of narrow streets and wide brick factory buildings. Now, even such cramped, dirty places were beautiful to a prisoner freed from his dark cave for a single day. He rode in big black car, with an officer in front beside the driver, and a second officer in the back seated close beside him, the two men’s hands shackled one to another like lovers who’d been wed at the altar and were therefore bonded for life. In mere minutes, almost at once, it seemed, they were outside of the streets of Charlestown, and then of the city of Boston, and the picture of the world presented to him changed. Streets opened. Trees bloomed yellow and orange and rusty brown in the half sun of autumn. The streets were lined with a jumble of houses, wooden houses mostly, big, small, and medium in size. He most liked the smaller houses. They reminded him of the humble dwellings of the workers in Plymouth, where he had once been at home, been an ordinary man known to no one of importance, who dug holes for a few dollars a day, and listened to a child play the violin. Or was that a dream?

sit faucibus ac a. et ut sed nec Lorem Ut erat, sed odio et ridiculus hendrerit sociis lacus venenatis sagittis sed lobortis dui. amet, scelerisque lacus mus.

A fist gripped his heart. No, it had been real enough, but those days were now lost. What remained of that world appeared only in dream-like glimpses through an automobile window. Children on the streets outside the small houses in a scattered town just beyond the city. Two girls, sisters perhaps, walking side by side, sharing a word, a laugh perhaps as the black car drove past. A pale dog. A man trying to start the motor bike, which brought to mind Croacci’s machine, Buda in the sidecar. A store with a big sign in the window. He could not read the sign, but surely it was a number, the price of something. It would be a bargain, but would not be wine or spirits of any sort. It was now illegal to sell spirits, even wine, in this America. He shook his head in wonder. A man stepping out of a store, peering down the sidewalk. Looking for what? A customer? Or perhaps awaiting the delivery of some important commodity. See how he wipes his nose with the sleeve of his long white-cloth coat, believing he is alone. Ah, he thought, but we have seen you, we dreamers who are staring at the world. The many odd, unevenly-shaped houses clustered together, more and more of them. Is this the truth of the world? If someone should ask, “What is the world?” he would now answer, “It is an endless line of jumbled up buildings.” Then the solemn stone fronts of a different sort of place, a public building, a post office, perhaps. A glass storefront of some shop giving off an air of busyness -- of commerce, custom, the great American god of custom! The sidewalk empty, too early still for the customers. A street corner in a village center with many stores lining both sides of the road. Men with the dark hats of business, walking. Two ladies approaching from the other direction, not children this time, grown women, skirts a few inches below the knees, the higher heels of the shoes, the curved dark hats which to his eye resembled the outer shell of certain flowers, superb summer flowers, or perhaps a seashell, a conch, a single hemisphere of the common mussel shell that the workers dug from Plymouth Harbor during the strike. But fine ladies, he thought, of this he was sure; walking together, in conversation. Now he would watch the men. Would they notice, would they acknowledge these two pretty ones, these “fine flowers of womanhood” as the windbag courtroom beast Katzmann would say? Ah, there it is. The touch of the hat.

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tempor ut dui. est Lorem in justo sodales adipiscing amet, malesuada. elit. Sed lacus sed parturient augue. erat, gravida hendrerit. quis quis

All at once, the black car is pulling up in front of the wide stone steps of the familiar courthouse. Here? So soon? The heavy black door flies open, the light of the world is shuttered, thick hands on either arm rush him forward, an inner door yields its secrets. The little prison of the courtroom swallows him.

***

Spring, 1922, Plymouth

tempor ut dui. est Lorem in justo sodales adipiscing amet, malesuada. elit. Sed lacus sed parturient augue. erat, gravida hendrerit. quis quis

Only seven of the chairs carefully arranged in the parish hall of the church were occupied. Lavinia counted more than once. The number refused to grow. The erstwhile Mayflower Suffragette lifted her head and prepared to stand before them as if speaking to a packed house at Symphony Hall filled with cheering supporters, women mostly, who knew what political enfranchisement was for, and were ready to fight for a just world and an improved lot for the common man and woman, regardless of his or her national background. She recognized two of the ladies among her precious few, the Thorndike sisters, who gazed straight ahead with well-bred disregard for the empty seats around them. My last disciples, Lavinia thought. Well into their sixties. None of the younger women who had crossed the threshold of her Women’s Society had, it appeared, been curious enough about what the old crusader had newly undertaken to lend an ear. Nor had daughter Marguerite, whom she had carefully refrained from inviting -- Vivian she judged far too young. Nor brother-in-law Charles, nor any of the Rossiters, who had found Lavinia too outspoken for their taste when Nathaniel was alive, and after he passed away had grown steadily more distant. One other face in the crowd was known to her, the Reverend Marsh. It was his church in which she was speaking, so it was not wholly unreasonable that he should keep an eye on what transpired within it. Lavinia knew that while the thin-haired clergyman had fixed an attentive expression on his still youthful features, inwardly he was smirking. So you have chosen your new flag, she imagined him thinking. See how the people flock to your banner!

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Of the remaining few, one was an older woman whose frequent shifting of feet and light rocking in her chair and distracted facial expression made Lavinia question whether she was in possession of her wits. The other three, all male, had the look of working men, with their worn jackets and stooped carriage. Darkly silent and ill at ease, the men looked as if they expected their presence in this hall of the Pilgrims to be challenged, though surely it was the title of her talk, “Liberty Weeps: America’s Shameful Persecution of Sacco and Vanzetti,” that had drawn them. She wondered. Had any of them attended her library classes? Did any of the three speak enough English to follow her text?

tempor ut dui. est Lorem in justo sodales adipiscing amet, malesuada. elit. Sed lacus sed parturient augue. erat, gravida hendrerit. quis quis

Head high, Lavinia advanced to the old wooden podium, which rocked unpleasantly and offered a disparaging creak whenever leaned on, something she didn’t intend to do, the mood in the room anxious enough. She had conned her address by heart, so held the carefully written pages in her left hand as a prop, each page to be placed on the flat of the podium once its contents had been spoken. Looking Marsh in the face, she began.

tempor ut dui. est Lorem in justo sodales adipiscing amet, malesuada. elit. Sed lacus sed parturient augue. erat, gravida hendrerit. quis quis

“They say that anarchists are godless men. I have but a day or two before read, in that reputable journal the Boston American, that the Governor of the Commonwealth equated a belief in God with good citizenship. But where does the Bill of Rights, that charter which guarantees the liberty of all Americans, require the profession of faith in a divine being as the necessary grounds for American citizenship and American rights? Does the foundation document of our American political system anywhere state

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that all other manner of speech is guaranteed and free from infringement except that speech which denies the existence of the Christian god? It does not. As we know, as Americans have proudly trumpeted to an illiberal world, our fundamental statement of rights declares that government shall make no interference in the religious belief of the individual. But nowhere does this sacred document compel religious belief.”

penatibus fermentum magna montes, Lorem quam, et vitae dolor elit. quis scelerisque elit. hendrerit parturient sodales convallis et malesuada. justo consectetur scelerisque nisl. magnis in dolor imperdiet euismod

She lay down her first page and regarded her listeners. The Thorndike sisters seemed slightly puzzled, as if something might be expected of them. Reverend Marsh appeared to be fighting an urge to look at his watch. The unknown lady rocked forward and aft. Lavinia spoke again.

“It is said that the anarchists are foreigners. So were we all, once…”

***

Vivian was upstairs, seated in her bedroom, legs gently swinging under the little table where she did her homework, when the quarrel began below.

“Mother,” Marguerite demanded, “why are you forever mooning about? Are you ill?”

Her sister’s raised voice disturbed her. True, Mother seemed sad more and more often lately. Whole days went by when Mother failed to speak more than a score of words to her, those words often on the order of “Can you not find something more useful to do, Vivian, than to sit about the house all day?” Still, it was upsetting to hear her mother scolded by her sister in much the same terms.

“I do not see you in church anymore,” Marguerite declaimed. “You do not reply to my invitations.”

Vivian could not hear her mother’s reply. Mother played her music on the Victrola, the sad music with all the foreign language singing, more and more. But was that reason to reproach her? ”What do you reproach me for?” her mother had once asked Marguerite. Vivian did not know what the word meant; only that it did not sound friendly.

While she could not make out many of the words from the quarrel downstairs, she recognized familiar tones of voice. Her mother’s stiff, high, and superior. Her sister’s injured, resentful, edging toward hysteria.

Vivian stood from her high-backed chair to cross the bedroom, careful not to look at herself as she passed the small wall mirror, and walk to the top of the stairs.

“It’s that Bolshevik of yours isn’t it?” her sister accused.

Another word Vivian did not know.

A silence fell, before her mother replied coldly, “He was never a Bolshevik. Even you should know that much, Peg.”

“Whatever he is, is he worth your tears, Mother? How many?”","page":"296","last":"","id":"1178","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ridiculus magnis in adipiscing imperdiet vestibulum elit. scelerisque at Nulla dui. Quisque erat, blandit Quisque justo ut tincidunt augue. sed gravida lobortis gravida ac dis sit convallis montes, Sed

“How dare you, child? How dare you? You have no idea, no notion--”

“You didn’t shed a tear over Father, did you, Mother?”

To this came silence, rather than explosion.

A moment passed before her mother replied with icy calm, “Take hold of yourself, Child. You are behaving like a melodramatic fool… You have your griefs, Marguerite. I have mine.”

But her sister was not calm.

“I am your child, Mother, though sometimes I wonder if you remember it! If you won’t spare a tear for Father, then spare one for your own flesh and blood!”

“For heaven’s sake, Peg! You have made your own bed!”

Both women lost their tempers. Their words ran over one another’s and became incomprehensible. Their angry passion sickened Vivian. She thought if she made a noise, if it was apparent she was listening, she might stop her sister and mother from carrying on that way.

Vivian chose instead to stay quiet -- to learn what she could from the indiscretions of her elders.

***

1925, Charlestown Prison

Footsteps in the corridor. Someone has forced his way past the guards? Was rescue at hand?

Ah, a man in prison for five years must amuse himself as best he could. Vanzetti knew what the footsteps really meant. An attorney. Perhaps the new one, the wonderful Mr. Thompson, who is so courteous in his manner, so everyone says. A real gentleman and scholar. A wonderful legal mind. It is he who will argue these motions so many years delayed by the cruelty and indolence of the judge before the same twisted mind that had already condemned them.

Vanzetti has spoken to many attorneys as the seasons turned and the years recurred, stacking their weight on the bent back of his hopes. The most often was the Mr. Moore, the labor man who meant well and achieved little, who was so certain that the “motions” he filed after the terrible trial in Dedham would yield a new, fairer trial, and perhaps even their release. Yet here he was, still behind bars. And Mr. Moore had long vanished.

Thank goodness for the ladies who came to him not to discuss the details of the never-ending court case, but perhaps the great ideas, and the principals of a higher humanity that moved all the actions, large and small, of his ordinary lifetime, and would in no

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way have led him to a crime such as the one for which he had been persecuted. Sometimes they merely wished to talk of friends, and children, and places to see. Of Aunt Bea’s farm, where Rosina Sacco has taken her little ones to live, and the neighbors’ children come to ride the pony. The filmy white days of summer, he imagines their heat in the dank, dark days of the prison. Grass beneath his feet. Fruits and flowers motioned by the breeze. Flat-bottom boats poled on a stream. A small garden spot to dig the black soil. Ah, Vanzetti would reply, in words of this manner, the world was indeed a beautiful place. I yearn to see the sights you have spoken of with my own imprisoned eyes.

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

But no. These are the leather-shod footsteps of a man of business.

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

And, to his surprise, the man who appeared outside his cell in the company of the warder, the taciturn old guard called Campy, was a very young man indeed.

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“Visitor, Bart,” the guard mumbled, speaking the words into his hands as he twisted the key through the old lock. “Attorney Blaine.”

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

No Mr. Thompson? Vanzetti’s face fell momentarily. He quickly recovered and stood to offer a warm greeting to the young man.

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“Grazie,” he said. “I am afraid you must sit on my humble bed. Or take the stool.”

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“Thank you,” the visitor replied, glanced at the bare bed board, and said, “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“Certo.”

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

The young man had a reserved manner. His eyes said that he was sad to find Vanzetti in a largely bare cell; that he wished to say something more than his business charged him to say, but could not find the words.

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“Mr. Vanzetti,” he began in a formal tone, a signal to Vanzetti that the visit was official in nature. “I am Thomas Blaine, Mr. Thompson’s assistant. Mr. Thompson has sent me to interview you, sir, because it is time now to prepare the appeal.”

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“Ah, the appeal.”

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

It is time, Vanzetti reflected, because the motions of Moore have failed to sway the blood-thirsty Thayer, who has finally and sufficiently recovered from his various ailments to use the magic wand of his hatred to wave away the motions the poor Senor Moore had drawn up to challenge the evidence and the conduct of the trial. And it is time now that Nick has recovered his soundness of mind after being permitted to dig in the garden soil of the Bridgewater asylum to which he had been transferred. A humble pleasure, he blushed to recall, which had made Vanzetti jealous. Imagine! To envy the pleasures of an inmate of an insane asylum!

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“And so, we are left with judicial error, nothing else,” young Mr. Blaine concluded his recitation of the case’s legal history and the grounds open to appeal in language considerably more formal than Vanzetti’s thoughts, which were that little now stood between this king of devils and his prey except whatever grounds for appeal the celebrated Mr. Thompson could dig up from the boneyard of the terrible trial.

quis sit convallis fermentum ac montes, Proin Proin faucibus ipsum ante. erat eros vehicula odio scelerisque elit. ipsum Quisque

“So…” Blaine paused and expectantly eyed Vanzetti, seated on the stool granted to him as a model prisoner.","page":"298","last":"","id":"1180","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Sed vehicula sodales Fusce montes, ac elit. enim sagittis at in Proin sodales vitae parturient justo Lorem lobortis malesuada. quam, nisl. penatibus diam est hendrerit. lobortis in hendrerit. justo Cum

Vanzetti nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“So, Mr. Thompson has asked that I review with you the court’s record of your testimony to determine the accuracy of this record.”

“Ah,” Vanzetti responded politely, as if anticipating a pleasure. He gazed at the transcript that Mr. Blaine held in his arms like a bulky, unforgiving newborn, and which, as he sought to turn a page, dropped from his hands to the floor of the cell with a loud report.

Vanzetti put a finger to his lips. “We must not make the noise. Some of the men sleep.”

Visibly embarrassed, the young attorney regained his transcript and began to read the parts where Vanzetti had given evidence. Vanzetti paid little attention, simply responded “si” whenever the young man paused to ask if the record was accurate. He was again ready to provide his ritual assent after Blaine finished reading the explanation of Vanzetti’s movements on the day of the crime, and the persons met in the course of these movements, when the man interposed another question.

“And can you think of anything now that you may have inadvertently left out of that account of your activities, Mr. Vanzetti?”

Ah, he thought, now comes the real question.

“No,” he responded, seeking not to speak either too quickly or slowly. “I can think of nothing beyond what I have already answered.” He glanced at Blaine and, seeing no sign of suspicion in his expression, added, “Why do you ask this?”

“Simply to assure ourselves that there were no other movements or incidents that might supply another corroborative witness.”

Si, the other witness. The angel who will come down from the sky and save us all.

Vanzetti grunted his understanding. “No, Senor Blaine, I have told it all.”

Blaine nodded, betraying no concern, and returned to reading from the big book of testimony.

He doesn’t know, thought Vanzetti. Mr. Thompson doesn’t know. They are simply following the way these things are done.

“Put down your book,” Vanzetti urged the young attorney. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me what you do.”

He had attended Harvard, like his father before him. He had been fortunate enough to be offered a place among the young attorneys in William Thompson’s firm.

“And what do you think of this whole business?” Vanzetti asked with a sweep of an arm, calling the dark corridors of the old prison to give their evidence.

“I am surprised, appalled in fact that these charges ever went forward in the first place. I see no basis for them in law or in fact.”","page":"299","last":"","id":"1181","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

“Ah! A fine answer indeed! Bravo! Now that is the way a young man should speak. Not this mincing about minor points.”

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

Uplifted, Vanzetti stood from his stool. “Let me shake your hand, Mr. Blaine.”

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

Blaine appeared surprised, but his fair features pinked a little, with pleasure.

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

A fine young man, Vanzetti thought, perhaps a comrade one day. If he had not been thrown into this place he might never have met such men, men who have come from the bosses, but have seen beyond the blindfolds of their class. True, he was paying a terrible price for such meetings, but glimpses of hope sometimes peeked through the cracks in the prison walls.

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

Unable to sleep that night, Vanzetti reconsidered the question raised knowingly or not by the young man’s interview, demanding of his doubts, what difference would it make? They did not believe any of his witnesses, all of whom spoke true.

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

Vanzetti got out of bed, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and pulled his stool up against the bars to catch the pale light from the end of the corridor. Perhaps he could persuade himself to attempt in this light a letter that would start, “Today, a true young man came to see me...”

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

He tried to focus on pen and paper, but the lack of light defeated his eyes, and his anguish forced him to confront the truth. They would destroy her, his poor, innocent, American-born Veenie, a widow, a woman alone, a respectable woman, a Yankee woman who came from the bosses but was no longer of them. Not in her heart. What was such a woman doing in the company of a man like Vanzetti? In his thoughts, he heard the hairless beast Katzmann tear into her.

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

“What was this meeting of yours with the defendant about, Mrs. Rossiter? Did you meet with him often? Were you alone? So, you were alone? I see. Was it a rendezvous? A tryst? What did the defendant and you do, Mrs. Rossiter, on those occasions when you met with him alone? You talked? Is that all? I asked, is that all, Mrs. Rossiter? Your honor…?”

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

“The witness will answer the question.”

quis in diam parturient vestibulum sit nibh adipiscing vitae amet venenatis erat, mauris quam a.

No, he could not do this to her or to any woman. He swore -- on his mother’s grave. He would protect all women. He would not bring them into danger. Never. Not one.","page":"300","last":"","id":"1182","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

CHAPTER 27

IT WASN’T MY MOTHER’S LETTER TO HIM

IT WAS HIS LETTER TO HER.

2000, Plymouth

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

The trial was a disaster. People pointed fingers. The lead counsel, Fred Moore, who had come from California with the reputation of defending radicals, and the Sacco-Vanzetti Defense Committee dominated by the Boston Italians, quarreled over Moore’s incessant demands for funds. The committee had watched as Moore continually irked a hostile judge. What was his thinking? Was Moore trying to provoke a judicial show of clear prejudice -- a blatant judicial error that would earn him a new trial in front of a different judge? Whatever his intention, it had failed, disastrously. The jury could not wait to rush back into the courtroom with a guilty verdict. The jurors killed time for appearance’s sake, making paper airplanes in the jury room.

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

All was not lost, Moore told the Defense Committee. He was preparing motions for a new trial, but needed money to hire and cover travel expenses for investigators to look into leads the state refused to pursue because the prosecution insisted they had their men, and to question people whose names had come up in the course of earlier investigations. Money for the defense had come in sudden bursts during the trial as the story spread throughout the country. After the verdict, with the case out of the newspapers, the flow of cash diminished, leaving the committee to wonder whether Moore’s ideas were worth backing and where the money would come from.

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

“Did you hear me?”

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

Mill looked up from the stack of homework idling between his elbows on the table at Bernie idling straight-legged on the old sofa.

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

“I asked how your classes are going,” she said.

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

“Better,” Mill replied, decided she deserved more than that, and in a stronger voice added, “A little better.”

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

“That’s good.”

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

Cued by the tacit prompt of the newspaper dropping to his wife’s knees, Mill told her about his day, beginning with his morning class of stiff faces, Jessica, the girl with the stringy blonde hair he’d mentioned before the only one responding to his questions, the others letting her talk, too much and they’d stare off into the spaces where they’d much rather be.

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

“I wanted to tell them, this is your class, too,” said Mill. “This is my job, but this is your class. You’ve paid good money for it. What do you want from this hour?”

Proin lacus natoque mauris magna faucibus eu gravida ac magnis eu sociis tristique fermentum Ut vitae odio Nulla augue. euismod montes, dis

“This is American history, right?” Bernie asked.

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Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“Yeah, readings in American history, we’re doing the Gettysburg Address. I asked the students if it reminded them of an earlier document we’d already studied. Some of the kids had to know the answer. The comparison was made in the text’s introduction to the reading.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“But nobody felt like talking.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“I guess not.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“I wouldn’t take it personally, Mill. It’s a tough age-group to engage at an early hour or at any time. There’s a definite reluctance to speak in front of their peers, thanks to the pervasive fear of sounding stupid. It’s a difficult thing for teenagers to shake. High school habits die hard.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“True.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“So Mill, why do you think you’ve been assigned so many early classes?”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

He shrugged. “They probably give the early slots to the new guy because nobody else wants them.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“Maybe. But there may be more to it than that. They may be hoping you’ll be the guy to light the fire that others haven’t.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

Yeah, he thought, someone who really wants to do the classes that kids take mainly because the courses fit into their lives.

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

The question was had they found their guy?

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

Mill let the idea sink in. He pictured Professor Malinsky and his hopeful eyes when asking whether he was still working on the Indians. “How are your classes?” he’d also ask, sounding less excited. Some of his colleagues asked the same question. It occurred to him now that maybe they weren’t just being polite. Maybe they really wanted to know.

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“I assume you’re still working on Vanzetti,” Bernie broke the silence.

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“Yup.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“What happened after they were found guilty?”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“Things were dark after the trial went against them,” Mill said. “Six more years behind bars, both defendants convicts awaiting sentence. Sacco and Vanzetti were separated. The prosecution planted a stool pigeon in Sacco’s cell to trick him into making incriminating admissions. It was a Keystone Cops ploy. Sacco immediately saw through it, but swore that everyone was spying on him after that. His food was poisoned, he said. He refused to eat. Stress and paranoia ruled his actions and mind.”

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“And Vanzetti?” Bernie asked.

Lorem sed eu in tincidunt tincidunt consectetur et parturient ante. hendrerit. ornare a. ac et hendrerit. malesuada. est nec ante. nibh nulla.

“Vanzetti did better in prison, especially at first. He allowed himself to

","page":"302","last":"","id":"1184","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

be cheered by Moore’s optimism over the motions rapidly piling up in the trial record. Moore argued that the atmosphere of the trial had influenced the jury against the defendants from day one, beginning with the massive show of security, and the fettering of the two defendants as if the men were dangerous enemies of the state whose allies were likely to launch an armed attack on the courthouse. The chairman of the jury, to all appearances an easygoing older man, confided to friends after the trial that in his mind the defendants ought to be hung whether or not they were guilty of the crime simply because of their political beliefs. A second juror brought his revolver into the courtroom and displayed it to the other members.

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

“Testimony by the prosecution’s key ballistic expert, Moore also argued, had been twisted by the prosecution to make it appear that he believed the fatal bullet in the death of the payroll guard had been fired by Sacco’s gun, when in fact the witness said that the bullet was ‘consistent’ with the kind of ammunition that could be fired by Sacco’s gun. Seeking to clear his conscience, this witness was now objecting to the damning spin placed on his testimony by Katzmann.

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

“Several of the prosecution’s prominent eyewitnesses reversed their testimony in signed affidavits as soon as Moore got hold of them, and then signed new affidavits, countermanding the previous ones, as soon as Katzmann found out and applied his usual persuasions. All of these motions had to be addressed by the trial judge, Thayer, before he pronounced sentence -- a sentence that everyone knew could only be execution.”

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

It pained Mill to think…six more years.

***

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

Christmas soon. Academic visions of sugarplums -- a three-and-a-half-week break from classes. Mill walked into his nine o’clock and checked to see if Rodney was in the room. He was not.

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

Days before, he had pulled off the highway into the kind of old place that made you want to take a photo, where they pumped your gas, wiped your window, and a mechanic in a greasy jumpsuit worked on a car in the single-bay garage. The mechanic, a dark-haired kid, looked at him then quickly looked away. Mill got out of his car and walked to the garage.

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

“Hi, Rodney,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in class lately.”

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

The boy appeared pained. He shrugged, his thin shoulders pinching like shells closing. “Been working, I guess.”

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

“You like working on cars?”

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

Another shrug. “I’m good with machines.”

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

“Where are you living?”

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

A long hesitation. Mill was learning to be good with quiet.

adipiscing sit eros et gravida ac erat, justo dolor vehicula Proin hendrerit. condimentum sodales

“In my car.”

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tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

Mill scanned the station, looking for the car and telltale signs, like laundry drying over the hood.

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

“Behind the station,” the boy said. “They let me keep it here.”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

“The academic counseling center is a warm place. You can stay there pretty late.”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

It was all Mill could think to say or offer.

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

The boy said nothing.

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

“I hope to see you in class again, Rodney.”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

The boy’s dark eyes avoided his. “I can’t…do the work.”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

“Then just come and listen. No one will bother you.”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

He had offered that much, but the boy hadn’t come, so on to his nine o’clock and the Emancipation Proclamation. Lincoln, again. Or Lincoln’s lawyers. Or Lincoln the lawyer. An hour of telling stories, proposing scenarios. Talking was the easy way. Mill knew more about the Civil War than any sane person needed to. He remembered that at the end of the class. They had listened, appeared attentive, offered little response. Had they learned anything?

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

He knocked on Professor Malinsky’s door. Invited to “come on in,” his boss nonetheless appeared surprised to see Mill walk in his office.

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

“Am I interrupting?” Mill asked.

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

“No, no.” Malinsky checked his watch. “Sit down, Mill. How is Sea Island treating you?”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

”Remember that student I told you about, Rodney Wessem? You fixed him up with academic counseling. Is there a way to find out whether he’s meeting with his tutor?”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

Malinsky nodded and placed a phone call. After a brief conversation, he hung up and said, “Nothing on their books after the initial meeting. They’re going to check somewhere else and call me back in a minute.”

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

The men chatted, waiting. Several minutes passed. Malinsky looked at his watch. Mill stood and said he’d check back later. The phone rang. Malinsky listened a moment, and then put down the phone. The fixed cast of his features shadowed, he informed Mill, “The student has dropped out.”

***

tristique justo et ridiculus est eu sed egestas. adipiscing quam, Sed nibh nisi elit. pellentesque. montes, adipiscing ante.

Mill took the shortcut from North Plymouth to Route 44, proud to have figured out how to skip a few lights on the drive with Bernie for a weekend helping of state forest. The leaves were mostly gone, but the sun was shining, and the sky deep blue.","page":"304","last":"","id":"1186","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“I know this street,” Bernie said, when Mill turned a corner. “Vivian’s house is over there.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Where?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

She pointed. “The gray one.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

A modest, but self-sufficient, stand-up looking place, early 20th century, shrubs kept trimmed below the front windows. Quiet block. A tiny park with a basketball hoop across the way. A gray van parked on the corner.

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

Mill snorted with recognition.

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Hey Bernie?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“What?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“You think Merrill Sellers drops off old clothes at Vivian Devito’s?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“No way. Vivian? Definitely not the type to wear anyone’s used clothing. Why?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Wondering why his van’s parked on her corner.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Maybe he lives around here.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

Mill shook his head. “He has to be a lives-over-the-store type. It’s written all over his rumpled exterior.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“You don’t like him much, do you?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“There’s something sneaky about him. What’s he hiding? And why is his van parked all over town like a UPS truck? It was there that night, in the empty lot near Building Number Two, and now it’s parked on the corner of Vivian’s street.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Maybe he wants to talk to her.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Yeah…maybe he does.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“What are you thinking, Mill?”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Maybe it’s time I had a talk with your hard-headed old lady, though I’m not exactly sure she has anything to tell me. It would help if I had something solid to go on.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“But you don’t.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Not really.”

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Right turn coming up, Mill,” Bernie said.

amet, justo Etiam Proin gravida eu eu nec nec mus. tristique odio at

“Got it, thanks. So, Bernie…”","page":"305","last":"","id":"1187","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“What?”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“Jeter said something funny the other day.”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“He does say funny things.”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“Funny-unusual, yeah, but this was serious. Something I’d never thought about…”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“Yes?”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“He thinks Vanzetti may have had an affair with a local woman. I’ve never found anything in the literature like that, you know, any report of a love-life, but if there was something illicit back then, it wouldn’t have been talked about publicly. I know I’m grasping at straws here. We assume these days that everyone has some kind of sex life, so maybe I’m just projecting--”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“No,” Bernie interrupted. “I don’t think it’s at all far-fetched to imagine him having a lover. You’ve said that Vanzetti was kind to women and children; that he lived to talk, and enjoyed reading books. Those are qualities many women find attractive in a man.”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“Really?”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“As if you didn’t know.“

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“Yes, but I like to be reminded.”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“So what’s it gonna be, Mill?”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“What’s what gonna be?”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“I’d be happy to tell Vivian to expect you at my next visit.”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“Oh, that. Well, if you think it’s a good idea.”

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

“I do. You never know. Maybe she has something to tell you. Besides, who else is there?”

***

Belmont Street, Plymouth

Pellentesque nulla. fermentum nascetur sodales malesuada. montes, sociis penatibus dolor in mus. ac sit sagittis nulla.

Mill had no idea what he was hearing. It was music, sad, despairing even, but in a grand sort of way. Then a man’s voice booming in song like the last man on Earth, tears roiling in the rush of unfamiliar words. Italian?

","page":"306","last":"","id":"1188","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

The house smelled like his grandmother’s, of faint kitchen odors, fusty radiators, furniture polish, of what Mill liked to think of as age’s perfume. Vivian Devito occupied an upholstered chair of faded damask in a tired, but uncluttered room. No sign of a pet. What did the old lady depend on for company? A homemaker aide? Occasional visits from Bernie? Her remarkable self-sufficiency?

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“Vivian,” Bernie said in her company voice, “this is my husband, Mill. He wanted to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

The old woman shifted her weight forward, coming out of the chair in stages. Bernie crossed the room to the record player to lift the arm from Tosca, a job she had won the right to do as a regular visitor.

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“You didn’t say ‘Bill,’ did you, Mrs. Becker?” Vivian asked, squinting at the young man.

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“No,” Bernie said, “his name is Mill, short for Millward.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“I didn’t think it was Bill,” Vivian said and, frowning as if conscious of sharing an unwelcome opinion, muttered, “People don’t like old-fashioned names anymore.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“Hello,” Mill greeted her, stepping forward a little, worried about crowding a homebound elder. “You can call me Bill if you’d prefer, Mrs. Devito.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

Vivian pushed off from the arms of the chair to hoist herself to a stand. “Well,” she said, “this makes three for tea, though I can’t imagine why a young fellow would be eager to meet an old relic like me.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

Back beside her husband, Bernie smiled and said, “Mill is a history teacher at Sea Island Community College.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“Well, that explains it. I’m ancient history.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

Bernie laughed politely. Vivian eyed Mill, who imagined her assessment: How did this skinny guy with glasses attract a mate as attractive and full of life as Bernie?

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“In my day,” Vivian told him, “college professors were gray men with paunches and chin whiskers.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“I’m not a full professor yet, Mrs. Devito. Maybe if I make the grade, I’ll get the paunch and whiskers, too.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“Well sit down, you two,” Vivian invited, already in motion toward the kitchen. ”I’ll make the tea. Then we’ll have our visit.”

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

She needed to compose herself. She’d detected the scent of the suitor -- perhaps the better word was seeker -- on the young professor. What did he want? What did they always want?

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

Vivian heard footsteps and turned from the sink to watch the nice young woman with the boy’s name walk into the kitchen.

nibh magna et justo penatibus imperdiet dolor in amet nibh Proin adipiscing quam erat, hendrerit

“You can’t keep me out of your charming kitchen forever,” Bernie said brightly. “And now that I’m here, you might as well let me help.”","page":"307","last":"","id":"1189","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

Vivian stifled a sigh and told her visitor where to find the cups and saucers. She paid no attention to the compliment to the kitchen. As if she’d ever cared about wood floors and brass fixtures. When she moved into this place with Frank, her primary concern was a roof over her head to raise her boys. What else, if anything, had she cared about?

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

An image, a memory, a child with soft hair like hers, and a quiet, deep way about her. A girl. The child of her old age, she thought, though she’d had no idea what old age was at the time. She was a mother of two boys. Battle-tested, she knew the ropes of parenting. Thought she did, but no, her battles had yet to begin. She heard the water begin to boil, felt it when her hand hovered over the kettle’s wooden grip. She had always wanted a girl. Was that it? Then, one came to her. Not hers, not from her body, but hers nevertheless. For a while. Not long enough.

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

She’d let the water boil too long. Her helper had carried the cups and saucers to the sitting room. The milk and sugar and open box of fig bars. Her moment of peace or quiet reflection had ended without her getting to the heart of things. Time to face the music. Another man wanted to hear about her mother.

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

Seated again, Vivian poured tea into three of her mother’s china cups. “Now,” she addressed the young man, “what is it you’re researching?”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“I thought it was one thing when we moved to Plymouth,” Mill said. “But it turned out to be something else.”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“Not the Pilgrims?” Vivian guessed. “Or to use that quaint term I always liked, ‘the Founders.’ Do you know about Founders’ Day?”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“Yes, I do,” Mill replied truthfully. “Though in my case, it was Native Americans.”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“Ah,” Vivian said. “I suppose it’s their turn.”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

Mill grinned at her dry wit. “Maybe,” he said. “But they’ll have to wait, at least for me. I’ve been distracted, or attracted, I guess, by Vanzetti. I didn’t know before moving here that he lived in Plymouth.”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“Neither does anyone else. Plymouth wanted to forget.”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“Yes, but you know, Mrs. Devito.”

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

There it was, she thought, watching the young man look at his wife then back at her. Was he worried about intruding? She’d been intruded on for years. He was not a bad sort. She’d had worse.

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

“Well.” She indulged in a vague, elderly sigh.

Lorem mi in hendrerit in tempor tristique imperdiet sit at erat ac erat enim Proin sodales

He was not like the others. Certainly not in any way like the charming lawyer from Philadelphia. No one was. Nor was he like the grasping red-haired youth who’d wanted to know about her mother’s wild-eyed radical days when the Mayflower Suffragette had discussed free love with the Italian anarchist, but had wanted it too much, too quickly, too cheaply, so had earned nothing for his efforts. This man was more careful. He had not revealed his point of view. He did not seem to care what; he just wanted to learn something. Maybe that was what it meant to be a professor these days.","page":"308","last":"","id":"1190","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Yes, he lived here. I do know that much,” Vivian said. “But that poor man’s troubles were over before my time. If you can believe that.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Not entirely before your time,” Mill countered. “You would have been eight or nine, I believe, when Vanzetti went to trial.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Too young to care about such things,” she replied, distressed by his accuracy.

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Did your mother attend the trial?”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“My mother did not,” Vivian answered tersely, the edges of her temper beginning to fray. Calmed by a series of deep breaths, she said, “You have apparently heard the story that Vanzetti and my mother were great friends. I think that whole business has been vastly exaggerated.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Yes, I have heard it,” Mill admitted. “And I’ve been told that your mother wrote a great many letters criticizing the trial and defending Vanzetti’s innocence. That’s why I thought she might have attended.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

Vivian nodded her understanding, at the same time reminded herself that she had to be careful, but careful about what? The visits to the jail? Something else?

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Mother wrote letters to the editor about the case. But she wrote letters about other issues as well. She was a great advocate for suffrage.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“I see,” Mill said. “And did she write Vanzetti during his long imprisonment? Apparently, many people did. And of the hundreds of correspondents Vanzetti wrote to from prison, a number of them were women. Some visited him in prison. It was regarded as a form of charity, I believe.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“My mother was not that sort of woman. She was interested in public matters, not charity.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“But she did write to Vanzetti in prison, didn’t she?”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

Vivian noted his worried expression. Was he afraid of offending her? Life offended her.

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

She lost her train of thought. The trouble came back, paining her from somewhere inside. Her heart, yes, but not the physical organ. Again, an image of the child, the girl that was not her own. The child’s mother -- a difficult woman, that one, long-limbed, coarse-haired, like her sister Peg. But even bolder -- bold as day. Some men liked the type. Lots of men liked Helene, Marguerite’s wildcat daughter, more like Vivian as a child. Brown hair with the same soft wave that had been the source of Vivian’s youthful vanity. A quiet, dreamy child. Both were. The child Vivian had cared for, and the child she had once been.

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Yes,” she said at length to the young man awaiting an answer. “I believe she did.”

vestibulum mus. diam est nibh Pellentesque nascetur elit. quis montes, amet gravida magna Cum sit dis in venenatis justo Sed

“Then he must have written back…all those years in prison…Vanzetti wrote to everybody.”","page":"309","last":"","id":"1191","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

Stubborn, Vivian thought. But could she blame him?

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“The question, Mrs. Devito, is just this. What happened to your mother’s letters, her personal letters? Did any of them survive?”

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

It was my gift, she thought, remembering. My legacy. A legacy I lost.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“I think we might be asking too much here, Mill,” Bernie cautioned.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“No,” Vivian demurred, gathering her thoughts.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

She did not want anyone to speak for her. She never had -- even in her current state. That was the term for it. She was in a state. She had not asked for anyone’s help in the thirty years since Frank died…or was it forty? However long, what good had it done? All that pride. All that standing fast.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

She quelled a riot of thought and emotion. She focused on the question. What was the question? Stubborn old woman!

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“There was a letter once,” Vivian said, approaching the dread subject, the secret. She shook her head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, wondering what the point was of hiding something that had happened so many years ago.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

Her visitors waited without speaking. Vivian felt their glances. She shook off the pain of remembering. The cruelty of it. The stupidity of it.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

What did it matter who knew what now?

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“We all had our hands on it at one time or another,” she said. “I wanted it. Mother had wanted me to have it. After my mother died, I went to get it from her house, but she had already taken it, Peg, I mean. My sister. Then Willy, my sister’s husband, took it from her. Willy Carroll! Of all people! Isn’t that the most god-awful thing you can imagine?”

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

Vivian paused and, eyeing the young people, realized that no one but she could imagine how god-awful it was.

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“Mother never liked Willy much,” she explained, talking too much but unable to stop. “Of all the people in the world, Willy Carroll somehow got ahold of my mother’s letter. And what did Willy do with it?” She looked at the young man. “I suppose that’s your next question, Mr. Professor, isn’t it?”

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

“This letter of your mother’s,” Mill responded calmly. “What did it say?”

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

Vivian forced herself back to the moment and the simple question. Silently repeating the words in her mind, catching his mistake, she said, “It wasn’t my mother’s letter to him it was his letter to her. She had kept it, you see. It was her memory, her keepsake, her reminder of him.”

blandit sagittis nisl. sed imperdiet Proin quam augue. nec imperdiet at consectetur

Vivian sensed but didn’t say that her mother had wanted her to keep the letter because her mother had already lost him.

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amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

***

1932, Plymouth

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

It was only a day later, but her mother’s house already exuded the chill despairing permanence of a burial vault. Everything about the place made Vivian weep with frustration and anger -- mainly at herself. It was only a day since Willy Carroll (of all people!) had stood in the doorway with his long official face, a stiff lugubrious figure at the best of times, shocking her with words she demanded he repeat twice before she would believe him.

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

Mother dead? Incomprehensible. God could die; the president could die; but not Mother, the arbiter of values, the Atlas of her imagination, the only conceivable person to hold up the world. The news had stunned her. Stunned her still, there without her mother in the old house on Allerton Street, there to find the letter Mother had charged her with preserving.

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

Vivian opened drawers and shook out pages of books in her mother’s confined workroom until nearly unable to bear it any longer. The library’s heavy walnut desk was stuffed with her correspondence, all together, a public, earnest, sharing of thoughts on matters of vital public interest. Polite and formal letters to Lavinia from people with titles (editor, professor), or with organizational affiliations, were flatly dismissive or entirely supportive, sometimes rapturous in praise of her ideas; letters from people whose names Vivian didn’t recognize but felt she should, and might have but for her girlish, rebellious, decision to not be drawn into her mother’s many-fronted battles: suffrage, women’s just and natural entitlements, immigration, the enduring injustice of national prejudice, Sacco and Vanzetti. Two names, eternally paired, like a defunct emporium for articles of furniture; a vaudeville act; an opera. That name was everywhere, and Vivian at the point where she would scream if forced to encounter it one more time in her dead mother’s handwriting.

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

Vivian shut the drawers of her mother’s desk. The question remained. Where were her private letters? With whom did she share the routine business of life? Was there such a person, or was Mother’s life never one of routine business?

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

She walked to the bookshelves and stood, cracking spines, checking behind covers, flipping pages, searching the lifeless room that cried absence, as if not only her mother but whatever trace of spirit or passion or life she had breathed into this space had departed as well.

***

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

“I’ve never asked you for much,” Vivian said.

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marguerite sniffed.

amet, Nulla in magnis mus. amet sed Ut quis elit. adipiscing parturient nibh enim quis pellentesque. malesuada. Cum hendrerit. dui. adipiscing

It was after the funeral service in a church her mother didn’t believe in, and the brief, motorized trek to Vineyard Cemetery for burial. The sisters now stood in the kitchen of Marguerite’s Franklin Street home, where the few mourners had gathered for Peg’s sober hospitality and not stayed long. Marguerite was mortified by the poor turnout. Vivian could tell.

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consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

She was anxious to get home, where she’d left Frank Junior in the care of an older neighbor who claimed she missed babies, the sort of affection that tended to run thin when babies acted up. Still Vivian lingered, pretending to help with the washing up and feeling more wretched by the minute, to steal a private word with her sister.

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“There’s no point hiding it from me,” Vivian said. “I know you have it.”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“Hiding it?” Peg exhaled noisily. “Hiding what?”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“Please, Peg, let me keep the letter, the way Mother wanted. It means more to me than to you.”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

Marguerite scowled.

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“I remember him, Peg,” Vivian said. “That’s all I meant.”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“You remember him! A fine thing! Considering what he was!”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“What am I supposed to do, Peg? What are we all supposed to do? Pretend he never existed? Is that how people are supposed to behave, Peg?”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

Stiffened to her angular height, Marguerite hesitated a moment too long before stating, “I discarded it…with some other trash.”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“I don’t believe that. I know when you’re lying, Peg. I always knew when you were lying to Mother, too.”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

Marguerite waved a hand, as if tossing off a child’s taunt. “Stuff and nonsense,” she said, avoiding her sister’s eyes.

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“So you won’t let me have it? Why?” Vivian persisted. “Why do you want it?”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

“I told you. I burned it.”

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

Vivian let herself out without saying goodbye. Better that than tell her sister what she thought.

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

Mother would haunt Marguerite from the grave if she’d destroyed that letter.

***

2000, Belmont Street, Plymouth

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

The house was quiet. Her guests had left. She heard the cuckoo clock chime, but was too tired to count the hours.

consectetur in quis in et ipsum ac natoque dis nec sed Quisque Lorem scelerisque

An old woman with an old grief, Vivian wondered how it happened that Willy went

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to Uncle Charles with his problem. Charles, her father’s strait-laced brother, came from an older world, a product of the previous century. He would have found no fault with Willy’s conservative social views and his copper’s suspicious habit of doubting people with fancy ideas -- intellectuals, theorizers -- exactly the kind of people Mother always sought but seldom found. Not in a small town.

mauris dolor ut sed Lorem fermentum dui. magna in sit sit nisi enim natoque erat, montes, Cum Mauris a. nisi sodales blandit convallis consectetur amet erat, et malesuada.

Where was Lavinia’s soulmate in backward-looking Plymouth? It was not Father. Vivian never knew the man, but she knew that much. In fact -- too obvious for words! -- Vanzetti was her type, a book-reading, idea-talking man, interested in all the social questions. It made Vivian cry to realize this so much later, when it was too late to matter. Too late for anything now, Vivian scolded herself.

mauris dolor ut sed Lorem fermentum dui. magna in sit sit nisi enim natoque erat, montes, Cum Mauris a. nisi sodales blandit convallis consectetur amet erat, et malesuada.

In any case, she had heard the tale long ago from her niece, Vera, and thought it strange that Uncle Charles would have had much to do with Willy. He did not consort with men of that class, a policeman, a man without deep roots in the town or the country. It must have surprised him when Willy visited his office at the Cordage, where Charles was treasurer, with his tale of a simple copper’s dilemma of conscience.

***

1932, Plymouth

mauris dolor ut sed Lorem fermentum dui. magna in sit sit nisi enim natoque erat, montes, Cum Mauris a. nisi sodales blandit convallis consectetur amet erat, et malesuada.

Marguerite dug from the bottom of her purse the paper her mother had years ago replaced in the same skinny book. She stared for the last time at the page torn from a writing tablet, folded once, the slapdash, ignorant note with its farcical misspelling of her mother’s name, not even a proper letter, just a howdy-do about changing the day of some meeting. Something a tradesman might send when he meant to leave a customer in the lurch. What did it mean anyway?

mauris dolor ut sed Lorem fermentum dui. magna in sit sit nisi enim natoque erat, montes, Cum Mauris a. nisi sodales blandit convallis consectetur amet erat, et malesuada.

She could not approve of this man. She intended to throw his scratchings in the stove, but for some reason did not. She stuffed the letter in the bottom of her recipe box, beneath the quick breads and dumpling recipes, and put the metal box in the cupboard behind her cake tins. It was as safe a place as she could imagine. She lived in a fine sweet house on a sunny street amid a nest of men, strapping fellows all three, none of whom would be caught dead near a recipe.

mauris dolor ut sed Lorem fermentum dui. magna in sit sit nisi enim natoque erat, montes, Cum Mauris a. nisi sodales blandit convallis consectetur amet erat, et malesuada.

Marguerite became accustomed to seeing the blank side of the folded page there, behind the hand-copied directions for raisin cake and Irish soda bread. She did not notice when it went missing.

***

1941, Franklin Street

mauris dolor ut sed Lorem fermentum dui. magna in sit sit nisi enim natoque erat, montes, Cum Mauris a. nisi sodales blandit convallis consectetur amet erat, et malesuada.

Weeks later, the thing still flummoxed him. It made no sense, this page he’d accidentally discovered in the recipe box while scrounging for coins hidden by Peg from him and the boys. Hidden so well he had not expected to find in any one place in the house the entire sum owed the paperboy, who’d drawn Willy’s attention to the

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embarrassing fact that this was the eighth week in a row that he’d professed unhappiness at being caught at the rare moment of not having a single penny in his pocket. He was owed five cents a week for eight weeks now, forty cents in all, insisted the boy. Willy had thought it only right to make the effort to pay him something on account.

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

When his big hand lifted the recipe cards from the box, an oversized page separated from the rest and fell on the kitchen floor. It was a different sort of page. He tried to piece out the hand. The signature had the word “friend” in it, but he could not make out the name. It was an odd business, a little queer. Why would Peg keep whatever it was in her recipe box, especially since it seemed to be addressed to someone else?

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

Out of uniform in his Sunday trousers, armed with his question, Willy approached Godfrey Sellers, a junk dealer who purchased various items from people’s houses or barns, including books, many he ended up reading before attempting to sell in his store. From the benefit of this, and a shopkeeper’s knowledge of the folks who patronized his store, Godfrey had earned a reputation as a man who had something to say about everything.

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

“It’s a legal sort of matter,” Willy said. “Leastways it seems that way to me. I’d value your say-so.”

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

Godfrey, a tall man with a trimmed reddish beard, and side whiskers going white, reflectively fingered the beard and in his measured way of speaking invited Willy to pull up a stool and go on.

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

“If a man had evidence concernin’ a criminal matter -- though I’m not sayin’ it is -- and that matter had long been settled, and the convicted parties had paid their debts...” Willy paused, doubt shadowing his features. “Well, the question is, would the finder of this particular, uh, paper, let’s say, be obliged to bring the evidence forward to the attention of...” He faltered, shrugged, and admitted, “I can’t say whose attention. That’s just it.”

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

The whole business came out under the shopkeeper’s questioning. Willy told of his finding in Peg’s recipe box a folded sheet of paper that appeared to be a message written by a man to someone he suspected could be his wife’s mother. The man’s name was familiar, he said. He had lived in Plymouth, and been convicted of murder in a famous case all over the newspapers.

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

“I see,” said Godfrey. He stood from his stool and took a thoughtful turn around the interior of his crowded store. Settled again, he said, “Your conundrum seems to me more a matter of conscience than of law.”

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

“How so?”

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

“I’ve never heard of a law that would require a citizen to bring forward new evidence on a case already settled by a jury of a man’s peers,” Godfrey explained. “On the other hand, if this material somehow serves to posthumously clear a man’s name, perhaps it would do his survivors some good.”

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

Willy slid off the hard stool. “I’ll have to think it over a bit more, considerin’.”

condimentum sodales elit. eu justo Lorem ut penatibus tempor scelerisque Proin condimentum sociis fermentum sagittis a.

“I’d be happy take the material off your hands and keep it safe, if you’re at all uncertain about what to do with it,” Sellers offered.

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amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

Willy shook his head. “I expect it’s safe enough.” He frowned. “Of course, I don’t want this to get around.”

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

“I won’t breathe a word of it,” Godfrey assured him. “A customer’s private business is always safe with me.”

***

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

Willy shifted his weight uneasily, never happy about being in this place, reminded of Da coming home with a bloody head, and the union fella, Conley, snarling at his poor Da that night they’d waited in the cold outside a private train.

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

The damn thing was what to do with it? Sure, the folded piece of paper might be evidence, but what good was the evidence now that the trial was long over and the convicted men punished? Even if the paper proved one of them not guilty, it was hard to see how it could change what had been done. Besides, as an officer of the law, he naturally took the law’s part and, according to the law, the men had received a fair trial. Surely it was a sight better than a pair of foreigners could have expected anywhere else.

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

“Well, I’m no Scorpio,” Willy murmured, staring at his black boots, remembering Mother Rossiter’s wicked tale of the horrors of old Rome. “But I couldn’t just throw it away, could I? What if there’s some kind of law about it? Damned if I like the idea of bein’ accused of concealin’ somethin’.”

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

“Officer Carroll? Mr. Rossiter is ready to see you.”

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

Willy followed the small man, Jones, who knocked before opening the office door. Seated at his desk, Charles Rossiter, a wide man with a narrow gaze, wore a gray suit with an old-fashioned, heavy vest under the jacket. He glanced at the patrolman then lifted the gold chain pinned to his vest to check his watch. The treasurer of the Plymouth Cordage Company was expecting an important man from the Navy that afternoon.

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

“The thing is, Mr. Rossiter,” Willy said, “I know you’re a busy man, but I’m in a bit of a fix.”

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

He hesitated. His wife’s uncle, her rich Uncle Charles, the man behind the desk who hadn’t invited him to sit gazed back at him, coldly. Willy forgot how he’d planned to put the matter. He hemmed and hawed, unnerved by the man’s ill-concealed impatience.

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

“What is it you want from me, Carroll?” Rossiter prompted.

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

“I’m thinkin’ this thing might be worth somethin’, Mr. Rossiter,” Willy blurted. “I mean, this paper was just sittin’ in Peg’s recipe box, doin’ nothin’ for nobody.”

amet, ut malesuada. et parturient malesuada. parturient enim venenatis Sed pellentesque. at et sed elit. Proin Lorem in venenatis sed dis nisi tristique a. fermentum magnis ut malesuada. ipsum augue.

Willy fingered the folded sheet in his coat pocket.

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et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“You think it’s valuable, do you, Carroll?” Rossiter demanded.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Awake at night, wondering how to do something for his boys, growing up now, well into their teens, it had occurred to Willy that the folded paper shouldn’t be merely a slur on the family repute, but worth something. Someone would think it a valuable piece of property, he thought. The only person he could think of was Peg’s uncle Charles.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Willy mumbled a reply.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“We have good safes here, Officer Carroll. We are in the habit of keeping valuable securities and other papers.” Rossiter nodded smartly, sure of his ground. “I will hold on to this paper for you, if you think it best.”

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“Hold on to it?”

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“Yes. Keep it safe. I can assure you of that, Officer Carroll. I would not let it fall into the wrong hands.”

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Wrong hands? Some new, unsuspected danger? Willy’s face felt warm.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“Well, I suppose, Mr. Rossiter, if you think it’s the thing to do.”

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“I do. Did you bring this paper? Yes? Why not give it to me now?”

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Unable to think of a way to avoid the request, Willy pulled the letter from his pocket and passed it across the desk. He watched dispiritedly as his wife’s rich uncle grunted at the page’s simple contents, pushed his chair back from the desk, and stood to lock the paper inside a filing cabinet.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

“There, it’s safe now,” Rossiter said with finality, a signal to his visitor that there was nothing more to say.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Willy put on his hat, tipped it, and dejectedly turned to leave. A new plan stopped him steps from the office door. If the paper was valuable, perhaps Uncle Charles would be willing to lend him a little bit up front against that value, enough that his oldest boy, Nathaniel, would be able to go to school, learn a trade. What would it hurt to ask?

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Nothing had been offered. He could not stick out his hand. He would feel like a beggar. He opened, stepped through, and closed the door behind him.

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

You’re a nothing, a nobody, once the copper’s hat and coat come off, Willy told himself as he trudged down Court Street, listening to the click and roar of engines, black sedans, none stopping for him. How could a weak stick of a man expect to wear the country’s uniform and follow the flag into battle when he didn’t even have the courage to talk turkey with that fat old man?

***

2000, Belmont Street, Plymouth

et Proin nisi eros lacus sit ac Pellentesque ipsum sodales sociis justo elit.

Vivian collapsed with sorrow’s weight into her sturdy chair, trusting it to hold the burden of the past. If anyone came to throw open her door now, she would surrender without a drop of resistance. She was tired of protecting whatever it was. Her privacy? Mother’s reputation? What had Mother done that had to be kept secret? What good had it done anyone to keep her secret after her death?

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venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

Vivian had appointed herself her mother’s protector out of grief and guilt -- unable to bear recalling the details of their last meeting, her self-centered coldness, her mother’s ineffectual stab at grand parenting -- and out of a desire to atone for her resentment over her mother’s apparent lack of interest in her daughter’s destiny, and, of course, for losing the letter.

venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

She tried a second time, after Ben was born, to get the letter from Peg; told her she thought she deserved some consideration in view of what had gone on between them after Helene ran away. Avoiding her sister’s eyes, Peg insisted she’d destroyed it long ago, and hurried outdoors to yell at her two boys for chasing a ball and trampling her petunias. Vivian had wanted to shout, “Never mind the goddamned petunias! We’re talking about Mother!”

venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

An old woman now, too tired to stop it, Vivian’s mind ran unchecked, remembering those days. When, pleased as punch with getting their own place, she and Frank had just moved into the house on Belmont Street, and out of a sentimental, helplessly innocent notion, she’d offered to take Peg’s hellion daughter off her hands for a while. Helene had been dragged back from the city by her father, Willy, who, through the professional courtesies of the city police department, had found her in circumstances no one would speak of. The teenaged Helene with her mother’s reddish coarse hair which she insisted on wearing loose, turning the air red around her, vital, hasty, mocking, big talker, chores-shirker, boldly defiant. Marguerite worrying aloud to Mother that the girl would skip off again to “low company” the minute they crossed swords, the constant worry killing the proper copper in Willy even more. Pregnant with her first-born, Frank Junior, Vivian had thought that if young Helene became a mother’s little helper, the girl would have something other than herself to think about once away from the battlefield of her parents’ home.

venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

Unfortunately, Helene’s hellion stripes were fixed by then. She did not want to hang around her aunt’s kitchen and wash the diapers. She counted the days until too old for her father to haul her back. Once she’d skipped town, everybody figured they’d seen the last of her.

venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

Ten years later, Helene waltzed back; said she was tired of city life and wanted to come home. She took up with a local man, the loathsome McKenney, lived openly with him in a cold-water flat on High Street, and eventually bore his child.

venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

Then in what was the final turn of the screw, her knight in shining armor, Tom Blaine entered the scene, and Helene turned to her dear Aunt Viv to take in her child while she re-invented sufficient respectability to march down the aisle beside the gentle, loving, wealthy, hopelessly enamored Blaine. Vivian wondered if she was again being a fool. But Helene’s baby girl appeared to have nothing in common with her mother. To Vivian, whose sons were now strapping big boys chasing various ball games all over town, this child was an angel, the comfort of her change of life, or at least someone more like her.

venenatis ut Etiam tristique sit consectetur fermentum quis eu dui. in at lacus ac euismod parturient

This one was Vera...her baby, Vera. Those were golden years, when Vera was hers. Far too brief, because and of course the screw still had another turn. When Helene confessed to parenting a child out of wedlock, her husband proved a bigger man than Vivian had thought by insisting on adopting the child. How could Vivian stand in the way?

","page":"317","last":"","id":"1199","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

Just as the circle of her life appeared to be expanding, the fatal diminishments began.

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

Frank’s old clock struck again. An imitation Austrian cuckoo, the sort of thing Frank convinced himself any woman would cherish, it refused to break down over the years and so she was doomed to hear it crow the hours all her days. She did not bother to count the cuckoos now. The fading of the light told her all she needed to know about the hour. What did the hour matter to an old woman anyway?

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

The hours would run down in the end for her as for all the others. As they had for Willy, an ignorant man who died, mysteriously, before seeing his sons fulfill their father’s ambition of enlisting in the big war brought to their doorstep by monsters from across the seas. She never cried for Willy. No doubt it was a flaw in her character that rather than shed tears, she shook her head in demurral when told about his clouded death that night in an alley. Killed by some sneak thief he was chasing? It didn’t sound like Willy. Willy would patrol alleys at a cautious pace. No. If something fatal happened to Willy in the dark of night, it was either an act of God, or the calculated arrangement of a person or persons no one would confuse with God. She could not help wondering whether Willy’s death had something to do with his absurd decision to peddle the letter to Uncle Charles, and whether there was anyone else he might have blabbed about it to.

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

The clock chimed. The hours kept falling off the edge of the world. Vivian wondered how many remained.

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

“And so, the letter -- Vanzetti’s note to your mother -- ended up where?”

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

Had she been wrong to tell the nice young professor, Mr. Becker? Did it matter now who knew?

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

“Willy gave it to Charles Rossiter,” she’d said. “Uncle Charles promised to keep it safe...in his office somewhere. I know this because my son worked one college summer in Uncle Charles’ office at the Cordage, filing and typing letters. Ben heard the story from Charles, and knew about the file box that the old man kept locked.”

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

“His office?” Mr. Becker had said. “Do you happen to know where his office was?”

vitae lacus Nulla quam sit Ut mi at imperdiet venenatis gravida parturient sit montes, est

“Oh, yes, of course, in Building Number Two.”","page":"318","last":"","id":"1200","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

CHAPTER 28

YOU ARE GIVING ME THE CAN BECAUSE

I HAVE SIGNED UP FOR THE UNION

2000, North Plymouth

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

Ike hurried into the store and to the back room to sign in. The day before, he had begun to speak to the others, to the Vietnamese girl whose arms swayed when she walked, and who practically flew away when she caught the gist of his speech; to Kendall, the sad overweight white boy whose mother drove him to the store and waited for him at the end of his shift; and to Alan, one of the greeters, a smiling, white-haired man who would not acknowledge the common gossip that his house was about to be lost to the bank, who turned aside from Ike’s words of consolation, and who made a face of such darkness that Ike was forced to condense his message into the simplest of words: “We must stand together, man!”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

And now, here was the supervisor the workers called “Fooling Harry,” a thick-faced man with a fixed expression of superiority, waiting in the back room to tell him that he was being “let go” for lateness.

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“But I am not late,” Ike objected.

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“You were yesterday.”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“Once! Once I am late!”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“No,” Harry insisted. “It’s happened before. We put a letter in your file. In October.”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“That is not the real reason,” Ike protested.

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

Fooling Harry fooled no one, but lied with a straight face. Ike could not endure the man’s injustice without letting him know that he’d seen right through him.

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“You are giving me the can because I have signed up for the union and talked to the others about signing up as well. Why must you lie about this to my face?”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“I’m asking you to leave the store, Mr. Murisi,” Harry replied, ignoring Ike’s words. “I’ll have to call the police if you refuse.”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“But you know as well as I it is illegal to fire an employee for joining a union.” Ike pointed toward the store’s vast apron of parking lot. “It is just as the signs of the union men said, it is breaking the law.”

elit vitae amet eu ac montes, vehicula montes, tincidunt sagittis sit parturient nulla.

“What signs?” Harry said, with a hint of triumph. “I don’t see any signs.”

","page":"319","last":"","id":"1201","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

Ike turned to look through the room’s window at the place where Issy and the white man had parked their van the day before. No one was there today. Chased away by store security, they had not returned. He was alone, then. He inhaled a breath. If he must face the store’s firing squad, he would so with courage.

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“So, I am truly fired for this imagined fault? I am here today on time, am I not? And yesterday my crime was a mere five minutes tardy, true?”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“True? I’ll tell you what’s true. You were warned. Now you’re gone.” Harry’s lips curled slightly, pleased with the punchy expression.

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“Then I will walk the aisles and smile at the customers for free,” Ike said, demonstrating his happy West African smile. “Gratis! That is the correct word, is it not? It is to show I am so grateful. What do you think of that, Mr. Harry? Is that not a kind offer?”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“You have two minutes, Mr. Murisi,” Harry warned, turning his back. “Then I call the police.”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

The police arrived promptly, almost as if expecting the summons. Ike greeted them in the parking lot. They refused his request to use their phone to call his good friend and social worker, Mrs. Becker, but agreed to drive him to her residence on Suosso’s Lane after he promised not to return to the store.

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

The patrol car idled while Ike knocked on the front door, and did not drive off until a man invited Ike inside.

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

Mill stepped back from the door to make room for the unexpected visitor, who explained with apparent agitation what had happened. It was Mill’s morning at home, his light day at the college, his only obligation an afternoon section of “American Dreams and Themes: Issues in 20th century American Society.”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“Do you want to use the phone, Ike?” Mill asked. “It’s in the kitchen.”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

The visitor smiled uneasily. “I do not have the phone in the pocket, like the others do.”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

Mill grinned. ”Neither do I. C’mon, I’ll show you where it is. Want some coffee or something?”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

Ike placed the call, put down the phone, and joined Mill at the dining room table, where he was working his way through a pile of student research papers.

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“I called Mrs. Becker,” Ike said. “She suggested I ask you for a ride to the Kingston station to catch the noon train home to Boston. She said that after the commuter rush, the trains do not run very often.”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“How is she?” Mill asked.

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“Mrs. Becker?” Ike’s eyes widened. “I am so sorry. In my concern over myself, I forgot to ask.” He hesitated then said, “You are getting the terrible impression of me, Mr. Becker.”

at fermentum augue. Fusce et sit quam, sit hendrerit scelerisque Proin sit faucibus mauris penatibus Fusce in dolor pellentesque.

“Call me Mill. And, no, Ike, I am not getting a terrible impression of you. I think what’s happened is unfortunate, that’s all. Of course, bad things happen to everyone.”","page":"320","last":"","id":"1202","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“Do you know why this bad thing has happened to me?”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“I wasn’t deliberately listening in, but did hear you tell my wife that you joined a union and tried to convince other store workers to join.”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

Ike scowled. “More than the bad pay, it is the falseness, to tell you to greet every customer with a painted smile of welcome, and then to give the worker the back of the hand.”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“You sound like a man I’m studying. He worked almost a hundred years ago at the factory site where the store is located today. He was fed up with the way things were run, too.”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“Truly?”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“Yes. He thought the workers should own and run the workplace collectively. Anarchists like this man believed that workers working for themselves would love the work for itself, and for the good it was doing others.”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“That is exactly what I think!” Ike exclaimed. “For then we would make this place our own. Each man, and woman, would bring his and her best to the work being done together. And if a man’s spirit was not smiling that day, he would greet his customers in another way. ‘Ah, Missus Smythe,’ we would say, ‘you have come to cheer us up today. How kind!’ Perhaps we would offer our visitors tea and ananas comosus, a kind of fruit, Mr. Becker, as our people still do in the village. There are so many people in the store, so many in electronics, housewares, clothing, toys, are we not a village by ourselves? Could we not do as human beings do?”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“Well put, Ike,” Mill said, thinking, but utopia begins next week, next month, next year, never now. “C’mon. I’ll drive you to the station.”

***

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

Mill chewed a mouthful of rice, eventually deciding he’d cooked it enough. He had bought an unfamiliar brand of jarred sauce. He had sautéed vegetables in a pan. He was making progress, his dinners improving enough that his wife’s lowered spirits tonight had nothing to do with the food.

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“I need something to keep Probation off my back, Mill,” Bernie said. “That’s the bottom line. Something to keep Ike nominally employed until I can find him something better.”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“I may have an idea. Does Ike know how to use a computer?”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“I think so. Actually, I don’t know. But he learns quickly. He’s bright, he’d pick it up. Why?”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

“There’s a posting in the history department for temporary help. Administrative assistant. I think it’s a lot of data entry.”

blandit eu Nulla pellentesque. amet Proin amet justo in ornare nibh

They looked at each other.

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convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“I could look into it,” Mill said.

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Now?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Sure, why not. I’ll look up the department head's number and call him at home.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

The listing for Walter Malinsky in the Cape Cod town of Barnstable seemed a likely fit. Mill dialed, let it ring, and when a familiar voice answered, apologized for calling the professor’s home.

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Nothing important,” Malinsky said. “Just one of my BBC mystery shows.” Pause. “They’re a weakness of mine.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“I don’t want to bother you. I could either call later or see you tomorrow at the college.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Don’t worry about it, Mill. I doubt I’ll miss anything I can’t figure out myself. These things are predictable, probably why I like them. What can I do for you?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“That sign in the office for administrative assistant. Have you hired anyone yet?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“No. Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“I think so…in a way. The thing is, I’ve reached a crucial point in my research and could use some clerical help to get through a large stack of old documents. I wonder if the department would be willing to use some of the funds from the unfilled administrative position to pay for a temporary research assistant. I know someone who could do the work on a short-term basis.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“It would be highly unusual,” Malinsky murmured. “Old documents you said?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Yes. I’ve been looking into archives here in Plymouth that could make a huge difference in the outcome of my project.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Part of the Native American research you’ve been working on?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“No…actually…” Heart pounding…“The story you told me about the fish receipt in the Vanzetti case got me started on something else.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“Oh?”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“I’ve since learned that there may be documents pertaining to Vanzetti among the old Plymouth Cordage Company records.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

No immediate comment from Malinsky. Better, Mill thought, than a flat-out “no.”

convallis magnis sit sed Cum justo lacus quam justo tincidunt justo diam erat vitae adipiscing adipiscing lacus fermentum justo mi in euismod convallis penatibus magnis dolor nibh nisl. Etiam elit.

“All right, Mill,” Malinsky finally said. “I’ll trust your instinct that this could be something worth looking for. We’ll fund you an assistant for two weeks. Let me know what you’ve found after that period.”

","page":"322","last":"","id":"1204","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

Mill thanked him and ended the call. Malinsky had given him a deadline. It was time to stop hesitating and act.

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

“Bernie?” he shouted. “How do I get in touch with Ike?”

***

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

The Willy Carroll saga -- never in his career had Jeter spent as much time on a piece of copy. Holed up alone in the old, comfortable, possibly too comfortable apartment he’d nicknamed ”Over the Moon,” fending off Karen’s invitations, which were actually hints to invite her to his place, where it was easier to cozy up with a man without her son around, he interrupted his solitude with regular excursions to The Bear Club for infusions of cheap ale, though whether these fueled or slowed the work process was debatable.

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

Double-checking every detail, everything that could be checked, frustrated that so much of it couldn’t be, including the heart of McKenney’s story, Jeter often stood, jumping up and down to warm his feet in the bedroom of his homey, semi-shabby, chilly-in-certain-weathers, Main Street apartment, its windows rattled by his heavy thudding and the brisk harbor wind.

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

A fresh editor at Tide Lines had different ideas about how Jeter should spend his time. Things happened; things always did. A deputy sheriff in a neighboring county was charged with using an Internet chat room to arrange a sexual encounter with a teenager. A new span of highway was nearly ready to open. A hospital was sued. There was always something he should be looking into, but only one thing at the moment disturbed his focus on Willy Carroll: the realization that someone was in for a spectacular payday when the Barry Brothers of Weston acted to secure the undeveloped property behind Ginny’s restaurant lot for their new, gloriously high-end, gated community targeted to empty nesters, including people with kids boarded at private schools. The company’s PR agent, a pleasant, well-spoken woman, assured Jeter that the property was just what the firm was looking for: privacy; open space; and the screen of woods a friendly green fence between the pricey new community’s amenities and the outside world.

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

The good people of South Plymouth were bursting their little welcome-buttons over the imminent invitation to dance with this king of the upscale residential ball. Why not? New assessed value translated directly to tax revenues. Let the rich people move in, they’d help pay for the schools. You betcha!

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

The lucky owner of this piece of previously unheralded scrub wood behind Ginny’s Joint was Kevin Salley, the soon to be officially ex-husband of Vera Blaine, who’d recently signed away the restaurant property to him.

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

A new question began to form in Jeter’s mind. Who was Kevin Salley, this fortunate interloper and apparent chief beneficiary of the property Vera had inherited from her adoptive father, Thomas Blaine? For that matter, who was Tom Blaine?

Lorem et at ante. faucibus sociis Proin augue. mus. parturient dolor tincidunt fermentum lacus scelerisque venenatis sit Lorem lobortis condimentum eu quis ac

Jeter had read in college that Aristotle was regarded as the last man in the world to know everything. Jeter was no Aristotle. He flattered himself by thinking he knew the heart of the Willy Carroll story. This much he knew. You had to draw a line somewhere. You had to be able to say that you’d go this far, but couldn’t realistically go farther. But where was that line?

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et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

Despite the mighty persuasions of deadlines agreed to in the form of personal commitments offered in a sincere tone of voice to anxious superiors at Tide Lines, Jeter couldn’t seem to let go of his story.

***

Ginny’s Joint, South Plymouth

et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

Kevin Salley called it a lounge, never a bar. An easy talker with the waistline of someone who worked around food, Salley liked his life, and loved owning a successful restaurant. Vera had never really cared about the place, so had turned it over to him to run, and he had done it well, made it pay, gave it the personality and class it lacked as a roadhouse with tired local bands. He expanded the lounge, invested in high-end décor, added a few expensive dishes to the menu, and installed smoke removal equipment to allow customers to puff away in Ginny’s smoking section within the limits of the town’s new law. He made it his place. Even Vera knew that. When they decided to split up -- her decision as much as his -- it made sense for him to get the restaurant and Vera to get the house, and for him to compensate her by an agreed-upon price for the difference in the values.

et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

Kevin didn’t blame Vera’s advisors for underestimating the true value of Ginny’s, especially those damp, presumably unbuildable acres behind it. The Barry Brothers were big time people. Who could imagine their interest in undeveloped land in backwoods South Plymouth, of all places? Sure, the compensation to Vera could have been higher, but she was getting everything she’d agreed to, the house and her price. Everything was legit.

et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

Outwardly calm, inwardly alert, the self-made restauranteur leaned back in the padded leather booth as if he owned the place, and waited for his old friend Merrill Sellers, something of a pain in the butt in recent years, to get around to explaining what had prompted this visit. Salley wondered if it had anything to do with Vera.

et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

Vera’s moody, dissatisfied nature was the fly in the ointment of his otherwise damn near perfect existence. Thanks to the arrival of someone new in his life, things were almost too good. Something was bound to pop up out of the blue, he thought. He wouldn’t put it past good old Vera to pull something clever just to break his balls.

et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

“So, what’s new?” Salley prodded Sellers. “How’re things at your little shop on Main Street?”

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Merrill Sellers frowned. “You mean Court Street. Main Street’s where the Mayflower descendants hang out. I know you don’t think much of the old family store, but you could at least remember where it is.” He swallowed a sip of Ginny’s best whiskey, and said with a phony, superior smile, “The thing is, Kevin, sometimes a man learns interesting things there. People do come into my store. People tell me things.”

et sit Fusce dis eu nulla. sit mi lacus sodales Pellentesque hendrerit. consectetur odio ornare sagittis tempor Mauris diam venenatis hendrerit mi gravida

Sometimes useful things, Salley thought, like the tip-off that the Barry Brothers were snooping around town.

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erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“So you heard something, Merrill?” he said, refilling their glasses then signaling the muscular kid stocking the bar for the evening to bring the bottle over to the booth. He didn’t necessarily want a third party in the room, though the kid didn’t seem to have big ears.

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“Vera,” Sellers said, smirking. “She’s got this reporter guy looking up things. I thought you should know.”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

Kevin gripped his drink glass, but maintained his calm facade.

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“This reporter. He’s writing a story about Vera?”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“No. Ostensibly, he’s writing about an old time copper named Willy Carroll.”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“Who the hell is Willy Carroll?”

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“I could tell you, Kevin. I could tell you more about him than you’d ever want to know. But Willy Carroll is not really the point.”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“Merrill.” Kevin relaxed his fists. “You know it’s always a pleasure seeing an old friend…old times and everything…but why the hell should I care if Vera is playing games with some reporter?”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“Trust me. You should care. You should care a lot. This is really about you, Kevin.”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

Merrill slipped into the smart-assed grin Kevin remembered from the minor triumphs of successful high school pranks, like sneaking essay questions off a history teacher’s desk before the final. Merrill had always been a small-change sort of guy. Still was.

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“So what about me?” Salley asked.

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“About you and this place. About whether it’s really yours. Whether it should be.”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“Whether it’s mine?”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

Sellers leaned across the table, said, “Pay attention now.”

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

A few minutes later, after Salley had calmed down, and the kid with the muscles had cleaned up the broken glass, Sellers raised the related subject of the letter that had long ago fallen into Willy Carroll’s hands, and explained why this particular letter was Kevin’s business, too, at least indirectly.

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

“I need your help to get hold of it,” Merrill said. “In fact, it’s in your interest to help me.” He did not have to explain why.

***

erat nisi adipiscing Cum pellentesque. quam adipiscing erat, tristique justo hendrerit sociis magna mauris pellentesque. quam, ridiculus sociis sit nec egestas. condimentum sit gravida nec in dis

Vera Blaine was clearly not pleased to see him, though she tried to hide her displeasure. She stood there in her doorway, dressed down in a loose sweatshirt and dark fuzzy

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slacks, not her customary receiving outfit, her arms locked below the bust line, guarding the gate to her privacy, her eyes, feigning surprise, ticked off by his unexpected arrival. Considering how she had misled him, Jeter conceded that anxiety was a reasonable response to his presence.

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“Mr. Jeter, this is a surprise,” Vera flatly stated the obvious.

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, ignoring her icy tone, “but I think I have a right to ask a few more questions, seeing as you probably played me better than anyone ever has.”

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No reply.

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“So here’s the first question,” Jeter announced. “You were never interested in what happened to Willy Carroll. You wanted me to look into Willy’s death to find something else. At first I thought it concerned McKenney, but I don’t think so now. First question. What are you interested in?”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

She shook her head, a quick, slight gesture, like shaking off a fly.

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“Your turn to talk,” Jeter said.

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

Tightly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jeter. I can see that you’re upset about something--”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“You’ve got that right.”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“But I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“You sent me to Vivian Devito. You called her Aunt Vivian, but she’s actually your great-aunt, a discrepancy you’d hoped I’d discover so I’d think I was clever, figure you must be hiding something and I ought to dig deeper.”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“I’ve always called her Aunt Vivian. Frankly, Mr. Jeter, I think you’re prying.”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“Prying? Prying is exactly what you want me to do.”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

Vera looked away.

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“Look, if you don’t want to talk, you’ll have to listen while I tell you a story -- your story, Vera. Let’s see how far I can get by myself. Maybe you’ll help me with the hard parts. Anyway, here’s what I know. Vera Blaine was at one time a wealthy young woman, almost an heiress, to use the old-fashioned term. Vera owned a restaurant and the large chunk of property that went along with it, and whatever else Tom Blaine had socked away. Tom Blaine’s money came from his father, who’d figured a way to make a fortune by not only selling cars, but by loaning people the money to buy them. You would have been a very good catch, Vera.”

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

He eyed her, dared her to deny it. Vera didn’t react. Jeter had an audience.

amet amet, Proin tempor Mauris amet sodales quis enim venenatis Etiam parturient lobortis dolor justo dolor

“You married a man named Wilson, had two children. Life was just the way it was supposed to be until your husband suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving you alone just as your kids were growing up and starting families of their own. At that very moment,

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the vulnerable moment when I suspect you were beginning to feel a little lonely, you decided to marry Kevin Salley, who liked running the restaurant with you and was happy to completely take it over when your breathing problems kicked up, problems you pretended to blame on poor old McKenney.”

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

“Poor!” Vera snapped. “He deserved whatever happened to him!”

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

“He’s no prize, I’ll grant you that. But your problem is asthma, Vera, not some rare genetic disease. The smoke in the restaurant was making it worse. The non-smoking sections reeked of the odor too, because smoke drifts. You insisted on a complete ban. Your husband wouldn’t hear of it. Kevin… You don’t mind if I use his first name? I almost feel like part of the family… Kevin probably said, ‘Let me run the place my way. Look how good we’re doing!’”

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

Vera eyed the plush carpet at her feet.

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

“You were hurt by Kevin’s indifference, Vera. Devastated. Why wouldn’t he do this for you? You had given him the restaurant to run. You were his wife. Shouldn’t he put your needs first? Didn’t he care? Obviously not, but why? You became suspicious. Maybe he wanted the smoke to keep you away from the restaurant. Maybe it was more convenient if you weren’t there. You hired an investigator. The investigator gave you the answer people generally get when they go that route. Yes. There was someone else.”

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

Vera would not look up.

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

“So you found out who it was, filed for divorce, split the estate, and were generous with him to avoid a fuss. The house and the cash to you, the restaurant to him.” Jeter paused, worried now that she never would speak.

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

“So, I’m getting near the end, Vera. This is where you need to help me out. But I think what happened next was you started to understand that Kevin was getting far more than you thought he would when the divorce deal was made. Those wet acres behind the restaurant weren’t as wet as you’d been led to believe by people probably influenced by your ex-husband, who was selling the land to a luxury home developer, and planning on plowing some of that money into the restaurant to turn it into a high-class function hall. In other words, it’s going to be his place and his money, not yours. Bottom line? Kevin Salley dumped you, and got away with it.”

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

Did he hear something? A swallowed hint of protest?

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“So that’s why this whole business is driving you crazy,” Jeter ventured, improvising now, seeing choked fury in her glassy eyes, and guessing that she didn’t enjoy hearing the word crazy applied to her. “That’s what this is about, Vera, isn’t it, really? It’s a natural enough feeling. Kevin first betrays then cheats you out of a lot of money. And after you’d been so generous, so good to him. I’m right, aren’t I? What else could it be?”

magnis eu eu mauris blandit vestibulum amet, amet, justo euismod mus. sodales Lorem justo faucibus amet, convallis ac mi dolor justo elit. mi penatibus condimentum venenatis

She glowered at him, her unmade-up features a mask of fury.

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“You have to help me, Vera. What else am I supposed to find?”

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Waiting for a response, Jeter saw something snap, a suppressed shudder go through

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her, curling her toes, he bet, though he didn’t look down. She was her controlled self again when, like a Salvation Army major giving a lecture to a drunkard, Vera said, “Marriage records for Helene Rossiter Carroll, for the year nineteen-forty-six, in the City of Boston. That’s what you need to find, Mr. Jeter. That marriage.”

***

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Jeter had it by the end of the day. Nothing connected with the whole business had been more direct. Vera had pointed him straight to an interesting detail in the curriculum of Albert McKenney that the smalltime hood had not seen fit to mention. McKenney had not only fathered Vera, he had legally married her mother, Helene Carroll, the black sheep of Willy Carroll’s family. It was there in black and white at the city clerk’s office for the City of Boston. Jeter photocopied the marriage license that, as far as the state of Massachusetts was concerned, proved Helene was still married to McKenney when she marched to the altar with Thomas Blaine and committed the crime of bigamy.

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

It had been a straightforward but time-consuming job, searching records and dickering with bureaucrats. Tired by the time he returned to his walkup in Plymouth, Jeter threw himself into the oversized green armchair, but hadn’t been there long when a new worry nagged at the edges of his professional conscience: Who else, possibly, knew of this marriage?

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

Jeter groaned in surrender, forced himself to his feet, walked to the kitchen to swallow a glassful of water, and walked to pick up the phone receiver and dial Vera Blaine’s number.

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“Okay, I found it,” he said when she answered. “But I need to know one thing more. Does anybody else know about this?”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

Jeter heard her breathe. Was she talking to him yet? Was this point still to be decided or had he finally earned the right to some answers?

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“Kevin doesn’t,” she said.

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“I figured that,” he said, thinking, that was the beauty of it. It would sweeten her revenge. “But if you want me to rattle Kevin’s cage, you have to play ball with me, Vera.”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“Meaning?”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“Who else knows?”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“No one.”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“You don’t sound sure.”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“Well, perhaps…”

eu mus. justo sit venenatis Pellentesque malesuada. eu Nulla vehicula quam, nascetur eros hendrerit.

“Perhaps what?”

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“I told Merrill some things. He was around when I needed someone to talk to.”

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hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

Jeter groaned inwardly. “The guy who owns the used clothing store?”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“Yes. We went to high school together. This used to be a small town, Mr. Jeter.”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

Still is, he thought. “Does Sellers know Kevin?”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“Yes. They go way back, too.”

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Everything went way back.

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“Vera, who was Thomas Blaine? I mean, what was he like?” Jeter asked, wanting the whole story now that she was talking, albeit in her parsimonious way.

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“My father was a wonderful man, Mr. Jeter. The best man I have ever known. He was an attorney, he practiced law in Boston. He stopped after he met my mother, because his family had money, and he could afford to, and because he was tired, I think, world weary, as they say. He said he wanted to live simply with the people he loved, which was why he bought the property where Ginny’s was built. There was an old house on the land then, a summer house that he had rebuilt into a year-round place. He wanted to live there like Thoreau, he said. He planted a garden, and grew tomatoes, and fished in the brook. My mother was different. She wanted all the modern conveniences. New furniture. Cars. My father gave her everything she wanted, but it never seemed to be enough.”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“Uh-huh,” Jeter murmured encouragingly, hoping for more.

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“My mother was afraid of being poor, I don’t know why,” Vera said haltingly. “Dad wanted to give money to charity, but she wouldn’t have it. Money was the one thing my father and mother quarreled over. She badgered him about his will, his plans for his estate. Dad wanted to leave money to establish a scholarship fund for kids who couldn’t afford to go to college, but couldn’t convince Mother, who resented any division of the estate. He never actually set up the trust fund, to pacify her, I guess. But I think he must have still planned on doing it. Maybe he thought he’d eventually convince her that it was a good thing to do. At any rate, that’s why my father never actually wrote his will.”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“Seems strange for a lawyer not to write a will,” Jeter said.

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“Father had heart problems. He died too soon, Mr. Jeter. It was the worst thing, the worst loss I have ever endured. They never found a will. The entire estate passed to my mother. She never did have to worry about money. When she died, it came to me, whatever she hadn’t run through, looking for something she couldn’t find.”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

Vera lapsed into reflective silence, and then quietly said, as if talking to herself, “But it wasn’t supposed to be that way. There was supposed to be a trust fund. Something that would do some good after Dad was gone.”

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“A Blaine family trust certainly would have done that,” Jeter said.

hendrerit. Proin eu justo nisi nibh Etiam nibh nascetur Lorem Sed in est malesuada. est mus. amet, mauris Sed Lorem nisl. scelerisque Etiam Cum malesuada. Proin justo nisi quam, penatibus

“Yes, but it wasn’t to be a Blaine trust,” Vera corrected him. “My father didn’t want it named after him. It was supposed to be the ‘Bartolomeo Vanzetti Memorial Scholarship Fund.’ Do you know who that was?”","page":"329","last":"","id":"1211","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit blandit vehicula sit elit. penatibus Proin vitae quis egestas. elit. sagittis ante. vehicula odio

CHAPTER 29

IT’S WHAT YOU CAME TO DO. BUST IT.

2000, Building Number Two, Plymouth Cordage

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Mill borrowed a ladder from a colleague at Sea Island State, lashed it to his car’s roof, and waited for the evening to become fully dark to drive down the dirt road that crossed the abandoned freight line tracks about a quarter mile south of the factory. Stopped in a suitably isolated spot, he manhandled the ladder down from the roof, dragged it about thirty feet, and hid it in a ditch in the weedy, overgrown bank beside the tracks.

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He drove home with more than usual care, picked up Bernie, and drove to Benny’s Pizzeria, a neighborhood place with a loyal following and a somewhat inflated reputation. Finished eating, and with hours still to wait for their stealthy, post-midnight, criminal window of opportunity, they drove back to Suosso’s Lane, where Ike was waiting to earn his pay with a spot of unconventional research.

sit blandit vehicula sit elit. penatibus Proin vitae quis egestas. elit. sagittis ante. vehicula odio

Once they’d decided it was late and dark enough to minimize the odds of drawing unwanted notice, under cover of the moonless sky, the three slipped into the car to retrace Mill’s earlier route and drop the two men at a quiet place along the dirt road that crossed the railroad tracks.

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“You’re not trespassing here, are you?” Bernie whispered to Mill, who knew she was worried about Ike being arrested again.

sit blandit vehicula sit elit. penatibus Proin vitae quis egestas. elit. sagittis ante. vehicula odio

“Not here,” Mill whispered, thinking, but we sure as hell will be once we reach the building.

sit blandit vehicula sit elit. penatibus Proin vitae quis egestas. elit. sagittis ante. vehicula odio

A fine early winter night, he thought, clear and discouragingly cold, which, though freezing his fingers at the moment, should work to their overall advantage. He’d seen no other vehicles on the back road. And as far as he could tell, there was no one around to notice two men scuttling down a weedy embankment to retrieve an aluminum ladder.

sit blandit vehicula sit elit. penatibus Proin vitae quis egestas. elit. sagittis ante. vehicula odio

Alone, Bernie drove the short distance to the factory site and parked by the commuter rail tracks, where overnight parking wasn’t allowed, but probably wasn’t all that uncommon, given it was easy enough to miss the last train back to Boston.

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The break-in was loosely planned. Much would depend, Mill said, on what they found inside. His knowledge of the Cordage factory layout was based on diagram in a booklet purchased from the town’s historical society. Building Number Two was alongside the railroad tracks. Another, much smaller building sat across the tracks on the waterfront side. The space shown on the map between the two buildings was where he’d put the ladder.

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He had also drawn from what Hugo Stiles had said; that the doors to Number Two were locked and the building sealed when the factory closed in 1970. No, the straight-backed nonagenarian had replied to Mill’s question, there had never been a fire in Number Two. It was a good, safe building.

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Hugo Stiles. Beltrando Brini’s wife. Vivian Devito. Three survivors of the early decades of the last century had come through with assurances of the building’s safety. The stars had aligned. The clenched-jaw decision had been made. Mill would get inside without asking permission and risking a run-around from whatever absentee corporate shell company now owned the property. It was his scholarly obligation; a stone he could not leave unturned. Nervous? Sure. But his nerves couldn’t stand putting it off any longer.

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Mill walked the building in his mind. The largest and the last built, Building Two housed hundreds of workers who fed fiber into binding machines, performed a raft of specialized chores to “keep the line moving,” and turned manila fiber grown in warm climates into binder twine used by harvesting machines in the American Midwest. Men like the wizened Martino Scalia stood by the machines and periodically fed new spools of fiber during ten-hour shifts, the machines powered from the building’s generator and turbines. Upstairs, where the brains of the operation were housed, engineers watched dials on a coal-fired boiler as large as a house. That was where Charles Rossiter would have wanted his office.

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Mill tripped on a root, but caught himself before dropping the ladder.

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“Have no fear, Mr. Becker,” Ike called. “I am holding up my end.”

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When Ike caught wind of the plan he insisted on helping. “A thin-shouldered fellow like you, carrying a ladder a quarter of a mile by himself?” he asked and laughed. “Excuse me, Mr. Becker, but it gives me a comical impression.”

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Mill eyed Ike’s shoulders, which appeared no broader.

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“What I am proposing,” Ike said, “is that two skinny fellows do the job.”

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“Ike,” Bernie objected, “if you get arrested again, they will put you on the next boat back to Ghana.”

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“And maybe that is where I should be, Mrs. Becker, despite your kind efforts on my behalf.”

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“You don’t really mean that.”

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“What I truly mean is not yet clear to me.” Ike smiled, but with a determined air.

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So here he was, trundling the back of the aluminum ladder on a silent march along the railroad tracks to lay siege to Building Two. The ladder was manageable, but traveling in the darkness was nerve-wracking. The solitary landscape seemed to be holding its breath.

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“It is research, Mr. Becker, we are doing, correct?” Ike whispered.

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“Yes,” Mill answered honestly; would later note the hours on Ike’s time sheet.

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Ike shoved the back of the ladder up a foot. “See? I am holding up my end, am I not?” He laughed. “You should laugh too, Mr. Becker. I am lightening the mood.”

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“But not the ladder.”

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Ike chuckled.

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A few minutes later, when a thickening of the darkness foreshadowed the approach of a large structure, Mill whispered, “Almost there.”

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Darkness made everything trickier, riskier. Afraid they might trigger some sort of security system and be caught, Mill had concocted a tale about their playing a game, an elaborate scavenger hunt cooked up over the Internet that called for difficult retrieval tasks requiring ingenuity and technical know-how. Excited by the challenge, he, the ivory tower academic, had somehow failed to consider laws against trespassing. Or, if an alarm went off, they could simply dump the ladder in the woods and run for it.

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Other disasters occurred to him now that the moment of truth was at hand. Maybe it would not prove so easy to break a window and get into the building. And, on a deeper, barely conscious, paranoid level, he half-expected to see Merrill Sellers’ van, seen so many times in recent weeks, most recently parked on a sidestreet near Benny’s Pizzeria, Mill wondered if he was seeing things.

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But Sellers would not be able to follow him down the railroad track to Building Number Two. Mill felt sure of that.

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When they reached the big, dark building, Mill slowed then stopped, and quietly instructed Ike to lay the ladder flat in the weeds. Mill pulled a flashlight from his backpack and, aiming its narrow glow at the looming brick fortress of Number Two, found a window with broken lower panes. He motioned to Ike. They lifted the ladder and positioned it against the bricks beside the chosen window. Mill stepped back. Would the ladder get him high enough to stand and work on getting through the window? He thought so.

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Mill whispered to Ike, “Wait by the ladder until I come back with Bernie, and, for god’s sake, run and hide if you see anyone else coming.”

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“That I will, Mr. Becker.”

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The car, with Bernie inside, sat under a dim circle of light from the lamppost over the tracks. Mill’s heart raced at the sight of another car parked suspiciously close beside it. He was relieved as he neared to see it wasn’t a gray van.

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The passenger-side door of the other car opened. A person got out of the car and called his name. His blood froze for an instant. Then he recognized the voice.

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“Jesus, Jeter! You freaked me out! What are you doing here?”

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“Couldn’t stay away,” Jeter said dryly. ”Actually, I’m a little hurt I wasn’t invited.”

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“I thought you’d tell me I was crazy. Besides, you want to get involved in law-breaking?”

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“Don’t want to get caught, if that’s what you mean. But there’s such a thing as smart crazy. I’m kind of turned on by that. Anyway, I guess you think there’s something in that building.”

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mus. amet, gravida Cum convallis egestas. quis vitae Proin enim malesuada. mauris penatibus sed fermentum Ut dui. sodales ac euismod dolor nec nibh quam

“I won’t know without looking.”

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“Need help?”

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The reality of breaking into a big, dark, empty, decaying building was beginning to wear on Mill’s nerves. Maybe Jeter had done things like this, and would warn him if he was about to do something really stupid.

mus. amet, gravida Cum convallis egestas. quis vitae Proin enim malesuada. mauris penatibus sed fermentum Ut dui. sodales ac euismod dolor nec nibh quam

“Ever break into a building, Jeter?”

mus. amet, gravida Cum convallis egestas. quis vitae Proin enim malesuada. mauris penatibus sed fermentum Ut dui. sodales ac euismod dolor nec nibh quam

“Nope. Ready when you are.”

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“How’d you know we were here?”

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“I told him,” Bernie said, stepping in close to Mill, looking tight-faced and a little chilled beneath the station’s cold security lights. “He called the house, wondered why we weren’t there on a weekday night, called my cell phone, asked what we were up to, and I confessed.”

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Mill looked at Jeter. “Sure you want to do this?”

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“Let’s get started.”

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Mill flicked on the flashlight to guide them in the darkness on the walk to the building. Ike emerged from the shadows when he heard familiar voices and was quickly introduced to Jeter by Mill.

mus. amet, gravida Cum convallis egestas. quis vitae Proin enim malesuada. mauris penatibus sed fermentum Ut dui. sodales ac euismod dolor nec nibh quam

“Is he all right, Mr. Becker?” Ike asked with a smile. “That is what they say on the police shows on TV, is it not?”

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Nice for Ike to try to lighten things up, thought Mill. Nicer if it had worked.

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He told Jeter and Ike to brace the ladder against the brick wall. He grabbed the rails and climbed with his flashlight dangling from his parka pocket. When high enough to lean his weight against the building, his hands were freed to work on opening the window by probing with his fingers through the panes of missing glass for the clasp or latch.

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“What’s the matter?” Jeter called softly.

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“I can’t open the window. Can’t find the latch.”

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“Is the glass broken?”

mus. amet, gravida Cum convallis egestas. quis vitae Proin enim malesuada. mauris penatibus sed fermentum Ut dui. sodales ac euismod dolor nec nibh quam

“A few of the panes. Not all of them.”

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“Break some more, some of the wood, too. Make a hole large enough to climb through.”

mus. amet, gravida Cum convallis egestas. quis vitae Proin enim malesuada. mauris penatibus sed fermentum Ut dui. sodales ac euismod dolor nec nibh quam

“I don’t know...” He hesitated, afraid to make noise. Besides, it would be vandalism.

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“It’s what you came to do,” Jeter said, more loudly. “Bust it.”

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“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Mill muttered, using the butt end of the flashlight to smash glass and wood from the old window frame.

magnis quam, elit. convallis tristique elit hendrerit. amet convallis in sit elit. adipiscing montes, in condimentum nisi blandit venenatis malesuada. tempor enim gravida

The startling sound of glass falling on the hard old floor seemed loud enough to raise the dead.","page":"334","last":"","id":"1216","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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CHAPTER 30

OUR AGONY IS OUR TRIUMPH

June, 1927, Boston

at a. et quis in consectetur augue. nisl. Pellentesque et nec ipsum ac at Proin Cum Nulla amet, parturient mus. Nulla scelerisque quam, a. consectetur Cum pellentesque. scelerisque at mauris Proin

The young Philadelphia lawyer took to his heels and caught up with the black sedan. The driver, a well-dressed man, wore a light-gray summer hat. The car was in good shape. Joey was a little surprised. It was mostly jalopies that picked him up.

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“Hop in,” the driver said. “Where ya goin’, son?”

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“Boston.”

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“From Connecticut to Boston? All that way? What’s your business in Boston?”

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“I want to see justice done.”

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Neither man spoke for a moment, both sets of eyes focused on the road. This was where some motorists stomped on the brake and invited Joey to go back to walking.

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The brim of the driver’s hat rose slightly. “You’re referrin’ to the big case there, I take it,” he said.

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“That’s it.”

at a. et quis in consectetur augue. nisl. Pellentesque et nec ipsum ac at Proin Cum Nulla amet, parturient mus. Nulla scelerisque quam, a. consectetur Cum pellentesque. scelerisque at mauris Proin

“Good for you.”

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The man sounded sincere. Joey relaxed.

at a. et quis in consectetur augue. nisl. Pellentesque et nec ipsum ac at Proin Cum Nulla amet, parturient mus. Nulla scelerisque quam, a. consectetur Cum pellentesque. scelerisque at mauris Proin

“I don’t go in much for this ‘red menace’ stuff myself,” the driver said, eyeing the road. “That whole business looks like a frame job to me. Besides, that salesman said he was with one of them two on the day of the crime.“

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“Vanzetti.”

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“That’s the one. Anyway, they should’ve believed that salesman.”

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“They should have,” Joey agreed. “I don’t know why they didn’t. I’m hoping to learn why those things that should have happened didn’t.”

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“Yeah,” the driver said. “I’m Jewish, see? Sometimes people don’t want to hire ya. That’s how I got into goin’ on the road. I got my own store now and times are good for me and Sophie. But that don’t mean I’m gonna stand by and let them go after someone else. Know what I mean?”

at a. et quis in consectetur augue. nisl. Pellentesque et nec ipsum ac at Proin Cum Nulla amet, parturient mus. Nulla scelerisque quam, a. consectetur Cum pellentesque. scelerisque at mauris Proin

“Yes, I do. My parents were Italian. I was born and schooled in this country. America has been good to me. I feel I have a debt to pay, and that I will try to pay, a little bit at a time, one way or another.”

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“I wish ya all the best, son,” the driver said. “Just up ahead’s West Haven, where I get off. I’ll leave ya on a busy corner outside the city where the trucks go by. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get a ride the rest of the way.”

***

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It was Judge Thayer’s pronouncement of sentence of death that brought Joey Machinetto to Boston. Like almost everyone who could read a daily newspaper, the young labor lawyer, a graduate of the State University of Pennsylvania, followed the details of the world-famous case.

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Machinetto knew that after sitting on Thompson’s appeal for a year, the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts rejected it. The appeal alleged hundreds of judicial errors. The court failed to uphold a single claim. Thompson also offered new evidence -- including the confession by the convicted gangster Medeiros, who said he was in the car with the Braintree shoe factory killers, but that neither of the defendants was. The court ruled that new evidence did not require the state to hold a new trial. With the appeal disposed of -- another thousand pages kicked into the judicial landfill -- Judge Webster Thayer was now free to pass sentence. The prosecution recommended a speedy execution. The defendants were permitted to address the court before the judge passed sentence.

ante. mi a. Proin in nisl. sagittis adipiscing pellentesque. amet, elit. ut Proin elit. lacus est Fusce sit mauris pellentesque.

Sacco, whose English was no more fluent than it had been at the trial, said to Thayer, “You know I am innocent.” He said the verdict was “between two classes” and that Thayer was “the oppressor.” He said Vanzetti would speak longer.

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Things had changed in the seven years since Vanzetti was first hauled into Plymouth court on a trumped-up charge and, as he later put it, “sold for thirty pieces of silver” to the state by a corrupt lawyer. Now, Sacco and Vanzetti were known all over the world. On the April morning of the sentencing the courthouse was packed. The streets outside were filled with onlookers when the defendants were marched into the court, paraded before the photographers, and told to be still while their picture was taken. When Vanzetti spoke now, reporters prepared to take down his every word. He had spent those years in prison reading, studying English (sometimes with a female tutor), conversing with visitors, writing hundreds and hundreds of letters, corresponding with prominent figures whose paths he would never have crossed before his trial and lengthy imprisonment became a cause célèbre. Harvard law professor Felix Frankfurter wrote a widely read magazine article, and then a book, attacking the case against Vanzetti. Thayer added anti-Semitism to his ideological prejudices against those “anarchist bastards” by referring to the influential legal authority as “Professor Frankenstein.”

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As Vanzetti now told the court, while Thayer looked away, the case had drawn the interest and sparked the outrage of “the flower of Europe.” Referring to his hand-held notes, he detailed the actions of the prosecution in a step-by-step “frame-up” that concealed his favorable reputation in Plymouth from the jury while offering his anarchist beliefs to the court as evidence of guilt. After speaking for forty minutes, he concluded with an eloquent and widely reported coda. He was persecuted for a deed he

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was not guilty of, Vanzetti told the court. But he was also persecuted for qualities he was guilty of: “I am suffering because I am a radical, and indeed I am a radical. I have suffered because I was an Italian, and indeed I am an Italian. I have suffered for my family and my beloved more than for myself...” But even if he was granted a second life and suffered a second execution, Vanzetti concluded, “I would live again to do what I have already done.”

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

Eyes welled with tears in the courthouse when he finished.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

Getting straight to business, Judge Thayer condemned both defendants to execution by electrocution.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

“Do not cry,” Vanzetti said to defense committee mainstay Mary Donovan as he was led away from the courtroom. “Keep a brave front.”

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

Condemnation for the decision, demands for a new trial, and pleas for a pardon came in from all over the world. American opinion was more divided, yet thousands and thousands of Americans signed petitions, wrote letters, and contacted the Massachusetts governor.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

The spotlight turned to the governor’s office. And Joey Machinetto hitchhiked to Boston.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

When the defense committee, a mash-up of Boston Italians and radical activists, realized what a find they had in Machinetto, who spoke Italian, was educated in America, and admitted to the Pennsylvania bar, he became one of the committee’s indispensable men. When Governor Alvan Fuller began a highly publicized review of the evidence prior to deciding whether to commute the death sentences of the two Italian radicals the defense sent Machinetto to appeal to the governor for a new trial.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

Machinetto was paired for this mission with an attorney from Thompson’s office, a well-bred, fair-haired scion of an American fortune, Thomas Blaine. The combination carried a message, Machinetto thought: Yes, we have the ethnic radicals, but we also have the elite.

***

Union Oyster House, Boston

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

Blaine looked the part of the cool, Anglo-Saxon, gentleman attorney in his lightweight linen suit and stylish cream-colored hat. One of those men, Joey thought, as he seated himself in a dark wood booth at the Union Oyster House, who would never perspire and never know want.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

“The food’s good here?” Joey asked.

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

Blaine seemed surprised by the question. “It’s the best seafood chowder in town. Or so everyone says.”

sagittis dui. tincidunt in sit Quisque ac hendrerit ipsum elit. quis egestas. hendrerit erat lacus montes, nisl.

“Everyone says they’re innocent too,” Joey said, anxious to make an impression on his upper-class collaborator. “But we still have to prove it.”

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consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“Indeed,” Blaine replied, unruffled. “But there’s a little less riding on the chowder.”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

If he hoped to get a rise out of the urbane Bostonian, Joey thought, it was going to take more than words.

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

Blaine was right about the chowder. Often too busy to eat and accustomed to living on charity as a defense volunteer, Joey had to restrain himself from gulping. But when the men put down their spoons on the edge of the saucers and began to discuss their strategy, Blaine surprised Joey with words more peppery than the soup.

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“Should we go after the eyewitnesses?” Joey asked. “The prosecution case hinges on them, doesn’t it?”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“Witnesses? You mean actors, don’t you? The witnesses were coached, everybody knows that, and they’re lousy actors to boot. But the governor won’t give on the actors. He’ll say the jury believed them. A ‘jury of their peers,’ friend,” Blaine said, with a dark chuckle. “You can count how many times he’ll say it.”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“Then what do we do? You’ve been on the case since Thompson took over, right? You know the ins and outs.”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

Blaine sighed, leaned back in his chair, and took the case apart. First, the four major prosecution eyewitnesses to the crime: the bigamist, the prostitute, the small-town self-promoter, the phony American Virgin Mary; and then, the braggart Brockton cop; the twisting of the gun evidence; and the prosecution’s character assassination of not only the defendants but their witnesses.

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“What about the motions?” Joey said. “Why did it take so long for Thayer to get around to kicking them out?”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“Do you want to hear the real story?” Blaine leaned forward. “Though I warn you, it doesn’t reflect well on either side.”

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Joey nodded.

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“Thayer got bogged down in trying to make heads or tails of the state’s new ballistic expert, who claimed he could prove that one of the bullets was fired from Sacco’s gun. We had our own expert by then. The two went back and forth. And then in the middle of that…” Blaine lowered his voice… “Sacco broke down. He refused to eat for so long it almost cost him his life. It ended with Thayer sending him to the state’s institution for the criminally insane.”

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Machinetto was shocked. “Sacco? Insane?”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“Well.” Blaine played thoughtfully with his hat, beside him on the table. “He did look like a walking corpse when they dragged him before Thayer to hear two self-important, bad-tempered men argue about his gun.”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“I never heard a word of this.”

consectetur quam, ante. gravida Sed at vestibulum vehicula lobortis in Quisque scelerisque amet, ornare blandit est amet in dolor eu dis sit

“The story was not generally known,” Blaine observed dryly.

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justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

He drew a cigarette from a silver case, offered the case to Joey, who shook his head, and stared at his cigarette as if pondering whether to light it. “Vanzetti had his difficulties, too. Let me tell you one thing, Mr. Machinetto...” Blaine paused to take a shiny lighter from a jacket pocket.

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

“You were saying?” Joey prompted.

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“People want to make Sacco and Vanzetti out to be saints because they have been made to suffer so unjustly, and for so long,” Blaine said, still holding the lighter. “They are symbols for all the wrongs done to the poor. But they are not merely symbols, and they are not saints. They are flesh and blood like the rest of us. And believe me, they have suffered. You can see it in their faces, hear it in their voices, Sacco’s especially.”

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

“I would like to see them for myself,” Joey said.

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

Blaine nodded and, looking down, seemed surprised to see his hands holding things.

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

“Oh, you should,” he said, drawing a flame from the lighter and squinting through it at his new colleague. “I can’t say whether Sacco will see you. But Vanzetti in particular is quite an interesting man.”

***

July, 1927

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

The interview with Governor Fuller went as badly as Blaine had feared it would. Joey perspired under his starched collar, enduring the forty-minute wait in the anteroom before the game of cat and mouse began. They tried to draw from Fuller, a Republican with higher ambitions, some acknowledgment of doubt about the fairness of the trial, but Fuller withdrew into expressions of faith that Sacco and Vanzetti had received a “fair trial by a jury of their peers.”

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

Blaine shared a look of knowing despair with Machinetto.

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

“Their peers?” Joey retorted. “What did any of these men of limited background and experience have in common with Italian immigrants who had to struggle all their lives against the prejudices of just such ignorant men? Why did this jury not believe the witnesses who testified to seeing Vanzetti in Plymouth and Sacco in Boston on the day of the crime? You think they were all lying? Why? Because they were Italians?”

justo in dis et faucibus sed pellentesque. tincidunt et quis augue. Fusce vehicula ante. convallis mauris hendrerit. nibh nibh venenatis ridiculus quam, tincidunt faucibus odio

“Poppycock!” Fuller declared. “What are you hinting at, young man? How dare you?”

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“I’m sure Mr. Machinetto meant no disrespect, Governor,” Blaine intervened, glancing meaningfully at his colleague.

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Seeking a strategic retreat, Joey said, “I only meant that this case presents a lot of contradictory evidence.”

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justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“That’s just it,” Fuller said, mollified but still blustery. “You can’t expect me to override a jury on the basis of a tangled mess of contradictory testimony. I am a man of business accustomed to making decisions based on documents, not mere opinions. Why is there no documentary evidence? If the man Vanzetti was doing business as he said that day, why are there no records?”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

The defenders withdrew behind polite fronts.

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“Well,” Blaine said as they descended the steps of the Statehouse, leaving the relatively cool interior for the sultry, humid heat of the streets, “I can’t say that was very hopeful.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“Wait a minute,” Joey said, stopping in his tracks. “Maybe he gave us something in there…maybe there are some records. Vanzetti was selling fish, right? Well, Boston’s fisherman’s wharf isn’t far from here.”

***

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

Two days later, fighting the heat and the smell of fish, Joey dumped another cardboard box full of old papers onto the floor of the Great Atlantic Fish Company. A half an hour later, he found a handwritten invoice with the name Vanzetti on it. “Holy cow!” he exclaimed. “Here it is! December twenty-four, nineteen-nineteen. Eels! To B. Vanzetti!”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

Blaine roused himself. He congratulated Machinetto on his find but was less enthusiastic. “Certainly we should show this to the governor,” he said. “But what we really need is something on paper for the date of April fifteenth, nineteen-twenty. That’s the date of the crime that has these men on execution row.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“All right,” Joey said, hiding his disappointment. “But let’s show him this. Maybe it will weaken his faith a little in the almighty justice of the State of Massachusetts.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

Blaine took off and used his straw hat to fan his face. “I suppose you’re right,” he sighed. “We have to keep trying.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“In view of which, let’s talk to Vanzetti again. Maybe he can tell us where to look for a receipt.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“You mean now?”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“Yes.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

Blaine shook his head. “We can’t just show up and visit him anymore. They’ve moved him to the Cherry Hill wing.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“What’s that?”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“The oldest, darkest, dirtiest part of the prison. Where men awaiting execution are kept.”

justo gravida montes, quis magna magna sit at Fusce in nec

“But we’re his attorneys. They can’t keep us out.”

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enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“They want notice to see a man in Cherry Hill. They want two days.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“But this is an emergency. We don’t have two days to wait. Men are facing death.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“That’s what they all say.”

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“Yes, but—“

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Blaine put on the hat and said, “Go thank the clerk for letting us paw through the records. I’ll wave down a cab.”

***

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

Glum-faced at the mention of the executions, Warden Hendry waved off Blaine’s explanation and said, “I’ll get Finn. He’ll take you down to Vanzetti.” He reached for the telephone. “This is a terrible business, Mr. Blaine.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

Blaine mumbled his agreement and his thanks.

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“The warden likes Vanzetti,” Joey whispered as they followed the corrections officer down a dusty corridor to the decrepit north wing. “If the man who runs the state’s largest prison believes a prisoner is innocent, surely the governor will do something.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“Everybody likes Vanzetti,” Blaine replied.

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

Sitting on his bed with a pen in his hand, standing when Finn arrived to turn the key in the lock, Vanzetti smiled when he saw Blaine. “My bold young man,” he said.

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

Blaine’s face reddened.

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“And your friend?” Vanzetti asked.

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

”This is Joey Machinetto. He has come all the way from Pennsylvania.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“Benvenuti nella mia umile dimora, signor Machinetto.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

Visibly embarrassed, Joey shook his head. “I learned to speak Italian at home and still know some words, but I’m better with English now.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“See?” Vanzetti said, as if to an absent third party. “Now he is an American.” He smiled at Machinetto. “And so I say in English, welcome to my humble home, Mr. Machinetto. And have you also left this fine home of yours to come to this terrible place and save Vanzetti?”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“He has been helping,” Blaine interceded. “He volunteers for the defense committee. And he has a question.”

enim magnis amet, Etiam gravida Lorem lobortis tincidunt quam, consectetur quis mi Quisque quis ipsum consectetur Fusce at Proin Lorem erat, sagittis faucibus ac quam,

“All right,” Vanzetti said. “Certo. To the business.”

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malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“Mr. Vanzetti,” Joey said, “can you recall where you were buying your fish in April of nineteen-twenty?”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“Ah.” Vanzetti squinted, apparently trying to remember. “The fisherman’s place here…it is called, I believe, the Boston Fishing Wharf.”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“Yes, we know of it,” Joey said. “It is there that we searched the records and found the invoice for the eels you purchased to sell on that Christmas Eve.”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“You found it?”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“Yes, just now. You bought the eels from the Great Atlantic Seafood Company.”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“But that is wonderful news!” Vanzetti shook each man’s hand. “I congratulate and thank you for your hard work!”

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Joey felt a shiver race through his body and cloud his eye.

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“But we were unable to find any record of a purchase in the month of April in nineteen-twenty,” said Blaine. “Were you still buying fish from the same company?”

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Vanzetti shook his head. “I bought wherever I could. And often in those weeks I could not find anyone to sell me a fish good enough to bring to Plymouth. That is why I was talking to the fisherman, Corl, that very day. I wished to buy from the local men.”

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“Did you buy any fish that day?” Blaine asked. “Did you have any transactions? Buying? Selling? Something with your name on it? And a date?”

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“Si. The man with the wool.”

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“Something beyond that. The court’s heard that already.”

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Vanzetti smiled grimly. “Heard, si. But didn’t listen.”

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His dark eyes narrowed in thought.

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“Any other transactions that day?” Joey asked. “With any of the fishermen? Or the boatyard owner?”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“No. And then I went to my friend--“ He broke off, glanced at the two attorneys. “I mean my friends, the fisherman, Corl, and the boat owner, Jesse. But, as you say, I have already told the court all about that. And is it not so, my comrades, that for the new appeal you need the thing that has not yet been before the court?”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“Yes,” said Blaine. “That’s what the law requires.”

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

They talked some more, mostly regrets and rehashings. He could give them nothing new, Vanzetti assured them.

malesuada. Proin justo eu sed ac nulla. fermentum enim eros lacus Lorem elit. Mauris adipiscing quis ridiculus justo malesuada. et at nisi eu venenatis mi sed et Lorem nulla. quam

“You make a valiant effort,” he said at last. “You are the good friends to poor Vanzetti. But I am afraid I have told you all.”

","page":"342","last":"","id":"1224","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

Desperately trying, unable to find any hope, Joey blurted, “Don’t worry, Mr. Vanzetti, we have not given up!“

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

He was immediately ashamed of these words. How could he tell a man on death row not to worry?

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, blushing. “I should not--“

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

“No, no,” Vanzetti interrupted, “no careful words are needed.” He leaned toward Joey, as if to kiss him on the cheek, but stopped himself and spoke instead. “I do not know if anything done for me and my poor Nick can succeed... But much good has been done already. I could have spent my whole life talking to tired men on street corners, men too worn, too oppressed to listen. My whole life and not moving a single heart... But now, the whole world knows what we stand for. I do not choose this path... But oh! Our agony is our triumph!”

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

Minutes later escorted beyond the North Wing, Machinetto demanded of Blaine, “That’s the man the State of Massachusetts is planning to kill?”

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

“Well,” Blaine exhaled.

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

“No!”

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

Blaine stared at him, not comprehending. Joey stared back at the fair-haired attorney, genteel in his white hat and light-colored suit. But dedicated, he thought, as dedicated as himself.

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

“We can’t let them! You and I, Blaine! Let’s swear to stop them! Let’s make a vow! Promise me -- let’s swear -- we won’t let it happen! Shake on it now!”

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

Joey thrust out his right hand.

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

Thomas Blaine’s pale blue eyes glowed. Joey Machinetto read the indecision in his face. But moments later, his handshake was firm.

in consectetur quam, sit gravida at elit. sit Proin blandit eros ac blandit vehicula quam ante. tincidunt vehicula et a. blandit dolor adipiscing fermentum egestas. gravida Lorem Mauris at quam

“We don’t have to say anything more,” Joey said, after a silence. “We know what we mean.”

","page":"343","last":"","id":"1225","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

CHAPTER 31

GRANDAD’S CLEVER PLAN ENDED UP

GETTING WILLY CARROLL KILLED

2000, Building Two

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

Merrill Sellers sat on one stack of barn boards and leaned against a higher one. Someone had taken to storing them here. Could be useful if they needed something to hide behind, Merrill thought. He and Kevin Salley had been sitting there for several hours now, Salley in his phony security duds and the greatcoat thrown over them for warmth. Sellers had already asked to see his gun and checked to make sure the safety was on.

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

“My grandfather had the thing in his hands, for crying out loud,” Sellers said.

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

Salley murmured a reply in the manner of someone trying to fall asleep. He sat with his arms folded across his chest and his chin drooping forward.

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

"This is Willy Carroll I’m talking about, Kevin,” Sellers said, undeterred by the show of fatigue. “He was Vera’s grandfather -- your wife’s grandfather.”

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

“Ex,” Salley muttered.

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

“Not quite,” Merrill corrected. A minor but crucial distinction. When the divorce was final, Salley would no longer have anything to hold over Sellers’ head. Until then, long cold nights in the majestic emptiness of Building Two were possible. With any luck this would be the night.

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

Something else to thank Willy Carroll for.

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

“You see, Kevin, Willy brought the letter to my grandfather and asked for his advice. He said he found it in his wife’s recipe box.” Merrill smirked in the shadows. “Grandad thought the guy was looking to get some money for it. I wish to hell he’d offered him a few bucks for the letter then and there! If he had, none of this…” He paused. ”This” took in so much. “…would have been necessary.”

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

“So what happened then?” Salley grunted. “Since I’m still awake...and you’ve got me sitting in this cold empty box.”

et Fusce venenatis diam eros Quisque dolor a. a. sodales magnis quis dui. Proin

“Well.” Sellers ignored the complaint. “What Willy does next is he hands this letter, this hitherto unknown piece of evidence from one of the most famous trials in history, to his wife’s rich uncle, this strait-laced old Yankee prick who’s counting beans for the Cordage Company back then…this is the Depression, remember…just hands it over to him, gratis, for safe keeping. A few weeks later, he comes back to Grandad’s store. Willy asks Grandad if there’s any way, now that he’s handed over the letter, to bring up the delicate question of begging his wife’s rich uncle to help out with his kids’ education.”

","page":"344","last":"","id":"1226","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Lorem in vehicula sodales parturient pellentesque. nisl. magnis Etiam Lorem sit Etiam malesuada. pellentesque. est est lacus montes, eu natoque ac in scelerisque odio in Lorem in sagittis Cum fermentum sagittis

Merrill shook his head and barked a laugh of deprecation.

“You know a lot more about Vera’s family than I do,” Kevin said. “And I married her. How is that, Merrill?”

“That’s the thing about old family businesses. People think there’s nothing great about running an old stuck-in-the-mud neighborhood shop like Sellers Used Clothes. But the thing about old family businesses is we remember things. You stay in one place long enough, eventually everyone comes to you. So like I was saying, the old stories get passed down. After Willy asked Grandad how he could get some dough off his wife’s uncle, Grandad reasoned that Charles Rossiter was sitting on the letter so the whole Vanzetti business would never come to light and embarrass the family name.”

Merrill waited. Salley made no comment.

”So, pay attention now, what he does, see, is he starts hinting to folks who come into his store, practically everybody in Seaside in those days, that Charles Rossiter had taken advantage of poor uneducated Willy Carroll to procure a valuable historical document for his collection without paying Willy a dime. And then he hints that this document had something to do with that Italian anarchist trial, and the rumors about Rossiter’s brother’s widow. You see what his plan was?”

“Not exactly,” Salley admitted.

Merrill sighed.

“Grandad’s plan was that when this rumor got back to Uncle Charles, and he realized everybody was talking about what a cheapskate he was, he’d be shamed into offering Willy some dough just to shut up the gossip.”

“Did it work?”

Sellers chuckled, a free, jarring sound in the near-pitch darkness.

“I’d have to say no. Certainly not the way Grandad hoped. The story got around all right, but it ended up being heard by the wrong people, the people who not only were convinced Vanzetti was framed, but cared about it. Italians mostly, by then, I think. So then one of those people, a genuine Philadelphia lawyer, started snooping around the old town, asking questions about the secret evidence in the Sacco and Vanzetti case. Meanwhile, word of this guy snooping around Vanzetti’s old neighborhood got around to somebody else, a dangerous party, genuine criminal type in fact. I’m talking about a real crime kingpin, Kevin, not someone who dabbles in crummy real estate scams, if you know what I mean. Anyway, this guy had dirty little secrets, and the resources to keep them hidden. So, when for reasons of his own he thought Willy Carroll knew something about one of his secrets, he made sure Willy didn’t start blabbing about it.”

“How?”

“Sad to say, Kevin, something happened to Willy Carroll one night in an alley. The cruel irony is that Grandad’s clever plan ended up getting Willy killed.” Merrill laughed, rather mournfully. “I come from a clever family, Kevin.”

“Yeah,” Salley said, awake now, “very funny, Merrill. I hope your plan works better than your grandfather’s did.”","page":"345","last":"","id":"1227","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

Sellers hoped so too. Because after hunting for decades, not only did he deserve to find the letter, he was damned if he’d let that skinny, Johnny-come-lately Becker get credit for it.

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“You have a gun, Kevin,” he’d said in a low voice that afternoon in Ginny’s. “Don’t pretend you don’t. I know you do. Nobody thinks it’s strange for a restaurant manager to have a gun, what with all the cash lying around. So, just get some kind of uniform jacket, and a hat. Yes, a hat would be better.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“What for?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“You’re going to be the security guard. You’ll need a big, reliable flashlight. I’ve been inside that building twenty times. I have a key. I know how the locks work. I know my way around. But Becker knows where Charles Rossiter kept his files.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“How’s he know that?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“He’s been chummy with that old dame, Vivian Devito.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“So?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“So, when he gets inside the building, I’ll follow him. You sit tight until I give you a buzz. Then you come running and shine your light in his face and tell him you’re going to turn him over to the police for trespassing.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“He won’t buy it.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“Of course, he’ll buy it. He’s an academic. Probably hasn’t been arrested in his life. Besides, it’ll be dark, and you’ll have a big light and a uniform and a gun. You escort him out of the building. I’ll show you how. When you get him outside, tell him you’re going to let him go with a warning, but you never want to see him around there again. Just make sure he gets in his car and leaves.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“Is that all, Merrill? Don’t you want me to take him down to the police station and introduce him around?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“Don’t try to be funny, Kevin. It’s out of character. Oh, one other thing. There may be two of them. Becker’s been palling around with that newspaper reporter.”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“What newspaper reporter? You mean Vera’s newspaper reporter?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“Yup. You might want to shout at him a little, tell him how much you hate reporters. Wave the gun around, you know, if you need to.” He gave the restauranteur a meaningful look. “You don’t want him to feel good about doing errands for Vera, do you?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“You’re kidding, Merrill, right? This whole business? The gun and everything?”

condimentum magnis amet, nisl. ipsum sodales Fusce magna fermentum Proin natoque hendrerit eu vestibulum ac gravida erat

“No, Kevin. I’ve never been more serious.”","page":"346","last":"","id":"1228","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

“What makes you think I’ll do it?”

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

“Because it’s in your best interest.”

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Salley grunted at the unnecessary reminder. His old buddy knew a secret. Vera’s secret. A secret that, exposed, could spoil everything he had worked so hard to achieve, Ginny’s, the Barry Brothers, everything.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

“How much does that reporter know?” Salley asked.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

“Don’t know. But Vera thinks he’s getting close.”

***

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Noises…voices…somewhere outside the building...Merrill Sellers wide awake…ears straining to hear…people…Becker! Who else could it be? The crash of broken glass, a clean transparent noise echoed through the vast empty enclosure of Building Two. His fingers closed on a good-luck piece in his pocket, the set of brass knuckles that his grandfather said were used by the Boston police in the Plymouth Cordage strike of 1916.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

“Company’s coming,” Sellers hissed.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Salley groaned.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Sellers slipped in beside Salley’s slumped body. “Stay here,” he whispered harshly, lips pressed to his ear. “I’ll buzz you when it’s time. Don’t fall asleep!”

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Merrill stared into the shadows. There! The beam of the intruder’s flashlight…the perfect way to track him from a distance. Which way would he go? Upstairs to the engine room? Downstairs to the coal cellar and all that junk-filled storage space? Or was there a hiding place in the vast emptiness of the main floor that Merrill somehow hadn’t discovered?

***

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Shards of glass flew from the window, landed on the hard floor, shattered like a thousand shiny daggers stabbing his exposed, dead-of-night sensitivities. Mill hugged the ladder, every muscle taut, barely breathing, until the sound of the falling glass died and nothing bad happened. No secret alarms, no barking dogs, no one shouting.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

He removed the last fragments of splintered window with gloved fingers, less wary of the noise. When the hole was wide enough, he swung a leg through the wound in the building’s side and, stepping into the darkness, found the sound wooden floor, let out a breath, and hopped the other leg inside. Nothing to it, he thought. Just the way he’d planned.

fermentum Mauris magna Lorem nulla. diam ipsum sociis et Proin consectetur Lorem imperdiet ornare scelerisque fermentum augue.

Bernie climbed up next, her two companions below holding the ladder steady and watching in moderate amazement as she shook off her husband’s hand at the sill and swung both legs in at once, an old high school gymnastics move.","page":"347","last":"","id":"1229","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“I am not to go in,” Ike informed Jeter. “They fear for my safety.” He laughed softly. “But I have promised to keep watch and make the halloos if trouble approaches.”

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“Got it,” Jeter said. “So I’m next.”

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“Yes. And after you are safely inside, I am looking forward to taking off my shoes and rubbing my feet. I wish to know my toes are still there.”

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“Yeah,” Jeter said, gripping the rails to settle them for his weight, “don’t forget to put the shoes back on in case we have to get out of here in a hurry.”

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

He started up slowly, climbed faster as he gained confidence, reached the window casement, made it through the dark hole, and landed with a two-footed thud.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

All in, Mill thought. Great. What do I do next?

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

Merrill swore at the sound of the second pair of feet landing on the wide board floor, thought, okay, so the professor brought a friend, probably that reporter, which makes it two on two. At the sound of a third, even heavier landing, making it three against two, initially uneasy, dropping into a knee-popping crouch, Sellers quickly reassured himself that Salley’s handgun still gave him the edge on amateur night in the break-in business.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

Mill pointed the flashlight at the floor to allow his eyes time to adjust to the dark. Seconds later, impatient, he aimed it at the building’s interior. Small and expensive but guaranteed by the hardware store clerk to throw a strong, tight beam fifty feet or more, swallowed by the enormous black hole of the factory like a stone tossed in the ocean, the flashlight’s cone of light revealed nothing more than the wooden floor beneath their feet and the pale, gluey shimmer of reflection off the unbroken panes of window glass. What were his landmarks? The pamphlet showed stairways on either end of the long rectangle of Building Two’s main floor. Above, on the upper level, the floor space was divided into smaller rooms. Maybe one of those was Charles Rossiter’s office.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“All right,” he broke the breath-held silence, the intimidation of so much lightless space. “Let’s find a stairway.”

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

Dipping the beam of the light to the floor in front of his feet, Mill took a few experimental steps on the scarred-board floor, keeping the wall with windows on his left side as a reference point.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“Stay close, Bern,” he urged. “I’m not sure of the condition of these floors.”

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

She reached for his arm.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

Stay close. The meaningful command echoed in his thoughts. The simple truth was he felt better, more likely to accomplish what he set out to do, with Bernie beside him.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“Where are we going, Mill?” Jeter whispered.

Mauris amet, ante. malesuada. Fusce dolor fermentum mauris sodales eu adipiscing justo consectetur euismod elit. Etiam lacus malesuada.

“Up. I think there’s a stairway at the end of this wall. Can you see all right?”","page":"348","last":"","id":"1230","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Uh-huh, but this would be a whole lot easier if someone had left the lights on.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“This is one long building,” Bernie whispered.

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Big enough for the internal railway to enter through a special ramp and carry massive spools of yarn from the freight tracks to the factory floor,” Mill said.

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Do we have anything to go on as to where Rossiter’s files were kept?” Jeter asked.

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Not really,” Mill replied. “His office, Vivian said. But that was a long time ago.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Vivian, huh? I talked to her niece today,” Jeter said.

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Vivian’s niece? I’m confused. What does she have to do with—“

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“With the letter? Vera said Merrill Sellers is looking for it, too.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“I know he is.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Yeah well, Sellers thinks it could be somewhere in this building.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“It’s a creepy thought, Mill, but you did say you thought he was following you around,” Bernie whispered.

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Do you want to go back? Wait with Ike?”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“No.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

“Let’s find this thing then,” Jeter said. “We’re going up, right?”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

Mill played the flashlight over the old wood staircase. The stairway looked bleak and abandoned, but intact. “Yes. Let’s go.”

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

Merrill heard a murmur of voices, caught a few insignificant words, and watched from above the tentative progress of the light along the wall of the lower factory floor. When the beam pointed upward, Sellers quietly crept toward the stairway, leaving Salley to slumber. He’d buzz him when the time came.

nascetur sed ridiculus a. sagittis natoque natoque hendrerit lobortis consectetur eu justo

He crouched in his carefully chosen hiding place, concealed on the upper floor by the skeletal remains of hundred-year-old, steam-driven machinery left behind when the Cordage Company was stripped of everything of value the new owners could sell off. Listening for footsteps on the old stairs, Merrill heard voices, couldn’t make-out the words. It drove him crazy to think the stiff-necked old woman had spilled her guts to Becker, the new guy on the block, and had refused out of spite, for thirty damn years, to tell Sellers where to find the letter, the piece he needed to re-open the Sacco and Vanzetti case in the court of public opinion. A put-up job from the start, nearly a century of lies, manipulation, and scapegoating had followed the railroading of Sacco and Vanzetti. Got a problem? Find a “radical” to blame; and then, a “Commie.” Worked for fifty years! He could have changed history. Still could. Was he going to let the letter get away from him now? See it end up buried in some publish-or-perish academic journal read by no one but envious colleagues? Not on your life! Not if he could do something about it!","page":"349","last":"","id":"1231","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

Merrill sucked in his breath as a beam of light announced the searchers’ presence.

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Salley rolled to his side on the hardwood floor, pushed himself up to a sitting position, took out of his pocket a flask of brandy juiced with a little liquid meth, compliments of a Ginny’s regular behind on his bar bill, and slaked his thirst with several good swallows. He could no longer see or hear the three intruders who’d come in through the window and practically freaked Merrill out of his drawers. Yeah. He’d had a good laugh over that. Anyway, he certainly hoped Vera’s reporter was one of the three, was counting on it, in fact. He needed to act fast now, while opportunity presented itself. While wide awake and warm from the brandy. While the faint night light of early morning stars and a late-rising moon through the building’s tall windows enabled him to move about, cautiously. He took out a cigarette, tapped it against his thumb. Old killjoy Merrill had absolutely forbidden him to smoke. It was getting so Ginny’s was the only place he could smoke without getting busted. Stupid name, Ginny’s. Vera’s idea. He would change it as soon as the divorce decree became final. To what? Mindy’s? Maybe.

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

Salley listened. No sound of Sellers or his enemies. Of course, Merrill was a natural-born spy, a snoop, a sneak, a self-righteous, gossipy know-it-all, so superior about everybody else’s little weaknesses, slippery as a three-dollar bill himself, he liked to find out all your secrets and keep a tight lid on his. Well, maybe his old high school buddy should have thought twice before snooping into things that didn’t concern him. Ginny’s ownership, for instance. What the hell business was that of Merrill’s? Ginny’s was his property, and Vera was his ex-wife. If there was a problem, he’d take care of it his own way. Sellers should have realized that trying to use other people’s business against them wasn’t always a smart thing to do.

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

Salley took the plastic container of concentrated accelerant out of his parka pocket -- compliments of another Ginny’s regular. Power, he thought, influence, a position in the community. Ownership’s a beautiful thing.

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

“Where are we?” Bernie whispered.

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

“Engine room.”

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

Mill flashed his light around the walls and the ceiling: pipes, gears, hand-operated levers; clock-faced dials on a wall over a cross-hatching of black pipes; large metallic tubes resembling oversized hot water heaters; a metal stairway on the opposite wall climbed to catwalk scaffolding. He could imagine the place in its day as hot, noisy, and confusing. Nothing about it suggested files, paper, or records storage, the appearance more like that of a mad scientist's laboratory than of a room the company treasurer would have chosen for a quiet, bean-counting office. But because they had to start looking somewhere, he plodded around the room’s perimeter, playing the flashlight across the machinery.

vestibulum sodales adipiscing malesuada. Ut venenatis elit enim erat, imperdiet ac quis gravida erat nibh

“This place is enormous,” Bernie said, increasingly aware of the chill in her feet. “It’s going to take forever to search it all.”

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Mill grunted noncommittally.

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He felt the air seep out of his inspiration. Hours of shuffling around in a cold, dark place presented themselves. Maybe having Bernie here -- and Ike -- was a bad idea. Maybe they should all leave now. He could sneak back in the daylight and risk being caught alone. Hide the ladder in the brush. Come back on foot. At least he could see what he was doing.

","page":"350","last":"","id":"1232","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“I don’t see any likely place to store company records here,” Jeter said after a few more minutes of searching.

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“Let’s try the other end of this floor,” Mill suggested.

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Jeter sighed. “The one thing we never talked about, Mill. Why is this so important to you? Is it simply a matter of scholarship? Setting the record straight? I mean, it won’t change anything, will it? You can’t change the past.”

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“You don’t have to stay. You’re a volunteer, remember?”

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“And you’re not answering my question. Look, I want to stay. It’s a story. But that’s what it really is to me. People like stories. They need stories. But it’s up to them to decide what stories mean.”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“That’s fine with me. I want people to think about what they mean. But when your story is eighty years old, you need something big to grab their attention. People have forgotten the Sacco-Vanzetti story.”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Is it that important?”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Yes.”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Why?”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“It’s a story of how power -- government, wealth -- framed Sacco and Vanzetti for a crime they didn’t commit to shut down the people who thought the way they did. There have to be anarchists, Jeter. Utopians. Or, if not anarchists, people who believe that human beings can fundamentally do better than with what they have. That society can do better.”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Mill?”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Yeah?”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

Jeter grinned. “Where do we look next?”

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“I think we should keep going, Mill,” Bernie piped in.

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Okay, I just want to finish the circle here.”

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In the shadows, behind his slatted metal barrier, Merrill Sellers made himself small. He hadn’t followed it all, but from what he’d heard Mill say, he wondered whether he should revise his opinion of the young man. Maybe there was some way they could work together.

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Merrill hiked his collar and turned his face away from the approaching beam of light. He tensed as the light drew disturbingly close.

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

Mill stopped walking. He sniffed the air. “Do you guys smell something?”

est ante. tristique venenatis dolor Lorem et magnis quis malesuada. erat hendrerit. quis condimentum sagittis Sed et fermentum et sagittis Mauris sit mauris euismod eros

“Smell?” Bernie said.

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“Smoke,” Jeter said.

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

Time stopped, the way it does when people first sense danger.

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“Let’s get out of here!” Mill barked. “Downstairs! Quick!”

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They followed the beam of his flashlight out of the pipe-strewn engine room back to the wooden stairway. Jeter, with the heavier tread, traced the wall with a hand as he slow-footed down the stairs.

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

The smell grew stronger as they descended. Mill’s throat tightened. Could they be walking toward the source? He waved the cone of his light through the thick, blank dark of the main floor’s cavity then switched off the flashlight and peered into the darkness.

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

There, somewhere against the opposite wall, a faint yellow-orange glow loomed from a distant corner. The flame appeared to be far away, but the smoke was spreading, wafting toward them. They edged closer to one another.

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“It’s a fire, in the building, isn’t it, Mill?” Bernie asked.

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“Jesus. Yes.”

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“Should we try to get back out through the same window?”

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“We might run into a lot of smoke,” Jeter said. “What about the cellar, Mill? Can we get out down there?”

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“The cellar windows are smaller but large enough to get through. Only thing is, could be smoke down there, too.”

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“Come on,” Jeter urged. “Let’s find out.”

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

Mill squared his shoulders, focused the light at his feet, and quickly led the way down more stairs to the factory’s lower level, where, probing the dark with the flashlight, he picked out a path between support beams, wooden conduits, and the metallic detritus of old machines to a barn-door-sized opening with trash piled inside beneath a hole in the wall above.

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“The coal chute!” he cried.

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“Won’t work. We can’t get out through all that junk,” Jeter said. “But shine the light to the left. I think I see a door.”

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

Mill searched with the light and found a thick wooden portal resembling a shed door. He yanked it open and stepped into a dank-smelling darkness of large but indefinite space with no outside wall. Storage room? He wiggled the beam. Broken stuff, pieces of this or that, some wood, some metal, some machine parts, probably. Things taken apart, rusted, not needed badly enough to reassemble. The strong smell was hard to place. Was it rust? Chemicals? After all this time? He hoped not. Creosote?

in Proin amet, penatibus ac dui. sit vestibulum Mauris adipiscing eros sodales et amet, malesuada. Sed in nisl. convallis at condimentum lobortis natoque sodales enim eros Quisque adipiscing ornare

“I don’t like this place, Mill,” Bernie said.","page":"352","last":"","id":"1234","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“It’s the smell,” Jeter said. “I know it, but can’t place it. Glue?”

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“I think I heard something,” Bernie said, her voice tight. “There. Hear that?”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“The fire upstairs,” Jeter said.

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“No. Something moving.”

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“This room is no good either, Mill,” Jeter said. “Let’s back up and find those windows.”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

Mill stepped deeper into the room. He banged an ankle on something with an edge, swore, kept on, and flashed the light on another door at the opposite end. Storerooms, he thought. Places full of long-forgotten stuff that people had no longer needed but had hesitated to throw out. He crossed to the door, gripped the handle with a hand, and tugged. Couldn’t budge it. He smelled something else now. Not smoke, or garbage, or the nasty chemical or creosote smell. A dry, dusty smell a library rat would recognize anywhere. Paper! Old paper!

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“This could be it!” Mill called. “The room where they kept the old files in boxes!”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

He pulled on the door handle. The handle rattled, but the door didn’t open.

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“What are you doing, Mill?” Bernie shouted. “We don’t have time!”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“I think I found it, Bernie. I smell old paper in there.”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“That’s fine, Mill. But I smell smoke and we don’t know how to get out of here!”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“I’m with Bernie,” Jeter said. “Let’s move.”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

Mill shook his head. He needed a minute more. Two minutes maybe. He shoved the flashlight into the parka’s big side pocket and used both hands to yank open the door. He took out the flashlight and played it over the interior of the room. Desks. Two. A machine that looked like an oversized typewriter. Cardboard boxes stacked on the floor. Old file-storage boxes with heavy accordion files inside formed a sagging tower against a wall.

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“File boxes!” he shouted excitedly. “This is it!”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

“Mill!” Bernie said. “We don’t have time! We need to go!”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

Jeter fumbled in his pockets for the car keychain that doubled as a tiny light. “Forgot I had this,” he said to Bernie. “I’m going to find a window.”

ipsum amet Etiam consectetur sagittis et scelerisque vitae montes, fermentum mus. justo Mauris venenatis elit. Proin nascetur erat,

Jeter retraced his steps to the base of the cellar stairs. Guided a dozen cautious paces from there by the soft light, he reached an exterior wall with a modest single-pane window just above his head. "Found a window!” he shouted. “Bring me a couple of those boxes, Mill! I need something to stand on!”

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No response. Jeter swore under his breath, turned from the window, and walked back to the dusty storeroom.

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Raised voices.

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“These are company files, Bernie! I have to look!”

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“Mill! Let’s go!”

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The panic in the woman’s voice. The fool had brought his wife along. Sellers shook his head. What did Becker think this was? A field trip, a faculty picnic? His flashlight off, he hid in the darkness of the first of the storerooms, squatting among the trash barrels with their scent of old chemical fiber coatings. He had followed Becker when he panicked over the smoke, staying well behind, going slower, because he had a good idea where that smoke was coming from. Old friend Kevin was a desperate nicotine addict. Sloppy about disposing of his cigarettes, he had no doubt managed to start a few sparks among the dry wood of his hiding place, and could probably also manage to stamp them out. But if not, Merrill would head upstairs to take care of it after he was finished down here.

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Huddled in a corner, Merrill heard a noise and had a good idea what it was. Rats. He hated rats. Disgust ran through his body. A quiver of fear quickened his heart and tightened his bowels, his search of the building’s lower reaches hindered in the past by his fear of encountering the vile creatures. But now, as the smell of old paper in the next room reached his nose, Merrill forced himself to stay put.

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Jeter started at the raised voices. Quarreling?

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Someone grabbed his hand. Jeter jumped back.

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“It’s me, Mo,” Bernie said tautly. “Help me drag Mill out of there.”

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Footsteps.

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Sellers held his breath in the dust and dark of his hiding place as voices again rose in the inner room. Listening, waiting for Becker to give in to his wife, give up on his hunt and leave, waiting to search the file boxes himself, hoping Becker was right.

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He heard something, movement, a scrabble at his feet, creatures running across the floor in a panic of their own. His stomach lurched. He clenched his teeth. Forced himself to stay put.

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“What’s that?” Mill asked.

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“Rats, Mill!” Bernie cried. “Even the rats are getting out of here! Will you put down that box and move?”

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Jeter stepped into the blur of glare and shadow from Mill’s light. The two men collided on opposite ends of the heavy, sharp-smelling cardboard box.

in quam dolor dolor gravida eu nisi malesuada. sociis scelerisque penatibus quam, tempor sagittis in enim adipiscing eros Ut ac ac magna dolor Etiam montes, in Mauris

“Give it to me!” Jeter demanded, seizing the box. “Find something else we can stand on and follow me! We need to climb out a window!”

in quam dolor dolor gravida eu nisi malesuada. sociis scelerisque penatibus quam, tempor sagittis in enim adipiscing eros Ut ac ac magna dolor Etiam montes, in Mauris

Mill swung the light in search of another box he could manage to lift. “We’ll save a few,” he mused aloud.

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tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Jesus, Mill!” Bernie snapped. “Let me have the light!”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

She held the flashlight. He grappled, finally hefted a box, and staggered forward.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

Ahead in the darkness, Jeter swore. “Damn! Rats! Watch it! I almost stepped on one!”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“That room is full of boxes, Jeter,” Mill said when he reached the window.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Put yours on top of mine,” Jeter directed. “This is gonna be a struggle.”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“The company files,” Mill said. “It has to be. What else could it be?”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Shine the flashlight on the window, Mill. Maybe I can push it out.”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

Jeter climbed onto the top carton. It collapsed then settled beneath his weight. He exhaled loudly.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Mo,” Bernie said, “I heard something back there. Not rats. Something else. Somebody. I’m sure of it.”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Maybe I should try to knock all the glass out,” Jeter muttered, testing the wood frame with his hands, balling his fingers and pushing against the wood.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Somebody moving,” she insisted.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“I can’t believe we have to leave all these boxes behind,” Mill complained. “What if the fire reaches here?”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“We’d better be long gone if it does!” Bernie retorted. “Jeezus, Mill, you’re scaring me! You were like a crazy man in there!”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Folks,” Jeter interrupted, “we have a more important matter. I can’t force this window. I’ll try once more, but if I have to break it, glass will fly, so get ready to cover your faces.”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

He set his feet on the crushed box, got a good grip on the sash, stared into the glass, and saw a face.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

The face stared back.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

Jeter’s jaw dropped.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

The face seemed frightened, too. Then it broke into a wide smile.

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

“Have no fear,” Ike announced after helping Jeter crack open the glass. “Help is on the way. I have summoned the fire department!”

tincidunt euismod tempor at quam, Proin venenatis enim elit. ipsum parturient Cum nisi Proin justo Sed Cum Lorem Proin dis venenatis nascetur

Sellers stood, breathing the dusty, decayed-paper smell of the cardboard file boxes, smirking, the rats gone from the storeroom, Becker’s gang out a broken window.

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lobortis venenatis elit. augue. nulla. vehicula tristique at condimentum justo augue. venenatis Nulla ornare gravida lobortis ornare mus. malesuada. Ut hendrerit dolor blandit erat, natoque blandit Etiam justo dui. at faucibus

He didn’t need windows. He knew where the doors were. Might have shown them where the exit door was had he acted on a wild impulse to run after Becker and his friends and recruit them as collaborators, get them to carry out and transport the files boxes from the building to the store where he could examine them in a decent light. He could have used the help.

No. He owed it to Kevin to make sure he was all right and safely away from this smoke. What if the fool was passed out somewhere?

Merrill turned on his flashlight, dug out his phone, and buzzed Salley. Maybe Salley could intercept Becker and gang outside the building and still do his angry security act -- give them a good warning off. But after a couple of subdued rings, Salley’s message came on, and Sellers muttered a few choice insults. As much as he was eager to start pouring through the files Becker had led him to, he needed to first go upstairs to see to that fire. Where was that idiot? Passed out? Wandering around in the dark somewhere, missing the whole show?

Sellers picked his way through the flashlight-lit darkness to the stairs. The smoke was heavier here. Distressing. Worse than when he’d snuck down to the cellar after Becker. He felt a twitch of worry. Maybe he should deal with the boxes first. Drag them out, as many as possible alone. Or call the fire department, let them deal with whatever was going on up there. But how would he explain being there?

That damn fool, Kevin!

You need this building, Sellers told himself. The future home of the Bartolomeo Vanzetti Industrial Workers Heritage Museum. The place to display the Vanzetti letter in its proper setting (and archive the Cordage files) for the world to see. It is your dream. You can’t give up on it now.

He put his hand over his mouth and tried to stifle a cough. Smoke forced its way into his nose, mouth, and eyes. He pushed himself upward. One step; then another. Damn, damn, damn! Then he stepped on something, heard the shriek of an animal in pain, and a frenzied flood of nasty scratching feet rush toward him from the top of the stairs. Sellers turned involuntarily, as if shielding his body against the descending wave of vermin. He planted a shoe on something soft -- it keened in his brain. He lost his balance and fell.

The ominous orange glow filled a row of windows on the main floor of Building Two by the time the fire department arrived. Big booted, helmeted, heavy-coated, a pair of firefighters raced past the four people huddled in the dark to attack the large wooden door on the side of the building. The last of the party to make it out the window, yanked by the armpits by Bernie and Ike while Jeter lay on the ground and tried to breathe, Mill coughed and coughed, struggling to clear his lungs as Bernie held him at the waist and whispered in his ear. Ike stood, staring, mesmerized by the blaze.

More firefighters from a second truck hurried to the scene, two of the men dragging an enormously thick hose. Jeter got slowly to his feet, looked away from the blinding strobe lights of the truck to the hypnotic glare of the fire. Smoke billowed and hissed under the firefighters’ assault. The orange glow shrank back, and the stink of char began to fill the air.

Bernie spoke to Mill in a low, soothing, comforting tone until his coughing slowed. “I’ve got to get Mill home,” she called to Jeter. “Can you take Ike back to Boston?”

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Maybe. If he could stop staring at the fire. He shrugged. “Sure.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

Jeter turned for a last look. The firefighters had succeeded in battering their way inside the building, dragging the hose behind them. Gray smoke billowed from the windows. “Come on,” he told Ike, “I promised to get you home.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“It is a very sad thing, to see a building burn,” Ike said. “On the other hand, I am no longer cold.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“As close to burning in Hell as I’d ever want to get,” Jeter muttered to himself.

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“I wonder where the other fellow went," Ike said. "He was in quite a hurry.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“What other fellow?”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“The man who ran away.” Ike pointed at Building Two. “When the fire began inside, I did not know where to find you. I ran around the building like a crazy man, calling out to Mrs. Becker, hoping someone would hear me and call back, so I would know where to go to help you.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“And you saw someone outside?”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“I stopped running so I could use the phone Mrs. Becker gave me for emergencies such as this. I dialed the nine-one-one. That was when I saw him, running away from the building.” He gestured at the parking lot. “He was running the way a heavy man does, in that direction.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“What did he look like?”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“A big man, like you, Mr. Jeter. I thought it was you, so I called to him, but of course, it was not you.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“So what happened to him?”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“He kept running. I started to run too.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“After him?”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“No, toward the window in the buildings, where I noticed a light. I ran to see if you and Mr. and Mrs. Becker were there. I looked through the window. And there I was, face to face with…” Ike laughed. “…with you, sir.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“I remember that part very well,” Jeter remarked dryly.

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

Ike grinned. “Yes. You were quite surprised to see me.”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“Surprised? I was totally freaked! I almost fell on the floor!”

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

Ike chuckled.

tempor Pellentesque dolor penatibus eu gravida sit Lorem dolor dolor justo dis Etiam

“Okay, so you saw a man,” Jeter said. “Might be a good idea to keep that quiet for now.”

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“I understand.”

malesuada. magnis malesuada. tincidunt dolor fermentum Cum quam, Lorem hendrerit parturient Fusce euismod mauris justo Cum vehicula amet,

Jeter knew someone would eventually need to tell the police, or the fire chief, or whoever was investigating this fire, about the man Ike saw running from the burning building. But whoever talked to them, it should not be Ike. Better, in fact crucial, that the authorities not know of his involvement with the people who’d trespassed and broken into Building Two.

malesuada. magnis malesuada. tincidunt dolor fermentum Cum quam, Lorem hendrerit parturient Fusce euismod mauris justo Cum vehicula amet,

“Let’s go, Ike,” he said. “Time to get you home.”

malesuada. magnis malesuada. tincidunt dolor fermentum Cum quam, Lorem hendrerit parturient Fusce euismod mauris justo Cum vehicula amet,

Time to think as Jeter stumbled toward his car. Could this man be the “somebody” Bernie thought she heard? Could he have set the fire? And if the fire was set, were we the targets? Did someone want to kill us? Mill? Bernie? Me?

malesuada. magnis malesuada. tincidunt dolor fermentum Cum quam, Lorem hendrerit parturient Fusce euismod mauris justo Cum vehicula amet,

Why?","page":"358","last":"","id":"1240","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

augue. montes, malesuada. sit mus. a. Proin dis fermentum nibh imperdiet ipsum eu sit

CHAPTER 32

THEY WILL HAVE TO USE

MY EVIDENCE NOW

June, 1927, Boston

augue. montes, malesuada. sit mus. a. Proin dis fermentum nibh imperdiet ipsum eu sit

Lavinia crossed the busy avenue under the elevated train tracks and found herself on the edge of the city’s crowded North End. Its narrow lanes and urgent scents reminded her of the backstreets in North Plymouth the day she discovered the boy named Dolly who knew where Mr. Vanzetti lived. The closed surfaces of a people whose speech you could not understand, the dark clothing, the unfamiliar cooking aromas came back to her now. This city district was like that, only a hundred more times so. The carcasses of animals hung from storefronts over the busy sidewalks, the streets were crowded, and the people shoving past her spoke a tongue that reminded her of Bartolomeo, but carried nothing of the warmth she once found in his voice.

augue. montes, malesuada. sit mus. a. Proin dis fermentum nibh imperdiet ipsum eu sit

Bags of seeds and spices leaned against storefronts, exposed to the sidewalks, their scents speaking an enticing language to the neighborhood’s cooks and homemakers, though unknown to her. Women in black coats and scarves about their heads stopped in their tracks, blocking pedestrian traffic, to hurl questions at the shopkeepers. They gazed at the bags, stooped, picked up handfuls of herbs so green they were nearly black; legumes and nuts as well: fusuli, pistachio, lentils, pinoli. The words bandied between women on the sidewalk were the code of another world.

augue. montes, malesuada. sit mus. a. Proin dis fermentum nibh imperdiet ipsum eu sit

A boy darted out the door of a fish seller’s shop with the fish monger in pursuit, a huge cleaver in his thick hand. Lavinia froze as the enraged man rushed past. “Scuzi, Senora,” he said to her, backtracking moments later to his shop, the impertinent boy swallowed by the crowd.

augue. montes, malesuada. sit mus. a. Proin dis fermentum nibh imperdiet ipsum eu sit

Limbs protesting, desiring only to turn around and make the long confusing trek back to the train station, where at least she might find a bench to sit on, Lavinia forced herself to keep moving, studying storefronts in the hope of finding the street address sent to her from the office of William Thompson, Esq., or a sign for the Sacco-Vanzetti Defense Committee. The heavy-legged fish monger had long disappeared. She stopped to ask her way of a passerby, any passerby who would stop to listen to her, but the stream of women clad in identical black dresses, shawls and kerchiefs, carrying bundles of produce, jostled past her, shaking their heads at her incomprehensible questions and offering words of excuse in their own tongue. Boys raced between them, had no time for her, either, did not see her. This was a new experience. Lavinia wondered. Was this what it was like to be cast adrift in a country of strangers? Was this how people from another land felt when they came to a town like Plymouth, so smug and uniform in its self-regard?

augue. montes, malesuada. sit mus. a. Proin dis fermentum nibh imperdiet ipsum eu sit

Lavinia straightened her back and plodded ahead until she found a wider avenue than the others. Yes, Hanover Street. A principal byway named for the ruling family of the British Empire, whose writ no longer held here. She took it as a good omen: things did change, power sometimes gave way. She threaded her way across Hanover Street between black-hooded autos and horse-drawn freight wagons, and walked to a door that displayed the numbers she had written down.

","page":"359","last":"","id":"1241","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

Lavinia stood inside the doorway, in the foyer of the Cafe Paradiso, as men turned their heads toward her in a single wave, like herd animals. One of them gestured to the stairs. In the landing, a sign with a few English words pointed her upward. The defense committee office was on the second floor.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

A closed, dark-wood door, voices behind it. She steadied herself outside this door, patted her face with a handkerchief, wondered if there was anything she could do for her appearance, decided there was not (she had no mirror; no place to retreat). Appearances aside, Lavinia was confident of her course. She had prepared a clear account of the testimony she would offer the defense committee. She had written out a precis and studied it, saying the words in her mind. They will have to use my evidence now, Lavinia thought. Now that their strategies and high-powered lawyers have failed to save him, they must let me do it with the simple truth.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

On the afternoon of the day of the robbery, Vanzetti came to the garden door of my house on Allerton Street in the town of Plymouth, just as he had on many previous occasions. Yes, gentlemen, I am certain of the date. I have his letter telling me when he planned to come. I will show it to you. It includes the date of his visit. I will swear to this in court.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

The letter meant everything. It was on its account that she had stopped visiting the friend of her heart in Charlestown Prison. Not because she sometimes arrived and found him with other guests -- society ladies who had no interest in how many letters she had written on the subject of women’s suffrage to the nation’s leading newspapers and journals, or in how many meetings she had held, most in her own parlor. Not because of the times she had been forced to wait while Vanzetti, the immigrant savant, the sweet-tempered anarchist, entertained new visitors with his sincere and passionate, yet gentle manner, nor the times she was told he was not available, busy receiving regular English grammar and spelling lessons from a dark-haired, pale, respectable woman, considerably younger than she. No, Lavinia stopped coming because she had the means to save him and he would not let her use it. His refusals left her in tears. It became a point of contention between them. She did not even know whether she wished to see him again. Yes, of course she did, but not on death row. She felt old, despairing, hopeless, not at all well. When they locked him behind bars seven years ago, they did more than stop one life in its tracks. She felt this death inside her.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

Lavinia supported him in other ways. Writing letters. Giving her lectures to which almost no one came. Now, it was too late to do anything else but present her evidence to the committee charged with his defense, regardless of whether he wished her to or not.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

They would have to listen to her. She rapped on the door.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

The voices on the other side grew louder. Male voices, impassioned. She knocked a second time, more loudly. When no one replied to her knock, braced for the searching gaze of uncomprehending strangers, Lavinia pushed open the door.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, stepping into the room, a crowded space with a few desks, more chairs, some small tables piled with papers, and too many men, all talking at once. So loudly, she wondered how any one of them maintained a coherent train of thought. Half a dozen seated around a larger table, a few behind overburdened desks, all speaking in raised voices, not one listening to anyone else. She understood why no one had heard her knock.

sit consectetur dui. penatibus a. hendrerit. tristique magna et justo Lorem erat sit in magna in convallis eros Fusce dolor sit diam dolor ac ridiculus sagittis erat

Some of the men eyed her. Two stopped speaking for a moment to appraise her. The others continued their discussions, apparently content with this contest of voices in a crowded room.","page":"360","last":"","id":"1242","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

Lavinia cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said again, raising her voice. “My apologies for disturbing you.”

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

A man with a goatee and thick glasses aimed a remark, or command, in her direction, immediately lost patience with her evident lack of understanding, and rejoined the general clamor. Another man waved a handful of papers at his fellows. Legal papers? Letters of support? Lavinia had read that petitions were coming in by the score. Marches and gatherings were being planned. The graduating classes of all the Ivy League colleges had sent letters of protest to the governor, demanding a new trial or a pardon or a dismissal of all charges. The Ambassador of France was seeking a meeting with President Coolidge, because working class resentment over the case was making things difficult for his country’s government. But would any of this save her friend?

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

Lavinia suddenly realized that with so much at stake, it was no wonder these men had little use for an unexpected visitor. Who was she? The representative of some new ad hoc support group? What real influence could she have?

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

She raised her voice still further. “Does anyone here speak English?”

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

The man with the goatee gestured impatiently toward her and barked a command at one of the men, younger than the rest, who got to his feet and, grumbling, without looking at the visitor, opened a door behind him that connected to another chamber. He barked a word, a name, perhaps, “Mack” or “Match” or something.

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

A moment later, a still younger man emerged from the inner room. He was dressed in a worn jacket over a workingman’s shirt, without collar or tie. The goateed man spoke a word or two to him and gestured with a frown at Lavinia, the unknown, middle-aged woman who persisted in standing in his doorway.

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

“Yes, Ma’am?” the man said to her, thankfully in English, though without wasting time or breath on the courtesy of a welcome. “As you can see,” he added, “we are fully occupied at the moment.”

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

“I have come to offer evidence,” Lavinia said, omitting courtesy as well. “To defend Mr. Vanzetti.”

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

“We are all working to defend Mr. Vanzetti,” the young man replied. “And Mr. Sacco. And as you can see for yourself, there is still much to do.”

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

“Certainly. But I have evidence that has not yet come to light,” Lavinia insisted.

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

At that moment, the volume of the debate among the room’s older men grew shrill. The man with the goatee, apparently a central figure, repeatedly slapped the papers in his hand on the desk, emphasizing each point he was making.

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

“Excuse me,” the younger man said, leaving Lavinia standing as he took up a position in front of the goateed man’s desk, addressing him as Senor something -- the name sounded like Tosca, her favorite opera -- and arguing in Italian for what appeared to be a different course of action from that favored by the majority, judging by the roars of disapproval from several quarters.

magna Etiam Etiam ornare egestas. sed at ipsum quis mauris mi enim ac mi magnis in sit elit ipsum

“Sir!” Lavinia called to the young man’s back. “Please! I must speak to you!”

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enim consectetur vehicula natoque Lorem augue. Lorem penatibus montes, justo at venenatis nisi elit. diam lacus ac lacus sagittis penatibus quis lobortis sodales odio amet, Proin gravida ac blandit mus.

She received no reply.

The argument continued in Italian until a woman burst through the door of the inner office and shouted at the men, in English, to stop making such an unholy racket. She glanced with surprise at Lavinia, but ignored her. Brisk and determined, she wore her hair cut short below the ears in what Lavinia thought of as the new fashion. Her voice was louder than that of any man in the room.

“Miss?” Lavinia queried, lowering her own.

The woman -- not the giddy young thing Lavinia associated with the new fashion, but closer to her own age -- glanced her way without apparent sympathy and barked to one of the men, “Joey! What are you doing with this one?”

The young, English-speaking man -- Joey, apparently -- turned to face her, swore under his breath, and threw a hasty, possibly apologetic look at Lavinia.

“Mary,” he said, pleading. “Do me a favor and find out what she wants.”

“I want to give evidence,” Lavinia asserted, not accustomed to being talked about in the third person, thinking, this is what it’s like to be nobody.

The woman called Mary expostulated, a rather shocking oath to Lavinia’s ears, though no one else seemed to mind. The young man went back to his argument.

“You want to help, sister?” the hard-eyed defense committee woman asked.

“Yes. By giving evidence. I was with Bartolomeo Vanzetti on the afternoon of the crime.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman replied in a frankly skeptical tone.

“Do I not make myself clear? I am a witness!”

“Where do you live, sister?” Mary asked. “Mount Vernon Street?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who gave you this idea?”

Lavinia felt cold and hot, a wave of anger dizzying her. She looked for an empty chair; there was none. She braced herself with a hand on one of the desks.

“Nobody gave me this idea, as you call it,” she replied, struggling for calm. “I am telling you the truth.”

“All right, all right, Missus.” Mary scowled at the arguing men, grabbed a pen and pad of paper from a desk, thrust them at Lavinia and said, “It’s impossible to hear yourself think in this place with all this shouting. Leave me your name and your telephone number and we’ll look into your evidence.”","page":"362","last":"","id":"1244","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

Lavinia stared at her.

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

“You do have a telephone, I assume,” the woman said.

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

“I am afraid I do not.”

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

The admission embarrassed her. It was another blow. Another humiliation. Was this now the expectation? Did everyone else in this world possess a private telephone?

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

Mary sighed. “Then write your address on this sheet of paper and someone will contact you.”

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

The blood drained from Lavinia’s face. She was exhausted. There was nowhere to sit. She felt the fight go out of her. She did not have a telephone. She did not have a cook, or an automobile, or a husband. She did not have a son or a brother, or a male relative (except those she had alienated by despising them) to fight her battles for her. She did not have the money in her purse to do anything more than catch the one-o’clock train back to Plymouth and pretend to be a good mother to the growing daughter who still lived beneath her roof. She had once had a friend of the heart, but life had taken him from her and abused him in front of her eyes, and she was helpless to do anything about it.

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

“Certainly I will give you my address,” she said, tensing her muscles to keep from falling. “But I think you should hear my evidence now.”

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

Mary glared in reply. “Look, Missus, I’m busy,” she said tersely. “And these men think they are.” She turned away and shouted, “Joey! This one wants to talk to someone right now! I have work to do and can’t spend the whole day jawing!”

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

“In a minute.”

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

Lavinia leaned on the desk and wrote her name and address on the top page of the pad. Then she wrote: “Mr. Vanzetti was at my home in Plymouth, Massachusetts on the afternoon of the crime. I will testify to this fact in court.”

***

June, 1927, Dedham Jail

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

“Bartolomeo--“

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

Words froze in Lavinia’s throat.

consectetur sagittis Lorem dui. ridiculus odio hendrerit. odio hendrerit. natoque in

They would move him soon, she’d been told, to the old Cherry Hill wing of the Charlestown State Prison, where the men condemned to execution awaited their fate, and where only the closest family members could visit. For the present, and while he “reviewed” the evidence, Governor Fuller had allowed them to remain here, in the Dedham jail, close to the courthouse where appeals were heard. A lower security and more humane facility than the old fortress in Charlestown, at the Dedham jail, the men could take outdoor exercise in a sealed courtyard while the governor listened to the defense lawyers’ arguments for a pardon, or a new trial, or a commutation of the death sentence to something less final.

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in sodales malesuada. gravida magna scelerisque quam, Ut sodales ridiculus enim sagittis dis scelerisque adipiscing lacus consectetur gravida sed dolor elit. vitae sociis sagittis scelerisque nisl. sociis venenatis Proin consectetur pellentesque.

Lavinia tried to banish from her mind the possibility that this was her last chance to see the person she loved.

Weeks had passed. She’d heard nothing from the defense committee. Did they think they had forever? Had that Mary woman not believed her? Had she simply suspected she was dealing with someone suffering from some sort of hysteria?

The sense that fate was an absurd machine determined to crush everything good and hopeful and to laugh at her while it went about its stupidly destructive business never left her. She faced another of the machine’s minions now. The Dedham jail officer, a fat man who huffed with annoyance when Lavinia appeared in his office doorway and asked to see Vanzetti, and pretended to consult an official paper as he inquired into the reason for her visit.

“Is Mr. Vanzetti permitted visitors or isn’t he?” she demanded.

“All right,” he conceded with a grumble. “But only a short visit…a few minutes is all.” He rose heavily. “Follow me.”

This she did.

“No weeping and wailing now,” the officer observed aloud as he found the key for the small visiting room. “I trust you know how to conduct yourself like a lady.”

This she demonstrated by ignoring his rudeness.

The heavy-footed officer left her in the room, a white-washed square with no windows, where she waited dutifully on the visitors’ side of the black line painted across the floor. The guard returned, pushing before him a short, barrel-chested, middle-aged man with a receding hair-line, bags beneath his eyes, a heavy, dark, familiar mustache. Lavinia could not take her eyes off him. Time had passed. She knew that if the prison walls fell down and the gates sprang open that very moment, nothing on earth could make up for the wrong he had already suffered. The time he had been robbed of. That both had. Injustice exacted its price.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

Vanzetti brightened at the sight of her. But his hands were cuffed, and this embarrassed him.

“They are not used to Vanzetti here,” he said, glancing at the links. “But it is the fine place. The courtyard. To go outside and sit beneath the sun! But not many visitors here. Not many prisoners.”

They sat across from one another at the room’s only table. She fought the urge to cry. Vanzetti’s brave front, his evident sorrow for her suffering -- hers! -- made the struggle harder. This man! They call him a murderer?

The fat guard paced just outside the room and repeatedly stuck his head in the doorway as if perversely eager to discover some show of painful emotion. Lavinia stared him down. The officer turned his back and stood a few feet farther off, though still within earshot.

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vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“Veenie.”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

His smile. The same? More distant?

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“You should not have come.”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“I should have come sooner.” She reached for his clasped hands, but stopped herself. She was not allowed to touch him.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

He bowed his head and stared at his manacled hands.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

She picked up her purse from the floor and took something from it.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“Bartolomeo,” she began. “You know what I must say.”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

He saw at once the letter in her gloved hands and lifted his solemn gaze to her face.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“Veenie,” he said. “It cannot be.”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

Her eyes filled with tears.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“Take it now, Bartolomeo,” she said. “It is not too late. Take the letter and give it to your lawyer.”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

He shook his head.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

She forgot her prepared arguments. “Look at me, Bartolo,” she said. “What harm can they do to me now?”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“Please, Veenie. It is impossible. Spare yourself this…this pain. There is no time for that.” He gestured, a finger lifted from bound hands, at the envelope. “Now all is in the power of the Governor Fuller. He will see us. He wishes to speak to us.”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

She did not believe in this governor who, instinct told her, was aiming at popularity, not justice. How many votes would a pardon for Sacco and Vanzetti win him? How many would it lose? She did not wish to say this to him, but her attempts to speak for him and Sacco, to rouse public indignation, had taught her that in America, too many of the ordinary ill-educated people -- not the professors and their students, not the European intellectuals, nor the members of the worldwide workers movement in those countries where workers were truly organized -- were not for him. The man on the street’s sympathy was not with the foreigner. Nor did the women help. Their votes might mean something if they thought for themselves, took on the true labor of the citizen to be informed, and, yes, even to study the important questions of the day before they voted. But so far, sad to say, few of these newly enfranchised voters did anything but vote exactly as the men in their families did. Lavinia was past disappointment in the woman voter.

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

“Here,” she said, thrusting the letter toward him. “This is evidence. It is truth. It is what your lawyers need to force a new trial. Take it. You must!”

vestibulum parturient dolor augue. faucibus in sagittis montes, quam faucibus consectetur Sed amet amet, ac malesuada. Sed eros magna eros amet fermentum tristique mus. in sed

He recoiled with a suppressed cry.

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tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

“No, Veenie, I have spoken! I have made a vow! I will do no such thing to break my vow!”

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

“Vow?” This word pierced her -- some new door barred to her? “What vow is this, Bartolo?”

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

Awakened from his daydream by the condemned man’s stifled cry -- at last the show of emotion -- the fat guard stomped into the room to loom over the prisoner. He put a large hand on Vanzetti’s shoulder and, avoiding Lavinia’s glare, said, “C’mon now, ol’ fella. Time’s up.”

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

Vanzetti slid forward in his chair and fumbled with his manacles. Lavinia reached for his hand, touched his fingers, lost them. No! Not like this! Not goodbye!

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

“Time’s up, Ma’am,” the guard said in his flat, official, righteous voice.

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

“You take me with you, Bartolomeo,” Lavinia said, standing up to hold his features with her gaze. “You take my heart.”

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

They shared a look. She saw his fear and the anguish darkening his eyes. He had acted the brave man for her as for all his visitors, the creature of hope, but he was suffering as she was. The guard’s hand still on his shoulder, Vanzetti moved like a man protecting a wound.

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

Lavinia’s hand went to her mouth. She turned away. She could not bear to see him led away, a condemned man, like a beast. She fled the room, the world going dark around her.

***

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

They came for him in the middle of the night, Nick too, and bundled them away into the van used to transport convicts from jail to court. They sat shackled in the dark. He did not know the men who did this. Guards? Polizi? When he questioned, they yelled at him, ”Shut yer mouth!” and called him a foul name. He did not know what the word meant, just that it was foul.

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

“I knew this would happen,” Sacco muttered. “They are taking us to be killed.”

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

No, Vanzetti objected, this cannot be. He knew too much of the American law, had spoken too long with Mr. Thompson, with the others. The governor had set a date. But this was not it.

tincidunt Ut quam, Fusce quis tristique adipiscing egestas. dolor et hendrerit penatibus sed

Footsteps, voices outside. Someone opened the rear door of the van and threw something inside. A box, some clothes. He recognized his clothes. He even recognized some of Nick’s clothes, the long black coat. He would not need this. Of course, neither he nor Nick would need heavy clothes again unless the governor acted in their favor. Another burden was tossed into the back of the vehicle. He heard these items hit the floor and bounce. My books, he thought, they are taking everything. We are being moved. He thought sadly of the courtyard of the Dedham jail where he had sat and read, the sun warming the back of his head. Even Nick was happier there. He had a checkerboard, a deck of cards. They played games, at Nick’s urging.

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Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

No games now. No sunshine. No friendly faces. They sat in the dark a long time, without speaking.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

It was morning by the time the van delivered them to the stone fortress of the Charlestown State Prison. Vanzetti had spent most of seven years here, but Sacco had never been housed in this place. Nick bent his head low so the guards could not hear his voice and peppered his comrade with questions. What were the cells like? Is there water? Light? Vanzetti muttered replies. His friend would find out soon enough.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

The guards did not take them through the main gate or to the part of the prison he was familiar with. They took them to a darker place, with a smaller gate, older and even dirtier stone, where the cells had no windows, where the rooms were already hot in the first hour of the summer day.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

Vanzetti understood what his heart would not let him accept before. They were being taken to the place where they would die.

***

August, 1927, Boston

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

It’s never too late, Joey Machinetto told himself, waiting for his colleague and now friend, Tom Blaine, to show up at the coffee house. They were still alive. Stays of execution had been granted before. Where there was life there was hope.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

They had dug up and delivered the invoice for the eels to the governor’s office to settle his doubts about Vanzetti’s alibi, but the governor did not reply. That was June.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

Fuller went to the prison to talk to the men facing execution. Sacco refused to see him. Vanzetti met with him and spoke fluently and at length about his alibis for the two dates in question. The governor was impressed. Vanzetti, Joey learned, was buoyed by the encounter.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

Governor Fuller announced a stay of execution and appointed a three-member, blue ribbon commission to review the trial and advise him on whether to grant a defense plea for a new trial. The commission, led by the president of Harvard University, a Brahmin stalwart who knew nothing of criminal law, listened respectfully to the prosecution. But when the defense argued that Judge Thayer’s courtroom decisions had prejudiced the jury against the defendants -- citing his boast to a fellow Dartmouth alumnus, “Did you see what I did to those anarchist bastards?” and other indiscretions -- the evidence of courtroom prejudice was dismissed as “fanciful.”

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

Late in the evening of August third, waiting until nearly midnight so that reporters hovering all day outside his door would have no time to gather reaction to his decision, Governor Fuller released the report of the commission affirming the conduct of the court and the verdict of the jury. He set an execution date for two weeks away.

Cum parturient eu et sagittis odio adipiscing tristique adipiscing elit tempor eros mauris a. augue. scelerisque vehicula in dolor elit sociis enim

The newspapers reported the decision with a two-word headline: “THEY DIE!”

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Tom Blaine, pale and somber, joined Joey Machinetto at the table, his white hat placed between them.

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“They never had a chance,” Blaine protested bitterly, breaking the silence of the stifling August heat. “The commission was the good old Anglo-Saxon establishment.”

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“We’re not done yet,” Machinetto countered.

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“Did you hear what they said?” Blaine leaned forward. “To pardon the defendants after so much publicity would destroy the credibility of the State of Massachusetts. Nothing about the evidence. Nothing about guilt and innocence. It was all about saving face. Rallying around the flag. Keeping the walls strong against the assault of the lesser races.”

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“Lesser races,” Machinetto muttered. “People like me.”

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“Show any sign of weakness,” Blaine went on, “and the barbarian horde -- anarchists, radicals, foreigners, the outsiders -- will pull down the altars to their ancestors. Status quo, Machinetto. They never had a chance.”

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“That means we never had a chance,” Joey said.

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

The young men eyed each other, each remembering their vow, neither wishing to mention it.

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“I’m not done,” Machinetto finally said. “In an hour I’ll be boarding a train to a seaside community in Maine where a Supreme Court justice is spending his summer vacation. I’m going to ask the judge to sign a writ of habeas corpus, removing the case to the federal courts.”

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

Blaine did not respond. His face said it was a hopeless errand.

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

“I’m going anyway, Blaine,” Machinetto said. “I won’t give up.”

***

parturient nec lobortis tristique enim quam amet, justo nec mus. nibh augue. elit. tincidunt et tristique magnis ac ridiculus adipiscing erat, ornare consectetur eu amet condimentum elit

A couple hundred people milled on the Charles Street side of Boston Common. Most had come from elsewhere. Immigrants, agitators, trade union leaders, New York intellectuals, people who for the most part not only believed in Sacco and Vanzetti’s innocence, but in their cause: the struggle of the poor and weak against the rich and powerful. This die-hard gathering was in no way a sign of an uprising by the city of Boston against the execution of two foreign anarchists who, according to the state, were dangerous radicals, convicted murderers of two men, and draft dodgers to boot. Far from it. It was a showing by foreign-born union men, committed radicals, artists and writers like John Dos Passos, who fearfully declared that America was becoming “two nations” (rich and poor; WASP and immigrant), and by survivors of the Progressive Movement that had flourished earlier in the century and now resisted the crushing of their ideals by the big-money repression of dissent and the get-rich-quick spirit of the day.

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at vehicula ac Proin penatibus nisi egestas. in magnis in vitae Lorem justo adipiscing odio justo erat, a. et justo Proin Cum justo eros Ut mauris

Celebrated names were here, Joey learned from the newspapers: Dos Passos, Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley, Edna St. Vincent Millay. Some had already been arrested in the demonstrations the day before on the sidewalk in front of the Golden Dome, the city’s Revolution-proud Statehouse building.

at vehicula ac Proin penatibus nisi egestas. in magnis in vitae Lorem justo adipiscing odio justo erat, a. et justo Proin Cum justo eros Ut mauris

The police were ready for them at the Statehouse. A few score of the most determined decided to make their protest anyway. In groups of one or two, they waited their turns, then slipped between the police sawhorses, crossed an apron of prohibited sidewalk, and were collared by lines of waiting police officers. The delicate figure of the petite, black-clad Millay was fitted with a sandwich board that read, "If These Men Are Executed, Justice is Dead in Massachusetts,” not her most poetic line, Joey thought, but the message was clear as she approached the police. She was promptly taken into custody, deprived of her unwelcome message, booked at the Joy Street jail, and a few hours later was bailed out by friends. The protestors who refused bail chose to suffer jail time for their beliefs.

at vehicula ac Proin penatibus nisi egestas. in magnis in vitae Lorem justo adipiscing odio justo erat, a. et justo Proin Cum justo eros Ut mauris

Some reporters called in a story, repeating the protestors’ claim that they’d been denied the right to assemble and carry signs in front of the symbolic home of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the Hub of the Universe. Some newspapers printed it; most deleted that part.

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Sunday, the day before the scheduled executions, the protestors who remained contented themselves with a piece of Boston’s Common, the well-trodden expanses on which they’d been denied a permit to gather and exercise their freedom of expression on the grounds of causing a public nuisance. No arm of government in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was happy to see them. Carry a sign, a mass of dour-faced city police seemed to be promising, and win yourself a night in jail.

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“Look at them, Joey,” Mary Donovan said, a touch of scorn in her voice. “What good do they think they can do now?”

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“What good did any of us do?” Joey replied, dismissing his defense committee colleague’s complaint. “Tell me that, Mary. In the end, they’re going to die tomorrow.”

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“Well, if we’d had these numbers six years ago...”

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“What numbers? Look at them, Mary. There still aren’t enough.”

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Mary shrugged.

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“Fuller came to the jail, Mary. Twice. He shook Vanzetti’s hand, called him an impressive man. Why did he do that if he was going to have them executed? Tell me that, Mary.”

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She picked at the grass. “I can’t. All I can say is we sure could’ve used help from some of these people four-five years ago when we were stretched and the money was coming in real thin.” She looked at him and added, “Before your time, Joey.”

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Joey surveyed the numbers in the Commons again. A few hundred, maybe. Much bigger crowds than this had gathered around the world ever since Fuller accepted the recommendation of the commission and announced that the death penalties would stand. In Paris, the week before, tens of thousands marched with linked hands behind Luigia Vanzetti, a simple

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apolitical countrywoman on her way to pay a final visit to her brother. She had carried a banner that read, “Parisian People, Save My Brother and Sacco.” But like the protestors who’d come out in impressive numbers in other cities, the people of Paris could not save her brother because they were in Paris, not Massachusetts.

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“I want to shut down the city, Mary,” Joey said. “I want to surround the jail with so many people the executioner can’t find a way to get in the door.”

***

August 22, 1927, Charlestown Prison

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He spread the newspapers that attorney Thompson had brought on the narrow cot in which he had slept these last few weeks. Vanzetti read the headlines. “500,000 Called for Sacco Strike Here” -- the New York Times in New York City, the vast city of suffering where his American odyssey had begun. “Mobilize for March on Prison in Boston” -- The Boston Globe. “British Urge Mercy for Doomed Men” -- the Times again. “Europe on Edge: Expected Reprieve” -- The New York Sun.

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“So,” he said to the attorney who had been so hopeful for the acquittal and who now on the last day of the prisoner’s life had the kindness to bring to Vanzetti this evidence of the world’s attention. “’The world holds its breath,’” he read aloud.

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Mr. Thompson nodded, somberly.

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But it is only Nick and I who will have to stop breathing. Vanzetti said these words to himself.

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The attorney and the condemned man spoke, for the last time, standing close together in the little room the guards had given up to his use because they had grown tired of walking him down from death row on the Cherry Hill section of the prison to the main visiting room for each new visitor. The rule was that once condemned prisoners were transferred to wait out their last days in the Cherry Hill wing, visits were permitted only in exceptional circumstances. Warden Hendry repeatedly made exceptions for those who wished to visit Vanzetti.

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“I gave Mr. Sacco an acknowledgment,” Thompson said. “I had assured him once, when he expressed his doubts about the prospects for acquittal, that justice in Massachusetts could be trusted to come to the proper conclusion. Now I must concede that he was right, and I was wrong.”

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“Ah.”

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The question of who was right and who was wrong struck the condemned man as of little importance. What, at the end, was important?

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“I am satisfied that you have done all that the attorney could do,” Vanzetti said. “No one could have done any more.”

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sagittis Pellentesque et tempor Quisque vitae Ut Proin Proin condimentum nisl. nulla. euismod dis erat gravida et malesuada. natoque

The attorney nodded his gratitude.

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There had been times when Vanzetti would have enjoyed a private conversation with the lead attorney. When Fuller’s decision had come, Vanzetti had not expected it. He had expected, at least, a commutation. It was what the world demanded. Fuller had seemed agreeable to it when they spoke. When the shock wore off, Vanzetti had written to supporters imploring them to launch “the million men march.”

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But where were these million men? And what were they to do? Could they march across the ocean?

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Anger had flared in America. The case drove some people on either side crazy. Bombs were planted in New York and other cities. Written threats promised worse to come. Arguments and fights broke out among erstwhile friends. A fight over the case on a New York construction site resulted in the stabbing of an Italian immigrant.

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When someone sent flowers to his cell, Sacco sang out, “Date fiori ai ribeldi caduti.”

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“Give flowers to the fallen rebels,” Vanzetti translated for Thompson. “It is something we used to sing.”

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Now that time was growing short for Vanzetti, it appeared that Thompson had more than enough time for him. Rather than ask why he was here, Vanzetti aimed a polite but questioning look at the taller man.

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The attorney cleared his throat. “I have what may appear as a peculiar question.”

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“Yes?”

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“It is a question of settling matters -- finally -- in my own mind,” the attorney began.

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“What matters are these?” Vanzetti asked with a narrow look.

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“The matter,” the attorney bowed slightly, hesitated again, “of innocence.”

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“Ah.” Vanzetti nodded in turn, hiding the flash of anger. “Please, I understand. You need say no more.”

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Thompson silently waited for Vanzetti to go on.

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“I will speak for Nick as well as for myself,” the condemned man said. “From the very start of this business, Nicola Sacco and I have maintained our innocence, and still we do on our dying day.” He gazed at Thompson then turned inward, gathering his words. “There has never been a single word of truth in the charges against us. Not one word. You need have no uncertainty on that matter at all, Mr. Thompson.”

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The attorney thanked him and moments later left the small room.

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Back in his cell, Vanzetti returned to the newspapers. Protests, he read, had taken place in all the capitals of Europe -- Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Athens, Copenhagen, Belgrade, Stockholm, Prague -- and in other parts of the world as well. There were strikes in South America, shutting down buses and trains. In Johannesburg, “the principal city of South Africa,” protestors had burned the American flag outside the country’s embassy. President Coolidge, the leaders of the American Congress, Governor Fuller, and other heads of government had received pleas to spare the condemned men’s lives from notables such as Madame Curie, the grandson of Lafayette, Alfred Dreyfus, the President of Czechoslovakia, and thousands and thousands of others.

I have never heard of this President of Czechoslovakia, Vanzetti reflected, but apparently this president has heard of us.

More headlines: “World Stir over Decision.” “Paris Mobs Loot Shops.” What, he wondered, would the headlines say tomorrow? A grim inward chuckle. He would not see them.

He pushed aside the papers and took out his writing board to write his final letters. A long one to the newspapers that would be published nationally by United Press. A letter to his supporters at the defense committee. A handful of others, personal notes to friends and supporters who had continued to write to him throughout his long ordeal. Taking advantage of the remaining daylight, he sat on the edge of his cot, balanced his board once more on the banana crate he used for a writing table, and wrote the difficult letter to Dante Sacco, his comrade’s son, who was now old enough to be shattered by the imminent execution of his father.

“I tell you that for all I know of your father,” he wrote, thankful for his hard-won command of the English language, “he is not a criminal, but one of the bravest men I ever knew…”

He wrote also to his Plymouth friends, addressing the envelope to Alphonsina Brini, mother of Beltrando, the boy he had once thought of as a son. “I think often of the days we spent in Plymouth, of the green trees of summer and the leafing flowers, the white and the purple ones, of the heartwarming spring…”

Other memories he did not share with the Brinis. He did not mention Veenie by name to anyone, for the same reason he had kept her from testifying in court, certain that the public disgrace that knowledge of their connection must bring would destroy her. They had said their goodbyes in Dedham prison, though he wished that interview had been otherwise -- calmer, less anguished than it was. His heart ached at the memory. Did she understand? Truly?

As he took his last steps that night, Vanzetti reflected on the few others -- a very few -- who would walk the prison corridor with him in his thoughts and in his heart to the place of extinction. His mother, first and always, whom he could now at last be said to be walking toward. And to whom he had made the vow, in words she was unable to attend to, always to do good, and never to do harm to any woman in this life. Nor any child. This was the private contract of his life; the one he had sworn to his mother. Not only because he owed his very existence to the love and compassion of the woman who had nursed him back from his death-sickness, but because even before that heroic act of compassion she had given him the true life, and the love of life, and of his fellow humans, that he carried through all his days.

And Veenie too, the dearest friend of his heart, would walk beside him, close up

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to the man within him, for she alone on this side of the world had heard his secret tongue. He had spoken to many people in his life, filled his life with talk of the beautiful idea -- and yet it was Veenie, the daughter of another people, who had understood him best. They had much yet to discuss. Final reflections, he thought. Yet they could share these thoughts only within his heart now, his last conscience. Such thoughts were never easy to put into words in any language. But she would understand. She would help him find the words.","page":"373","last":"","id":"1255","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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CHAPTER 33

LONG LIVE ANARCHY!

August 22, 1927, Boston

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Beltrando was glad he no longer lived on Suosso’s Lane. He could not bear to look in the face anyone he knew from home. He pretended he did not care, was not aware, had not kept up with the last act of the grievous tragedy that clouded his early manhood and sat on his heart like a shadow that refused to lift. In the city of Boston, where he now lived in a rooming house on Dorchester Avenue, he was studying music with a professor, a great man of the violin, who taught at the conservatory. Beltrando did not attend the conservatory himself; the fees were too steep; he would never ask his parents for money to pay for such a thing; but he had been fortunate enough to procure one of the professor’s evening lesson hours. During the days, he worked for the Bellingham Insurance Company. He was saving his money for the teachers’ college in Bridgewater, which he hoped to attend in a year or two.

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“Dark days,” said Professor Ferragamo, a demanding but sympathetic teacher, shaking his graying locks. “And a sad day for those who believe in America.”

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Beltrando murmured something meaningless in reply. He did not share his connection to the famous political case with anyone who did not already know of it. He told himself he wanted to forget. He had done everything he could think of. He had sought an interview with the governor and, to his surprise, been granted it. Small good it had done. He could not say anything more for his efforts to persuade the governor than he could for his testimony in the Plymouth County Courthouse nearly seven years before in the attempted robbery case.

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“I see,” the governor had responded to his careful account of the Christmas Eve on which they sold the eels together. “You were his friend.”

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Why don’t they believe me? Beltrando wondered, hearing Fuller’s emphasis on the word ”friend.” Why doesn’t anyone believe me?

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“Young man,” Governor Fuller said by way of dismissal, already reaching for the pile of papers on his great desk, “in any event I am not too concerned about what happened in Plymouth on the day before Christmas in nineteen-nineteen. What I care about is what happened on April fifteenth, nineteen and twenty at the Slater Morrill Shoe Factory in South Braintree Square.” He gave Beltrando a narrow look. “Were you with Vanzetti that afternoon?”

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Beltrando had no memory of seeing Vanzetti that afternoon.

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“I was in school that day,” he replied, honestly. “But my mother and my sister, Lefevre, saw him on that day.”

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“Yes, that’s right. They testified for him, too,” Fuller observed with a shrug. “The Brinis were great friends for Vanzetti.”

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The governor looked away. The interview was over.

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What would Professor Ferragamo say if Beltrando told him all this? Would he shake his head again and reply, as he had heard him say on other occasions, “These matters are out of our hands.”

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“But you are a musician, young man, are you not?” the professor said now. “Then let us hear some music.”

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It was hot and stuffy that evening in the second-floor practice rooms of the conservatory building on Huntington Avenue. Beltrando played -- a few tears mixed with the perspiration he wiped from his face during the rests -- played perhaps better, though with a few mistakes (he had practiced too little the past week), than on other evenings. He could not say how well his music sounded to anyone else. His consciousness was entirely absorbed in the effort to wrest some answer from the universe for his great, enduring question: Why?

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At his teacher’s nod he wielded the bow once more after the rest, straining for an answer.

***

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William Thompson shook his head and muttered unintelligibly, returning to his office and finding Blaine still at his desk in the otherwise empty rooms. Blaine was a smart, likable boy from a good family, a very good family in fact, but Thompson doubted the young man really wanted to be a lawyer. Blaine took things hard.

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Thompson nodded and continued to his private office. The young man was standing in his doorway before he could sit down.

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“Well?” Blaine asked.

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“Good evening, Mr. Blaine.” Thompson’s mild tone disguised his reproof. He finished settling himself in his desk chair.

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“Tell me, sir. Please. How does it look?”

gravida quam nascetur enim gravida a. ornare at enim diam eu ornare vehicula penatibus enim sociis lacus eros Lorem in Lorem magna dolor sodales venenatis natoque Mauris

“The same way it looked this morning, Mr. Blaine, I am afraid to say.”

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“There’s no hope?”

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“No. I cannot see any. The governor is a changeable man, I’ll grant you, but even he is not likely to change his mind at this point.”

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Blaine’s posture slumped.

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“But what did they say?” he asked, lifting his pale, flushed face to gaze into the older man’s. “You did ask them, didn’t you?”

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“I asked them,” Thompson replied, after considering, “because you were so insistent, Mr. Blaine. But I am not sorry for it.”

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sociis quis Pellentesque Sed nascetur ornare Proin venenatis elit. Proin tempor enim sit nibh vitae quis vehicula hendrerit egestas. magnis penatibus egestas. ac est montes, nulla. elit. erat, nibh Mauris est

“How did they answer?”

“Mr. Vanzetti replied for the two of them. He said, and these were almost his exact words, that I need have no anxiety on that score. That both of them had told the truth from the beginning, and that both he and Sacco had absolutely nothing to do with the Braintree crime.”

Blaine exhaled in a kind of whispered cry.

“And did you believe them?” he asked.

“You know, Mr. Blaine, I did.”

The young man’s intensity of feeling made Thompson uncomfortable. But why shouldn’t he be made uncomfortable on such a night? Why shouldn’t everyone?

***

Joey Machinetto waited out the dark, sticky hours in the narrow streets of Charlestown Square, swallowed up in the crowd. The authorities had ensured that no one could get anywhere near the old walled prison where the executions would take place. Armed sheriff’s deputies, wearing helmets and holding rifles, formed double lines a hundred yards out from the prison, pushing the crowd of silent witnesses deep into a cramped district of brick blocks and nondescript streets surrounding the square. Automotive traffic over the bridge from the rest of the city was monitored. Spectators whispered of machine guns mounted on the prison’s walls.

What did the military beasts think was going to happen? Joey asked himself as darkness fell over the tensely monotonous scene. Did they think the kind of people, the intellectuals, sympathizers, the few genuine union organizers who had carried signs on Boston Common, were now going to rush the stone walls of Charlestown Prison? Did they think an armed insurrection would be mounted by the Anarchist Fighters to save Sacco and Vanzetti from the electric chair?

Only fools could think so. The sad, lethargic tide of humanity surrounding him, Joey concluded, eyeing the knots of twos and threes around him, the dejected lone figures such as he did not even constitute an angry crowd. The odd thing was how little Boston and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had cared about justice for Sacco and Vanzetti. The locals resented the hubbub the rest of the world made over the fate of two foreigners; as for guilt or innocence, most didn’t care one way or another. But this was not a cocky, vengeful, carnival crowd either. There was no whiff of bloodlust in the humid late-summer air. It was the kind of crowd that would come to see a hanging for the relief of tedium. They had gathered for the reasons people had always come to watch a public execution -- for the spectacle; the hope that something bizarre or grotesque would happen. Something they could talk about later and say they were there when it did. They came because large numbers of others also came. Death’s tourists, he thought, shuddering. They would not see anything, but they would be able to say, “I was there when they roasted those two...”

Bombs? Joey asked himself. Is that what the authorities were afraid of?

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ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

But explosions had already been set off -- the anarchists’ self-defeating reflex. Bombs had exploded in New York and several other cities after the death sentences. Then as the world had held its breath while the governor decided whether to act, some unknown party planted dynamite at the home of one of the jurymen from the Dedham trial. The house blew. The four people asleep there were thrown from their second-floor bedrooms, but somehow escaped serious injury. Nevertheless, the act doomed the condemned men’s chance of clemency. If there had been any hope from the governor before, the bombing of a juror’s house was the final nail in the coffin. Any backing away from execution would seem like fear, a submission to terror. Joey understood this calculus with the thinking part of his brain, but something in him refused to accept it.

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The gloom thickened. He could no longer make out the faces of the state police and armed deputies who protected the so-called rule of law from disorderly creatures like him. He was talking himself into walking back over the bridge to join a different gathering on the Boston Common -- not that the atmosphere there was likely to make him feel any better -- when a handful of running men, some with their arms closed over their chests, rushed toward him.

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“Let them go!” the men shouted as they charged the police lines. “Set them free!”

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“What’s happening?” Joey shouted.

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

A man at the rear of the flying wedge called out, “The prisoners are rising! They’re banging their cells! They’re shouting, ‘Let them go!’”

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

Machinetto flung himself forward and seized the man’s arm.

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

“Where did you hear this?” he demanded.

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

“Someone got inside!” his captive replied, struggling to free himself. “One of us! She called our chief!”

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

“Who’s your chief?”

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

The man pulled free of Joey’s grasp and ran after his comrades, the men still chanting, “Let them go!” as they struggled to surmount the sawhorses and force their way to the prison. Chief? Joey thought. The only people in this crowd with a chief of any sort had to be members of the Communist Party. The Communists had used Sacco-Vanzetti as a recruiting tool internationally, but had so far done little in Boston.

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

Blue-coated police poured from a shack thrown together for the night and, swinging their clubs, crashed into the Party comrades. Those not immediately muscled to the ground and hauled away opened their coats to draw out placards. “IS JUSTICE DEAD?” one sign boldly demanded, before the man carrying it was seized by the arm. “Free Sacco and Vanzetti!” bellowed a neighboring protester, the message on his placard now silenced, trampled underfoot by police as two dozen or so fellow comrades were forcibly taken to the shack where a paddy wagon waited to transport them to the Joy Street jail.

ante. nulla. nascetur dolor est tempor in est Cum amet, fermentum est ridiculus ac Etiam tincidunt Proin magnis a. Mauris sodales odio euismod Fusce amet, euismod montes, ridiculus convallis

Machinetto turned his back on the scene and scanned the square for a telephone. Prisoners rising? Shouting? Was there anything to the claim that the prisoners inside were demonstrating? He needed to call the defense committee headquarters to ask if they knew anything. And if not, to tell them what was being said.

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erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

The blighted sidestreets, oppressed by the prison’s miasma, made Charlestown look like a ghost town. Doors shut, windows shuttered, shabby shanties, boards nailed over broken windows, lightless interiors, the block’s few shops locked up tight. Not even a saloon? Joey ran past the first lifeless block, turned down a second street, felt bolder with no cops in sight, and threw himself at the nearest dwelling to pound on the door.

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He stepped back from the door and shouted at the house. “I need to use a telephone! Something’s happening in the prison!”

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He advanced on the door again, stopped when it was abruptly opened by a tall, haggard-looking man. “What is this you are saying?” the man asked, his accent vaguely foreign. “Something about the prison?”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“They say there’s a riot in the prison. The prisoners are protesting the execution. Do you have a telephone?”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Who told you this?”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“A man…a protester…one of the men who stormed the police lines…I think the protesters are Communists.”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Communists? Are you a Communist?”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“No, I’m a labor lawyer. I work for the defense committee.”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“I’m a Marxist myself,” the gaunt man said, trying Joey’s patience with his ideological hair-splitting. “But I’m not one of the Bolshies. They’ve made a mess of everything. Ruined everything back home in Russia.”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Do you have a phone?” Joey repeated.

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Reilly has the phone.” He pointed a long arm down the street.

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Show me.”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

Joey struggled to keep up as the stranger stalked down to a corner building, a squat brick hut with a faded sign. He pounded on the door. It was opened within a matter of seconds by a woman who disputed angrily with him then turned her back and let the tall man push his way in. Joey followed, and saw a woman on a darkened stairway, already going up the stairs.

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Just make your call and get out, Marcel!” the woman called over her shoulder. “I don’t want any trouble tonight.”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

The tall man, evidently Marcel, led Joey to a wall phone. The room was dark, with a handful of tables and chairs. A backstreet saloon.

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

“Marcel Plansky,” the man announced as Joey dialed the office. “That is my name. I knew this man. One of them.”

erat, natoque diam mauris et magna ac ac gravida ridiculus consectetur sit mauris lacus magna consectetur sed consectetur penatibus eros hendrerit. adipiscing nec diam malesuada. mus. nascetur

Joey was distracted by the voice that answered on the first ring. Mary Donovan’s voice.

","page":"378","last":"","id":"1260","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Who is it and what’s it about?” she said.

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“It’s me, Mary. I heard something about a riot in the prison. Have you heard anything?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

Mary sighed. “We had a call from a woman named Faye. She said the prisoners were banging on the bars and yelling about letting them go. We don’t know if it’s true.”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“What if it is? What should we do?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

Mary covered the phone with a hand for a quick exchange with someone in the room. Back on, she asked, “Where are you? Near the prison?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Yes.”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Okay. Try to find out if it’s true. If it is, tell the reporters.”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Is that all?” Had he heard right?

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Jesus, Joey! What do you want me to tell you?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“They should stop the execution, shouldn’t they, if there’s a riot?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“You got your million men out there behind you? You got an army?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“No.”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Then there’s your answer.” Mary hung up.

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

Joey put down the receiver.

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“I knew one of them,” Marcel Plansky said. “I met him. Vanzetti. He came to my house. We were living in the Fields Corner then. He was collecting for the strikers. He was lost.” Plansky sighed. “I could tell he was a good man. Sincere.”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

Joey stared at the man. “Vanzetti came to your home? When was this? How long ago?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Ten years or so. You think that is a long time? You are young. I…“ He hesitated. “I wished to go with him. To devote myself. As he did. You see--”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Listen, Mister,” Joey interrupted, “thanks for helping, but I don’t know if we have ten minutes to stop this.”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“What do you need? How else can I help you?”

ipsum nisi natoque nisi in enim Proin Proin mus. tristique tristique Lorem elit mi amet magnis et erat, penatibus pellentesque. sociis mauris Mauris nisl.

“Is there another way to get close to the prison? A way that isn’t guarded by men with rifles and machine guns?”","page":"379","last":"","id":"1261","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

Plansky’s wistful look hardened. “The old side, maybe. I will show you what I know.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“Good. Let’s go.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

The long-legged Plansky led the way back to the square, Joey trotting just behind. They crossed a street filled with silent watchers, the hanging crowd. Searchlights mounted on the prison roof swept the night sky and occasionally dipped earthward to pick up a glint of metal from the guardsmen’s weapons or to spotlight a face in the crowd.

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“We need to get around all of this, away from the crowd,” Plansky said. ”There is an old gate on the other side.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

Joey eyed the crowd, seeking a path between the bodies. As if sensing his stare, his defense colleague, his friend, Thomas Blaine turned and looked in his direction.

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

They shared a look of recognition then looked away, as if ashamed. Blaine looked back, nodded, and walked toward Machinetto.

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“Come,” Plansky said. “We must quit this place.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“Wait a minute,” Joey said. “This man is my friend.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

He turned to Blaine. “Any news?”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

Smooth-faced and pale under his white hat, Blaine shook his head and said, “Two innocent men will die. That’s not news, is it?”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“Then I may have some news for you,” said Joey. “There’s a riot in the prison. The convicts are shouting, ‘Let them go!’”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“Who told you this?”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

Joey explained what he’d heard. “This man will help us,” he added, nodding to Plansky. “He’s showing me how to get inside.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“What is this?” Plansky objected. “I do not say anything about getting in. I show you where the back gate is. That is all.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

“Well,” Joey said, looking from man to man, “that will get us closer, won’t it? Maybe we can learn something.”

justo ante. amet, ornare dolor sodales tristique hendrerit. consectetur montes, amet, quis lacus consectetur mauris eu eu mauris Proin dis augue. et erat condimentum amet hendrerit eros Lorem Lorem

Blaine frowned at him. “Whether these rumors are true or not, what possible good will they do Sacco and Vanzetti? If the prisoners are yelling and banging the bars of their cells, either the guards will quiet them, or they will tire of making a fuss when it doesn’t get them anywhere. You cannot believe something like this will cause them to postpone the executions.”

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“Blaine,” Joey said, “I simply want to know what is happening right now. I want to know one true thing in this entire case -- one thing for certain -- because I am witnessing it with my own eyes! Are you coming?”

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”I don’t know.”","page":"380","last":"","id":"1262","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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“Then what are you doing here?” He waved an arm at the crowd. “Are you just another idle spectator?” He turned to Plansky. “Let’s go.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

The two men made their way through the crowd. Moments later, Joey heard footsteps behind him and knew they were Blaine’s.

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Plansky led them away from the searchlights on the roof and the restless murmur of the crowd to a deeper darkness and the smell of salt water and the sight of a man seated on a granite block. He greeted them with a gap-toothed smile, called to the passersby, “The radio stations are stayin’ on the air! Won’t sign off till it’s over! I’d go home to listen, but I ain’t got no radio!”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

The men heard the dark water lap the banks as they stumbled through the derelict place where salt water ran into the Mystic River. Plansky’s long, slender frame moved in zig-zag fashion through waste lots and crumbling quays, nests of trash, broken glass, and the occasional rodent.

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“Christ,” Blaine muttered, snagging a foot on an edge of hidden debris and lunging to catch his balance. “Does the man know where he’s going?”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

Joey did not respond.

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

Plansky kept on, eventually slowed and gestured in the shadows. “There it is.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

Joey stared at the oldest part of the prison, the Cherry Hill wing, with its line of low ancient cells where the condemned considered last things. The two young attorneys had been inside this wing, but the guards had taken them on a twisted path through the interior to the last resort of the men whose lives they struggled to preserve.

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

Now he saw guards, different ones of course, congregating outside a heavy metal door. One held a burning cigarette.

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“Do you see the door?” Plansky whispered. “Where the guards are?”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“Yes, damn it, I see the guards.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“What did you think? That you could merely walk inside? Show them your finer feelings?” Plansky remarked.

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“I want to get inside,” Joey said. “I want to see what’s going on in there.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“What is going on,” Blaine hissed, “is two men are preparing to die. Regardless of the world’s opinion.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“I could speak to them,” Joey insisted. “The guards. Some of the men know me.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“Certainly,” Blaine mocked. “Shoot the breeze, Machinetto. Show off that boyish charm. They’ll take you inside and tell you everything you want to know.”

mauris hendrerit vehicula malesuada. adipiscing et vitae ut mi ac pellentesque. gravida sed sit egestas. sodales mauris

“I will go,” Plansky said, taking a step into the darkness. “What will they do to me? Everything has already been done.”

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nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Wait,” Joey said, going after him. “We need a plan.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

Plansky faced him. “Plan! America is my plan! How do you like that plan?”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Quiet,” Joey said. “They’ll hear you.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Don’t look now, fellows,” Blaine said, his voice dark and ironic. “Someone’s coming.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

Joey froze and waited as the footsteps drew closer. The others melted into the silence. Whoever it was, it was not a prison guard, not a cop, not a state marshal. They would not be walking so softly. They would be flashing lights, shouting.

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“If it was not too soon for the deed to be done,“ Plansky whispered, “I would say it was the spirit of one of the departed.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

The approaching person stopped to light a match before going any further. The men saw a face. A woman’s face.

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Over here,” Joey whispered.

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

”Who are you?” she said, visibly surprised.

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Friends,” Joey answered. “Friends of the prisoners.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Ah! Then you would like to get inside the prison. But the guards will see you.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Is that why you are here? To try to get inside?” Joey asked.

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“I have been inside.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“You have? What’s happening in there? There are rumors of the prisoners rioting.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Yes,” the voice replied from the shadows. “That is what I heard. It was some time ago.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

She stepped toward Joey. She was young, dark-haired.

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“I went to find a telephone in one of the guards’ rooms so I could tell someone what was happening. I thought someone should know this! But the guards heard me -- the ones who had let me in. They told me I must go, and put me out this way so I would not be arrested.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“Wait a minute, Miss,” Blaine insisted. “How did you get inside the prison? Police with guns are posted all around the place.”

nascetur Fusce venenatis sociis Proin amet, at consectetur at nisi in justo Ut Quisque Sed nec gravida sed dis sit

“I wished to visit…to wait out the last hours with Mr. Vanzetti. He did not have family, merely the sister, and she has not known him for twenty years.” She paused then said, “We were his family. He lived with us in Plymouth. It seemed to me horrible that he should die without anyone who loved him nearby.”","page":"382","last":"","id":"1264","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“You’re Faye,” Joey surmised. “You called the committee.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Yes. I thought someone should know. Lefevre is my name, in truth.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Lefevre?” Blaine said, recalling the name from his study of the trial record. “You’re Lefevre Brini. You testified at the trial.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Yes. I could not abandon him. I had to try.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“But how did you get in?”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“The guards spotted me in the crowd and came for me. When I realized that they had mistaken me for one of the execution witnesses I let them continue to think so, so I could get inside.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Did you see Vanzetti?” Joey asked.

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Briefly. Just seconds as we passed on the way out. The guards were hurrying me.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Did he speak to you?”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Yes. He asked…“ Darkness filled her hesitation. “He asked if I could take a message to someone.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“To whom?” Blaine prompted.

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“To a woman he loved,” Lefevre said, thinking it too late for secrets. “His lover.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“His lover?” Joey repeated.

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“The Rossiter widow. Mr. Vanzetti thought it was a secret, but everybody knew. We all knew.”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

The blackness of a deeper night thickened the shadows around Joey’s senses. How could this be? How could it be otherwise!

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Look!” he blurted. “We are all here! His friends! His defenders!” He pointed to Plansky. “This man met him only once and knows he is no criminal, but a good man!” He looked about him, caught the woman’s dark eyes, Blaine’s frown, Plansky shaking his head. “What is it we are supposed to do? This is absurd! How can we stand here in the mud and do nothing, knowing two innocent men are about to be murdered?”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“Absurd?” Blaine said. “Of course it’s absurd! What’s not absurd? The whole business is! This whole human existence! Everything!”

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

Joey felt sick, his head was spinning.

eros Sed Proin Proin parturient dis Proin nulla. ornare gravida sed erat, magnis ipsum malesuada. ridiculus euismod ut enim odio adipiscing Proin mus. hendrerit venenatis

“He is right,” Plansky said, nodding at Joey. “Why stand here talking? We should go to the gate. Who knows what will happen? If they shoot us, so what?”","page":"383","last":"","id":"1265","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

The others stared at him. Joey expected the tall, desperate man to stalk off toward the prison gate. But he made no motion to go.

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“I took him in!” Plansky blurted. “Don’t you understand? He slept in my home!”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

He wildly eyed them. No one spoke.

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“Don’t you understand?” Plansky asked again, his lean body swaying as if in a dance. “My father was a shoemaker as well. They took his house, his work shop. They sent him away with the others to the East, always the East, to who knows where. Then they came for the boys, the younger men of the town. The Czar’s army needed more blood to spill. They would have had mine! Do you know what happened to the Czar’s army? In the Great War?”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

Again, no reply.

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

Lefevre shook her head. “I must go.”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“No!” Joey said. “You can’t, you’re a witness! And you withheld evidence!”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“I don’t understand.”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“You said Vanzetti had a lover! If Vanzetti had a lover, maybe he had an alibi for the day of the crime. A real alibi. Yes!” His thoughts came too fast for words. He swung about in a frenzied circle, looked from Plansky to Blaine to Lefevre. “I knew he was protecting someone! I thought he was hiding something when we visited him!”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“I did not withhold--“

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“Blaine!” Joey cut her off. “We have to tell the committee! The governor must stop the execution! Don’t you see? If a trial witness withheld important evidence, that’s grounds for a mistrial! A new trial!”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

Silence hung for a second in the emotionally-charged air before Blaine spoke.

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“Get a hold of yourself, Machinetto,” he said. “It’s too late! Too late for motions! The fate of those men is in the hands of the governor, it has been for months, and the governor has spoken!”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“Then the governor can speak again!” He turned to Plansky. “Where’s the nearest telephone?”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

Something happened in the night beyond them. At the prison.

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“Did you see that?” Plansky asked. “The lights went out in the prison.”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

Joey turned to look. “The lights are on.”

tempor eu et quis et consectetur vehicula mi venenatis erat, venenatis amet, parturient diam nibh elit. eu et Lorem natoque Cum nec ac eros dui. pellentesque. vestibulum Proin dui. Cum convallis

“But they were out,” Plansky insisted. “Do you know what that means? One of them is dead.”

","page":"384","last":"","id":"1266","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“What?”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“When the electric chair is switched on the lights go dim from loss of power. Each time a man dies the prison lights dim, just as they did now.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“Christ!” Blaine swore. “Barbarians! Human sacrifice! We burn our martyrs in machines!”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“Dear God!” cried the girl. “I can’t bear this another moment! I have never believed they would actually kill these men! My brother adored him -- Mr. Vanzetti. Beltrando thought of him as his father!”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“They are as good as dead now,” Plansky said quietly.

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“Blaine!” Joey urged. “We have to hurry!”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“It’s too late,” Plansky said. “Even if you could reach your governor now, this very minute, he would do nothing. What? Do you think he cares for what an Italian girl says? These men had plenty of Italian witnesses. Your governor did not listen to them because they were not real Americans.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

Blaine groaned. “I think I’m going mad.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“We must go to them, Blaine,” Machinetto said. “We must tell them what we’ve learned. And you, Miss Brini, you must come too.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“I am not going with you,” the girl stated flatly. “I am going home.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“Blaine?”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

Blaine shook his head no.

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“Then I’ll go by myself.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

Machinetto began to run, shouting over his shoulder, ”Know what’s wrong with you, Blaine? For all your advantages, you’re a quitter!”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“You’re not going to save them, Machinetto!” Blaine called. “We’ve lost this war! America has! Humanity has!”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

Three sets of eyes stared at the prison lights.

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“I will go back to Russia,” Plansky announced. “Not to join the Bolshies -- they are fools -- but to fight them. At least in my country people care! In this country it is nothing but rich people and money! If you are not rich, you are garbage, you are trash! They spit on you! You are dirt beneath their feet!”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

Blaine turned to the girl. “I will see you back, Miss, to wherever you are going. If you will allow me.”

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“I’ll be all right,” she sighed.

euismod ornare consectetur nibh nisi diam vestibulum tristique eu dui. quam venenatis egestas. at eros nascetur sed Sed Proin Lorem ac sociis Sed nascetur

“It is dark here,” Blaine argued gently. “At least let me walk you back to the square.”

","page":"385","last":"","id":"1267","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

tempor tempor scelerisque sodales Fusce Lorem Mauris erat, adipiscing lobortis elit odio ridiculus faucibus Proin malesuada. Lorem quam, Proin Sed Cum sagittis amet dolor Cum adipiscing sit hendrerit at Nulla lobortis

“The square, it is that way.” Plansky pointed into the darkness.

Lefevre fought tears. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “Those lights. Still on. Who’s dead? Who’s alive?”

“I will take my leave, young lady,” the tall Russian said when the girl and Blaine showed no sign of moving. A jagged bow to her. “Fine gentleman.” Another bow to Blaine. When neither responded, Plansky talked to himself.

“Nobody here listens to me so why should I stay? Why does no one listen? Because I am Russian? Because I am poor? So I will say good night. Isn’t that what you say in this country? You do not simply say it, but you say that you will say it!” He laughed humorlessly. Bitterly. “Fare thee well, my America, the country that pretends it is the future but is blind to the present. Ah, you brave new world! I spit on you!”

He lowered his head as if to spit on the earth, but nothing came out. He strode off into the darkness.

Blaine and Lefevre watched him go, and followed a moment later, walking with Blaine gradually narrowing the distance between them. After a minute or two, he gathered his courage and said, “Miss Brini, if I may ask, can you tell me what happened when you were inside the prison?”

He thought she would not answer. He was pleased when she did.

“They thought I was one of the execution witnesses, as I said. Because my name is unusual to them it was confused with that of a man named Lafferty.” She laughed at this. “But of course, when they heard me use the telephone, they realized their mistake and hurried me through the prison past the cells. I shouted his name. Mr. Vanzetti put his face against the bars and cried out -- what I said before -- would I take that message for him? I tried to stop to assure him, but they pulled me away. Then they put me out through this back door and told me to stay away from the prison. I think I was taken to that door so no one would learn of the guards’ mistake.”

Lights showed in the distance. They walked in silence to the square. A new buzz agitated the remaining stragglers there; a new nervous excitement. People pointed to the roof of the prison. Apparently, they had seen the lights blink a second time. Blaine hoped the girl did not understand this gesture.

“Where are you going now?” he asked her. “You aren’t going to Plymouth, are you?”

He was reluctant to leave her. Absurdly -- yes, this also was absurd -- and yet it was true, he felt drawn to her. Or perhaps it was only that he did not wish to be alone.

“No, to my brother. There is a train that will take me to the place where he stays.”

Was she reluctant to leave as well? Or was he imagining this? In Blaine’s view of the world it was ungentlemanly to “take advantage” of a situation with a woman. He could think of no practical way to detain her.

“I must go now,” she said, not quite looking at him. “Thank you.”

","page":"386","last":"","id":"1268","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Pellentesque justo fermentum vehicula justo Proin egestas. Proin euismod odio ipsum amet, venenatis ipsum sed euismod lobortis ipsum erat Fusce mus. nisi adipiscing Proin erat, justo pellentesque. amet, euismod erat,

For what?

“It was nothing,” he replied, foolishly. As if he had walked her home from the library, as if they were acquaintances who had met on the street. As if this was an ordinary day and not the worst day of his life -- his and his country’s!

He watched her walk away from the square toward the train station.

“Wait!” he called. “What was the message Vanzetti gave you!”

Lefevre hesitated then said before turning away, “He said he loved her.”

In the square, where people were still discussing the dimming of the lights in the prison, Blaine found himself alone in the crowd. He did not usually mingle in crowds and had seldom looked closely at the people that made them up. Anonymous. Ordinary. Some poorly dressed. Mostly men now, the hour growing late, laborers perhaps, or the unemployed, with their drab caps and their cigarettes. Fewer women, naturally. Some stood off in groups of their own, but these he could not understand at all. Were they, like the men, creatures of idle curiosity? Then he noticed a particular woman, standing by herself. There was something different about her attitude; her expression. She stood out in the drab crowd because of her thick red hair, orange almost, and her short skirt. And something sharp, defiant, in her expression. She met his gaze when she noticed him studying her.

After a few moments, not knowing why, he walked toward her. The lights of the prison blinked again.

***

Allerton Street, Plymouth

Mother was restless, Vivian thought. Some nights she stayed up late listening to the radio, that new arrival in an old house whose voice, by turns cheerful, Olympian, or merely hectoring, filled the expansive silences of the Rossiter household. Vivian, fourteen years old, self-conscious on her own account and anxious on her mother’s, kept to her room in the evenings.

“Good night, Mother,” Vivian said, coming downstairs, breaking hours of silence between them and receiving little more than a mere acknowledgment in return.

“Yes, Vivian. Go straight to bed now. Good night!”

Upstairs, she kept on her bedroom light another forty minutes, reading a book that her mother had shamed the Plymouth Library into purchasing, though Vivian was not sure the work of this new author Mr. Fitzgerald was all it was cracked up to be. It was the end of a hot, bright, gleaming, late-summer day, but a disappointing day to Vivian’s way of seeing things for nothing remarkable had happened.

","page":"387","last":"","id":"1269","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

dui. dis vitae condimentum sagittis est nibh Ut et tincidunt sed dolor ipsum Sed convallis pellentesque. Proin hendrerit justo dis ornare sit vitae Proin dui. fermentum in erat, tristique

The girl lay in bed, sleepless in the heat-thickened dark, the songs of the insects rising and falling, her mother in the parlor later than usual, her agitated voice expostulating over the bland, unctuous voices of the news announcers. Vivian fell asleep at last, but when she woke sometime after midnight, wondering what had roused her, she heard the radio’s disquieting mutter. Why was Mother still listening to the radio? Considering this puzzle, she realized she was hearing something else: a low moan, sustained and terrible, and apparently endless. Was some poor wounded creature moaning out of doors?

dui. dis vitae condimentum sagittis est nibh Ut et tincidunt sed dolor ipsum Sed convallis pellentesque. Proin hendrerit justo dis ornare sit vitae Proin dui. fermentum in erat, tristique

No, nothing so wild or distant. Her mother was crying.

***

August 23, 1927, Charlestown State Prison

dui. dis vitae condimentum sagittis est nibh Ut et tincidunt sed dolor ipsum Sed convallis pellentesque. Proin hendrerit justo dis ornare sit vitae Proin dui. fermentum in erat, tristique

He knows the order. Medeiros first. Then Nick. Then him.

dui. dis vitae condimentum sagittis est nibh Ut et tincidunt sed dolor ipsum Sed convallis pellentesque. Proin hendrerit justo dis ornare sit vitae Proin dui. fermentum in erat, tristique

So. He is giving his life for the cause. Is it worth it? This is the great question, the last great question of his life. He has told them that it is. He has told the judge, the cruel serpent who has made his life-work the destruction of Sacco and Vanzetti, that if he had a second life to live he would die again for his cause. He has told the reporter that his life is a triumph, as it could never have been otherwise. That he would have spent his life speaking to men on street corners, making no difference to the future -- but now the whole world hears him!

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He had in fact, the prisoner reflected, put aside gloom and recrimination for most of the hours in the days since the cowardly Governor Fuller announced there would be no pardon and no further reprieve. ”We could have spent our lives arguing on street corners,” he told one fine young man, one of the newspapermen who had come to see him, ”neglected by others, laughed at by the world, forgotten men, failures. But now the whole world knows our name, our cause, our joy of freedom for all. In our last agony is our triumph!”

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Ah, a little voice asks, but do they listen? For if he had known the end of the road, if he had been given the choice to take a different path that night, the night Buda, a true believer but the most cold-blooded of all the comrades, led him on a fool’s errand to cover the tracks of the war that failed, would he not have pleaded then, with that other martyr, “Let this cup fall from my lips?” and been content to be the ill-attended voice on the street corner, the bachelor man that everyone knows, who speaks to the other men’s wives and the children?

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Who knows how far his courage would have stretched?

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He walks the few steps to the back of the cell and lays his forehead against the stone there, seeking the coolness that is seldom found in this place. Summer, still, in a baking house of shame.

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Forgive them, he thinks, remembering the bland faces on the jury. Ignorant men, with their twisted American minds, blindered like beasts and led astray by the treachery of Thayer and Katzmann. They know not what they do. They do not know that he is on their side, regardless of class. He has loved, and been loved, by the children of the bosses. Their

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wives and their daughters. The kind ladies who visited, Mrs. Glendower, and his other friends. The fair Mrs. Young, who brought her books and learning to teach him more of this English language in the Charlestown prison; and for whom (admit it) he had felt a little flutter of the heart.

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Ah, a voice, the little voice of last reckonings tells him: now we have come to the second, and lesser, question. Though perhaps it is not less to those who may be fostered by his choice. The only great decision of his case which he and he alone made. You must keep in mind, he tells the questioning voice, it is not only the life of the one woman he saved, or preserved, by keeping the eyes of the jackals turned away from her love for the Italian anarchist they hated so much; but that of the little one as well, who now he must think of as not so little anymore. Her name? He knows it. Yes, Vee-vee-yan. A name from a legend. He must think of her young life, it is an image too, along with her mother’s, he may hold in his mind as he walks his last walk. She will grow and marry and have a family of her own. She will continue the line of loving women descended from Laveenie. His Laveenie.

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If he must die, he will die not only for everyone, but for someone. Surely she is that someone. If he could not die for his blessed mother... But he could not, because she had died for him.

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Noises in the corridor. They are coming. So soon? So already it is too late, too late for goodbyes, the last letter, regrets.

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Last words?

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He presses his shoulder against the bars, turns his ear to the approaching footsteps. They are coming fast, these guards. Two? Three? Their voices sound -- but, no. A woman’s voice?

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It is his guardian angel, he thinks, a savior who will take him from this place of suffering to the world of the beautiful idea. It is a dream, a vision. Perhaps he is already dead. And then a face in the dim light of the corridor. Wait! He knows this face.

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“Lefevre?!”

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“Senor Vanzetti! They are taking me--“

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They sweep her past, the guard on either side.

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“Lefevre! You must do this for me! Tell her I love her! You know the one I mean!”

***

12:35 a.m.

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The lights had flickered a second time. Like everyone else in the prison, he knew what that meant. Nicola Sacco, the best and most courageous of men, honorable too, was dead -- murdered by the courts that served the bosses, the corruption of wealth! He heard Sacco’s last words, for they had been shouted for all to hear:

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“Long live anarchy!”

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So it was finally too late -- too late for all but the last words. They will write these down, his last words: Never in his life, or in all of history, has he known of anything so cruel.

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But no, he has already said these words in front of the judge, in the open court. And for better reasons, the reasons of his own self-searching, he would not go down the road of bitterness and denunciation, not at the very end.

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Our triumph, he thought. He was going not merely to his death, but to the final victory of his life. He must say so. But how?

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His senses alert for the sounds of approach, death on a few simple pairs of shoes (perhaps Nicola Sacco had made them), it was hard to bend the mind, even to remember. His thoughts wandered.

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Footsteps in the corridor.

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He heard the guards before he saw them. He knew who they were, though they hid their faces from him. In the seconds it took for them to open the cell door, he uttered a silent prayer -- yes, the ironies of last reflections: Vanzetti still prayed -- that his legs would not betray him. His mind, he believed, was sound.

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The last walk down the corridor to the place of execution passed more quickly than any similar progress in his life. The final passage, he thought. Perhaps it is closer, always closer, than we realize.

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Guards still stood on either side of him, their faces stiff, one of them red in the cheeks and eyes as if fighting emotions he would rather die than betray. Vanzetti knew that seated in the shadows were some people, the invited guests of the state, who waited to witness his death. The warden, a man who had never done him one single harm in all these years, came forward and asked in a quavering voice if he had anything to say. Was it not an upside-down world when the warden of the prison was a fair and kind man, while the judge on the bench was a cruel and bitter tyrant?

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“Yes,” he replied to the warden’s question. His voice distant, but steady. “I now wish to forgive some people for what they are doing to me.”

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He was about to say something more, but shook his head. Let them ponder who is to be forgiven and who is not. When he shook his head a second time and did not continue to speak, the execution chamber grew very silent.

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He saw the face of the warden give way and tears dampen that grave man’s cheeks. His were not the only tears. Nevertheless, the guards took him by the arms and led him to the chair.

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Some minutes later, the lights in the prison flickered again.

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CHAPTER 34

WHY DID YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID?

2000, Plymouth Police Station

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They waited in the lobby of the shiny new building like children awaiting punishment. They had been late to class once too often, so now here they were, sent to the principal’s office. Tired, tense with uncertainty, vaguely ashamed of himself for a variety of reasons he hadn't begun to sort out, Mill sat in a stunned, exhausted silence. His head ached. Even worse was the hangover from the sensations of the night before: smoke, shock, fear, and a toxic mix of humiliation and disappointment.

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The bench in the police station lobby was hard. Since the building itself looked new, spotless tiles on the floor, everything else in the octagonal space giving off an overstated beige brightness, he assumed the uncomfortable seating was meant to discourage loiterers with frivolous complaints. The Plymouth police didn’t really want to hear what was on your mind unless you were truly committed to the need to say it. Apparently, however, the cops needed to hear from Bernie and him, their summons to the police station by an early morning phone call before Mill was out of bed not helping his state of mind. What could he tell them about the fire in Building Two that couldn’t wait a few hours?

lacus nibh lobortis eu nec adipiscing eu dolor quam, Lorem augue. faucibus tempor nec hendrerit ipsum at Quisque pellentesque.

Beside him, sitting stiffly, and looking straight across the room at nothing, Bernie’s tension was palpable, almost as if communicating to him through the hard bench and the strained atmosphere of a building where people brought their fears, guilt, and resentments. He turned to her to say…something. The sound of footsteps stopped him. As a uniformed officer approached them, Mill reminded himself it wasn’t the cops’ idea that he break into a building.

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“You folks want to follow me, please?” the officer said. He was tall and bulky around the middle, his waistline expanded by the things the men of his profession carried. “Detective Burns would like to speak to you.”

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Detective? Mill thought. Why a detective? Were they in trouble?

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“Mrs. Becker,” the seated officer said when they entered the room. “Mr. Becker.” A nod. “Please take the seats in front of the desk.” A second nod…in case they had forgotten what chairs looked like?

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Detective Burns was a slim, gray man with the mien of a banker, except for the probing gaze of his deep-set eyes. He was not young, as evidenced by a good view of reddish scalp through thinning hair, his detective hat resting on his desk and not his lowered head as Burns glanced over the statements Bernie and Mill had been asked to write upon arrival at the station.

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“I want to make sure I have all the details correct,” Burns said, looking up from the handwritten pages. “Particularly the time references. There may be slight discrepancies.”

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“Is the time important?” Mill asked.

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“We don’t know what’s important yet, Mr. Becker,” Burns said, looking at him evenly.

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“Important for what? We didn’t have anything to do with the fire, Detective Burns. We’re as interested as the police in knowing how it started.”

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The detective studied the two people seated in the subject-of-interest chairs before responding. “The fire department’s working on that now.”

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“Look,” Mill said with a hint of impatience, “we’ve admitted we broke a window and entered the building. It was my idea, I take complete responsibility for--“

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“Mill,” Bernie interrupted.

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Shut up and make nice, he thought. We’re guilty of trespassing -- nothing more. Still, if the fire department’s investigating the fire, what are the police investigating?

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“Just one more question,” Burns said. “Who called in the fire last night?”

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They had agreed not to mention Ike. It was their single purposeful omission.

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“We didn’t,” Mill said, hoping that would be enough. He could tell from the man’s face that it wasn’t.

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Burns eyed him for a moment then said, “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Becker alone.”

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“Why?”

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“If you don’t mind.”

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Mill stood up. Better not to make a stink. They had nothing to hide. Except Ike.

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“And please don’t leave the station yet, Mr. Becker.”

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He frowned at the detective. “I’m not about to leave without my wife.”

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“Of course not.”

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He waited outside the closed door in the corridor. Heard voices inside the room, the detective’s cool and even, Bernie’s halting and strained. After a minute or two, Bernie stepped out to tell him the detective wanted to speak to him again, that she would wait for him in the lobby, and that she’d had to tell Burns about Ike.

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The atmosphere in the detective’s office room seemed heavier as Mill sat down.

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“Do you have anything you’d like to add to your account?” Burns asked.","page":"392","last":"","id":"1274","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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He shook his head.

a. quam magnis sed dis augue. quis Cum ante. ipsum consectetur vehicula ridiculus malesuada. Mauris dis Quisque sit quam pellentesque. justo

“Then I’ll ask you the question I asked your wife. Was there anyone else with you last night, Mr. Becker? I mean besides Mrs. Becker and your reporter friend.”

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Mill blamed himself. Bernie had tried to send Ike home. But he needed help with the ladder and didn’t think there was much of a risk.

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“There was, wasn’t there Mr. Becker?”

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“Yes.”

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“Who?”

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“His name is Ike. He didn’t go into the building. He didn’t do anything but hold the ladder.”

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“And he was the one who called the fire department?”

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Mill wondered what Bernie had and hadn’t told him.

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“Let’s not waste time, Mr. Becker,” said Burns. “Someone had to call in the fire. I noticed that you and your wife left that out of your respective statements. It’s very simple. The fire chief always wants to know who called in a fire because that person is a witness.”

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Mill nodded.

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“Your wife said Ike works for you.”

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“He was going to help me go over the company files once we got them out of there.”

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“Okay. So how do I get in touch with this Ike? I’ll need to talk to him.”

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Mill hesitated. “I’m not comfortable giving out information about Ike.”

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“This has gone beyond your comfort level, Mr. Becker.”

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“What do you mean?”

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“It’s a criminal investigation now. That fire was set, Mr. Becker. An accelerant was used.”

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Mill swallowed hard. “That’s news to me.”

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“You have no idea who set it?”

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“We told you what we know.”

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“But maybe not everything you know.”","page":"393","last":"","id":"1275","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

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Burns shifted his weight from one arm of the desk chair to the other. He tried a different approach, his facial expression a touch more sympathetic. “I’d appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Becker. Two questions and we’re done for now. Where can I find this Ike? And what’s his last name?”

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“Those are two questions I’m not going to answer.”

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“I need to warn you that withholding information from a criminal investigation may be a crime, Mr. Becker,” Burns said, the sympathy gone from his face.

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“Then I may need to talk to a lawyer.”

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Burns exhaled loudly, a busy man exasperated by time-wasting. “You do that, Mr. Becker. And call me this afternoon with the information I need. Before four o’clock.”

***

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Jeter shielded his eyes with a hand against the overly bright lights of the spick and span foyer of the police station, summoned there by an eight a.m. telephone call. Awakened from a short, dream-soaked sleep, aroused much earlier in the day than he had planned to resume consciousness, he’d been awakened even earlier and for worse reasons on other occasions, so knew he had no beef on this one.

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A door closed down a hallway, shortly after which and sooner than he was ready to meet the gaze of another human being, Captain Karen Hayes, hat jammed down over her ears, stood before him.

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“Detective Burns will be ready for you in a few minutes,” she announced in a voice suitable for addressing the hard-of-hearing. “He asked me to conduct you to his office.”

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“Conduct away,” Jeter said, getting to his feet.

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Karen was clearly unhappy to see him, Jeter not sure for which of the possible reasons why. He had not returned her most recent calls. He had broken into a building. On the other hand, he had not yet used an off-the-record quote from her in a story. That should be worth something.

et adipiscing blandit amet, in condimentum ipsum amet, lobortis Pellentesque malesuada. tristique est Ut justo venenatis consectetur venenatis sodales dolor sed sit faucibus mauris ac

He followed her broad back down the corridor. She detoured from leading him straight to Detective Burns’ hot seat by taking him to the briefing room, where they had previously conversed under happier circumstances, but now wasted no time on endearments.

et adipiscing blandit amet, in condimentum ipsum amet, lobortis Pellentesque malesuada. tristique est Ut justo venenatis consectetur venenatis sodales dolor sed sit faucibus mauris ac

“Why did you do something so stupid?”

et adipiscing blandit amet, in condimentum ipsum amet, lobortis Pellentesque malesuada. tristique est Ut justo venenatis consectetur venenatis sodales dolor sed sit faucibus mauris ac

He could not think of a good answer. What could be a good answer for doing something stupid? Because he was? Because he didn’t want people to realize how smart he was and become envious?

et adipiscing blandit amet, in condimentum ipsum amet, lobortis Pellentesque malesuada. tristique est Ut justo venenatis consectetur venenatis sodales dolor sed sit faucibus mauris ac

“I’m a reporter,” he said at last. “I thought Mill Becker’s research was news.”","page":"394","last":"","id":"1276","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“You call trespassing research?” Unsmiling, she examined his face. “You’re sure one of your friends didn’t set that fire while you were there?”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Yes, I am,” he said, appealing to her talk-to-the-cops face with a rueful, half-pleading expression. “We were together the whole time.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Karen said.

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“What? That I was going to do something stupid?”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Exactly.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Should I have?”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

They eyed each other.

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“It would have meant something…to me,” she said. “It would have meant that we were, you know, people who trusted each other. With important things.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“But you’re a cop,” he said, too tired for diplomacy. “You wouldn’t want to know that somebody was planning to step over the line. Would you?”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

Karen laughed dully. “Right, I’m a cop,” she said with harsh intimacy. “We know all about stepping over the line.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

At a loss, Jeter avoided her eyes.

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“You missed a bet there,” she said.

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Did I?”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Yeah… I think you did.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for letting you down.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Come on.” She reached for the door. “Detective Burns is ready for you. And don’t try to get cute with him.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

There was nothing cute about Detective Arthur Burns. He had a quiet, settled air about him, but Jeter sensed something churning behind that calm front. Asked to take a seat and to give his account of what he was doing in the building when the fire broke out, Jeter kept it short.

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Who called the fire department?” Burns said.

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

Crap, he thought, said, “A friend of the Beckers. He was never inside.”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“Can you be sure of that?”

malesuada. nisl. justo euismod dui. Lorem Sed elit. amet, mus. quis adipiscing nec elit. hendrerit nisl. egestas. justo tempor est lobortis

“It was dark,” Jeter acknowledged, “but I know I would have heard the sounds of somebody trying to get in.”","page":"395","last":"","id":"1277","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“How do you know?”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“Because of the way we got in.” Damn, he thought, why’d I bring that up? Might as well have told him to cuff me. “Uh, it wasn’t exactly like opening a door and walking right in.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“No,” Burns pointedly agreed. “It certainly wasn’t.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“And another thing.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“I’m listening.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“This friend was outside the building when he saw someone else leaving the area.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“Someone else? Leaving?”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“A man hot-footing it across the parking area, away from the building on fire.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“So he didn’t actually see him leave the building? Could this person have been coming from somewhere else?”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“I suppose so. But quite a coincidence. At that hour. Anyway, I thought you should know.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“I appreciate that, Mr. Jeter. When can I speak to this friend?”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“He’s not around today. He works out of town. I’ll ask him to give you a call.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“I’d appreciate that, too, and the sooner the better.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“I understand.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“Good. And so I can understand, tell me in real simple terms what you people were doing in that building.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“Like I said, Professor Becker has been doing some interesting research. He thought there were some relevant old papers inside.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“So I gather. I talked to Mr. and Mrs. Becker earlier this morning.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

The detective was quick off the mark. Jeter tried to hide his surprise.

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“Then you already know,” he said.

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“Uh-huh.” His frown lines deepened. “One other thing, Mr. Jeter. Did you see or hear anyone else inside the building?”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

“No, but I remember Mrs. Becker saying she might have heard something that made her think someone else was there.”

adipiscing et mi gravida sagittis ipsum erat, Proin nibh tristique hendrerit fermentum justo sit pellentesque. est

After a long deliberate pause, the detective finally said, “Yeah, I guess she might have. She might have heard the guy who didn’t get out.”","page":"396","last":"","id":"1278","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

***

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

They were sitting in the small kitchen in the house on Suosso’s Lane when Jeter told his friends about the body.

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Sellers?” Mill said. “Dead?”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“They’ll want to talk to you again, Mill,” Jeter said. “And you, too, Bernie, about what you heard when we were trying to find a way out of the building.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

Mill pushed back his chair, stood, and paced the kitchen floor. “Where did they find him?”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“At the bottom of the stairs somewhere. On the lower level. Smoke inhalation.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“What the hell was he doing there?” Mill wondered aloud.

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Maybe the same thing we were,” Jeter ventured. “Didn’t you say you thought he was following you?”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

Mill groaned. “I was getting suspicious, but I’m not sure I really thought--”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Yeah well, if he was following you, he may have seen your car parked by the station. And our flashlights inside the building.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Still...” Mill hedged.

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Look, as a reporter I hate to say so, but we may never know why Sellers was there. Did he set the fire? To scare us off, maybe?”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Too many maybes,” Bernie said.

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

She looked pale, sounded defeated. Mill felt terrible…terribly sorry.

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Right,” he agreed, “too many maybes, so let’s try to think like the police. You said you heard something, or someone, down on the basement level with us before we got out of the building.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Yes, but I was more worried about getting you out of there.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Maybe you heard Sellers, Bernie,” Jeter said.

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“Another maybe. And maybe, like you said, he was just trying to scare us off.”

Sed mauris lacus sed Proin fermentum Proin Lorem malesuada. et tempor tristique ut ante. ut

“And was obviously taking his chances if he started that fire,” Jeter remarked.

","page":"397","last":"","id":"1279","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Think about it, guys,” Mill broke in. “If Sellers was obsessed with finding that same letter, why would he risk burning the place down?”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Good point,” Jeter said. “I doubt he would have.”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Right. So, if Sellers didn’t start the fire who did?”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Ike said he saw a man outside the building after the fire started,” Bernie said.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“He could be making up a story,” Mill said.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“How can you say that, Mill?” Bernie flared.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“I’m not saying I think so, I’m saying the police might.”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“True,” Jeter said.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“But he said he saw a man,” Bernie maintained.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Yes,” Mill said, “and what are the odds of our finding that man? We have no clue!”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“True again,” Jeter said.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

The police will think it was Ike, Mill thought, trying to believe it. He had started something for an innocent purpose. He hadn’t meant to cause any harm. But he had broken a window and set the night’s events in motion. And now Sellers was dead. And Ike was going to be blamed? No. No way. He would not let anyone else get hurt.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“They’ll definitely want to grill Ike,” Jeter said.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“No!” Bernie protested. “Oh God, Mill, please!”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Okay, so I’m thinking out loud here,” said Mill, “but I could tell the police I lost Ike’s information.”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Just one thing, Mill,” Jeter said. “That would be lying to the police. It’s a crime. I’d be very careful about lying to the police, especially when they have a dead body to explain.”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Speaking of being careful, are Ike’s papers in order, Bernie?” Mill asked.

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“He has a green card.”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Could he lose it? If the police decide to charge him with something?”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Jeezus, Mill. Don’t say that.”

faucibus nisl. ac at dolor erat hendrerit. gravida augue. vehicula dolor consectetur nibh in Mauris elit. Proin hendrerit imperdiet natoque tincidunt Lorem

“Okay, I’ll say he moved.” He looked at Bernie’s face, walled over with pain, and added, “Maybe he should move so the police won’t find him.”

","page":"398","last":"","id":"1280","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“Where, Mill, here?” She glared at her husband. “I’ve already tried suggesting that.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“I’ll say it again,” Jeter intervened. “The cops have a dead body to explain somehow. They’ll want to see Ike. They’ll have to have his name, at least.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“Well, they won’t get it from me,” said Mill.

***

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

At twenty to four, the sun fading in the late-November sky, Mill drove to the station to see Detective Burns. With the unsmiling and suspicious manner of someone accustomed to dealing with questionable characters, the male dispatcher buzzed the detective and curtly instructed Mill to wait on the bench. Seated, Mill checked his watch and decided to give it fifteen minutes. Before those minutes were up, Burns marched down the corridor.

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“Mr. Becker,” he said. “You’ve got something for me?”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“Can we talk in your office?”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

Burns eyed him, less than pleased. “Sure.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

Inside the room, where Burns sat behind his desk with a pad in front of him and a ballpoint pen in hand, Mill was not eager to break the news that he’d have nothing to write.

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“All right, Mr. Becker, first things first,” the detective said. “What’s his full name?”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“That’s the problem.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“What problem?”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“There’s a problem with giving his name or any contact information.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“That is a problem, since we need to talk to him.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“May I explain?”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“You can try.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“Well, Ike is an immigrant. He’s legally in the country, but he’s had…an involvement…an unfortunate involvement in something that wasn’t his fault but got him into trouble. So, now I’m afraid that any encounter with the authorities will jeopardize his standing.”

Etiam erat, eu scelerisque Nulla Mauris nibh amet, sit Etiam sit Proin eu nisi quam penatibus eu amet, tincidunt

“Look, Mr. Becker,” Burns said sternly. “Regardless of what you’ve said or might say next, if you’re trying to tell me that you’re not willing to give me this man’s name, it’s simply unacceptable.” He gave Mill the cold eye. “This is a problem for me, Mr. Becker. But I can make it a problem for you.”

","page":"399","last":"","id":"1281","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“I’ll talk to him for you,” Mill offered. ”I’ll ask the questions you need him to answer.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“You’re not a member of the Plymouth Police Department, Mr. Becker, and I’m not fooling around,” Burns countered with undisguised impatience. “I don’t want you to talk to your friend. I want to talk to him myself. What’s Ike’s last name, Mr. Becker? Where does he live? What’s his phone number?”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“I can’t tell you.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

Mill wondered if he was going to be arrested; and if he was, whether it would be a matter of interest to the tenure committee at Sea Island, or anywhere else he tried to get a job.

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“All right,” Burns ended the stand-off. “Next time there’s a knock on your front door it will be a police officer with a summons to district court. You’ll be charged with withholding information from a criminal investigation.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

Mill nodded. ”I understand.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Good for you,” Burns muttered.

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

The office door swung open. Mill turned in his chair to see a uniformed female officer and, standing next to her, Jeter, arms stiff at his sides, long face taut with contained excitement.

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Sorry to barge in, Arthur,” Karen Hayes apologized to the detective. “But he has something to tell you. I think it’s important.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“All right,” he said. ”You two come in. And Mr. Becker, go out and wait in the lobby. Don’t leave.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

Mill flashed a puzzled look at Jeter on his way out. His friend’s buoyant expression seemed to signal something, hard to tell what.

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Have a seat, Mr. Jeter,” Burns said. “Karen, you stay, too.” He waited for them to settle then asked, “This is something about the fire?”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Yes,” Karen said. “I think you should hear it from him.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“So?” Burns said to Jeter. “You want to share your wisdom?”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Yeah. I think I know who did it.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Set the fire?”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Yeah.”

gravida elit nibh Ut blandit enim mi justo imperdiet erat Nulla at vitae tristique ut consectetur

“Okay, I’m interested. I just hope you’re going to give me a name.”","page":"400","last":"","id":"1282","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

Seated again on the bench in the lobby, Mill had no idea what he was waiting for. Was the detective thinking about locking him up in one of the station’s holding tanks?

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

Five minutes later, the dispatcher answered a buzz and brusquely waved Mill over to the glassed-in sanctuary. “The detective says you can go,” he said, lifting his gaze from his computer screen. “But don’t leave town or anything.”

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

Mill left the station under the impression that the dispatcher had added the last bit on his own.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

At home, during dinner, among other things, Mill told Bernie, “I’m planning to talk to Ike tomorrow, after my last class. He should know what’s going on.”

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“Ike’s my client. I think maybe I should,” Bernie said with some reluctance.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“No, I’ll do it,” said Mill. “I got him into this mess. You help him avoid them.”

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

The telephone rang. Mill left the table to answer it.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“I got you another day,” Jeter said. “I told Burns I have a theory about the fire, said that with things still up in the air I couldn’t really go into it, but that I might be able to test my theory in a day or two.”

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“So, you got me another day before I’m arrested?” Mill asked.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“Another day before anybody thinks about whatever went on today between you and Burns.”

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“Thanks,” Mill said, grateful for that much.

***

2000, Belmont Street

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

Vivian was not expecting a visitor. She mentally checked off days until sure it was not the day of Bernie’s visit then sighed and struggled out of her chair, stick-like arms levering her torso above slightly thicker legs in a slow shuffle to open her front door.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

On the other side, looking at her through the glass in the storm door was the long-absent face of the person she had loved best in the world -- after Ben.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

Dear God, she thought. My baby. Vera.

eros ipsum montes, convallis quam nisi amet, dis dis montes, at mus. mauris venenatis ipsum dis natoque imperdiet amet

“It’s me, Aunt Viv,” Vera said, with a strained smile. “I know it’s been much too long. Can you ever forgive me?”

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Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Don’t talk nonsense, Vera,” Vivian said. “I’m delighted to see you. Come in and sit down.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

Vera stepped inside, into her great-aunt’s frail embrace. “I’m ashamed, Aunt Viv,” she said. “I have no excuse. I don’t know why I haven’t visited, or what’s been wrong with me.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Stop that now,” Vivian scolded gently. “You’re here now. What does time mean to me? It’s wonderful to see you, child.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

In fact, Vivian suspected they both knew why so much time had passed between visits. Things had not been good between Vera and Kevin for some time. Vera might hide it from others, but not from the woman she thought of as her second mother, who had long outlived her real mother. Yes, but Vera had her pride. It was pride that had kept her away from Vivian who’d never cared for Kevin.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

Something had finally driven Vera to come to her. Vivian wondered what it was.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

Vera held her pain in her eyes. She smiled and said nothing.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Do you remember how to make tea in my kitchen, Vera?” Vivian asked. “Come, help me make it.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

They sipped tea in the parlor with Vera sitting on the edge of the sofa, like her other visitor, Bernie, and Vivian nibbling politely at the lemon poppy seed cake Vera had brought to share as Vera haltingly began to tell her story of the reporter who came to talk to her about smoking in Ginny’s Joint.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Your restaurant,” Vivian said.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Kevin’s now. Or almost.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

Vivian bit her tongue.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“I’m sorry, Aunt Viv. I should have told you all this long before.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

Vivian nodded away the slight.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“So, I persuaded him to look into Uncle Willy’s death.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

She’s embarrassed for involving a stranger in family matters, Vivian thought. A lot of confessions, suddenly, these days.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“So you sent him to me,” she said.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Not directly. But I knew he would find you.” Vera turned her head to the side, apologetically added, “I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

“Oh no. A gentleman caller is a rare enough bird in this old nest these days.” Vivian indulged in a bit of a cackle.

Proin mi in elit. Quisque Proin Nulla sed mi ridiculus in sed mus. quam, Quisque imperdiet Lorem et amet, parturient malesuada. in in amet,

Vera offered more of her story, doling it out in little pieces, as if having to convince herself again of the need to speak of it.","page":"402","last":"","id":"1284","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“But now Kevin…” she said finally.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Is your ex-husband,” Vivian concluded.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Soon, Aunt Viv, but not officially yet. A few weeks more before the decree is final. But Kevin’s been acting strangely.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“But you’ve parted from him, Vera. Isn’t that so?”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

”Yes.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Then you can’t help him anymore. Let him go.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

Vera looked down at her hands. The older woman sensed her withholding something.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“What is it, child? Tell me.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“It’s about Merrill Sellers, the man who died in that fire. Have you heard?”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

Vivian nodded. She still read the papers. The passing of old acquaintances and the fate of old buildings were among her last interests in life. But she did not see what Vera could have to do with this business.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Merrill and I went to school together,” Vera began.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Yes,” Vivian interrupted, “I remember. The anti-war protests on the green.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“You remember that?” Vera said, surprised.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Don’t you?”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

Vera smiled at the memory, quickly sobered and said, “Merrill was always a bit of an odd type. Unconventional. And big on showing people how different he was.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“Yes.” Vivian remembered him too, the boy who had knocked on her door with his too-eager questions.

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“A week ago or so, I was feeling kind of down. I needed someone to talk to. I’m not sure why, but I told Merrill about Grandpa Willy and the family.” Vera searched her great-aunt’s face, willing her understanding. “Now that Merrill’s dead, I’m afraid I may have told him too much.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

Vivian closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, and said, “You talked about the family.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“I shouldn’t have.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“I can hardly blame you for that, Vera. I have, too,” Vivian said, thinking, and am better for it? “But you said you’re afraid you told him too much.”

et penatibus dolor gravida sagittis Ut Cum lobortis diam dui. montes, dolor quis Proin malesuada. Proin fermentum amet, faucibus Proin et penatibus

“I mentioned the letter, and was sorry the moment I realized how interested he was.”","page":"403","last":"","id":"1285","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“Go on, dear.”

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“I told Merrill that the letter had ended up somewhere in that building at the Cordage. Now I almost wish Grandma hadn’t told me the whole story.”

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

Grandma, Vivian thought. Her sister Marguerite, long ago suspected of wanting to keep the letter for herself, or simply out of spite. Everything came around in the end.

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“I don’t think you need blame yourself, Vera, for anything that happened to that poor man,” Vivian said. “He made his own decisions.”

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“That’s true,” Vera said, but didn’t sound or appear any happier.

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“You still seem troubled. Why?”

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“Kevin was out late that night, the night of the fire,” Vera said. “He left the restaurant early, something he never does. It was nearly morning by the time he got home.”

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

Home, Vivian knew, was no longer with Vera. Something here was left untold. But she held her peace and did not press her niece, happy that Vera had come to her, whatever the reason. She changed the subject, asked Vera about her children, heard they were doing well out West, and hoped for Vera’s sake that someday soon they would bring whatever they did so well back East. Vivian then shared her news, not that there was much of it beyond mention of the visits from the nice young woman with the boy’s name, who was new in town.

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“Aunt Viv,” Vera said as she stood to go, “I have something to give you.”

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

She pulled a largish envelope from her leather bag. Inside was another envelope, old and worn and stuffed with folded sheets, that she handed to her aunt. The envelope was written over in several hands with what looked to be a series of crossed-out addresses. Various stamps and postmarks cluttered the yellowed envelope as well, including one from Mexico.

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“Where did this come from?” Vivian asked.

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

“Grandma gave it to me.”

***

1931, Allerton Street

mus. parturient hendrerit venenatis Fusce sodales imperdiet in euismod ipsum elit Fusce ac ornare vitae tempor nulla.

The package was mailed to her from the regional United States Postal Service Lost Letter Center in Akron, Ohio. It included a courteous note of apology from the center’s Postmaster In-Chief, who sincerely regretted that the letter had been mistakenly cast into the dead letter file, when in fact a legible sender’s address was visible in

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the upper left corner. Though it was certainly clear, Lavinia concluded after inspecting the envelope’s string of additional addresses, as to why some frustrated postal clerk had given up the attempt to track down the letter’s recipient and consigned it to dead letters.

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

Sitting in the comfortably cushioned chair in her parlor, where she spent an increasing proportion of her waking life, admiring the neat characters on the postmaster’s note, Lavinia wondered whether she should acquire one of the new typewriting machines. The postmaster wrote of his hope that return of the letter, even after so long a period, would prove some recompense for his department’s mistake. A long period indeed, she thought, fourteen years since she had written in fearful anxiety after her friend departed from Plymouth to escape recruitment for The Great War.

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

How painfully ironic to remember how she had worried for him. The war had done him no harm. He had traveled to Mexico and returned some nineteen months later without a scratch. But now that everything about Vanzetti was painfully ironic to her, Lavinia was in no way tempted to break the envelope’s taped-over seal and rediscover her younger self’s lovelorn missive of pleading and restraint. Not that she would throw away the letter, nor ever discard anything to do with Vanzetti. No, she would take her “Mexican” letter to Vivian.

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

It was her fault, Lavinia decided, that the relationship with her daughter had become constrained and awkward. She had kept from Vivian the single most important thing about the role Vanzetti had played in her life -- why she had devoted years (fruitlessly it turned out), to the cause of his freedom. She had been in love with a good man. Nothing else was so rare. But it had always proved a damnably difficult thing to say. Even considering it made her tired. But here was the evidence, the crux of the thing in writing. Best to deliver this newly resurrected treasure to Vivian before she changed her mind. She forced herself up and out of the chair.

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

Wedged into a street corner facing a small slice of open green the town fathers had vowed to turn into some sort of new-fangled park for children, Vivian’s modest Belmont Street dwelling was a house of babies. Clothes, playthings, messes wherever you turned. “Oh, don’t sit there, Mother!” Vivian would caution. “I’ve just had to sponge the whole cushion!” Lavinia did not care to ask why, afraid her daughter would tell her. Her own young-mothering days were a blur. For one thing, she had had a nurse, and had assumed everybody had a nurse. Those were the days when Lavinia, fresh from Smith, was founding her society, not minding babies. When the girls were a little older, Mrs. Baker had lent a hand in their care. Her daughter’s life was different, she thought with a twinge of guilt, pressing the bell of the small wood-frame house. Her daughter took care of her children. Was that wrong? Was that not conceivably an improvement? Had Lavinia done so much for the world with her own choices?

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

She waited on the stoop. Noise of some disorder reached her…a child’s voice. Her daughter’s face appeared in the foot-wide opening of the front door. Her dress careless, hair loose.

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

“Mother? Is something wrong?”

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

“No, no. Of course not, dear. I was taking the air and thought I ought to pay a visit to my daughter -- and your boys, of course.”

et consectetur Quisque consectetur mi ipsum eros enim mauris sit Lorem gravida nisi mus. at amet, sit lobortis Quisque lobortis magnis nisi hendrerit amet, penatibus Proin enim venenatis

Lavinia arranged her countenance. How should an attentive grandmother look? She had put on a hat and made herself respectable. But she knew appearances alone would not do, and that she had yet to truly interest herself in her daughter’s two strapping babies. Perhaps when they were a little older, old enough for her to read to them, she would be better able to lend a hand.

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dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“Well, come in, Mother,” Vivian said.

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

Lavinia sensed more dutifulness than enthusiasm in her daughter’s welcome.

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

One of the boys, the older, flopped on the parlor floor, wore nothing but a loose shift and a diaper. The other was perhaps asleep in the children’s room. Lavinia sat at the edge of her daughter’s rocking chair, ceded to her for the visit, and tried to think of some conversation. The older boy slid about on the rug, meandering cautiously toward the new arrival, an object of curiosity. When his grandmother returned his glance, he ducked away and crawled toward his mother.

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“The boys are fine, I trust?”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“Oh, they are what they are, Mother. But I’m not sure we won’t be hearing Ben in a minute or two. I put him down in the crib but I doubt he’ll stay there.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“I see.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

Was that good?

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“And Frank,” she asked. “How is Frank?”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“How should he be, Mother? He is surely not much changed since you saw him last.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

The exasperation in her daughter’s tone stung her. Saw him last? Had there been some occasion?

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“At Frank Junior’s birthday, Mother. We celebrated it a week since Sunday.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“Yes, of course.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

It was silly of her not to remember. They had marked the older child’s second birthday. It had been a dull occasion. Her son-in-law’s automotive talk; the steady drumbeat of children’s needs. It seemed unkind that Vivian should punish her for not remembering. She had done her part; brought a gift, a tiny wooden horse on rockers; endured the festivities. Yet she tried to assume the blame, to smooth over ruffled feathers.

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“Perhaps my memory isn’t as good as it once was.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“I doubt it, Mother. You can remember what you want to.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

This was too much. She had no place here. It was a mistake to come. Another mistake.

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“I meant to give you this, Vivian,” she said, standing abruptly and removing the letter from her purse. “But perhaps it is wrong of me to burden you with anymore of my memories.”

dui. lobortis erat, magnis montes, sociis eros nascetur sit et condimentum adipiscing et nascetur enim natoque ac hendrerit. lacus malesuada. Lorem enim Mauris

“What is it?” Vivian stood as well, the toddler crawling toward her seeking to latch on to an ankle.","page":"406","last":"","id":"1288","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

“It is a letter I wrote long ago. A letter that chance has returned to me just today.” She waved it slightly, as if showing off its bulk, its age, its happenstance. “I wanted you to keep it -- along with the other.”

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

“The other?”

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

“Surely you remember the other letter, Vivian!” She had raised her voice. She was sorry for it, but there it was.

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

“Yes, I do. Of course. Now I remember, Mother.”

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

Something changed in her daughter’s face. Frank Junior began to whimper.

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

Lavinia’s anger turned to guilt. It was a mistake; all her fault. Why should her daughter care about her memories? She had obligations enough, the needs of children, the commonplace husband, the whole silly round of human generation.

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

She had been extending the letter, but now drew back her hand.

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

“Don’t worry, Mother. I won’t forget.” Vivian was sorry, apologetic. She held out her hand. The child began to cry. Vivian gathered him up, reflexively, to soothe him.

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

Lavinia looked about for a place for this new legacy. The room lacked even a single bookshelf. “Perhaps--“

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

“You keep it for now, Mother,” Vivian said. “Keep it with the other letter. I know the place. I promise I won’t forget.”

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

And so, she took it home to hide it with Vanzetti’s note in the pages of his little book of memories, his prison memoir, placing her Mexican letter between the last page and the thin back cover. It bulged but she left it there, flattening the book against the weighty tomes of heavy-thinking men at the end of a shelf.

sit tempor nisl. erat, sed euismod Lorem augue. est enim scelerisque Pellentesque venenatis elit. ornare eu in

It was a simple act that nonetheless left her feeling breathless. Lavinia sat in her desk chair, rested against its back. Something hurt, a pain in her chest. Her heart, of course. Why should her heart not hurt? It was broken.

","page":"407","last":"","id":"1289","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

CHAPTER 35

ARE YOU GOING TO SHOOT ME

FOR A FEW THOUSAND BUCKS?

2000, Sea Island College

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

He jumped when the office extension rang. No one had called him on campus before.

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Hello?”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Mill,” said Bernie, “Vivian just phoned me.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Vivian?”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Yeah, I didn’t even know she used the telephone. Anyway, listen. Vivian wanted to pass on some information about the fire. It has to do with a man named Kevin Salley. He’s the manager of some restaurant.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“I know the name. Jeter told me something about him.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Well, somebody told Vivian that Salley left the restaurant early and was out all night on the night of the fire. It was very unusual. It was something he never does.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Bernie, honey, there are a lot of reasons for staying out all night.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Mill, Vivian said this man is somehow connected to that building, and was definitely connected to Merrill Sellers.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Wait, let me get this. You mean she’s suggesting that Salley was with Sellers in the building that night? Wait a minute! If he was, Salley could be the man Ike saw running away!”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Vivian didn’t go that far, Mill. Her niece, Vera, Salley’s soon-to-be ex-wife, made a point of telling her this. She’s supposed to pass it on, that’s what Vivian said. And we’re the only people she knows who could possibly be interested.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“You told her we were there?”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Mill, I didn’t tell her anything, she told me things, the same way she told you where the letter was kept…and a few days later, there’s a fire in that building.” Bernie paused then said, “Know what, Mill? I think Vivian simply connected the dots.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“Jeezus.”

in justo ipsum Lorem eu sit egestas. quam, odio Mauris adipiscing Fusce gravida ipsum penatibus ornare tincidunt sit at nisi venenatis

“What do you think we should do?” Bernie asked.

","page":"408","last":"","id":"1290","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“I think we should tell Jeter.”

***

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

He found Ike that afternoon in the large old cemetery near Franklin Park. “He goes to be with the trees,” Ike’s wife had told him. A face in the doorway; alert, curious, maybe a little afraid. Their ability to communicate was limited, but she had heard him say “Ike” and he had heard her say “trees” and the name of the park.

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

When they lived in Boston, Mill had visited this cemetery, this outdoor museum of a half-forgotten age, with Gothic buildings, arches, bell towers, funerary monuments of a particular race of men and women, people who would remember Sacco and Vanzetti, unfortunately all dead. A good-sized walk from Ike’s address, the cemetery was a useful destination for someone who wanted to get away from things for a significant stretch of time. Mill found Ike on a stone bench overlooking a pond.

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“The police?” Ike said, smiling with less than his usual cheer. “They wish to make me a hero for calling the fire department?”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“I wish that was the case, Ike.”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“I could tell that it is not,” Ike said, nodding at Mill. “I can tell by the look of you, Mr. Becker.”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“The police want to talk to you about the fire. They want to find out who set it. They want me to tell them how to find you.”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

Concentration creased Ike’s open features. “But you have not told them,” he said.

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“No. I was afraid that any contact with the police would cause trouble for you elsewhere.”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“Ah,” Ike frowned. “You know about this ‘elsewhere.’ But will the police not make trouble for you if you do not tell them what they want?”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“Maybe. That hasn’t been settled yet.”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

Ike nodded somberly. Then a thought lit up his face.

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“Your man, Vanzetti,” he said. “He would not have told the police?”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“No, he wouldn’t have. But I’m not an anarchist. I have a job, a good life, things Vanzetti never had.”

sed ornare et magna mi ut venenatis sit at sed ipsum Sed vitae

“No matter,” Ike said, though his smile was wan. “I will not run away. You will do what you think is best, Mr. Becker. And that will be all right with me.”","page":"409","last":"","id":"1291","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

Mill looked away. “The trees are mostly bare, Ike,” he observed.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

“Yes, but still they are trees.”

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

“Next week is Thanksgiving,” Mill said. “Are you doing anything? Maybe we can do something together?”

***

Sacrifice Rock, South Plymouth

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

Mill left campus before his office hours were over, this new willingness to ride his luck and take his chances motivated by a heightened appreciation of how it felt to be a free man -- at least for now.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

He considered a stop at the service station where Rodney worked to ask if he was still sleeping in his car now that the weather was cold. But because the boy had not returned to class, knowing he’d probably hide out of embarrassment if he saw the car pull in, Mill drove on until across the bridge and back in Plymouth, where he turned south instead of north.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

He left the highway for an old two-laner and slowly drove to the site on Old Sandwich Road known as Sacrifice Rock, which also had a Wampanoag name he could neither remember nor pronounce. Tradition had it that the big stone with a flat top was a place where travelers left stones or small branches as offerings for safe passage on their journeys. He suspected, however, that Jeter had chosen this spot for a meeting with Vera Blaine not only because it was halfway between her home in South Plymouth and his in Plymouth Center, but for its symbolic name. Somebody would have to sacrifice something.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

He timed the drive to be there early enough to speak to Vera Blaine alone before Jeter arrived for the meeting neither of them expected Mill to attend. He stood outside his car for fifteen chilly minutes, hands in his jacket pockets, until a smartly-dressed, middle-aged woman driving a tan SUV pulled up and parked behind his car. Halfway out of her vehicle, she noticed him and decided to stay put, eyeing the unfamiliar man with her car doors locked and windows up.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

Mill walked to a stop a few feet from her car. He slid his hands out of his pockets, shrugged a little, and tried to appear harmless as he gestured for her to lower the driver-side window. She thought about it before pressing a button. Carefully dressed and made-up, she didn’t look as old as Mill thought she would.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

“I’m Mill Becker, a friend of Mr. Jeter,” he said. “He told me he was meeting you here today. He wasn’t necessarily expecting me.”

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

She waited.

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

“Anyway, I’m here because I’d like to ask you a question, Mrs. Blaine. Do you mind?”

Ut et diam ridiculus consectetur odio euismod nec diam adipiscing et egestas. ipsum ac

“That depends on the question.”

","page":"410","last":"","id":"1292","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“Of course. Okay. What I’d like to know is why you asked Vivian Devito to pass along this stuff about Salley instead of telling us yourself? Why go through an old woman?”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

She turned her head to gaze through the windshield.

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“You also could have told the police, Mrs. Blaine.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

She looked at him. Her expression reserved. Almost shy.

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“I’m not Mrs. Blaine,” she said. “Blaine was my father’s name. Tom Blaine. Kevin Salley is my husband. At least until the divorce goes through.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

Mill digested this and said, “So, as his wife, you didn’t want to inform on him to the police. You didn’t want to give evidence against him. Right?”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“I kept my vows, Mr. Becker. My husband didn’t keep his.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“When will the divorce be final?”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“In a matter of days. I’m counting them down.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

She was being careful, saying no more than necessary, Mill thought. He had been afraid of her intentions, her deviousness. Afraid that some hidden agenda was still in play; that her story about Salley’s being out all night wasn’t true. Now that he had spoken with her, Mill didn’t doubt her word.

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

Acting on an urge, he confessed, “I was afraid you were using Mr. Jeter for some reason that might not be good for him. That you had something against him.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

From the look on her face, he’d touched a nerve.

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“I don’t know you, Mr. Becker,” she said. “But you say you’re his friend.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“I am.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“Well. I don’t have anything against Mr. Jeter. If anything, I admire what he does.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

At the sound of an approaching vehicle, Mill looked up to see Jeter’s car pull to the side of the road. He nodded to Vera then walked over as his friend got out of the car.

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“I hope you don’t mind my being here,” he said. “I had a few questions of my own.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“And?”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

“I think this is legit. We should go to the police with this Salley business. I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”

convallis eu Proin adipiscing fermentum nisi nisi et malesuada. penatibus dui. et scelerisque ipsum mi nibh ac sit Cum ipsum Lorem egestas.

Jeter sighed. “Mind if I ask some questions too before we make that decision?”","page":"411","last":"","id":"1293","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“No rush,” Mill said, lifting his hands, backing off. “Take all the time you want. But watch out…”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Why? What do you mean?”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

Mill grinned. “She says she admires you.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Smart woman. You sticking around?”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Nope. Call me later.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Will do.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

Jeter walked from his messy old car to Vera’s clean new one. At her invitation he got in so they could talk. It was her idea that they meet near her house, somewhere not too visible. She didn’t explicitly say she was afraid of Kevin spying but, figuring as much, Jeter suggested the halfway point on Old Sandwich Road, where it was impossible to do so without being seen.

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“So I take it you and Mill talked.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Briefly, yes. He asked why I hadn’t gone directly to the police with my suspicions about Kevin’s involvement in the fire.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“You think he set it?”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Yes.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“And do you think Kevin purposely set that fire to get rid of someone in that building?”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“I think it’s possible…and partly my fault.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“So, bottom line, if Salley set the fire, his target might have been me.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Merrill. Merrill had something over him.” She weighed her words. “But yes, if Merrill told him about you, what I said about you, which, of course, was nothing personal—“

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“A man tries to kill me, it’s personal enough.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“It isn’t you, Mr. Jeter, it’s what you know.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

The enormity of Vera’s speculation rolled over him like a wintry ocean wave.

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“What I know,” he said, “is exactly what you wanted me to know.”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Yes, but I thought…”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“Thought what?”

montes, sit euismod malesuada. tincidunt lacus quam, diam scelerisque penatibus sit penatibus elit. Mauris eu et magnis ac nulla. ut parturient amet, Cum

“That Kevin would come to me with a new deal.”","page":"412","last":"","id":"1294","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

fermentum est hendrerit. Ut enim gravida magna blandit sodales Pellentesque venenatis ipsum hendrerit. Ut vehicula venenatis ipsum quis adipiscing Lorem nulla. lobortis lobortis lacus malesuada. Proin in enim venenatis consectetur

He turned his head to look at her and ask, “What is your game, Vera? Exactly?”

“My game, Mr. Jeter, is to get that property back from Kevin. He cheated me. I agreed to give him a share of my father’s estate. Kevin hid its true worth from me.”

“The Barry Brothers’ offer. So it’s about the money.”

“It is about fulfilling my father’s request to establish a scholarship fund, as I told you, Mr. Jeter.”

“Well, you’ve certainly waited a long time to get around to honoring your father’s last wishes.”

“Yes. Too long. But now -- thanks to you -- I still have a chance.”

“Scholarships are a good thing, of course. But these memorial scholarships that give out a thousand, maybe fifteen-hundred bucks, don’t really seem to help much.”

“Frankly, Mr. Jeter, that property is worth a lot of money. We could do better.”

“You mean you’re going to pursue the deal with the Barry Brothers?”

“If the agreement is good, why not?” Vera retorted. “What do you think I should do, Mr. Jeter? Retreat from the world, hide from the dirt and dishonesty?”

Jeter thought a moment and said, “All right, Vera, I’ll keep playing my part, but I want something in return.”

“What?”

“Information. How did you learn about Salley’s whereabouts the night of the fire?”

Her face fell a little. “If that’s what you want,” she said. “If you have to know, I’ll tell you.”

***

Ginny’s Joint, South Plymouth

Jeter got to the restaurant at four in the afternoon. He figured it’d be dead enough that the manager could spare a few minutes for an unexpected visitor.

“Mr. Salley may not have time to see you,” said Amy, the assistant manager.

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mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Maybe he will,” Jeter said, smiling insincerely. “Tell him it’s about his friend Merrill Sellers. His old friend Merrill.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Wait a minute, I’ll check.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

Amy trotted off. Jeter headed to the bar, a.k.a., the lounge, where he sat at a table against the back wall, and took from a coat pocket a folded copy of the sports’ section from Sunday’s newspaper opened to the team and individual statistics for all of the teams in the NFL. He read the punting averages, wondered, who are these people?

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

Six-seven minutes later, sooner than expected, Jeter looked up to see a clean-shaven fiftyish man with a thick upper body approach the table.

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

The restauranteur’s silvering hair was carefully coiffed. He smelled of cologne. He was dressed far too well to be of much help around the kitchen. But, in Jeter’s opinion, he lacked true big-shot sangfroid. Salley was playing the role of the man wearing aftershave, flush with wannabe wealth. But a poor first impression, Jeter reminded himself, did not convict the fellow of doing something nasty in Building Two.

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

The busy man did not choose to sit. Jeter stood and introduced himself.

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Maurice Jeter, I’m a writer for Tide Lines,” he said. “We’re a new regional magazine.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Jeter, and this Time Lines of yours?” Salley responded curtly. “We’re getting ready for dinner here. I’ve only got a few minutes.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

Jeter’s pulse raced. He had heard that voice before. Just once, very briefly. It was enough.

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“My editor is quite interested in your plans for a new restaurant and function hall. He likes to think of it as the South Shore’s new pleasure dome.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

Salley gave his visitor an appraising stare, decided he was on the level, and sat down across the table from him. Jeter listened with a look of concentration, scratching an illegible note or two in his notebook, as Salley waxed faux-lyrical about his plans for Ginny’s successor business. The architect, he said, specialized in wrapping a building around a water view.

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Water view?” Jeter inquired, politely curious.

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Yeah. We’ll be digging a pond. And putting in some fountains. It’s gonna be stunning.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Uh-huh. And will the new place be called Ginny’s or something else?”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“I’ll probably name it after someone in the family. Maryanne’s, maybe. Or Mindy’s.” Salley shrugged. “Plenty of time for those kinds of details.”

mus. sociis nibh ac eros amet, nisi tincidunt Quisque elit. egestas. vestibulum Cum quis Ut

“Maryanne is?”","page":"414","last":"","id":"1296","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“My mother.”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

Jeter did not ask about the other name -- deeply saddened but not surprised to hear Salley say it.

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Sounds like you’re sparing no expense,” Jeter said. “Where’s the money coming from? Investors? Loans?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Money’s not a problem,” Sellers scoffed. “I could walk into any bank in the county, in the state, in any state, and get whatever I want. So maybe you’re not keeping up with the real estate market. Listen. The banks are throwing money at people, and not just guys like me. I tell you the banks are writing paper as fast as they can, based on practically nothing.”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Yeah?” Jeter looked up.

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Seriously. Let me give you a tip. If you’ve got a piece of property, you might want to look into it. You want to make it bigger, upgrade, trade up, the banks can’t wait to give you the money. Anywhere in the region, South Shore, North Shore. The whole East Coast! They write the notes then pass them on to someone else and everybody makes a piece. It’s crazy!”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

It sounded crazy. Jeter scribbled some more then said, “What about the ownership question?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

Salley checked the room -- was anyone listening?

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Is your title clear?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Of course. This place has been in the family for decades.”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

Jeter began to write.

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Hey!” Salley protested. “This is all off the record!”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

Jeter closed his notebook. “In the family, you said. You mean your wife’s family, right? I understand you’re getting the restaurant as part of a divorce settlement.”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“What’s my divorce got to do with anything?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“The property was your wife’s--”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Jesus!” Salley interrupted. “Jesus fucking Christ! Did Vera send you?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

Jeter shrugged. “Does it matter? Why should it?”

sed ridiculus Proin diam ante. convallis imperdiet ac venenatis nascetur justo

“Okay,” Sally muttered. “Let’s stop playing around. What have you got?”

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erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“I think you know,” Jeter said, his voice lower, too. “Ginny’s and all the Blaine estate never legally belonged to your wife, or her mother. It should have passed to Tom Blaine’s true heirs in the absence of a valid marriage to Vera’s mother, Helene. Legally it belongs to them.”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“Where’d you hear that?”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“Public records.” He smiled like a poker player with a winning hand. “A marriage certificate. I’ve seen it.”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

The bitch. Salley swore under his breath. Vera must have sent him. It was the same story Merrill was selling, and the only person who could have told Merrill was Vera.

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“All right,” Salley said. “How much is this going to cost me?”

***

Driscoll’s Restaurant, Plymouth Harbor

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

He had phoned and asked -- no -- told her to meet him in Driscoll’s. When she asked why, he said he’d explain when she got there. When she said he was scaring her, he said he was scared, too. And yes, he told her, you could say it was important.

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

Jeter would have bet she wouldn’t come, but here she was, looking sort of thrown together in a dark-blue jersey pulled over slacks, a long, black wool coat, a small red bag, as if she had decided to show at the last minute.

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

He stood as she neared his table, maybe to invite a minor physical gesture of greeting, but she sat down at once, her coat brushing the floor, her pale, round features softer than he remembered, a little puffy about the eyes. A cold? From crying? Well hell, if Mindy appeared or behaved less friendly and charming than she used to, wasn’t that what he wanted? To be disenchanted?

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

The waitress arrived with another beer and the gin and tonic he’d pre-ordered for Mindy, her usual, last he knew. She accepted it without comment. The waitress left them alone.

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“It was no wild coincidence was it?” Jeter said.

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“What?”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“My running into you that time at Ginny’s.”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“What do you mean?”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

“It wasn’t some great stroke of luck because you were there a lot. Maybe not every night, but almost.”

erat, mauris Fusce justo malesuada. Ut vehicula convallis venenatis Etiam malesuada. tincidunt Mauris magnis elit. elit in in eros quam quam quam, ipsum blandit ac elit faucibus magna Proin ac

Mindy peered at him with sleepy, slotted eyes -- a look he’d always liked -- and played with the stirrer in her drink.

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magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

Tired of waiting, he said, “Okay, tell you what, I’ll start. So, what do I know and how do I know it? Well first, that night at Ginny’s, you told me you were Vera’s friend. Good luck for me, right? You said you’d call and did. And Vera got right back to me. Though not with the story I wanted, the easy-cheesy story of too much second-hand smoke in the meatballs.”

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

Mindy stared at her drink.

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

“Anyway, after Vera and I had our little chat I followed up with you by phone. I called to ask what was really wrong with Vera’s health and again thought you were very accommodating. Anything for the so-called story I was pretending to write. But from what you told me about your great friend, Vera looked a little silly, like a self-dramatizing woman out for revenge against her ex-husband, like she wasn’t worth the time of a crackerjack, smart-ass reporter after all.”

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

Jeter stopped to give Mindy a chance to look up from chasing ice cubes in her glass so he could gauge whether she was beginning to hate him, which, under the circumstances, would come as no surprise.

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

“So then I asked myself,” he went on as she poked at the cubes. “Who would want to make Vera look silly? Did Vera have any enemies? Well, she was getting divorced, a process with a reputation for breeding nasty disagreements, especially when property and money are involved. So I turned my attention to Kevin Salley.” He paused. No reaction. “And you know? It seemed quite possible that their falling out over Ginny’s was less about smoking and more about money… And maybe something, or someone else, too.”

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

The “someone else” seated across from him appeared to have turned to stone. What a way you have with the ladies, Jeter silently congratulated himself.

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

“At that point, I wondered when Vera realized that you weren’t her friend as much as you were Kevin’s. Sometime after the night you and I ran into each other at Ginny’s -- maybe soon after -- Vera learned you were the reason Kevin didn’t want her at the restaurant anymore. And then…and I’m guessing now because I really have nothing to back this up except an undoubtedly mistaken sense that I sort of knew you…you may have felt you owed Vera something, a straight answer, maybe. So that’s what you gave her when she called out of the blue with a personal question, though why you would answer that of all possible questions is certainly beyond me.”

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

Jeter let the statement hang. They sat in silence for a time.

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

Mindy looked up from her drink, her dark eyes mere slits. “And I was hoping you asked me here to talk about old times,” she said in a soft, worn voice, and with a ghost of a smile.

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

Gallows humor. Jeter admired the attempt.

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

“No,” he said. “We did that last time. We have other things to talk about tonight.”

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

“Do we have to?”

magnis erat, ornare ornare lacus Proin sit scelerisque vitae hendrerit. sagittis Proin sed

“Yes. Because there are things I don’t understand. For instance, when Vera asked

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where Kevin was the night of the fire, you told her, his wife, the truth. You said you didn’t know where, but that he’d been out all night. Why, of all things, did you tell her something that could quite conceivably cause a lot of trouble for Kevin?”

et Etiam eu fermentum convallis tincidunt quam, sed dui. dis nulla. adipiscing mi Proin elit. hendrerit dis Nulla nulla. venenatis vestibulum elit vitae malesuada. amet, adipiscing quam vitae malesuada. Quisque

“Guilt, maybe,” Mindy said, “for what I had done to her.”

“You and Vera were friends once.”

“Yes, when I started to work there,” she said, leaning forward. “It was a second job, weekend nights mostly, back when Vera was still helping to run the restaurant.”

“With Kevin.”

“Yes, Kevin was always there. I liked it. It was a change from the office. It may sound trite, but I enjoyed the teamwork. You either learned to work together or had hungry people in your face. And, working together, Vera and Kevin were the brains of the machine. I admired that about them.”

Jeter refrained from pointing out where that admiration had led.

She made a face, a tacit acknowledgment.

“I was alone,” she said. “Tim and I had broken up. I thought helping to run a busy place like Ginny’s was something to aspire to.”

“But to achieve that aspiration, you had to take Vera’s place,” Jeter remarked.

She leaned back in her chair. “I said I feel guilty, Mo. Do you want me to apologize?”

To me? Jeter wondered, but let the question drop.

“What happened when Vera found out?”

“She stopped coming to the restaurant.”

“Why did you call her for me? Really?”

“For her sake. I thought she needed something else to think about. And she’d told me about the cop in her family who’d been killed. Vera called it her ‘family mystery.’”

“Yeah, and what Vera actually wanted was for me to write something that would spoil Kevin’s game. And by that I mean his big payday with the Barry Brothers. You knew about that, didn’t you, Mindy?”

Her expression indicated she did.

“I’m not surprised,” she said.

“About what?”

","page":"418","last":"","id":"1300","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

“About what Vera wanted to do.”

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

“You mean to wreck Kevin’s deal?”

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

“I know how much she wanted to get back at him…”

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

Her bitter tone surprised him, the slight, almost private emphasis: “I know how much she wanted to get back at him…”

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

Puffy eyes… Hell! Mindy didn’t have a cold, she’d been crying. The night of the fire obviously wasn’t the only night Kevin hadn’t come home to her. Mindy knew just how Vera felt, and wanted a piece of Salley’s sorry hide, too. Yup, Jeter thought, poor Mr. Big had betrayed one woman too many.

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

Jeter looked at Mindy, light-brown hair falling over her forehead, eyes mostly closed. Looking for the woman he used to think he knew who’d attracted him with her private airs and high cheekbones, and a mind that worked at times like his, in a cynical way.

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

“So now,” she whispered, “you know everything.”

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

And how could she forgive him for that?

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

“Not quite,” he said. “I don’t know what you want. Now that you’ve put his ass in a sling, are you going to turn around and try to save him?”

***

Rocky Nook, Kingston

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

He followed a winding road to Kevin Salley’s so-called cottage nestled with other expensive homes among thickly treed plots by the shore on the narrow bayside shingle of Rocky Nook. A few lights glowed from the house’s interior, a faux gas lamp lit the narrow car park, and a spotlight played on a raised deck overlooking the bay. Look for the spotlight, Salley had said.

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

Jeter had been to the police to present Salley’s offer to pay for his silence as evidence of guilt in Merrill Sellers’ death, and been told by Karen Hayes and Detective Burns that the connection between a bribe offer and burning down a building to eliminate Sellers was merely hypothetical. So Jeter had agreed to wear a hidden microphone into this second meeting when the cash would be passed, during which he hoped to create an opportunity for Salley to betray himself as the man responsible for Merrill’s death.

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

Salley appeared in the front door, watched as Jeter parked next to his car in a tight space under the deck, held the door for him, and followed his guest into the house, a single-elevated story, and empty except for them. He wore an enormous sports coat that hung on his broad trunk like a sack. The only loose thing about him, Jeter thought. Visibly tenser than at the restaurant, dark shadows under his eyes, Salley muttered something about needing a drink, and grudgingly offered to pour a scotch for Jeter as well.

lobortis diam venenatis erat, blandit Lorem adipiscing enim dui. vitae Cum tincidunt blandit eu dis mus. nulla. et Sed justo

“Nice place,” Jeter said, crossing to the bay window for a better view, though he could see nothing beyond the darkened glass. “Right on the water.”

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gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“You like it?” Salley said, handing him a glass.

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Hard not to.”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

Salley grunted. “You should have my mortgage. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of selling. What do you think the place is worth?”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Don’t know,” Jeter replied. “Not really my line.”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

For the next few minutes, they small-talked amateur real estate, the subject of Tide Lines’ most popular column, “What’s Your House Worth Today?” by local sales hustler Harvey Heap, the column’s success proof that the magazine’s demographic really cared about market value -- that, and scandal, and the occasional crime. Knowing this, and that the death of a local shop owner in a suspicious fire had made the cut but didn’t top the list, Jeter made a mental note to work the cottage’s waterfront view into his account of Salley’s arrest.

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

The idle chit-chat began to wear on his nerves. Jeter switched gears.

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“How is it that nobody ever stumbled across this stuff about Vera’s parents before? It’s all in the records.”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

Salley’s face reddened. “Yeah, well someone did. And he met with an unfortunate accident.”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Merrill Sellers?” This was better. “I heard he was a friend of yours.”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

Salley scowled. “He was…sort of…a long time ago.”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Poor guy,” Jeter persisted, “getting it like that. Was it really an accident?”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“How would I know? Why’d you bring this stuff up, anyway?”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

Jeter shrugged. “I thought you said--“

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Let’s stick to what we’re here for,” Salley grumbled.

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

Maybe this was enough, thought Jeter. The talk about Merrill’s suffering an accident after discovering the problem with Salley’s title to Ginny’s would certainly take some explaining. He hoped the surveillance equipment was working and Captain Hayes and a couple of burly cops were glued to it somewhere close by.

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Fine,” Jeter said. “You ready to talk business?”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

Salley frowned. “Your being a reporter is a problem for me. If we make a deal, how do I know it won’t be all over the papers?”

gravida Mauris ridiculus tristique egestas. Ut sodales Proin hendrerit. justo justo Etiam justo erat venenatis justo eu ut sit blandit sagittis Nulla magnis magna

“Simple. If we make a deal, why would I louse up my own best interest by spreading it in the papers? I’m here for me, not my employer. So look, do we have a deal or not? I keep quiet about what I know in exchange for a little piece of change from you.”","page":"420","last":"","id":"1302","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

venenatis hendrerit. convallis nascetur consectetur nascetur venenatis hendrerit. augue. justo gravida sagittis mus. Ut malesuada. Sed dis ipsum quis fermentum in elit. mauris adipiscing gravida nec euismod eu augue. Pellentesque

“Little?” Salley shook his head. “But yeah, we’ve got a deal. Five thousand. But I don’t have it all tonight. I have some of it…in cash.”

Salley abruptly crossed the room to the glass slider that opened to his deck.

Jeter had demanded twenty thousand. A small-fry price, considering what the Barry Brothers were willing to pay for the ninety acres. Should he object to the five -- for credibility’s sake?

“C’mon,” Salley said, hand on the slider.

“Where are we going?”

Salley slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the deck into the shadows. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll get you the cash I have on hand.”

“You keep your money outdoors?”

Outdoors! Did I say it loud enough? Are they getting this?

“Yeah, in a safe place. Hey, what’s the matter? A little fresh air won’t hurt you. You don’t think I keep twenty grand lying around the house?”

Twenty? It was five a minute ago.

“I thought you said you didn’t have the cash.”

“I’ve got six thousand,” Salley replied. “You want it or not? I can do the rest next month, after the holidays, if business stays good.”

Jeter hesitated, thinking, is this simply Salley’s plan to low-ball me?

“Christ! You coming or not?” Salley shouted. “The heat’s flying out the damn door!”

“Yeah…sure…okay.”

Jeter walked to the wooden deck overlooking the bay’s dark water. Something in the atmospherics, in Salley’s blatant bullying, felt bad.

“C’mon,” Salley said. “I keep the money in a locked box under the deck.”

“You get it. I’ll wait here.”

Silence. A hole of sickness opened in the pit of Jeter’s stomach.

“If that’s okay,” he said.

Salley removed a handgun from the inside pocket of the sports coat. “It’s not okay,” Salley said, sounding as if a part of him was relieved that the indecision and play-acting were over. “Now get down those stairs, whether you want to or not.”","page":"421","last":"","id":"1303","security":"","cookie":"","device":""},{"content":"

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

Jeter stared at the gun. He knew little about guns, but this one looked real. Stupid! Too smart for your own good! Had to stick your neck out! Jesus!

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“Put away the gun, Salley,” he said, praying the blue-coats were listening carefully.

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

Salley wagged the gun barrel toward the stairs.

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“Look,” Jeter said. “Let’s forget this whole business. I’ll go away. You won’t hear from me again.” He swallowed to wet his throat. “Just put away the gun.”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“Walk down those stairs,” said Salley in a calm, matter-of-fact voice that angered and terrified Jeter. “You go first, nice and easy. I’ll be right behind you.”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

Jeter resisted the urge to double over and wretch. Panic forced the question, should he tell Salley the cops were listening?

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“I don’t like the sound of this,” he stalled. C’mon! C’mon! Think!

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“I don’t care what you like. Get going.”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“What’s the gun for, Salley?”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“Shut up and move!”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“Why? Afraid you’ll have to shoot me here and get blood all over your nice new deck?” Fool! Idiot!

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

Salley waggled the gun. “Don’t tempt me. Down!”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

Jeter’s knees wobbled as he grabbed the railing, turned, and backed down the first step in the short, steep, wooden stairway, his eyes locked on the hand holding the gun. Would he reach the bottom? Would he hear the shot if a bullet took him in the head?

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“What are you planning to do?” he heard himself yell. “Shoot me for a few thousand dollars? Is that what you’re about, Salley? I never could understand what made a small-time, know-nothing pig like you tick! What are you going to do with the Barry Brothers’ money? Buy a bigger cottage? Jesus, what a laugh! All that money and you’ll still be the same shithead who double-crossed Vera Blaine and torched a building with an old friend inside just to keep a lid on your swindle!”

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

“Get down the stairs you stupid fuck before I shoot you where you are!” Salley bellowed.

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

A reasonable threat, but Jeter was beyond reason. He imagined himself stumbling down the rest of the stairway and scrambling on hands and knees for refuge underneath the deck. Shot in the back, he’d cower amid cement-footed wooden posts in the cold and dark. That would be the finishing touch, left to bleed to death in the mud beneath a summer-fun, waterside deck, lying there with the old screens and half-empty paint cans.

justo Proin magnis enim amet diam augue. parturient mauris et consectetur est eu euismod erat Pellentesque ipsum tristique justo pellentesque. Proin tristique penatibus

Who would have to identify the corpse? The Beckers? His mother?

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tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

When his feet touched the sandy ground at the bottom of the stairs, a surprisingly dark place, he was roughly shoved to the side and heard Karen Hayes shout, “Down!”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Obeying, flopping on the cold ground but still breathing, Jeter watched as she aimed her handgun up, and heard her order Salley to drop the gun and get down on the floor.

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Footsteps pounded the deck overhead. Voices shouted. Cop voices. The same message. “The gun down! Get down!”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Salley’s plaintive voice, “What’s going on, officers? I thought I heard a noise. A prowler.”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Jeter listened as Salley literally hit the deck, dropping first to his knees then splaying his heavy body flat out, loudly protesting as two officers took his gun and briskly cuffed him.

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Jeter got to his feet as Karen stomped up the stairs to join her colleagues. Salley’s voice a high whine now. Karen’s drowning it out with a formal intonation of the Miranda rights. Jeter wanted a look at Salley. The man had aimed a gun at him with the intention of either shooting or scaring him to death. What would he see in his face? Animal panic? The deviously set features of a cagey criminal trying to brazen things out?

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Jeter stepped onto the first stair. Karen swung around and, pointing at him, shouted, “You! Stay where you are until I come for you!” Jeter stepped down. Mingled voices. Karen’s. Salley’s phony protests: “Really officer, is this necessary? I’m the victim here.” The commands of the two male officers marching Salley through his house, one of them coming back to look over the house and deck with Karen.

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Jeter waited in the shadows. The panic of his heart and nerves gradually eased. Compliant, doing exactly as told, his whole body tingled. He was happy to be alive.

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

“I think you just saved my life,” he said when Karen came down the stairs to fetch him. “Thanks.”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

She did not appear to register his gratitude. For that matter, she did not appear to be the same person who not long ago had given him information, teased him, phoned to call in the favors he owed her, and snuggled with him after duty on his couch.

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

“You were listening, right?” he asked. “Did you get enough?”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

“No weapons permit,” she responded, her manner maddeningly understated, exasperatingly, as if she arrested suspects at gun point and saved lives every damn night. “I checked that. So we know we got him on something.”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

“Something!” Jeter exclaimed. “Jesus! You’ve got him on a lot more than that, I hope!”

tincidunt et blandit sit Proin Nulla elit venenatis ante. amet, augue. nisl. et

Captain Hayes shrugged. “If you’ll follow me in your car to the station, Mr. Jeter, we’ll take off the wire.”

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sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

Keeping everything under her hat, he concluded. All part of the deal. He had worn a wire for the police in large measure to earn get-out-of-jail cards for potential trespass charges against him and the Beckers and more importantly for Ike, who would not need to testify to seeing someone who looked like Salley walk away from the building. That was their deal. It was, apparently, the only deal left between them.

***

January, 2001, Boston

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

Ike made sandwiches all day; sometimes salads instead. He chopped onions and peeled potatoes. He smelled of food at the end of the day, or rather of the overripe produce, industrial germ-killers, and wet soapy vapor exhaled by huge dishwashing machines at his place of work.

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

It was not the life he intended when he plucked an innocent girl from her village, a village without a school or clinic, and persuaded her to go with him to America, where his dream of studying to become a doctor relied on the good fortune and generous offer of sponsorship by a well-situated cousin. Unfortunately, his cousin, a salesman of pharmaceuticals and other products to hospitals, had hurriedly departed for an unknown destination in California.

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“And so,” Ike remarked to his wife that evening, “I am no better than those who work beside me in the kitchen. The tall colored man from Alabama, and the little girls from islands in a part of the world I do not know. I am forced to do anything to keep the wolf from the door.”

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“Wolf?” Eissa said. “There is no wolf here. For that you must go to Russia. Do you wish to live in Russia now?”

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“There is a Russian man who works at the hotel,” Ike replied. “His hair is thick and dark, but I do not think he is a wolf. He carries the luggage to the rooms. A man from Bosnia does that as well.”

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“And two from the island of Jamaica,” Eissa said. “You have told me this already. And the women from the DR, who you say are young and very beautiful.”

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“I did not say ‘very,’” Ike objected.

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

She lifted her chin and showed him her profile. She was chopping vegetables for a stew. Ike appreciated this. It was a relief to come home from work in a hotel kitchen and find her preparing a meal.

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“But this wolf,” Ike said. “It reminds me of Vanzetti.”

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“Ah,” she said resignedly, “of this I am not surprised. Ever since this man entered your mind, I am jealous. I think he has won your heart away from me.”

sit vestibulum euismod justo amet, faucibus eu gravida ante. Quisque dui. sodales hendrerit. parturient convallis blandit ante. Etiam imperdiet in mi ridiculus justo Proin Fusce Proin venenatis sit

“But, dearest, he is dead. Many years.”

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mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“And Vanzetti too worried over wolves?” she asked slyly.

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

Ike smiled. “You remind me of my own thought.” He closed his eyes to picture the words on the page of the book Mill had loaned him. “Vanzetti wrote, ’Your great prophet Jefferson used these very words himself when he spoke of the kings of Europe who have divided their nations into two classes, the wolves and the sheeps.’”

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“A prophet? I thought this man you so admire did not believe in the prophets?”

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“Well...a different sort of prophet.”

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“I see.”

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“Do you also see that I will be the prophet now? I have told you that I must speak of the union to the men and women who labor beside me, yes?”

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“Yes.” Eissa stopped her chopping and looked at him.

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

He had hesitated to tell her the truth of how he was living his life. That he had not simply lost his job and gained another somewhere else, but that he now performed an altogether different and much riskier sort of work. He had feared she would reproach him, so was pleased when she appeared to take pride in this new committed life of his.

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“I must tell you what may happen now, because of what I do,” he said, drying his hands on a dish towel and turning to face her. “The more people I talk to, the more chances I have taken that one of these poor frightened people will go the bosses, seeking to earn favor for themselves by betraying me. And when that day happens, uniformed men will come to this house to seize and send me back to Ghana.”

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

Eissa nodded and resumed her chopping, her stronger and surer strokes making the glassware in the cupboard tinkle.

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

“When these men in uniform come for you,” she said, lifting the cleaver, “we will face them together.”

***

January 2001, Morton Park, Plymouth

mauris diam amet nec nascetur ornare sed Mauris in justo justo

Jeter smelled spring in the air. What he actually smelled was the January thaw because spring was still months away. The scent, mud and rotting vegetation, reminded him of one of the chief features of a New England winter: sensory deprivation. The earth froze, there was nothing to smell. The color drained from the landscape, the birds were too cold to sing. Picked before ripe for shipping from California or South America, the fruit was too hard or sour to eat. No wonder people got weird in this climate; grew cabin feverish in

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front of TVs; and spent money they didn’t have on a state-owned gambling racket that cynically preyed on poor people. According to the calendar, winter had officially begun just two weeks before. It was not spring Jeter smelled, merely a temporary spike in the air temperature. So, he had a lot more time to get funny.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Item: Merrill Sellers lost his life chasing some document without proof that it still existed if it ever did. Kevin Salley set fire to a building to eliminate a perceived threat to his dreams of wealth and power that hinged on his plan to cheat a wronged woman out of her money. An overweight reporter desperate for a story embarked on a fool’s errand of trying to solve a fifty-year-old murder then somehow stumbled onto the solution before fecklessly endangering his life.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Salley, he learned, had retained local murder lawyer Jared Petty, a courtroom theatrics type who had never met a client he couldn’t paint with lipstick and teach to oink. In Jeter’s opinion, seeking representation by Petty was like advertising you were guilty of a major felony and hoping bells and whistles would get you off. His publisher was delighted. A high-profile murder trial promised weeks of stories. If Jeter was summoned to testify, his publisher’s only concern was to assign someone to officially cover the trial while Jeter wrote first-person reports of what it was like to be called to the witness box with the whole state watching.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Jeter had more modest goals. He allowed himself a week, a cooling off period before picking up a phone to call Mindy, seven whole days of contemplating what to say. The possibilities:

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

One, that he understood how upsetting it must have been to have someone she cared about, or had cared about, arrested on serious felony charges, among them, threatening an unarmed individual with deadly force, though Jeter, of course, had been the unarmed individual in question, and Mindy the source for the information that set the investigation of Kevin Salley in motion.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Two, that he understood and sympathized with how sorry she must feel for poor Kevin, though his near-victim had recently sprawled with his face in the mud expecting at any moment to be shot in the ass by Salley’s unregistered firearm.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Three, that he had sacrificed a cozy if hardly sizzling relationship with a reasonably personable and highly useful police captain, because he couldn’t get someone else out of his mind…guess who.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Four, that he would use his influence with the police as a cooperating witness to keep her name out of the newspapers and off the TV screens if a murder charge against Salley for the death of Merrill Sellers appeared headed for trial, though, frankly, in that eventuality it would probably prove impossible.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

So there was his game plan, though it was hard to see how any of these declarations would move him significantly closer to the neighborhood of Mindy’s true affections, the one place he really wanted to be.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

And so, delaying the inevitable, Jeter took his sensitive soul and expanded waistline to Morton Park to rededicate himself to his annual post-holiday, New Year’s Resolution, cold-weather-exercise program. He ran, sort of, somewhere between a jog and a limp. He listened. Where was his spiritual adviser, Owl? He inhaled through his nose the thawing of the winter mud.

sit mus. et sed hendrerit. imperdiet sit Nulla egestas. penatibus blandit Quisque ut ac justo ridiculus dis quis ridiculus ornare quam, pellentesque. lobortis

Out of breath, perspiring in his sweats from his rumble among the trees in mid-forty degree weather, he slowed to a walk near the unofficial parking area beside Little Pond where he’d left his Honda, and was surprised to see another car parked next to it.

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