LITMIR.BIZ

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Mrs. Connally admonished, but her tone was good-natured, as if the chaos was normal. She turned to me. “Why don’t you sit here next to me where these little rascals can’t bother you.”

      “Thank you.” I slid into the chair Mrs. Connally indicated, then looked hopefully at the empty seat next to mine. But Charlie dropped down between the twins on the other side of the table.

      Mrs. Connally passed me a plate of sliced tomato. “We just bought these at a farmer’s stand on the way into town.” The piece I took was warm. Biting into it, I was taken back to sun-soaked holiday afternoons at the cottage outside Trieste, filling our baskets with tomatoes off the vine for Nonna to make her thick sauce.

      Mrs. Connally handed around the platter of sandwiches and glasses of milk. The kitchen turned quiet as the boys attacked their lunches. Each of them ate differently. Charlie wolfed his meal down in great bites, barely pausing between mouthfuls to breathe or speak. Jack was meticulous, as if auditioning for a part. Liam sat back and nibbled disinterestedly, while Robbie played with his food just shy of irritating his mother. I ate carefully, taking care not to leave crumbs.

      From where I sat at the kitchen table, I could see that the house was a bit down-at-heels, the paint peeling and woodwork worn. “It’s been in my family for generations,” Mrs. Connally said, seeming to notice. “It’s a lot to keep up, but I couldn’t bear to sell it.”

      “We live in South Philadelphia back home,” Jack offered between bites.

      “We do, too, I think. Fifth and Porter,” I said, repeating the location I’d heard from Aunt Bess.

      “That’s the Jewish neighborhood,” Liam observed.

      “Liam, mind your manners,” his mother cautioned.

      “Is it true that Jews don’t believe in Jesus?” Robbie asked. I nodded. His eyes widened with disbelief. “We’re Catholic.”

      “Sort of,” Charlie corrected. “Dad is, and we go to church sometimes. But Mom is a Quaker.”

      “What’s that?”

      “It’s just a different kind of church,” Mrs. Connally replied. “And we Quakers are pacifists, which means we don’t believe in fighting or war.” Still not fully understanding, I made a note to look up the words later.

      “Is that why you don’t want America to help stop Germany?” Charlie asked his mother. His voice was rich and resonant. “Because you’re a pacifist?”

      “Partly, I suppose. Mostly it’s because I have four sons.” My heart sank. I had heard such talk at the drugstore and among Aunt Bess’s friends. Back in Italy, I’d just assumed that the Americans would come and help stop the Germans, that it was only a matter of time. How could they not? But here people spoke of the war as though it were unreal, a book or movie, or simply someone else’s problem.

      “We live about ten blocks from you,” Jack said. I turned to him, grateful for the return to an easier subject.

      “You’ll attend high school in the fall?” Mrs. Connally asked me.

      “Ugh, only Mom would ruin a perfectly good lunch with the S word.” Liam ducked as his mother swiped at him playfully, then tried to wipe mustard from the corner of his mouth.

      “At South Philadelphia High School, I think.”

      “It’s called Southern,” Liam corrected disdainfully.

      “Us, too,” Jack chimed in. “Charlie’s gonna be quarterback of the football team.”

      Charlie shrugged and waved his hand. “We don’t know that yet.”

      “Naw, unless Tommy Thompson decides to stroll down from Eagles’ practice and try out, I think you’re in like Flynn.” I smiled, trying to look as if I understood.

      When the food was gone, I stood to help Mrs. Connally clear the plates, then returned to the table. She passed each of us a miniature Hershey’s bar. I stared in disbelief. Aunt Bess’s idea of a treat were the cookies she’d brought from the kosher bakery in the city, dry even before they had gone stale. I had not had chocolate since coming to America. “Thank you.” I tore off the paper and popped the whole thing in my mouth. Sugar rushed through me, heating my blood.

      “You kids go on back outside while I clean up and unpack a bit more.” The boys pushed back their chairs from the table and started for the door.

      Outside, Robbie held a baseball bat he had pulled from one of the boxes. “Wanna play?”

      “She’s a girl,” Liam sneered derisively.

      I bristled. What was his problem? “Sure.” In truth I’d never played before, but I wasn’t about to admit it to him. The bat I took from Robbie felt strange and cumbersome in my hands.

      “Here.” Charlie walked over and adjusted my hands, his fingers pressing warm on my own. Jack threw the ball in my direction, soft and slow. I swung and then released, putting all of my weight behind the movement as the bat made contact with the ball. It sailed high into the yard on the far side of the Connally house and there was a sudden crash, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

      I dropped the bat. Everyone froze. “Uh-oh,” Robbie said. His jaw dropped.

      A man came around the fence angrily holding the ball. “Who broke my car window?”

      I hesitated, trembling. “I did,” a voice behind me said. I turned, surprised to see Liam stepping forward before I could speak.

      Mrs. Connally burst through the door. “Liam, how could you? I’ve warned you boys about playing ball by the houses.” She reached into the pocket of her dress as she walked toward the man. “Mr. Steiner, I’m so sorry,” she said, handing him some dollar bills. “This should cover it.” The man took the money and walked off with a harrumph. Mrs. Connally turned back to Liam, hands on hips. “You are grounded and no allowance until you earn back what I just gave Mr. Steiner.” She stormed back into the house.

      I turned to Liam. “You took the blame for me.”

      He shrugged. “People expect me to get in trouble. No one would believe it was a girl who hit that far anyway.”

      I opened my mouth to issue a retort and then thought better of it. “Thank you.” But he just stomped off around the side of the house.

      I walked to the door of the Connally house and knocked softly. “Ma’am?”

      Mrs. Connally knelt over a box, unpacking clothes. “Come in, dear.”

      “It was me who hit the ball and broke the window.” Mrs. Connally looked up, surprised. “Liam was just protecting me.”

      Mrs. Connally straightened. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

      I looked away. “I know I should have. I’m sorry. But I is, I mean was, was afraid.”

      “Afraid of what?”

      I swallowed. “That they would send me back.” Something had changed in the past few weeks, I realized. Though I desperately missed my parents and wished they would join me here, a growing part of me wanted to stay in America—today, having met the Connallys, more than ever.

      “To Europe? Oh, honey.” Mrs. Connally opened her arms and I stepped into them, inhaling the cinnamon smell. “That won’t happen. This is your home now.”

      I relaxed slightly, secretly relieved—and a bit guilty for feeling that way. A moment later, I pulled away. “I should let my aunt know where I am.” Really, Aunt Bess would not be back for hours, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

      “Well, hurry back.” I tilted my head, not understanding. “You’ll go to the beach with us.”

      I faltered. I’d managed to avoid the beach since coming here. Aunt Bess had offered to take me once, but I’d made excuses and, though puzzled, she hadn’t pressed.

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