LITMIR.BIZ

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       Chapter 3

       A SERVANT OF RELIEF

       One

      TO HIDE WAS EVERYTHING. In 1905, in the immediate aftermath of her and Harry’s elopement, Gina could hardly hide from herself, but she took some comfort in being anonymous to others. She didn’t want to face the questions she couldn’t answer, not in Lawrence, nor in Boston.

      Why aren’t you back in school? Why isn’t he working? Why didn’t you have a proper wedding? Where is his family? What happened to all his money? Wasn’t he about to marry someone else?

      When she went to visit her old friend Verity, they barely talked about the past, Verity’s hands full and eyes myopic of the current chaotic present.

      For the most part, Gina could hide from the dreadful things.

      But not all dreadful things.

      To get Verity out of her narrow flat on the fifth floor of a brownstone in Back Bay, Gina had persuaded her friend to leave her four children with her husband and help her with some of the Sodality tasks she volunteered for on the weekends. She took Verity with her to a hospital ward for terminally ill women at Massachusetts General, and then to the Boston Library where they sorted through boxes of donated books. They visited an ice cream shop and finally headed to Holy Lazarus on Clarendon. A soup kitchen had been recently set up in the basement, and on late Saturday afternoons, before evening Mass, Gina would feed the poor. She liked to do it before she received Communion.

      When they had almost finished ladling out the grits and beans and bread, a petite blonde woman and a tall, imperious-looking woman walked in from the back stairs with the parish priest.

      “Oh my God,” whispered Gina to Verity, her hands going numb. “That’s Esther. And Alice!” Frantically she glanced around for a door to escape through, a pantry to hide inside.

      “Who are Esther and Alice?” Verity said in her normal voice.

      “Harry’s sister and his former fiancée!”

      “Oh, of course. That’s why I recognize—”

      “Shh! Look down!”

      Gina couldn’t follow her own advice. Father Gabriel held the blonde’s elbow deferentially, as he showed the two women the meager facilities, the few beds in the corner. He brought them to the food line. Gina thought her insides would fall out. Why did she have to wear a happy floral peasant dress, why was her hair so loosely piled atop her head, falling down, curling all over the place, why did she have to come today of all days? There was a fair by the Charles River that night, she and Verity planned to go there with the kids; still, why couldn’t she have been more tailored, ironed, polished? She lowered her head and continued serving the grits, missing the plates, making a mess, not looking up. They passed right in front of her.

      And stopped.

      Ah, Father Gabriel. Sweet, oblivious, well-meaning Father Gabriel. “Ladies, these two girls are Verity and Gina. They volunteer for us, help us prepare the food, serve it, clean up. Gina especially is very dedicated. She is a Sicilian immigrant and lives thirty miles away in some town near Andover—Gina, where do you live again?—but she’s here every Saturday, helping us. Isn’t that right, Gina?”

      “That’s right, Father.”

      “Look up, child, be polite.”

      Gina couldn’t. All the blood had drained from her face into the heart that was about to fly from her chest.

      “Gina speaks good English, I know she does. What’s your name now? She recently got married and changed her name to something American. I can never remember. What is it?”

      Gina said nothing—as if she could speak! Even Verity next to her mishandled a serving.

      The only sound came from Alice—a sharp intake of a much-needed breath.

      In the crashing heart attack silence of the next few seconds, it was Esther who spoke, never forgetting her impeccable breeding that dictated you must never make a kindly priest feel uncomfortable by keeping silent when a word would do.

      “Barrington,” Esther said, in her ice-cold polite contralto, perhaps foggy on some of the other tenets of her exalted education pertaining to tact. “I believe it is Barrington. Isn’t it?”

      Was that last question addressed to her? Gina couldn’t tell, because she was never lifting her head again as long as she lived.

      Father Gabriel laughed amiably. “No, dearest Esther, I don’t mean your last name. I mean her last name. Girls, these ladies are two of our most generous benefactors. They’re the reason the indigent men have food to eat and a bed to sleep in.”

      “Speaking of somewhere to be, Father,” Alice said, “Esther and I must run. Mustn’t we, Esther?”

      “Oh, Alice, we’re well past the time we must be running. Father, will you please excuse us?”

      “Lord Jesus, have mercy!” cried Verity after the priest and the women had barely walked away.

      “Shh!”

      “I’m going to faint!”

      “You? Verity, shh! Don’t look up, just—”

      When Gina glanced up, Father Gabriel was blessing the two women by the back door.

      Gina watched Alice tie her bonnet under her throat, close her light silk coat. A silk coat, how beautiful, how elegant. Not homespun rough Sicilian cotton, but cream silk. She watched the slender woman’s squared back, her proud shoulders, not a blonde strand out of place. Gina straightened up, certain that before she left, Alice would turn and fix her with a wintry stare. As Esther was doing. Gina steeled her spine, ready for it, deserving it.

      But Alice didn’t. She took her umbrella, smiled at the priest, took Esther’s arm, and vanished through the doors without a single glance back.

      Gina was stunned. Invisible despite her height, insignificant despite her straight stature, humbled by Alice’s mute contempt, she realized Alice’s not turning around was worse than Esther’s blatant confrontation.

      She took off her apron, wiped her hands on a rag. “Excuse me, Verity, I’ll be right back.”

      “Where are you going?”

      “Right back.” Gina ran after Alice.

      What did she want, a Sicilian scene? Did she want Alice to scratch out her eyes, rend her garments, to hue and cry, to stürm und drang? She didn’t know what she wanted.

      She caught up with them, running—ladies didn’t run—a block down Commonwealth, disheveled, shoes muddy, her hair out of place. Alice and Esther stopped walking and stood, arm in arm, Alice in her perfect bonnet, exquisite gloves, and maroon silk scarf that brought out the blondeness of her features. She was a pristine pool of clear water.

      “Alice,” said Gina, panting. “Can I have a word?”

      “Please step away from us,” said Esther, almost touching Gina with the back of her hand as if to swat her away. “We never want to speak to you.”

      It was Alice who stopped Esther. “It’s all right. Excuse us for a moment, Esther. It’ll take but a minute.”

      How Gina wished she were dressed better. At this moment of all moments what she would give not to be judged for her old shoes, a frayed dress two years out of fashion. What she would give for these women not to think that Harry deserved much better.

      “Tell me why you do it,” Alice said.

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