“Famously; a thousand thanks for the machine. All the cotton is made up. The parents now sleep between sheets; we others shall have that luxury soon.”
The Countess and her daughters had worked early and late, making bed linen and underclothes of the cotton cloth sent by our committee. I asked Rosalia if there was any message for Bonanno.
“Tell the Signor Avvocato that we are more fortunate than many—God has sent us friends,” she said. “Would the Signore have the infinite kindness to carry him a little notepaper, of the most miserable kind, a few envelopes? His last letter was written on a bit of paper torn from the wall. I am sure he has done everything—but if he would write to mamina and set her mind at rest—tell her the graves are marked, that she will know in which each of them lies—Nonna, Maddelena, Nina?”
“All this shall be related to the avvocato without fail. Courage, remember, look forward, not back!”
“Altro! It is what I most desire.” Rosalia fought back the tears. We left her, smiling bravely, at her post beside the poor old paralyzed father.
“Did you ever see a handsomer family?” I asked Vera as we walked away. “Rosalia is still fine, the next four are pretty as pinks, the two youngest real beauties. Which is that at the window? I can’t tell them apart.”
“Not since they’ve begun to smile? That’s the youngest, Beatrice—watch for the dimple when she laughs.”
“Wherever did she get that smart toggery?”
“Some of you soft-hearted Americans! She was lovely in her big black hat, the latest fashion. Can any of them do anything to earn money?”
“They could not earn a centesimo among them all. The Count owned a lot of valuable real estate in Messina; they lived on their rents. In the end something surely will be saved; you can’t wipe out real estate. Such pretty girls are sure to marry.”