Carmella Commands
Maria sighed, and as that evening she mended torn clothing the phrase ran through and through her mind. “He has need of me.”
Ten years ago, back in Italy, the sighed-for land, Tommaso had had need of her. He had told her so, with awkward caresses. She wondered, like blind groping in the dark, if he had need of her now, or was conscious of it.
And her children! Did they have need of her? Carmella had not. And Giuseppe, the sunny-eyed, was already beginning to prefer those associates who spoke the language of this drear country. Only the youngest three . . .
And they—ah! Day by day they were growing older and less in need.
In the morning she woke Carmella with the usual difficulty. “Your father⸺” she began, and Carmella bounded from the bed. As Tommaso rose from the breakfast table Carmella dashed in and seized a cup of coffee. He looked doubtfully at his daughter.
“How about school?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m ahead of my class. And I told you last night that Mr. Carroll said that school was only a part. Besides, you promised.”
Tommaso reflected. He did not remember whether or not he had, for he had been half asleep at the time.
“Va bene!” he said. “Come quickly.”
The girl jumped and ran with him, in spite of Maria’s protests.
[189]
