Carmella Commands
taunting her mother with different ways and manners, because this was America—the America of the young.
In one blinding instant she thought to ask Tommaso—but no!—Tommaso had never beaten her—he was a good husband, whom she loved—he would rage if she should ask him to give up all he had won here of money and of business, and go back—back to the land of their own language.
Here, finally, had come the crisis of authority. It was not proper that Carmella should wear her school dress. Yet Carmella demanded.
Maria knew it as a crisis, clean and clear, like a vision.
Carmella sensed it doubtfully, half wonderingly. She sensed that between herself and whatever America might mean to her, there was now only her father as a barrier.
“I shall wear the school dress or I shall not go,” she said calmly. “I shall not be made silly. It is proper, in America.”
That phrase again! Maria felt herself beaten by a phrase. Her mind turned to little Enrico. Aha! Enrico, the dear baby boy. Such a willful baby, he! But he was born in America. She had heard them say that he could become President of the United States, because he was born in this country. What magic was there in this country, anyway? Magic that somehow she had missed. Was not a President something like
[72]
