Suddenly Mifalda remembered how she knew the name. The Gasparis were one of the most influential Italian families in New Haven. The grandfather of the clan, Gaetano Gaspari, had had a circuit of vaudeville houses throughout Connecticut and Massachusetts in the early nineteen hundreds. He'd sold them before the Depression—he got out in the nick of time was what Carmine said—so he was very rich, and he'd built a family compound of twelve mansions out on the shore, where he now lived with his grandchildren and his children. His sons owned restaurants, hotels, and several blocks of downtown New Haven, and his daughters all married bigwigs in lavish weddings that were mentioned in the New York society pages. But what did a Gaspari have to do with Mifalda's daughter?

“Miss Gaspari is the music teacher for all of St. Mary's—the grammar school and the high school,” Lu answered the unspoken question.

“I thought the nuns teach you.”

“Miss Gaspari is special. She's teaching us for free because she wants to bring cultural enrichment to the children of the Italian community who haven't had her advantages, ” Lu said in a highfalutin voice that had to be mimicking her teacher's. Lu didn't mimic people to make fun of them; it was just the way she heard things. “I'm the only one who has a solo,” she babbled on joyously “I'm singing the Panis Angelicus. Miss Gaspari only had to play it for me twice and I learned all of it. She says she's never seen anyone who can learn music as fast as I can. She says I have a remarkable ear, and—”

“Why are you the only one who has a solo?” Mifalda broke in. Sometimes Lu talked too fast for her.

“Miss Gaspari says my voice is the best in the school—she says I have an exquisite instrument. And I really do, Mama! Sister Mary Joseph says my voice is a joy to listen to, and everybody knows she hates us kids.”

Lu didn't intend to brag, Mifalda was sure of that. But it was clear that all the attention was turning her head, and that was dangerous. Of course, the two women who were encouraging Lu wouldn't think of that. One was a rich schoolteacher with fancy ideas, and one was a nun! They had no idea how careful you had to be to fight your own weakness—the wildness in your blood that you controlled every day of your life—when you saw it in your child. They didn't know what a responsibility it was to keep your daughter safe.

“I don't know if it's right, to sing alone and show off…” Mifalda began slowly.

“Mama, didn't you hear me? No one else is as good as I am. Miss Gaspari says I have a great gift. She says in a few years I should start studying with Maestro DiTullio.”

“Who?”

“Rosa Ponselle took some lessons from him—you know, the opera singer …”