The worry seemed to be real. Still, she thinks I'm a peasant, Mifalda thought. “My daughter, Lucia, is fine,” she said formally, but somehow her accent had gotten thicker. “She's at home getting the dinner ready for her brothers and her father.” And now I sound like an ignorant peasant—one of those that pull their children out of school to go work in the fields. “All of her brothers are going to college,” she added, knowing it was a stupid thing to say but unable to stop herself. “My husband and I agreed. And we want Lucia to get a good education too. But she has her chores and …”

“Mrs. Leporello, please sit down, won't you?” The schoolteacher was smiling at her again—in a kindly way that made Mifalda want to slap her. But it would be rude to refuse, so she sat in a chair in the front row of the theater. Miss Gaspari sat two seats away and clasped her hands together as if she was going to pray. She was trying to find a way to talk to the ignorant peasant in front of her.

“Mrs. Leporello, I think I know what the problem is,” the young woman finally began. “My grandmother came from Italy, and when I said I wanted to train to be a teacher so I could get a job, she was horrified. I don't need the money, and as far as she was concerned that was the only reason a woman should work. In her mind, a woman stays in her father's home and he supports her until her husband takes over. But that wasn't enough for me.”

For a second Mifalda wanted to say, Me too! It isn't enough for me either! She wondered what it would feel like to tell this self-possessed young woman about all the shadowy yearnings she couldn't find words for—yearnings for adventure and attention that had nothing to do with cooking and cleaning. But then she looked into Miss Gaspari's beautiful face—and the schoolteacher was extraordinarily beautiful, with huge green eyes—and she saw the condescending smile. And she knew a rich girl who was working for the fun of it would never understand.

“Times are changing, Mrs. Leporello,” Miss Gaspari went on in a voice that was patient and kind—and infuriating. “Women have choices these days, and—”

“Lu can't sing at the Holy Mother's Coronation because she's going to New York City with her papa that day.” Mifalda broke in. “My husband goes all the time—he has business there—and Lu is going with him. New York is such a big city and there are so many things to do. Educational things. You know?” Mifalda stood up and straightened her apron around her waist. “I'm sorry she can't sing for you. But I'm sure you can find someone else. It's not an important feast day, after all. ” And she swept out of the auditorium.

Chapter 8 - New Haven 2008