“I got to go help fetch the bodies.”

I answered him coldly, for his gentleness was an affront to me. “Go on then. And dont forgit to tote that Bible of yourn.”

He came to me, wanted to touch me, but he was still black from the mine.

“You’ll dirty my uniform,” I said. I waited for him to leave and caught the train after his.

The train I rode carried hundreds of wooden caskets. I watched them unloaded while I waited for Doctor Booker. A crowd of silent women stood near the depot; the faded cotton dresses hung limp on their heavy bodies. An Italian woman approached me. She was dressed all in white like a bride, except for a red vest, and bore an armful of red roses.

“You a nurse?” she said. She gripped my arm. “Are my babies back from the doctor? Is my Francesco very sick?”

Later Doctor Booker pointed out Rondal’s mother, a slump-shouldered woman like all the others. She wandered among the rows of coffins, most of which were still empty.

I knew Rondal would come back.

Fourteen

ROSA ANGELELLI

MY BABIES HURT THEIR EARS. THAT IS WHAT SENORE DAVIDSON says. The ears, they are gone first. They pop, they hurt, a little. But that is all.

Never mind, I say. We go to the doctor. The doctor fix.

Senore cries. He presses his face against my belly. The baseball, he says. My pitcher, my first base. Carmello will be in the American League.

Never mind, I say again. The doctor, he fix the ear.

I wait for the doctor. Everyone wears white. This place is very clean. Mama is here too. Her bed is beside mine. At night we whisper together.

Luigi is very difficult, she says. He makes the doctor work a long time. He is stubborn, like his papa.

They take so long I go to wait for them. I cut the roses from the bush in our yard. Francesco gives me the bush for my birthday. He is my best boy.

I carry a rose for each of my babies. Mario is angry with me.

Go home, woman, go home. He shouts and waves his hat.

Leave me, I answer. Always you whip them. But when they are hurt, they cry for mama. They love mama.

Everyone is crying, everywhere the tears. The women lean together, they sway, they do not close their mouths.

I wait but my babies do not come. Senore Davidson tells the doctor to hurry. Everyone does what Senore Davidson says. He takes me to the big house. The butterflies watch what we do. They turn their heads this way and that. They will not shut their eyes. I shake the roses at them. The thorns scratch Senore’s arm. The blood tastes like salt. His hands are warm, like the hands of the priest when he signs the cross upon my forehead.

Rosa, he says, you forgive so easy.