Oh, mercy, was she counting? Rosa began to prepare her speech about the brother who had been added at the last minute. But there was no need. The woman just smiled and gave her two slices of bread with cheese.
"For when he wakes up," she said, indicating the boy, who was now leaning against the corner with his eyes closed.
Rosa nodded, trying to smile back. "Thank you," she said in a small voice.
/> The woman turned to the other side to distribute lunch to the children across the aisle. Rosa waited until the escort had finished and returned to her seat at the front of the car. Then she punched Sal—well, he would have to be Sal from now on. "Sal, here's some lunch for you."
"I ain't hungry," he said, crossing his arms and hugging his chest, his eyes still shut.
"Of course you are. It's bread and cheese. The bread is fresh, too." She took a bite and began to chew elaborately. "Mmm, very good."
He opened an eye and stuck out his hand. She gave him his share of the bread and cheese and watched him take a small bite. Soon he was wolfing it down. He was hungry. Weren't they all?
"Isn't that better? Don't you feel better now you've had something to eat?"
"Don't ask me how I feel, all right?" he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just leave me alone."
She leaned back against the seat. It had a white piece of cloth just above where she rested her head. It was clean, like the country snow. There was something comforting about someone washing those cloths where people put their heads. Maybe the strange place she was going to would be clean, too. She knew Mamma tried, but how could you ever win against the smoke from the city's chimneys? It was always dirty at home, and clean water was hard to come by.
She didn't try to talk to the boy again. She thought about home, about Mamma—Mamma singing in the street, her voice so pure and strong. Everyone wanted Mamma to lead the singing. She could have been an opera singer if she'd stayed in Italy, Rosa imagined. She said that once to Mamma, who had only laughed. "You need money to be singer, Rosa. You need lesson, you need piano for practice. We don't have no thing like that."
It wasn't fair for some people to have so much, and others not even enough to eat. That was why Mamma was striking. Rosa knew that. But there was no way they could win. They were too weak and the owners too strong. They would starve or freeze long before the owners gave in. And the card that Mamma had signed said: "as long as the strike will last." As long as the strike will last. Mamma and Anna and little Ricci were likely to be dead before it was all over. She could feel the tears gathering, and she squinched her eyes to hold them back. She didn't want that wretched boy to catch her crying, not when she was pretending to be the strong one.
Someone near the front of the car began to sing and was soon joined by many of the children on board:
"We shall not be, we shall not be moved.
We shall not be, we shall not be moved.
Like a tree planted by the water..."
She couldn't help it. All she could hear was Mamma's beautiful voice soaring over everyone else's. The tears she had dammed up behind her eyelids burst through. She buried her face in her hands and tried to stifle the sobs that were shaking her body.
"Hey, hey, shoe girl. Cut it out. Vermont ain't going to be that bad. You said so yourself."
She shook her head. "I'm not crying about Vermont."
"Well, what, then?"
"Nothing." Suddenly, she felt a bit of the lost bravado returning. "None of your business, and my name is Rosa."
"Okay. Have it your way." He slumped back into his corner, once again crossing his arms tightly across his chest and closing his eyes.
The singing went on, from one union song to the next. All the children seemed to know the words. Rosa knew them, too, but her throat was far too tight to join in even if she'd felt like singing.
The big man from Barre called Mr. Broggi stood up to announce that the train was running late. Rosa sighed. The ride had seemed endless once the novelty had worn off. Even the snow-covered mountains, which made Rosa sit up and stare out the window, had lost their enchantment after a while. She wanted to get off the train. If she couldn't go home, she wanted to know what was next—and the long train ride was like traveling through limbo. You weren't anywhere when you were on a train, she decided. You weren't where you had been, and you weren't yet where you were going. You were nowhere. It might be beautiful outside the window—and it was, she had sense enough to realize that—but it wasn't anywhere to her, just a scene passing by that was framed by the train window.
Mr. Broggi stood up again. "We be there soon," he said. "Thank you for your patience. The workers and their families who will be your hosts will all be at the station to meet you. I tell you for sure they're eager as you for this train to arrive. They've made a feast at the hall, so we don't bring more food for the train. There'll be plenty of supper after we get there, I promise, and very warm welcome to Vermont."
The boy muttered something under his breath, which Rosa couldn't hear and probably wouldn't have wanted to.
At last, the train gave an ear-piercing whistle and began to slow down. The children on the station side pressed their faces to the windows for their first glimpse of Barre, Vermont. Instead of endless stretches of giant factories, all Rosa could see from her window were strange horseshoe-shaped buildings with train tracks running right into them. It was almost dusk, but there was enough daylight to see how different this little town was from Lawrence. The snow was still white here and deeper on the rooftops.
"Look! Look!" the children on the station side were calling out. "Look at all the people. It's like a march."
Rosa's heart gave a thump. Not strikes here, too. Surely not. She'd been sent away to get free from strikes.
At the Labor Hall