Teresa would sit up stiffly in the darkness, with her thin hands clenched on the bedspread. Her hard black eyes would be staring at nothing, now that she had them wide open. Then one night she must suddenly speak to the Madonna to whom she had not spoken for years.
“You think I am beaten!” she told her fiercely. “You are glad to think that Teresa is beaten, Teresa who will not serve you. But no, you are wrong, for Teresa is not beaten—she will never be beaten while she lives! If she has to sell matches as a beggar in the streets she will not be beaten by you to her knees.”
And then she listened as though for an answer, an answer that did not come. For not in poor, faltering human speech could the Mother of God reply to Teresa.
“Ah!” said Teresa. “You answer me nothing, you wish me to think that you are angry. The foolishness of it! You are a thing of plaster that my hands destroyed easily many years ago. Less than a minute it took to destroy you—of course you can answer me nothing!”
VIII
I
In the days that followed after Fabio’s death, the members of the clan showed their metal; and their metal, at bottom, was pure gold it seemed, for one and all they rallied to Teresa, rallied to the Casa Boselli. Nerone sent Rosa to help in the shop, preparing his own midday meal. Every morning at nine she arrived with the twins, who were shut up to play in Olga’s old bedroom. The afternoon frequently brought kind Mario who was anxious to do odd jobs; he might be seen dusting, or polishing brass, or even cleaning a window. Rocca discovered a clubfooted boy who happened to be an Italian, and Teresa engaged him to sweep and run errands—only he could not run. Rocca would sometimes send round a small present, the tongue of an ox, the feet of a pig, or even a couple of kidneys; and these, considering the shortage of meat, were tokens of very real friendship. The Signora Rocca put on her old clothes and over them a large apron, then she went to Teresa and said abruptly:
“I am here to wash down and tidy those shelves. ‘Gold begets gold, but dust begets dust,’ as my mother would say when I was a child.”
And Teresa replied with another true proverb: “ ‘To find a staunch friend you must dig deep in trouble.’ ” Then she added: “I thank you, signora.”
Sometimes Nerone would come in the evenings to drink a glass of Amarena, and he and Maddalena would talk to Teresa while she sat silently knitting. Maddalena would tell her the little she knew of Gian-Luca’s life out in France, hoping that now Teresa might soften, might even express some interest.
“So he is still working in the mess, the Gian-Luca—”
Teresa would say. “Oh well, and why not? All our lives we have studied the art of feeding; no doubt he is better suited for that job than for firing off guns at the Germans.” And then she would appear to forget Gian-Luca, frowning a little at her knitting, murmuring softly over her stitches: “Knit one, purl two, knit one.” Even Aunt Ottavia, who was not of the clan, felt called upon to assist; she it was who could teach Teresa new patterns, she it was who discovered a fine book on knitting, which she promptly bought for Teresa. Berta turned up, a little through kindness, and a great deal through wishing to talk about Albert. Albert had received the Military Cross, and just after that—which was more to the point—a “blighty,” which was likely to keep him in London for many a day to come. Berta would soon have to take the twins home in order to pacify Albert.
There was someone, however, as high above them all as the Lord is above little fleas, and this person was Millo, who sat in his office and considered the Casa Boselli. Millo was omnipotent and so he knew all things, at least he knew all things connected with food, and one fine day he put on his hat and went forth to call on Teresa.
He said: “I would like to have a few words, suppose we go into the parlor.” And after a minute when they were alone: “Suppose you show me your ledgers.”
Teresa stood tall and defiant before him, but Millo divined the anguish in her heart. He smiled very kindly at the gallant old woman—she was well worth saving because of her business, but above all because of her courage.
She said: “My ledgers are private, signore; I do not show my accounts.”
“And yet you will show them to me,” he told her, “for the Casa Boselli is about to go bankrupt—and that would be a great pity, signora; we need the Casa Boselli.”
“I will save it yet,” Teresa answered without a tremor in her voice. “You may have heard rumors, and perhaps they are true, but the Casa Boselli will be saved.”
“Sicuro!” said Millo; “I have come here to save it. Now suppose you bring me those ledgers.”
For one awful moment she stared at him speechless, while the great tears welled in her eyes. For one awful moment she thought that she must weep, standing there before Millo. But the moment passed, and once more Teresa could look him squarely in the face.
II
“Why should you trouble about me, signore—about the Casa Boselli?”
“That,” he said gently, “is quite beside the point—I am rich enough, say, to pay for my fancies, and I have a fancy to offer you a partner—one Francesco Millo, signora.”
Then Teresa turned without another word and brought him those miserable ledgers; brought him the accounts that she could not balance, and the copies of the deeds that she had signed for the bank, pledging her two
