Paullina Simons: Children of Liberty

“Aren’t they just,” echoed Gina. Especially the sand-haired, laconic one.

He sighed with exasperated disdain. “Sometimes,” he said, “I think you forget what Papa said to you.”

She bristled. “I don’t forget anything.”

“Then why do you act like you do?”

Gina turned away. She didn’t want to hear it. Leaving the room where her brother was making her defensive, Gina went into the room where Mimoo was snoring and sat in a wooden chair by the open window. She still heard horses clomping outside, a distant bell of a trolley car, noises from sailors, laughter, a city alive, pulsing and thumping into the night. Never forget where you came from, Gina Attaviano , Alessandro said to her before he died. Then it will always be easy.

I think it will be easy, Papa, she whispered, gulping the night air. In thrall to the new city, the old life for Gina had vanished with the tide.

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