Paullina Simons - Children of Liberty

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2012

Copyright © Paullina Simons 2012

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2012

Cover photograph © Aria Baro/Trevillion Images

Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007241569

Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007484034

Version: 2015-03-31

To my good friend Nick,

without whom this book, and many things,

might never have been

The world was all before them, where to choose

John Milton

Each of us Inevitable;

Each of us Limitless—

Walt Whitman

Contents

Cover

Title Page Children of Liberty Paullina Simons

Copyright Copyright Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by Harper 2012 Copyright © Paullina Simons 2012 Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2012 Cover photograph © Aria Baro/Trevillion Images Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780007241569 Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007484034 Version: 2015-03-31

Dedication To my good friend Nick, without whom this book, and many things, might never have been

Epigraph The world was all before them, where to choose John Milton Each of us Inevitable; Each of us Limitless— Walt Whitman

Maps

Part One: The Barber’s Daughter Part One

Chapter One: Daughter of the Revolution

Chapter Two: Sons of Liberty

Chapter Three: North End

Chapter Four: Great Expectations

Chapter Five: Summer Street

Chapter Six: A Sunday in a Small Town

Chapter Seven: Immigrants, Debutantes, Students

Chapter Eight: The Rewards of Mission Work

Part Two: The Objection Maker

Chapter Nine: The Natives and the Pilgrims

Chapter Ten: In the Boston Winter

Chapter Eleven: The Quarry

Chapter Twelve: Tulips

Part Three: Earth’s Holocaust

Chapter Thirteen: Minstrel Songs

Chapter Fourteen: The High Priestess of Anarchy

Chapter Fifteen: On their Knees by the Sea

Chapter Sixteen: Violet Catastrophe

Chapter Seventeen: The Marble Faun

Chapter Eighteen: Earth’s Holocaust

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

Love—what is love? A great and aching heart;

Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair

Robert Louis Stevenson

THERE had been a fire at Ellis Island the year before Gina came to America with her mother and brother in 1899, and so instead of arriving at the Port of New York, they had set sail into the Port of Boston.

Salvo had been in a bad mood since the day they left Napoli. He had left his sweetheart behind—the girl wouldn’t part with her family. This, among other things, soured him on his. He refused to stay with the girl he loved, but resented his family for his own choice. “As if Mimoo and Gina could go to America by themselves,” he scoffed.

“We don’t have to go, Salvo,” his mother said, and meant it.

“Mimoo!” cried Gina. “What would Papa say?”

“Papa, Papa. Well, where is he, if he is so clever?”

It was summer and Gina wished for a cloudless day. She stood at port on tiptoe and gaped at the sky, wishing for a view of what they had been sailing to for weeks: a city line across the wide open bay to show them the glimpse of a life that was just around the corner. Stretching up she squinted straight into the July fog, her palm in salute to focus her sights on what she had imagined was urban beauty: sprawling metropolis bustling, smokestacks billowing, ships to and fro, civilization. But she could see nothing beyond the thick slate mist and oppressive melancholy. “Ahoy, Salvo!” she called, despite the lack of sight. “Come see!”

Salvo did not come see. Like a sack he sat behind her on the main deck and smoked, his arm around his black-clad mother. They had just lost their father. Five of them had been planning to go to America for seven years, but Gina’s oldest brother had been killed in a knife fight six months ago. A drunken mob had run amok, Antonio had got caught in the middle, there was a struggle with the police, people trampled by horses. It wasn’t a military knife that had taken him, but a hunting knife. Like it mattered—Antonio was still dead.

And less than three months later Papa’s heart stopped.

Papa had wanted to go when the children were still small, but Mimoo refused. She wouldn’t go without money. Imagine! Going to America, starting a new life with nothing. Assurdo! She wasn’t going to come to America a village pauper. But we are village paupers, Mimoo, the great Alessandro had said. He didn’t argue further, there was no point. Gina’s mother declared that when she came to America, she would walk in on her own two feet, not crawl in with her hand outstretched. Papa agreed with that, but then he died.