Uprising by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

returned, he was alone.
    Everyone stared at him, but he looked only at Bella.
    â€œThey’re saying”—he panted, as if he’d run all the way from the bar, all the way up the stairs—“they’re saying the padrone took him to South Carolina.”
    â€œSouth Carolina?” Bella repeated, having trouble pronouncingthe unfamiliar words. “Where’s that?”
    She hoped it was just a street or two over. No matter what Signora Luciano said, Bella wanted to go find Pietro for herself and make sure he was all right.
    â€œIt’s another state, hundreds of miles away,” Rocco said. “The padrone took his entire work crew. He thought he could make more money there.”
    â€œAnd Pietro didn’t even tell me?” Bella cried out, in a strangled voice. “Didn’t even ask if I wanted to go with him?”
    She felt betrayed, injured down to her very core.
    â€œThe girl
wants
to go off with a bunch of men?” Nico whispered, and that hurt too, what he was implying. Bella tried to ignore him.
    â€œPietro probably didn’t even know what was going on, until the padrone had him on the train,” Rocco said. “He left all his things here. It’s like . . . like he was kidnapped.”
    Bella didn’t understand. Bandits kidnapped people—bandits were the ones who kidnapped and robbed and murdered. Padroni were powerful; they wouldn’t have to stoop to such things.
    â€œBut, but—the padrone gave us the money to come here,” Bella said. “Pietro first, then me. The padrone helped us.”
    Signor Luciano laughed harshly.
    â€œPadroni don’t give anyone anything,” he said. “They
loan
the money, and expect a lot of money back in return. Pietro probably wasn’t paying fast enough.”
    My three dollars and ten cents today instead of four or four-twenty-five,
Bella thought, stricken.
Pietro was paying back my share too. Maybe it’s because of me?
    But the padrone wouldn’t know that she got less money today. By the time Bella got paid, he’d already kidnapped Pietro.
    â€œThat reminds me,” Signora Luciano said. “Your rent is due today. And because I lost a boarder, and Pietro skipped out without paying, I’ll have to raise my rates. It’s . . . three-fifty now.”
    She held out her hand, waiting. Bella could see the dirt under her long, scraggly fingernails. Dirt as black as night, as black as Signora Luciano’s soul.
    â€œBut—I only made three-ten this week,” Bella protested. “I don’t have that much money. I can’t pay. Please, I beg of you—”
    â€œThen you’ll have to help us with the flowers, won’t you?” Signora Luciano said. “Here. Get to work.”
    She held out wires, leaves, and petals, cheerful-looking things meant for grand ladies’ hats. But Bella knew they were really chains, handcuffs, shackles. If Bella so much as touched one of those wires, she’d be chained to the sewing machine all day at the factory, chained to the flowers every evening.
    â€œNo, please,” Bella moaned, but she was only a girl, alone—what could she do? Pietro was gone. No one was there to protect her anymore.
    She gazed beseechingly at Signor Luciano, at Nico, at Rocco, but the men kept their heads down, carefully ignoring her. And the boy just shrugged, helplessly. Only he had the grace to look ashamed.
    â€œTake it!” Signora Luciano ordered.
    Bella took the wires, the leaves, the petals. She let Signora Luciano show her how to wrap everything together,creating the illusion of a flower. She let Signora Luciano scream at her when her fingers fumbled with the wires, when she dropped the leaves, when she accidentally smashed the petals.
    The old Bella wouldn’t have stood for this,
Bella told herself.
She wouldn’t have let anyone yell at her like that, not without yelling back. She wouldn’t have let