Concetta had been sitting on the train for what seemed like ages, even sleeping the night in the personal cabin she had purchased for herself. The trains where the best way to travel the country but it was not particularly fast and only marginally comfortable with so many people in one spot. She could have bought a luxury cabin in which she would have been alone and comfortable, a separate bed and wash basin to keep her face clean and a mirror to keep her hair in place, but she was not one to spend money needlessly. Her childhood d had been difficult. They had been hungry often and the only thing that had kept her warm at night in the Depression had been her sister. It was a life that made frivolities seem stupid, even wasteful, and even after becoming employed by Mr. Frank Concetta had not spent much of her paycheck on herself but instead in helping her parents. She had enabled them to afford a nicer apartment in Little Italy, one where bugs did not cover the floor at night and the wind did not slip in the cracks to chill their flesh. 

As she prepared for her train to arrive Concetta made her way to the powder room where she checked her hair, smoothing the waves and curls back into place of her up-do. Her dress was a bright blue cotton number that flair from the waist to her knees she her stockings could be seen slipping into her practical blue shoes. She was not sure what she would be expected to dress like in her new job but figured that was suitable enough, even if it was not very fancy.

As the train began to drag and pull Concetta knew it was stopping and quickly made her way to where her bags waited. Two suitcases sat just above her seat, not particularly full but containing all of her personal belongings. As she reached a man stepped forward and spoke softly.

“Ma’am may I get those for you?”

Concetta turned her head and saw the tall, dark man and nodded. “Why yes please.” Her voice was crisp and somewhat chipper, a thing one would expect from such a sharp face, smooth as ivory with a soft tan and sharp cheek bones about soft red lips. The man grabbed both bags and set them onto a small cart and followed Concetta as she stepped out and looked about.

“Looking for family?”

She nodded. “My sister.” Her voice held only a soft New York accent, no Italian audible at the moment. It was a thing she had learned to hide when necessary, cover up her heritage to keep safe from hatred. As Concetta looked about she scanned the crowd before seeing her, Abigail leaned against a wall, and suddenly she was running and letting her Italian heritage fly.

“Abigail mia luce! Ti ho perso mia sorella! Mio caro!”