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agreement all through the homily. But then Father Milanese went on to warn them against Joe Ettor, who was an outside agitator, an anarchist, and therefore someone whose motives must be questioned. When he said this, Mamma humphed, got up, and walked out, her shawl, which she'd wrapped around Ricci, trailing in the aisle. Anna ran to join her. There was nothing for Rosa to do but follow. She needn't have worried about Mamma receiving the host in a state of sin.
    Outside the church, crowds were gathering, already planning the next move. Mamma handed Ricci over to Rosa—"Go home, Rosa. Get yourself some bread. Anna and me got work to do."

    They came back hours later, exultant. "Some of the men grabbed the hoses and turned them against the watchmen at the mill!" Anna said.
    "Now
they
know how it feels to be soaked," Mamma said.
    Marija and Mrs. J. came in minutes later even more excited. "You know what your frien' Miz Marino do?" Mrs. J. asked.
    "What did that crazy one do?" Mamma was smiling happily.
    "She and her friends, dey pull da clothes off a policeman on da bridge and say dey going to trow him in icy river—see how it feels, dey say."
    "No!" Mamma said.
    "No, some more police come save da poor fool yust in time."
    "Mr. Joe Ettor say 'No violence,' last night," Mamma said. "Mrs. Marino better behave, I think."
    "It was like a joke, Mamma," Anna said. "You're laughing yourself."
    Mamma
was
laughing. It shamed Rosa to see it. Mamma was turning into one of the ignorant immigrants Miss Finch railed against. Her sweet, loving mamma was going to turn into loud, crazy Mrs. Marino, and there was nothing Rosa could do to stop her.
    Granny J. didn't leave Rosa enough room to toss and turn in bed, but that night her mind churned. At the strike meeting that evening it was announced that the governor had called up the militia. He'd even given Harvard College boys guns and uniforms. Tomorrow a virtual army would be on the streets of Lawrence, ready to confront any who dared continue the strike. It only made the women more determined than ever. No one was going back to work until the strikers' demands were met, no matter what the governor said or did.
Holy Mother, there was bound to be violence.
How could Rosa save Mamma and Anna from this madness?
    That was when Rosa had her great idea. She wouldn't go to school. She'd have her own strike. She'd refuse to go to school as long as Mamma refused to go to work. Then Mamma would see that she
had
to work—that all she and Papa had done to make it possible for at least Rosa to get an education would be wasted. Mamma couldn't stand waste, so she'd realize that she had to go back to work for Papa's sake, if not Rosa's.

Songs of Defiance
    Mamma was pinching Rosa's toes. "Wake, up,
dormigliona.
Time for school."
    "I'm not going to school," Rosa said, burrowing under the quilt. The bed felt luxurious when Granny J. wasn't in it with her. "I made up my mind, Mamma. If you and Anna go on strike, I go on strike."
    Mamma threw back her head and laughed. It struck Rosa that she had heard Mamma's laugh more in the last couple of days than she had since before papa died. "Okay,
Signorina Asino.
You win. No school today." She patted Rosa's toes. "See you later on. Me and Anna got to go now to join the march."
    Rosa could have screamed. She was not a donkey. What was the matter with Mamma?
She
was the stubborn one. She was supposed to give in, go to work, do anything to keep her child in school. Rosa sat up and threw off the quilt, but before she could open her mouth to argue further, Mamma, Anna, Mrs. J., and Marija had walked through her room and out the front door. She could hear them
laugh
ing as they clattered down the stairs. They were probably laughing at her. Miss Donkey, indeed! She musn't be late. She jumped up and put on her clothes, grabbed a bit of bread off the kitchen table, and left the flat.
    The street was full of women and girls, all heading toward Jackson Street. She slipped in and