The wedding, of course, would have to be postponed until Inacio was well enough.
Outwardly, the girl's face registered concern. But as she looked out the car window and watched the strange-looking houses of Massachusetts pass by, she felt a sense of relief, like a prisoner who had received a stay of execution.
Then she sat up straight. The wedding would have to be postponed. Her brow furrowed and she thought hard. I should have had my monthly visit by now.
§
Uncle Pio led the girl up three steps to the porch of the two-and-a-half story tan Victorian in the section of Gloucester known as Portagee Hill. The dark oak front door loomed before her like the mouth of a terrifying monster. What she had known in the back of her mind for the past year struck her with force: There was no going back. She froze in mid-step.
Uncle Pio turned to look at her, his weathered face a tableau of questions. The girl returned his gaze, her eyes fearful. After a moment, the old man's face broke into a comforting smile, and he held out one large, calloused hand. She hesitated before placing her delicate gloved hand in his. Pio gave a reassuring nod. The girl nodded back and swallowed hard, and then they went through the door together.
The two stood in the front hall. The house was much darker inside than she was used to, and it smelled of cooking spices and wood polish.
"Look what I have found," Pio Alpande announced in Portuguese, "the newest and most beautiful member of the family."
There was silence. The girl looked past the hall to the neatly furnished living and dining rooms. The house was much larger than most anything in Horta. So much shiny wood everywhere. They must be very wealthy.
She caught movement at the top of the stairs. A dark figure appeared.
"Ah, there you are," Pio called up the stairs to Angelina. Then he turned to the girl. "This is my sister, Senhora Raposo."
The girl's eyes had adjusted to the dimness. She saw Angelina's stern, shadowy face, and a slight gasp escaped her lips. "Bom dia, Senhora, prazer em conhecê-lo," the girl said, her voice shaking. Hello, Senhora, it's nice to meet you.
After a moment Angelina spoke. "Bom dia," she said without a hint of warmth. She continued in Portuguese, "Pio, take her to the kitchen and give her something to eat. I'll come down soon."
"How is Inacio?" Pio called up the stairs.
"No better, no worse. He sleeps now."
The girl wanted to scream at the old woman, How long until I am married?
She knew what happened to girls who became pregnant and did not marry soon. Her girlfriends at school had discussed it. The lucky ones went to convents for the rest of their lives. The others went to live in a bordel. Every girl in town had heard about Maria, who had been used by a rich boy from a banking family. He had told her he loved her and wanted to marry her, but only to trick her into giving him her flower. It was said that Maria now worked in a brothel in Spain where she was forced to service up to one hundred men a week.
I need to know: Will I be a married woman soon, or will I be shipped back to Horta in disgrace?
Chapter 6
August 22, 1957
SHE HAD BEEN AT the house of Angelina Raposo for one week now, and had yet to lay eyes on her fiancé. And this was the house of Angelina Raposo. The girl had learned that Angelina's brother, sweet Uncle Pio, had injured his back a few years prior, and was no longer able to perform the grueling work of a fisherman. He lived here at Angelina's pleasure, and helped his sister keep house.
She had tried to make herself useful by asking after chores that needed doing. But Angelina and Pio had developed their own routine, and the house was always spotless.
Pio had taken her to mass several times. Our Lady of Good Voyage was just a few blocks away. Sometimes, after church, they would take a different route home, past a Portuguese bakery. Pio had treated her to a cavacas sweet popover which the girl thought was scrumptious, and a galão a café latte which she thought tasted like mud compared to the one back home. Most importantly, though, he always offered cheery, reassuring conversation.
She spent the majority of her time in the house, reading and praying. And, as often as she dared, she asked Angelina when she would meet the man with whom she would be spending the rest of her life.
She was reading at the kitchen table one day when Pio and Angelina descended from the upstairs. Pio entered the kitchen first. He smiled at the girl, nodded his head, and gave a surreptitious thumbs-up sign. Angelina followed within seconds. She motioned to the girl, and said, "Come."
She followed Angelina, and as they climbed the stairs, she smoothed her dress and fixed her hair. She was about to meet her future.
§
Inacio sat up in bed, his skinny frame supported by two pillows. His bed sheets, pillowcases, and pajamas had been laundered and ironed by Angelina. Inacio's hair had grown long during his illness, but he was otherwise well-groomed, having shaved this morning for the first time in weeks. He fidgeted with his brown cotton bedspread.
Angelina knocked on the bedroom door, and then opened it without waiting for a response. She stepped into the room and looked Inacio up and down before motioning for the girl to enter.
Inacio held his breath and watched as her figure slowly filled the doorway. He stared for a moment, then exhaled and smiled. "Hi," he said.
It was her turn to exhale. "Hello," she said in English.
"I'm Inacio."
"I know," she said, and they both released a nervous chuckle.
"Come closer?" he asked.
Angelina gave a look that said Not too close.
Inacio looked at Angelina but addressed the girl. "My mother is a little old-fashioned."
"Some things never go out of fashion," the widow said.
But to Inacio's surprise, Angelina stepped aside just a bit. The girl took a few hesitant steps and stopped at the foot of the bed. Inacio stared at her for a moment. The photo her family had sent of the squinty-eyed girl with the forced smile had not done her justice. He sensed a shyness in her that indicated that she didn't know how attractive she was. It gave her an appealing air of virtuousness.
"So, how do you like America?" he asked.
"I do not see very much. But what I see and the people I meet is very... gentle?"
"I think you mean 'nice'"
"Nice," the girl repeated.
"Your English is very good."
"Obrigado. Thank you. I study and practice for the year."
"That's enough for today," Angelina said.
"Mama..." Inacio protested.
But Angelina was resolute. "More tomorrow. Now, you rest," she said, and motioned for the girl to leave the room. The girl turned around.
"Wait," Inacio said.
She turned back to face him.
"You're very pretty, muito bela."
She blushed.
"You remind me of Natalie Wood."
The girl furrowed her brow.
"Rebel Without a Cause?" he asked.
"I am sorry," she said, shaking her head.
"Never mind, it doesn't matter. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," she parroted, and then left the room.
§
Her mind was racing. As Angelina closed the bedroom door, the girl excused herself and slipped into the bathroom. She let the water run in the sink to cover the sound of her search of the medicine cabinet. She didn't know the English word for what she sought, but she recognized the illustration of a razor blade on its cardboard packet.
Chapter 7
August 23, 1957
THE GIRL STOOD NAKED. She had folded her clothes and laid them on an oak, marble-topped commode. She plugged the bathtub drain with its rubber stopper and opened the spigots. As the claw-foot tub slowly filled with water, she opened the medicine cabinet and removed one razor blade. She sat on the edge of the tub and brought the blade to her left arm. Shutting her eyes tight, she drew the blade across her flesh. But when she looked at the cut, she realized it was only a scratch.
Though hurting herself went against every instinct, she would have to cut deeper. She didn't close her eyes this time. She aligned the blade on the scratch, pursed her lips, and sliced.
Her blood began to trickle. She grabbed one of three sanitary napkins she had packed in Horta and dabbed at the self-inflicted wound on her upper arm. After wrapping the blood-stained napkin in toilet paper, she planted it in the wastebasket. She used a styptic pencil from the medicine cabinet to stanch the bleeding, and then bandaged her arm with a strip of cloth. She would reopen and rebind the same wound a dozen times over the coming days.
After she had bathed and dressed, she turned the skeleton key to unlock the bathroom door and went downstairs. Angelina stood at the stove and gave the girl only a passing glance as she entered the room and sat at the kitchen table.
"Senhora?" she said. The widow turned and looked at her. The girl started to say something, but Uncle Pio appeared in the doorway before she could get the words out.
"What is it?" Angelina asked. Now Uncle Pio was waiting to hear what she had to say too. Tears formed in her eyes.
"Well?" Angelina demanded.
The girl rose from her seat, approached Angelina, and whispered in her ear.
"Oh," said Angelina. "Don't worry." She turned to her brother and said, "Pio, go to the store and get a box of Kotex."
The girl turned away and covered her eyes with her hands. Uncle Pio groaned.
§
Over the following days the girl took every opportunity to ingratiate herself with her future sogra mother-in-law. It was vital that she have time alone with Inacio. She pleaded with Angelina to let her help care for him. Angelina was reluctant, but the girl had recruited Uncle Pio's support, and together they convinced the widow to relent.
She served Inacio his meals, convincing the emaciated fisherman to take a few more bites each time he ate, and sat at his bedside and read aloud to him from Portuguese novels. And when he became stronger, she accompanied him on short morning walks outside. At first Inacio tread as shakily as an old man. Once, after he nearly tripped on the sidewalk, she took his hand in hers. And from that day onward, they held hands during their strolls, which they started to take twice daily, in the morning and afternoon. She used these opportunities to entice him. She flattered him, laughed at his jokes even though she seldom understood them and caressed his forearm with her fingertips.
One picture-perfect summer day she became more daring.
Though Inacio's bedroom door was always left open, Angelina's approach was always announced by the creaking of the stairs.
The couple had just come back from their morning walk, and Inacio was sitting on the edge of his bed. The girl turned her back to him and undid the top two buttons of her simple, collared blouse, confident that she'd have ample time to redo them should Senhora Raposo decide to perform a surprise inspection. She then walked over to his bookcase with an exaggerated sway in her hips and retrieved the latest novel she'd been reading to him.
Under her clothes she was wearing delicate new undergarments, a matching white brassiere and briefs bordered with lace and embroidered with tiny pink roses. They were a gift her favorite aunt, Sofia, had given her to wear on her wedding day.
She held the book against her chest with her left hand and turned around. With her right hand, she grabbed a straight-back wooden chair from its place against the wall and pulled it closer to the bed, as she customarily did when she was about to read to Inacio. She sat up straight in the chair, clutching the book to her chest to keep her hands from shaking.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she opened them again, she did not look at Inacio. Holding the book out straight to block his view of her blouse, she began to read, her voice shaking with each syllable.
Inacio was accustomed to looking at her face as she read. They would often let their eyes meet over the top of the book, locking gazes for long moments.
In her peripheral vision, she saw that Inacio was leaning his head to the left to look around the book, and she drew it closer to her. He leaned forward even more, straining to see her.
After reading a few paragraphs, the girl took a deep breath, leaned forward, and rested her elbows on her knees. She continued to read aloud while she pretended to be oblivious to Inacio's view of her lingerie and the swell of her breasts.
Nerves compelled her to read louder and faster than usual. At one point she glanced beneath the book and caught sight of Inacio's crotch. The shape of his arousal strained against the inseam of his pants. She pictured Mateus stroking himself at their Secret Place, and she was certain her face went crimson.
In the next moment, Inacio's fingers appeared at the top of the page as he grasped the book by its spine and tore it away from her. Their eyes locked together, and she tensed. Something in Inacio's glare frightened her. She rose from the chair and took a step back.
Her effort to play temptress had backfired. In her haste to legitimize her pregnancy, she had acted too boldly, and now Inacio saw her as wanton.
Inacio stood up and stalked toward her until he was just inches away. She trembled and gripped the fronts of her blouse together. She felt her face flush and cast her eyes downward.
Inacio flung the book onto the bed and grabbed a fistful of raven hair at the back of her head. She brought her eyes back up to meet his. He looked furious.
He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her in close. She recoiled and brought her hands up to cover her face.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered in Portuguese.
It took a moment, but she finally realized that what she had seen in those dark eyes, what had frightened her so, was not anger at all. It was raw desire.
She slowly lowered her trembling hands, and the two stood face to face, both of them gasping for breath.
"I want you," he rasped. He kissed her and cupped her small breast so roughly it made her flinch.
Far from failing, her plan was working too well. She had to think quickly. She needed to cool his passion for the moment but keep his desire simmering.
She would have submitted to him that instant, had she thought it was safe. But she knew it wasn't. It was not only possible that Senhora Raposo would catch them in the act, it was likely. Inacio's bedroom was located just a few feet from the top of the stairs, and Angelina always stood in the same spot on the first floor when the girl was in Inacio's room—a place midway along the stairwell where she thought she was invisible to anyone on the second floor. Each time the girl left her fiancé's bedroom, she could see the tip of Angelina's black-clad right shoulder before the woman silently slipped from sight. Gato escondido com o rabo de fora, she thought. A cat hiding with its tail showing.
But Angelina Raposo could send her packing just as easily as Inacio could. There was only one sure route to legitimacy: She needed to marry, and soon.
"I want you too," she breathed in her native tongue, "but not now, not like this. From the moment we met, I've yearned to share the closeness of man and woman. But we can't until we are husband and wife."
Inacio shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I don't think I can wait. I want you now."
"And I want you to have me, Inacio, but as your wife. Do you want our life together to begin with a sin against God? I don't. I can't."
She turned away from him and walked to the open window, swaying her hips as she went. She fixed her gaze on a sun-dappled, leafy oak whose branches spread out so far and wide she could almost touch them. "We'll just have to wait until you're well enough to marry."
Inacio's glance darted about the room, and then came back to rest on her body. He stole up behind her, cupped her shoulders in his hands, and pressed himself against her. "I am well enough."
The girl allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief. She felt certain that Inacio would have married her there, on the spot, if he could. But there was one more formidable obstacle left to breech. She would point out the barrier to Inacio, and then pray that his ego would become the battering r
am.
"You may think you're well enough, Inacio, but isn't that for your mother to decide?"
Chapter 8
September 14, 1957
ONE MONTH AFTER her arrival in America, the sixteen-year-old girl became a married woman. The bride wore a white dress she and her mother had sewn for the occasion. The groom wore a black suit, white shirt, and black tie.
They exchanged their vows before Father Abade. The new young priest towered over the bride and groom, who stood 5'4" and 5'7" respectively. Father Henrique "Rick" Abade, at 6'2", was a bear of a young man who had wrestled and played football at Holy Cross. He was hairy and sweated a lot, one of those men who needed to shave twice a day if he wanted to look well groomed in the evening. His paternal grandparents, a fisherman and his wife, had emigrated from The Azores at the turn of the century along with their four children.
After the couple placed their wedding bands on each other's hands, Padre Abade wrapped his stole around them. Since this was the young priest's first wedding ceremony, he was sweating even more than usual, and the stole was damp with perspiration.
When Mr. and Mrs. Inacio Raposo exited the Our Lady of Good Voyage church, cheering friends and family showered them with flowers and candies.
Afterwards, the couple received guests at the home of Angelina Raposo. In the days before the ceremony, Angelina had made all the food herself, with Uncle Pio and the bride-to-be acting as her sous chefs. The kitchen aromas had been heavenly, but they were the smells of home, and had caused awful pangs of homesickness in the girl.
A barrel of Portuguese red wine was tapped and, soon after, most of the guests were dancing. The bride's shoe was passed around. Every man and boy stuffed cash into it and eagerly waited his turn for a dance with the beautiful newlywed.
The men at Portuguese weddings were fond of playing good-natured pranks, like hiding the newlyweds' luggage, or stealing the groom's car. Early that morning Inacio had loaded their suitcases into the trunk of his 1958 Oldsmobile 98 and parked it three blocks away.
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