She couldn’t bring herself to pack any more yet. Instead, she walked outside and sat on the stone wall that surrounded la cucina giardino, the kitchen garden, which faced out to the olive orchard. The air was warm and still and it felt good to be out of her stuffy attic room. The leaves were grays and verdant greens. The lavender stood sentry at the entrance to the orchard, with its spiky, purple flowers. How would she leave it? But the decision was made. She would see it through. She would exchange the sights and sounds of the countryside for the noise and bustle of an unfamiliar city.
Babbo called her stubborn, but Catarina knew it wasn’t that. She had the inner strength to forge ahead in spite of the pain she felt. She had gotten that trait from her mother. È inutile piangere sul latte versato, no crying over spilt milk, she said. Lift your head high, and walk forward. And Catarina would do that. But she would miss home. And she would miss her family.
Although she could bend her will, she couldn’t control the tears that silently slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her apron, swinging her feet as she had since she was a little girl, and tried to memorize every detail of what was before her.
As the last few days passed before her departure, she and her mother performed an intricate dance—never mentioning the diminishing time they had left together. Celestina asked her questions about what she had packed and what was left to do, as if she was simply going to visit her aunt in the next village. She didn’t mention marriage or Franco, but instead gently chastised her for not filling the water jug enough for the day, or doing a bad job of sweeping.
But on the morning of her departure, they could no longer ignore the facts. When Catarina came downstairs dressed in her simple gray traveling dress with red-rimmed eyes, Celestina handed her a caffè latte and then immediately took it back, setting it down on the table, and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Catarina could feel her mother’s shoulders shaking as she silently wept. She held her mother tightly and for the first time allowed herself to cry unchecked.
“I’m scared, Mama,” she whispered, so only Celestina could hear.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, mia cara.”
“What if I never see you and Babbo again? How will I live in this world without you? I can’t bear the thought of it.”
“Shhh. Don’t talk like that. I will still be in this world, and you will see me again. That was part of the marriage contract Babbo insisted upon. Franco will bring you home to visit us. And until then, look out at the moon each night, and know that I am looking at the same moon. We won’t be so far apart.”
Catarina let go of her mother and wiped her face. Celestina handed the coffee back to her daughter and sent her back upstairs to drink it and splash water on her tear-stained face.
When she came back down the rest of the family was waiting for her and the tears began again. She hugged each of her sisters and brothers-in-law goodbye. They insisted they would all write constantly, but Catarina knew letters would be a poor substitute for seeing them every day as she had her entire life.
It was a relief that Mateo and her father were both taking her to the ship, so she could postpone those farewells at least for a while.
When Catarina climbed into the cart and sat down on her trunk, it was almost a relief to be underway at last. Mateo jumped onto the cart as well, tucked her suitcase under the bench seat, then sat facing his sister. Catarina’s father stepped up to the driver’s seat and took the reins of the Pensebene’s workhorse before taking a seat on the wooden wagon bench. Celestina handed a basket of food up to Catarina so they could eat breakfast and lunch during the journey to the port. Catarina gave her mother one last hug and then her father clicked his tongue and the horse started off.
She watched her mother’s form recede as the cart and horse picked up speed on the road out of the village, then she yelled one last time, “Ti amo, Mama!” I love you. She stood up and waved both her arms and blew kisses to her mother.
“Finiranno mai queste lacrime?” asked Mateo theatrically, leaning over to their father. Will these tears never cease? This is what it must be like at an opera.”
Then he turned back to his sister and said, “I, for one, am happy to be rid of you.” He smiled at her mischievously. “I intend to take over your room as soon as Babbo and I return. I don’t know how you ended up with the best room in the house, but it will be mine soon enough.”
Catarina burst into laughter through her tears, thankful for her brother’s sense of humor.
“My husband and I will kick you out when we come to visit,” Catarina retorted, as she blew her nose into a handkerchief. But she was happy to think of Mateo in her room.
“When I get married, my wife and I will live in your room and make a baby right in your bed.”
“Mateo!” Babbo cuffed his son on the ear. “There will be no talking like that in front of your sister.”
But Mateo just laughed harder and winked at Catarina, who shook her head at him.
They were hungry, so they ate while they passed the time in the cart. The day was glorious. Sunny, but not too hot because it was early. Mateo and Babbo would be sweltering on the return journey, but for now it was as if Italy were giving Catarina a perfect farewell.
When they arrived at the harbor, it was like nothing Catarina had imagined. There were people everywhere. Carts and horses clogged the streets. The port was crowded with people loading supplies onto the ship, shouting to one another. The whole spectacle overwhelmed her, but the main focus for Catarina was the ship. It took her breath away. It was bigger than the orchard at their house. It was bigger than the town square in their village. It was huge and hulking, but what shocked her even more than the size was that she had expected a wooden ship like she’d seen in paintings. Instead, it was made of steel.
“Babbo, how will it stay afloat?” Catarina asked. “It must weigh so much it will sink to the bottom of the sea.”
Babbo laughed. “Don’t worry, child. It will stay afloat and get you all the way to America. It’s much safer than wood. It’s a steamship. Now, let’s get you aboard and find where you’ll be sleeping.”
Mateo quickly tied up the horse and cart and helped his father with the trunk. He was eager to explore the ship. He, too, was in awe of its enormity and could hardly believe it would only take Catarina nine days to reach New York. She and Mateo looked at each other with matching expressions of wonder etched across their similar features.
They walked up the gangway, Catarina holding the suitcase in the lead and Mateo and her father behind, hefting the trunk between them. When they reached the entrance, they were stopped by a young, uniformed man who asked for their tickets.
Catarina opened the first purse she had ever owned, extracted her ticket, and handed it to him.
“My daughter’s traveling to America to get married,” Babbo told him.
The man looked up and met her eyes.
“Lucky man,” he winked at Catarina and punched a hole in her ticket, then handed it back to her. His accent was from northern Italy and his hair was golden and curly, which made his dark eyes almost confusing. Catarina felt heat rise to her face and looked away.
“Can you tell me where she will be sleeping?” asked Catarina’s father.
“Si, Signore, on level two you’ll find a door with the same number as the ticket. And if you would like, I will keep a special eye on your daughter while she is aboard ship. My name is Gregorio Villa, and I have a sister who must be the same age,” he smiled.
“Grazie mille. I would appreciate it,” said Babbo, and handed him a coin which he casually pocketed.
As they walked away from him, Catarina glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Gregorio was watching her, too, an amused expression on his face. Her sharp intake of breath startled her father. She quickly turned back and acted as if she were simply looking around.
“What is it, Catarina? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, Babbo. I’m only looking at the ship. What an amaz
ing thing it is!” she said, but in truth, the face of Gregorio Villa was immediately fixed in her mind.
When they got downstairs, they easily located the berth Catarina was to share. Inside was the girl whom Franco had written to her about.
“Buon giorno,” they said in unison and then smiled at each other.
“Il mio nome è Catarina Pensebene.”
“Nice to meet you, Catarina. My name is Maria Crostina.”
Catarina introduced her brother and father as well, stored her suitcase and trunk, and then told her that they were going to look around the ship.
“Would you like to join us?” she asked.
“No, grazie,” said Maria. “I’m going to unpack, but I’ll see you later.”
So they left her to explore the different levels of the ship. They found the dining area, the outside decks, and even snuck a peek into the first class accommodations, until they were asked to see their tickets, then shooed out when they couldn’t produce them. They stood against the rail looking out at the dock below. Mateo stepped away to look off the bow and Catarina’s father took his daughter in his arms.
“I will miss you,” he said, “but this will be best for you.”
“I know, Babbo.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her.
“This is for you. Keep it safe. I didn’t want you traveling with no money, should anything happen.”
Catarina had never been given money for herself before, and the thought of it alarmed her.
“What would happen? Why would I need this?” she asked.
“I’m sure nothing, but this way if Franco’s train is late or you need anything, you have some money.”
“Grazie, Babbo. I will keep it safe,” she said, and tucked it into her purse without looking at the amount. She peeked discretely around to make sure no one was watching. She felt conspicuous having money. She felt a sense of pride, too. She was a grown woman. Her father trusted her with money.
Suddenly, the horn sounded and they both jumped. Catarina almost dropped her purse but caught it just in time, averting embarrassment.
“We have to go now, Catarina. That’s the signal.”
“Ok,” she said, this time determined not to shed more tears. She smiled bravely at her father, who hugged her and then held her at arms length to study her face. Mateo appeared at their sides and quickly hugged his sister as well.
“Ti amo,” she said to each of them in turn, and forced her face to keep smiling. “I’ll stand here and wave to you. You find me from shore, ok? Look, we’re near this big cable. Look for that and you’ll find me.”
“Si Catarina, we’ll find you from shore,” said Babbo, his voice strained with the effort of keeping composure. And then they stepped away and left her staring from the deck.
She bit her cheek and breathed deeply. She reminded herself of everything she was excited about. She would have adventures in America. She would ride a train from New York to San Francisco, so she would have time to get to know Franco before they married. She would be the wife of a jeweler instead of the daughter of a farmer. She went through the list in her mind until she spotted her father and brother ashore waving madly at her. She waved back until her arm got tired. Finally the ship sounded two more times, and then she felt a lurch under her feet as they pulled away from the dock and headed out to sea.
Chapter 8
JULIETTE, LEARNING TO DRINK ESPRESSO THE ITALIAN WAY
When she got back to her apartment, Juliette tossed her bag on the still-unmade bed, kicked off her shoes, and poured a glass of red wine even though it was only four in the afternoon. She sank onto her love seat and called her sister on her now internationally equipped cell phone.
“Hi,” she said once Gina picked up. “It’s me.”
“Juliette? The connection’s so clear, it sounds like you’re just down the street. How are you? How’s it all going? I miss you already!”
“I’m fine. And Lucca’s gorgeous.”
“Did you have your first day of class today? How was it?”
“Yes, and it was amazing. I think it’s going to be an excellent class, but man did I have to stay on my toes. It’s difficult to try to keep up with what I’m supposed to do while it’s being taught in Italian.”
“Trial by fire, as they say.”
“Trial by skillet in this case, but being here and surrounded by the language brings back so many memories of when we were little and spending time with Nonna and Granddad.”
“That must be nice.”
“Yeah, I wish I knew what it was like here when they were young,” Juliette said wistfully.
“We should have asked them more about it, while we still had them. But now it’s your turn to be young in Italy. So try to enjoy it. Don’t think about what happened before you left, if you can.”
“That’s my plan, actually. Sometimes deep denial is best, don’t you think?”
“At least for now. So, tell me,” Gina said, trying to move her little sister into a more life-affirming frame of mind, “is there anyone interesting in your class? Any appealing men?”
“Juliette realized what her sister was trying to do and appreciated her effort.
“My instructor is definitely interesting,” Juliette noted.
“Do tell.”
“Well, the first thing you should know is that Italian men have some sort of indefinable sexiness that American men don’t. Well, not that they don’t, but it’s definitely different. Like being sexy here is expected in the same way it is for women at home. They dress better, make more eye contact, and I don’t know. . . there’s just something. I’ve only been here two days and have already been scrutinized with frankly sexual undertones more than I think I have during my entire adulthood at home.”
“Maybe they’re just more obvious.”
“Maybe. Anyway, my teacher definitely has that frank Italian undertone of charisma. Not that it matters. He’s way too handsome to be my type. But it’ll be fun to take my class from him, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t discount him just because he has a pretty face, Juliette. After all, who knows, maybe he’s the Italian version of the dorky guys you usually go for at home.”
“That may be true!” Juliette chuckled in spite of herself. “Maybe he’s a complete dork and I just don’t know because it’s a different kind than American dorkiness. Either way, he seems like a great teacher. And he’s nice! And he speaks English, so he let me know that if I get confused he’ll help me sort it out. But that’s not even the best part—we made mouth-watering polenta today . . . and you know how I feel about polenta.”
“Yes, I believe your stand on polenta is ‘boring: might as well be grits.’”
“Exactly. But this was different in a fundamental way. It was extraordinarily flavorful and rich.”
“It’s good to hear you sound excited. It seems like this is going to be as great as you hoped.”
“I hope so. I feel far away from home, though, and terrible about leaving you and Dad with so much to deal with. I’m kind of lonely and freaked out, but I’m trying to be tough.”
“Don’t worry about us. The police let me know yesterday, though, that because the driver has been charged with criminal drunk driving and manslaughter you’ll have to make another official statement at some point. But for now, the police said they can talk to you by phone if they need to.”
“I still can’t believe she’s gone. How could this have happened?”
“I know, but for now try not to dwell on it.”
“I’m trying not to, but sometimes I need to. You know, to process it. Does that make sense?”
“It makes complete sense. When I miss her, I try to focus on one of my favorite memories of her. It seems to help.”
“At home, my friends were trying too hard to cheer me up. I needed to get some space away from that,” Juliette paused, then Odessa popped into her mind. “I met a woman here who I can see becoming friends with. Her
family sells cheese.”
“Of course, back to food. Leave it to you to find a friend who makes cheese. It would never be someone who, say, works at a bank.”
She had to agree that her sister was probably right.
After their conversation, Juliette felt the time change dragging her down and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, but she knew she needed to go get some dinner. In fact, she knew exactly what she was in the mood for: minestrone soup.
She doubted if there was such a thing as take-out in this town, and it was only six o’clock. Restaurants wouldn’t serve dinner for hours yet, so she decided to shut her eyes and rest a little bit. Over the next hour, she kept jerking awake, afraid to fall into a deep sleep, so she finally forced herself to get up off the couch and find a restaurant and that bowl of minestrone.
Juliette’s minestrone quest wasn’t as simple as she’d hoped. She searched several narrow cobblestone streets off the main square, peeking into the windows of restaurants and checking the menus posted at the door of several trattorias with no luck. Finally, she found a cozy venue that looked promising. The windows were steam covered because of the sheer number of people packed into the small eatery. It was casual and welcoming, filled with candlelight and color. Long tables were crowded with locals talking animatedly, with their hands moving as rapidly as their words, and eating with gusto. Some people were in groups. Others were alone. Her feet were tired and she felt worn out and hungry so she decided to go in, minestrone or not. She didn’t even bother to look for a menu outside. She entered the little cafe and stood by a table featuring samples of the evening’s offerings. She looked through the dishes, spying some favorites and others that were new to her, drinking in the sight of the local delicacies.
“Juliette? . . Juliette?”
She was engrossed by the food on display and didn’t hear her name being called at first, then jumped when she felt an unexpected tap on her shoulder.
Catarina's Ring Page 7