Catarina's Ring

by Lisa McGuinness

  After Roman had dropped off her things, she’d spied the neglected box of letters and opened the lid. During her time in Italy, her fluency had improved and it had become easier to read through them.

  She had come to feel a deep attachment to Maria and was intrigued by the many new layers that had been revealed about her grandmother. She had always known and loved her simply as her nonna, but to read the letters from a young, passionate Catarina revealed the complex life she’d led. She witnessed the compassionate friend she was when the two women wrote about Maria’s difficulty in getting pregnant and was fascinated to read the recounts of her falling in love with her grandfather. So much had happened that she had never known about. A shipside romance? Juliette could hardly stand the suspense of what had happened and passed hours escaping into the correspondence. In the letter she had just finished, Catarina had told Maria the ring saved her life. Juliette wondered what her grandmother meant by that and couldn’t wait to find out what happened in the next letter.

  When the alarm went off on Monday morning, Juliette moaned, burrowed back under the covers, and went back to sleep for hours. The thought of seeing Roman made the prospect of getting up and out impossible. Instead, when she finally dragged herself out of bed, she spent the day sprawled on the couch, drinking tea and reading the letters.

  Strength, Juliette noticed, was one of Catarina’s underlying and ongoing messages to Maria. Strength and choosing to create a full life. Choose happiness. Grace and grit. It was sweet to see that even a young Catarina espoused the same wisdom as the nonna she knew.

  It got Juliette thinking about her own life circumstances in light of her grandmother’s. Catarina had courage in spades. She took risks. She left her country to get away from a would-be rapist and the almost certain knowledge that a war was coming, and moved to San Francisco with the worry that she may never see her family again. But she did it. Juliette thought about the money her mother left her and the fear and regret that were holding her back from using it.

  She sighed and stared out the window, unconsciously biting her thumbnail. Juliette moaned with the realization that she was holding herself back. Merda, she said under her breath. She twisted Catarina’s ring on her finger and could almost hear her mother and nonna giggle joyously from beyond at the realization that Juliette finally got it.

  “Thank you, Nonna,” she said aloud. “Thank you, Mom.” She had the sudden urge to throw the correspondence around herself like confetti, but came to her senses before doing any damage to the frail paper and instead gently tucked them back into the box and stretched. Her limbs felt stiff, as if she had been sitting for days instead of hours. She did a few knee bends then decided to throw on her running clothes and run the wall.

  “Forget Roman,” she continued the conversation with her mother and grandmother while she laced up her shoes. “I’m choosing my own happiness. And something good will come from your death, Mom. I’m going to open my café. I know that’s what you would want,” she wiped a stray tear that had escaped, locked the door behind her, and headed to the outskirts of Lucca to run a victory lap.

  On Tuesday, she decided to try out her newfound strength and go to class. It was the last week, after all, and she had come here to learn everything she could. On her way through the door, she kissed her ring for courage. Once she settled in, she attempted to focus on the singular task of dicing the onion in front of her and shutting her mind completely to everything except perfect chopping technique. She decided if a tear or two slipped down her cheek, her classmates would assume that it was because the onion was burning her eyes.

  She wanted to learn what Roman had to teach, but it was incredibly painful to be in the room with him. She was determined to be courageous though, so she forced herself to suck it up and went back the next day and the next. She wanted to touch him and she couldn’t stop looking at him, but the real agony came when she left class each afternoon alone, and walked by the espresso stand where they had wiled away so many enjoyable hours.

  She got together with Odessa a couple of times and filled her in on what had happened, but mostly she spent hours and hours working on the plans for the café she now knew would be a reality. She poured herself into the details in hopes of dulling the heartbreak and was happy to discover that under the blanket of despair was a glimmer of excitement.

  It would have a service counter, as well as several tables and an eating bar with stools for people who came in alone. She would serve pastries, sweet frittata, tea and coffee in the morning; a variety of gourmet sandwiches on homemade foccacia bread, minestrone soup, pasta, salads, and specials at lunch and dinner. On certain nights, she would open up the kitchen to hold classes where she and her students could prepare and then eat a meal. All she had to do was find the right space.

  She thought about three different cities. San Francisco was the first that came to mind because she had grown up there. She had been around the family jewelry store since the time she was in diapers. And, it would be nice to be close to Gina, who still worked at the store that had been located in the same spot for generations.

  Berkeley was another thought. It was the heart of the Slow Food Movement. She would love to be in the Gourmet Ghetto where other venerable foodies had restaurants. Her one concern about Berkeley was that her place might be lost among so many great venues. Of course that could be a problem in San Francisco, too.

  She also considered staying close to home in Walnut Creek; a suburb, yes, but one with a genuine, flourishing downtown, where her café might be more of a standout. In the end, she decided to look in all three places and keep her options open.

  She found herself desperate to see her dad, Gina, and friends again. She needed to be with them while she licked her wounds, and now that she had decided to take the plunge she was dying to talk to them about her ideas. Talking on the phone from afar just wasn’t the same.

  Packing up her Lucca apartment proved more daunting than she had imagined. She had collected more things than she realized during her weekend jaunts around the countryside. A Deruta pitcher here and an antique stone bowl there had added up to many more boxes than the ones she arrived with. She had bought her dad and Gina presents, as well as bottles of aged balsamic vinegar from Modena for several of her friends.

  Her favorite acquisition by far though, was an oversized ceramic urn that she planned to display prominently with long stems of blooming branches in her café. She had meandered through an antique market in Bologna filled with all kinds of treasures. She had to limit herself to the urn and a few tiny silver pillboxes she couldn’t resist, but if she had the money, she could have spent buckets of Euros there.

  The Friday before she left was spent at the shipping agent’s office and then Juliette met Odessa and Antonello at Salvia for one last dinner together.

  Juliette had become a regular while in Lucca, and over the last week had talked to the owner several times to get advice about her café now that she was getting serious about it. She told him that she was planning to include several of his specialty dishes on her menu, which made the jovial old Italian proud. He felt a special fondness for his American protégée, so when they came in on her last evening in town, he showered them with little tastes of each of his specialties and brought them Juliette’s favorite wine, staunchly refusing to accept a single Euro.

  The evening was much like the first dinner Juliette shared with Odessa and Antonello and ended with hugs and cheek kisses to say goodbye.

  Juliette spent her last night in Lucca in the little apartment she’d treasured. Even though the evening was chilly, she wrapped herself in blankets and sat on her balcony thinking about her time there until the wee hours.

  Her plane didn’t leave until late afternoon, so she was able to sleep in before she went out for her last taste of bombilini and espresso, then bring her suitcases down to meet the taxi to the train station, and close up the rental she’d made her home.

  When the train left the city, Juliette looked over he
r shoulder to get one last glimpse of the walled town she had come to love. She would miss being in a city of such history and architectural beauty. She was suddenly afraid that leaving was a huge mistake. Maybe she should stay and fight for him. But then she remembered he loved Maddelena, not her. She was still confused about how she could have misjudged the situation so terribly.

  She sighed and watched the scenery speed by.

  At least she would be home soon. She tried to focus on that.

  During the two-hour train ride to get to the airport, Juliette immersed herself in thoughts of home and getting back to her familiar life. When the train neared the station, she checked her purse again for her passport and ticket, finding comfort in seeing them tucked into the pages of the novel she was reading.

  She hoisted her shoulder bag up higher and then headed to the check-in gate. She joined the fray and stopped on the outskirts for a time. The Italian passengers crowded the counter. There was no sense of lining up in Italy. It was all about discreetly elbowing your way to the front. Juliette eased into the crowd and tried to make her way up in line without being too aggressive. She reminded herself that it was just part of the culture as she gently leaned her shoulder into a young man who was trying to casually shove his way in front of her. She gave him a sweet smile when she reached the check-in counter in front of him and placed her ticket on the counter.

  Chapter 17

  CATARINA, AND THE NEW WORLD INSIDE AND OUTSIDE OF A TRAIN WINDOW

  The cross-country train ride took four days, but Catarina didn’t mind. It gave her a chance to get to know Franco better and to see her new country. She had a difficult time grasping how vast it was because her frame of reference was so small, but she realized it was expanding daily. On the train, one entire day went by and all she had seen was flat prairie land.

  Finally that landscape gave way to desert and rock formations that seemed like strange dreamscapes. But she was most in awe of the mountains. She imagined they rivaled the beauty of the Italian Alps she had heard about, but never seen.

  “Tell me again what it’s like in San Francisco,” she requested.

  “There are lots of hills and the houses are painted many different colors. It’s very different from Italy. There’s a huge park, kind of like Central Park in New York, which we can walk through. And there’s a downtown area with paved streets and wide sidewalks. Our jewelry store is on a side street off of Market Street downtown. And if you walk toward San Francisco Bay, there’s a huge building called the Ferry Building with a clock tower that keeps the time. You’ll see it when we arrive.”

  “Is the water warm? Do people swim?”

  Franco laughed. “The water is cold, frigid really, so people don’t often swim in the bay. But sometimes people go to a beach that faces the ocean to swim. I can take you there someday. But San Francisco isn’t hot like it is at home.”

  “What do you mean?” Catarina couldn’t imagine summers that weren’t sweltering.

  “It’s foggy lots of the time in San Francisco.”

  Catarina looked back at him with an expression of dismay. She didn’t like the idea of fog day after day. “It sounds dreary,” she said.

  “It is sometimes, but I think you’ll get used to it. We live in the most sunny section of town,” he reassured her. “And,” he went on, “we’re going to get a new library. So once you learn to read in English, you can check out books from the library and stay in and read if it’s cold and foggy.”

  “I could go to the library?” Catarina asked, because she was sure back home that would be something only men were allowed to do. She was one of the few females in her village who even knew how to read.

  “Certamente,” Franco said. “I’ll teach you to read English myself.”

  Catarina liked the sound of that.

  “Do you have books in Italian?” she asked. She wondered if she could begin reading books as soon as they arrived.

  “Yes, Italian and English. I love to read, and if you do, too, then you’ll find no shortage of books at home.”

  It was odd to think of someplace she’d never seen as “home,” when home to her was an orchard and vineyard with her family around her.

  “Why are you getting a new library? What’s wrong with the old one?” One of the things Catarina noticed from his stories is that things seemed to change more and faster in this new country. At home, buildings stayed in the same families for generations and new ones were rarely built.

  “The old one burned down,” he replied. “There was a big earthquake six years ago and a lot of the city burned down. Even though it’s been a while, there’s still some rebuilding to be done.”

  “A very big earthquake?” she asked. Between earthquakes and fog, Catarina wasn’t sure she had made a good decision in agreeing to move to San Francisco.

  “Si. But it’s over now, and I doubt we’ll have another big one like that,” Franco told her.

  Catarina tried to be reassured, but the idea of the ground shaking was frightening. They occasionally had earthquakes at home, and the rumbling feeling terrified her.

  “There are also some small islands in the bay,” Franco changed the subject. “One of them is called Angel Island. Someday we can take a boat there and have a picnic. It’s a beautiful spot. And the view of San Francisco from there is interesting to see. Would you like to go with me?”

  “Si, of course,” she answered.

  “And there’s a small beach there. Perhaps we could dip our feet into the water.” Franco raised his eyebrows at her, to ask her if she liked the idea.

  She did like the idea. She imagined cool water against her bare feet.

  She suddenly pictured herself there with Gregorio sitting next to her. She knew she should shove the image away, but instead she allowed herself to dream about him for just a moment.

  Thinking about Gregorio made her wonder about Franco and why he asked her to come to San Francisco instead of marrying a local girl. She had asked him a little bit about it in New York, but it still seemed odd to her—especially now that she saw how kind he was—that he wasn’t already married.

  She felt shy about asking him for more details, but finally her curiosity got the better of her.

  “I keep wondering, because it seems so strange to me,” she began timidly, “why did you decide to ask for me to marry you instead of marrying someone who already lives in San Francisco?” And then she stammered, “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  Franco laughed. “Well, first of all, I think that it is your business. We’re each other’s business now; after all, we are going to be married soon.”

  Catarina hadn’t thought of it that way, but laughed too because his laughter was contagious. When he stated it so plainly, she saw that he was right. They would be each other’s business for the rest of their lives. It was strange to think of it that way.

  “Well?” she prodded.

  “Well, there’s not much to tell, really. Even though my parents have forced me to go to every single Italian festival and social gathering for the last ten years at least, there hasn’t been a young lady whom I wanted to marry. And now, I’m glad I didn’t.” He looked into her eyes.

  Catarina unexpectedly started to tear up. She nodded at him and then looked out the window while she tried to regain composure. She didn’t like to cry in front of other people and had no idea what would cause her to tear up now.

  He didn’t interfere with her attempt to get her emotions under control, but he smiled at her and reached into his pocket and handed a clean, folded handkerchief to her.

  She smiled gratefully in response.

  Franco had booked a sleeping car for the trip. Each night as the train sped on, they took turns changing alone in the room, then unhooked the bunks that folded up during the day so they were able to stretch out while they slept. Catarina was lulled by the rocking and clacking of the train. She enjoyed the motion and the feeling of distance being travelled while she slept. It was also a nice way
to get used to sleeping in the same space as Franco. Although she knew once they married they would share a bed, this was a nice in-between step. The thought of sharing the marital bed was still a bit terrifying to her. On one hand she wasn’t looking forward to it, on the other hand, she mused, at least she would know what all the gossip was about.

  When she awoke on the last morning of their trip, Catarina was treated to the view of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. She looked out the window from her bunk as they emerged from a tunnel and saw a pristine jewel of a lake below them. Franco was already awake and saw that she was looking out the window. He got up and opened the window just a little bit.

  “You have to smell this,” he said. And before she could laugh at how strange that sounded, the scent of pine invaded her senses. It was unlike anything she had smelled before. The fragrance was fresh and clean with a hint of vanilla. She wished her mother was with her so she could smell it too. She would have to remember it, so she could describe it to her parents in the letter she was writing.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

  Franco took in the look on Catarina’s face and knew she appreciated the scent as much as he did. He went over to her and touched her face and smoothed back her sleep-tousled hair. Catarina opened her eyes and smiled.

  After giving her a quick kiss on the lips, he turned to hook his bunk up for the day. He knew in a few hours they would be home. His family planned to meet them at the ferry, so these last few hours were the last ones he’d have alone with Catarina until after they were married, and he intended to use them well.