Catarina's Ring

by Lisa McGuinness

  Franco enjoyed Catarina’s new friends, and because of their artistic viewpoints he began to see himself as a jewelry designer rather than a merchant. Catarina insisted he was an artist in his own right and maintained that the ring he created for her was proof of his exceptional talent.

  “If it wasn’t for this incessant worrying about my family,” she said to Franco as they cleaned up one evening after their guests had left, “life would be perfect.”

  “I think that’s how life is, mi amore. You have to focus on the best of it and sweep aside the worry and sorrow because there’s nothing you can do about it anyway.”

  “I know,” she wrapped her arms around him. “You’re right, but it’s difficult.”

  “Go put your feet up now. They’re swelling to the size of pumpkins. I’ll finish these dishes.”

  He took the serving platter she was carrying to the sink out of her hands and gently nudged her toward the couch.

  “If you want to, you can read your book,” he suggested, “it’s there on the side table.”

  Catarina was slogging through Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton. She was continually trying to improve her reading and she found this novel compelling in spite of its level of difficulty, the horrible bleakness of the plot, and the constant need to stop and ask Franco for the definition of words.

  “I’m too tired to think in English,” she said. “I think I’ll just lie here and talk to you while you finish. You spoil me too much, Franco. Some day when Mama comes to visit, I’m going to have to show her that I’m a good wife. Otherwise she’ll see that I have gotten soft here in America.”

  “You haven’t gotten soft,” he said from the kitchen, “just round!”

  “Well, that she would approve of!” she laughed and patted her pregnant middle. “If it’s a boy, would you mind if we named him after my brother?” she asked.

  “Mateo?”

  “I feel like somehow that will help keep him safe. He’ll want to be sure to meet a nephew named after him. He’s just that arrogant,” she teased.

  Over the next months, the letters from her mother became increasingly worrisome. Even though the fighting remained in the north, everyone in the country was forced to live in fear while waiting for news about their sons and husbands, and wondering whether the battles would move south. The Pensebenes said rosaries everyday for Mateo. There had been no news of him after the second short, scrawled letter her family had received in the months after he left.

  At least Catarina and Franco had a welcome distraction. Baby Mateo was born. He was the perfect foil to her worries, temporarily taking her mind off of the fear she felt for her family. She was happy to be able to send them good news to celebrate in spite of their circumstances.

  Overwhelmed by love for him, Catarina felt Mateo was a perfect little boy. He looked like his father and she was surprised by how much time she could spend simply gazing at him.

  Catarina tucked a blanket under the baby’s chin and hugged her newborn tight. She understood for the first time just how difficult it must have been for her mother to send her off to marry Franco—knowing she might never see her again. And then to have to send Mateo off to battle. How hard that would be for her parents. She resolved again to go see her family as soon as the war was over even though the journey was so long.

  Every day she opened the mailbox with a mixture of hope and dread. She was desperate to hear news that her family was safe, but each day that she unlocked the box and found it empty was one more in which she could visualize Mateo alive and sitting around with other soldiers making jokes and eating rations. She hoped it was true. Maybe he was being housed on a farm where the farmer had a beautiful daughter and he was madly in love and helping out around the farm instead of wading through mud and blood on a smoke-filled battlefield, which is where she saw him in her darker moments. She made up different scenarios every day. While she tended the baby and snuck in painting time while he slept, she fretted over the fate of her beloved brother.

  It was easier to pass the time when Franco was home. When he came back from work each evening, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and carried their son around the apartment making cooing sounds and getting baby smiles, while she cooked dinner. He made faces at Mateo while telling Catarina stories of the day. She told him about all the mesmerizing things their son did while he was at work, but the best time of the day was the very end. The three of them would prop up in bed. Catarina fed Mateo while Franco read to her in English.

  One night, after the dishes were put away and they were snuggled in bed, Franco pulled a letter out of his pocket instead of picking the book up off of the bedside table.

  “Catarina, my love, I have some bad news for you.” He took her hand. “Your babbo sent my father a letter.”

  She looked from the baby to her husband and silently shook her head, imploring him to stop. He had been quiet and ashen all evening, but had insisted he was fine when she asked if he was ill. Now she could see her husband bite the inside of his cheek as he did whenever he struggled to stay composed.

  “It’s Mateo, Catarina,” Franco said. And then paused and looked away for a moment, because he wanted to stay strong for his wife. He gained control and then looked back. “He was killed in battle,” he forced the words out, knowing that each one would rip a piece of his wife’s heart to pieces.

  “No, Franco,” she said, shaking her head and trying to force back tears, trying to deny what her husband told her. “You’re wrong. There’s a mistake. He’s fine. I would know. I would feel it. Don’t you think I would feel it?” she rushed her words out. Her shoulders began to shake and she had to hold the baby tightly to stop herself from dropping him. The sobs began even as her words of denial continued.

  “Besides,” she fought on, “why would your parents know first? My parents would write to me.”

  “They wanted to make sure you didn’t get the news when you were home alone,” he said, and gently pried baby Mateo from Catarina so he could take his wife into his protective embrace.

  “How can he be gone from us?” she cried. “I look out at the moon at night and I think about the fact that he can see the same moon. We’re not so far away from each other. But now? I can’t imagine being alive, here, and being without him in this world.”

  Catarina stopped trying to fight the truth and allowed herself to sob. Franco held her tightly and rocked them both.

  “My brother,” she cried.

  “I know,” Franco soothed.

  “Did the letter say what happened?”

  “He was in Caporetto. There was fighting, and his battalion was advancing when there was an explosion. It was a bomb. One of his friends crawled to him, but it was too late. At least it was fast. He didn’t suffer. They sent his personal things to your parents with a letter.”

  “Here,” he handed her the letter. Through her tears, she could see that it had already been folded and unfolded several times. She wondered how many times both he and his father had read the news.

  She saw her father’s handwriting and as she read the words herself she had to accept the truth.

  She looked up at Franco when she finished reading.

  “Oh, mio Dio!,” she sobbed. “I hate this war, the violence. It’s all so senseless.”

  Franco brushed aside her hair and as he did, Catarina remembered her brother bowing as they passed the beautiful, shy Bianca, whom he swore to someday marry.

  “Oh, Mateo,” she said and handed the letter back to Franco, buried her face in her hands, and began to cry again.

  Chapter 28

  JULIETTE, COLD COMPRESSES, EYE DROPS, TAKING A DAY OFF, AND A BORROWED DOG

  “My God, what happened to you?” Ian asked, when Juliette came in the next morning with extremely swollen eyes. “Did you have an allergic reaction to something?”

  “I wish it were something that simple. No, it’s something much worse. My studio got broken into and my ring was stolen.”

  “No!” He put the plans he was lo
oking at down and came and wrapped her in a hug.

  She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Sorry, I don’t want to get snot on you.”

  “Don’t worry, you can get as much snot on me as you need to. See this sleeve?” He held up his arm. “You can even use it to blow your nose.”

  Juliette laughed in spite of herself.

  “Tell me what happened. Here, sit down. Today I’ll make the coffee.”

  “That sounds good. I was supposed to go to work this morning, but I called in sick. I was too freaked out to get a good night’s sleep. The burglars broke in right through my front door. It made me feel like anyone could just waltz in at any time, you know?”

  “Just . . . boom? Right through?” Ian’s contractor’s mind was already working on getting her door secured.

  “I can’t believe I lost the ring.”

  “You didn’t lose the ring, some scumbags came in and took it.”

  “I know that in theory, but I still feel like I let them down. Mom and Nonna, I mean. They took care of the ring. They didn’t let it fall into the hands of a bunch of thieves. I can’t believe this happened. My God, Ian,” a thought suddenly occurred to her. “They were probably in my cottage while I was telling you the story of it. Why did I leave it at home? I could have used gloves like you said.”

  “Juliette, you couldn’t possibly have known. You were trying to keep it from getting covered in paint. Your mom and Catarina wouldn’t be mad at you. They loved you. They would never hold this against you. Come here,” Ian wrapped her in a hug again. “Listen, we’re not going to work today.”

  “No?”

  “Definitely not. First of all, you’re going to lie down, right here on the floor. Wait, actually I’ll sweep first.” He moved away from her, swept up a spot and grabbed the pillow off her bench to place under her head. “And I’m going to get a cold towel to put across your eyes, and you’re going to rest them while I go to the drugstore to get some eye drops.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Well, let me put it this way: you look like a boxer who went one round too many. But still cute, of course.”

  She lay down, and he tucked the pillow beneath her head and placed one of his clean paint rags that he rinsed with cold water across her eyes.

  “You rest while I get the drops, then when we get back we’re going to get in the truck and go to the most restful spot around. It’s my favorite place.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “Pacific Grove. Have you been there?”

  “You mean down by Monterey?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Isn’t that, like, two hours away?”

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s a great path along the ocean where we can watch otters and seals, and there are lots of restaurants. We’ll bring our coffee and drink it on the way.”

  “Sounds perfect,” she sighed, releasing some of the tension. “And my eyes are feeling better already, even from this cool rag.”

  “Good. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Wow, that was fast,” Juliette said when she heard the back door open again just moments later.

  “Whoa girl, what happened to you?” Instead of Ian, she heard Mark’s voice, so she peeked out from under the cloth.

  “I had a bad night,” she said.

  “It must have been a doozie.”

  “It was, but not the kind of doozie you’re thinking of. Someone broke into my place and stole a bunch of my stuff.”

  “Shit, no wonder you’re down on the floor. Do you need help getting up?”

  “No, Ian’s getting eye drops and then he’s whisking me away for the day. I’m afraid you’re going to be on your own.”

  “What? Where are you going?”

  “He said Pacific Grove is the place to go to lick wounds. Something about peaceful ocean walks.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows at that one, but Juliette couldn’t see because she was still lying with the cloth on her eyes.

  “What a show-off. Whisking you away, huh? Well, then, I guess I’ll have to settle for putting more cool water on your cloth. Hand it over.”

  “Geez, you guys are amazing. Do you give this treatment to all your clients?”

  “Only the ones who feed us fancy Italian pastries, make us amazing coffee, treat my daughter like a princess, introduce us to the best sushi place in town, and get robbed.”

  “So yes, pretty much all your clients.”

  “Exactly.”

  She took the cloth off of her face and handed it to Mark. “My eyes are feeling better already. Hey, I can even open them beyond puffy slits. Look.”

  “Come on Juliette, you always look great. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks for the sympathy compliment.”

  “No problem. It usually works on Lexi.” He walked to the bathroom to rinse out the cloth with more cool water. Juliette took it from him and lay back down while Mark strapped on his tool belt and put his lunch in the fridge.

  Ian’s return was announced when she heard Mark say, “Hey, I heard what happened to our girl.”

  In spite of her depressed state, she couldn’t help but like being called “their girl.” When she decided to go ahead with Gusto, she never would have guessed that she would make such good friends in the bargain.

  “Ok, Juliette, let’s see.” Ian crouched down beside her.

  She sat up again and took off the cloth.

  “Better already.” He took out the eye drops. “Tilt.” He lifted her chin and dropped three drops neatly in each eye.

  “Impressive work. Were you a pothead in your youth?”

  “No, I was not. But I do have a sister who pretty much made me her slave during any emotional upset.”

  “Good deal for her.”

  “I think you’re good to go,” Ian said, tilting her chin up again and looking into her eyes. He smiled at her and rubbed his knuckles against her cheek.

  “Thank you,” she spontaneously kissed his cheek. “You’re very good to me.”

  “I aim to please, Ma’am.” Ian drolled, but kept his eyes locked on hers.

  “All right,” Juliette got up off the floor. “I’ll make the coffee while you confer with Mark about the day’s agenda, since we’re cruelly ditching him.”

  “What, you don’t trust my coffee skills?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Juliette looked at him, all innocence. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  The day lived up to Ian’s promise. The sleepy seaside town was peaceful. They walked along the cliff path and spotted more ocean life than Juliette had ever seen. Ian took her hand as they scrambled over rocks to peek into tide pools, and they went out for a huge lunch at a place called Aliotti’s where Juliette had the best piece of quiche Lorraine she’d ever tasted. They stopped off for tea in a tucked-away garden, which turned out to be Juliette’s favorite part of the day.

  Only once did they even talk about the ring.

  “I’m curious,” Ian told her. “Yesterday, when you were telling me the story of your ring, you said that your grandmother told you it saved her life once. What was that about?”

  “Actually, I just read about it in one of her letters to her friend. It turns out that when she was on the ship, coming from Italy to New York, she met another man and fell for him. Hard. In fact, he asked her to skip out on her promise to marry my grandfather, but she refused.”

  “Gutsy. I don’t know that I would have blamed her if she had. After all, she was only a teenager and she was going to marry some guy she didn’t know.”

  “She said that back then, a promise was a promise. And then she met Granddad, and she came to love him, too. So then, more than a year later, she ran into the other guy again and guess what? He had come to San Francisco in search of her. He hoped she hadn’t gone through with the wedding because he was sure she loved him, too. Anyway, she said she wasn’t proud of her behavior, but she struck up a secret friendship with him.”

>   “Then what?” Ian was completely hooked.

  “Well, he still loved her, and she was confused because she loved Granddad, but she still had feelings for this other guy. But then he did something that made her know that Granddad was the man for her.”

  “What?”

  “He suggested they hock the ring and use the money to run away together. He wanted Nonna to leave right then, and not even tell Granddad that she was going. Just disappear. Can you imagine what that would have done to Granddad? To have your wife just gone with no idea of what happened?” Juliette paused. “Anyway,” she continued, “Nonna wrote that it was like someone threw a bucket of icy water over her and she realized that the other man was deceitful and no good. She would never do that to Granddad because he was such a wonderful man who had been nothing but good and loyal to her. And that’s when she realized that she not only loved her husband, but was in love with him as well.”

  “So the ring saved her life.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Look, I know you already know this, but even though it’s not on your finger, the ring will always be a part of you—even if you only had it a short time. It’s part of your life story because it was part of theirs.”

  “I do know and I’ll try to remind myself of that. Thank you for everything. For taking me here and, I don’t know . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. Besides,” he smirked, “I’m going to add all this to your bill.” He stood up and pulled her up.

  “Very funny.” She paused. “You know what, Ian Matthews? You’re a good person.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t let it get around. It’ll ruin my bad boy reputation,” he smiled. “Come on,” Ian reached out, took her hand and pulled her off the bench she was sitting on, “we better head back. I want to take a look at your door before it gets dark.”

  They stopped by Gusto so Juliette could pick up her car and then drove up the hill to her place. Ian walked around it to make sure everything looked secure and took a closer look at the front door.