Mamma shook her head, her eyes closing once more. “I don’t think so. What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“They’ll be home by one. Go to bed.”
Mamma turned her face toward the back of the couch, but Connie shook her once more. “Mamma, where’s Angie?”
“She’s back tomorrow.”
“Mamma, where did she go?”
“Connie, please, let me sleep.”
“Where did she go? Did she go someplace with Father Ianelli?”
Mamma mumbled something Connie couldn’t make out. She leaned closer to her mother’s wiry dark hair. “Say it again, Mamma.”
“He took her to see her people.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday
“What does that mean: ‘He took her to see her people?’”
Mamma held her pink corduroy robe closed at the neck and brushed past Connie, heading from the bathroom down the long narrow hall to her bedroom. “I was dreaming.”
“Mamma, you weren’t dreaming.”
Mamma turned to scowl at her. “Why would I say this?”
“I don’t know! That’s what I’m asking you.”
She turned away from Connie. “I need to go to church. Do you go with Paul?”
“Yes. Nine o’clock.” She and Paul went to nine o’clock Mass and sat in the back where no one would see that they didn’t go to Communion. “Mamma, we need to talk about this! How do you know that she’s okay if you don’t know where she goes?”
“I know where she goes.”
“Where?”
Mamma rested a hand on the doorknob of her closed bedroom door and gave Connie a stern look. “Scuse, but your father, he gets dressed. We speak of this after church.”
Connie was about to turn away in exasperation, when Papa opened the bedroom door. Tapered bare feet protruded from the carefully creased pants of his Sunday suit, and he was fumbling with the cufflink at the end of one sleeve. He thrust his wrist toward Connie. “Your sister, she has a good heart. Father Ianelli tells her about people with a sad story, and she goes there to help them.”
Connie slid the end of the cufflink into the opening in the cuff of his shirtsleeve. “That’s why she rode with him yesterday?”
“Si. And today, he brings her back.”
Connie nodded, then gave him a small smile. “Okay. Thank you.” Her mother slipped past her into the room, and Connie turned away as the door between them closed once more. She went back to her room, where Gianna also was dressing for church.
“Papa says these are people Father Ianelli told her about that need help, and she went to help them.”
“That’s pretty much what she said before, right?”
“I guess. It’s just that the way Mamma talked last night, these weren’t just any people.”
Gianna pulled a silky slip on over her head. “It sounds like she was half asleep. La Boheme was great, by the way. You should get Paul to take you.”
That was highly unlikely. “I don’t think he’s the opera type.”
“He might surprise you. Even non-Italians know La Boheme.”
“What are you and David up to today? Anything?”
“He’s got to pull a shift at the museum, but he’ll be by for dinner.” Gianna stood in front of the mirror and brushed out her thick, shoulder-length hair. She had traded her dark-rimmed glasses for contact lenses the week before, and Connie smiled at how attractive her older sister had become with just the few adjustments that Connie had suggested.
“Well then, this will be the day,” Connie said. “Paul’s coming for dinner, too.”
***
“So, after she says ‘he took her to see her people,’ she goes back to sleep, and I can’t get her to talk to me anymore!” Connie waved her arms in exasperation.
Paul parked the car in front of the bakery and turned off the motor. Mass was over, and they were picking up the Sunday rolls and ham for his grandparents.
“So, I waited for Gianna to come home,” Connie continued, “but she didn’t know any more than I did. Oh, by the way, she said La Boheme was really great. Would you want to go to see that in Burlington next weekend?”
Paul made a face. “Not really.”
“That’s what I figured.” She pursed her lips in irritation. “Well, anyway, my pa says she’s helping some people who need help, and that’s why Father Ianelli ended up taking her to their house. I don’t know. I don’t get any of it.”
Paul shrugged. “Who says you have to get it? It’s Angie’s gig, not yours. Let’s go.”
They went inside the bakery and bought their breakfast items, then returned to Paul’s car.
“There’s just too much weird stuff going on with her,” Connie said as he started the car once more. “And I never told you about the angel.”
Paul wheeled the car out of the parking space. “What angel?”
His disinterest was patently clear, but Connie plunged on.“ A statue in front of a cemetery. I saw it a couple weeks ago.”
“What about it?”
“I want to go see it again.”
He glanced at her. “Why?”
“I just do. It was interesting.”
Paul sighed. “What cemetery?”
“I’m not sure. It’s on a back road about an hour from here.”
“The one near St. Albans?”
“Maybe. It’s called ‘Hope.’”
Paul kept his eyes on the road. “It’s got one big angel out front guarding the gate and a big arch over the entrance?”
Connie blinked. “You know it?”
“Yeah. Nino’s uncle took us there once. Nino’s grandpa carved some of the gravestones. It’s full of Canucks.”
“French-Canadians,” Connie corrected him.
Paul ignored her. “There’s paupers’ graves in the back, and he donated a stone to some guy he didn’t even know. He just wanted to do it.”
Connie’s enthusiasm rose. It sounded like a cool place. “Can you take me there?”
“What for?”
“I want to see it in daylight. I’ve only seen it at night.”
“Why do you want to see a cemetery?”
“It’s a long story. Can we go today?”
Paul groaned. “The Pats play Denver today.”
“Oh, who cares? They lose anyway.” Connie gave him an exaggerated pout. “You’d choose a football game over being on a back road with me?”
A small smile played about his kissable lips. “You’re going to have to make it worth my while.”
Connie feigned shock. “Didn’t you just get out of church?”
“The choice is yours,” Paul said. “I’m just giving you the options.”
They left his grandparents’ house shortly before noon. Nothing on the way to the cemetery was familiar to Connie, and they never passed a low-slung ranch house that looked like Brad and Bunny’s. But suddenly, in a clearing surrounded by trees, set back from the road about fifteen feet, was a single stone angel standing tall beside a black wrought iron fence. A gravel driveway, flanked by brick pedestals, led into a snow-dusted graveyard of unremarkable tombstones. The words “Hope Cemetery,” spelled out in wrought iron letters, arched over the driveway.
“If you want to see cool sculptures, you need to go to the cemeteries in Barre,” Paul said as he drove onto the crunchy driveway.
Connie stepped out of the car and stared up at the granite angel before her. Already life-sized, it stood a good eight feet tall on its pedestal. Carefully detailed bare feet peeked out from beneath the hem of its flowing stone robes, and its well-muscled arms stretched out in welcome. Glorious feathered wings with delicately barbed vanes arched powerfully above its sturdy shoulders. Its strong, handsome face looked out toward the road, its benevolent expression an invitation to enter there. Only its eyes, fixed and lifeless with their eerie, recessed pupils, spoke of the death that kept its charges from leaving via the same road they had entered.
Im
pressive as it was, however, the stone angel held none of the impact it had when it stood stark and alone, bathed in moonlight on a cold Vermont night. And it explained nothing about Connie’s reaction to it.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and strolled beneath the wrought iron arch, into the cemetery itself. The warm afternoon sun was melting the snow on the simple headstones, most of which lay flat to the earth with very little variation or ornamentation. The surnames carved into them were primarily French, and the burial dates ranged from the 1880s through the mid-1950s. The most recent resident she could find had been interred twelve years before.
“What are we looking for?” Paul asked as he followed her up and down the narrow paths.
Connie shook her head, her eyes on the details carved into the stones. “I don’t know.”
“You’re kidding.”
“This place means something to me, but I don’t know what.”
A chill November wind swirled around them. Paul pulled up the collar of his Red Sox jacket and stared at her.
“I know this place, but I don’t know why,” she said. “I saw it in a dream when I was little. And then I never saw it again until a few weeks ago.”
“What happened a few weeks ago?”
She was careful not to mention Greg. “I was just riding by. I didn’t even know it was here. And then suddenly, I saw the angel. Just standing there in the moonlight. Like in my dream.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a dream.”
“But why would I know a cemetery in the middle of nowhere?”
“Damned if I know.” Paul let out a sigh. “I gotta say, this is less than thrilling, Con. I could be watching the Pats.”
Connie nodded. He was absolutely right. “We can go.”
“That’s it?”
“You said you want to go watch football. Let’s go.” Connie spun away from him and headed back toward the car, defeated and dispirited.
“And then what? You’re going to be pissed?”
“Why would I be pissed? There’s nothing here.” She reached for the handle on the passenger side door . “I don’t know what I expected. I’m sorry I wasted your time.“
“You didn’t waste my time.” Paul kissed her on the cheek. “I’m with you.” He went around to the driver’s side and let himself in.
Connie flopped down onto the front seat and stared out the side window at the tombstones laid out within the black fence. What was it about this place that gnawed at her, yet wouldn’t identify itself?
Paul’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Hey, you. Come here.”
Connie turned and gave him a smile, then slid across the seat and into his strong arms.
***
They drove away from the cemetery an hour later.
“You’re coming to my house for dinner, right?” Connie asked as she tucked her blouse back into the waistband of her skirt.
“What are you having?”
She laughed at his devilish expression. “That’s rude. Oh, but I should tell you something.” Her jovial mood faded. “Gianna’s boyfriend is going to be there. David.”
“Yeah? So?”
“Well, there’s something you need to know.”
“Don’t tell me he’s a Yankees fan.”
I wish. “He’s black.”
Paul stared out through the windshield at the road ahead. “He’s black.”
“Yes.”
“Like… colored.”
“Yes.”
Paul’s jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the road. “Your sister goes out with a colored guy.”
“His name is David. He works at the museum in St. J.”
“Why the hell does she go out with a colored guy?”
Connie spoke patiently. “A black guy. They don’t want to be called ‘colored.’ Father Ianelli introduced them. They’re a good match.”
“How’s that a good match? Your sister’s white.”
He was not going to make this easy. “What’s the big deal about skin color?” she asked. “I mean, think about it. You have blue eyes. I have brown. So what?”
“That’s not the same. It’s not just skin. It’s everything. They’re different. They talk different. They look different. They eat different stuff. They come from Africa. They should stick with their own.”
“Who says?”
Paul turned to glare at her. “Everybody says. They do, too. They don’t like to see their women with a white guy. And I don’t like to see one of ours with one of them.”
“Well, he’s going to be there. And that’s why I’m telling you. So you can get it out of your system now.”
Paul stared at her. “Get it out of my system. What’s that supposed to mean? You want me to just make like it’s not happening?”
“Yeah. I’m not asking you to become his best friend. You don’t even have to like him. Just accept that she does.”
Paul looked out at the road, shaking his head. “So, she kisses him and stuff?”
Connie rolled her eyes. “I suspect so.”
“How long have they been going out?”
“Since August.”
“Christ.”
Connie’s patience was running out. “What’s it to you? You were never beating down her door.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Paul? He’s just a person who was born different than you.”
“And you. And Gianna.”
His harangue was going on too long, and she could no longer contain her irritation. “Well, get used to it. She could end up married to him.”
Paul gawked at her. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. Watch the road.”
“And your old man’s okay with it.”
“Yeah.”
Paul shook his head, his jaw set. Connie turned away from him, and they rode in silence the rest of the way home.
He parked at the curb in front of Connie’s house and left the engine running. Connie rested her hand on the inside door handle. “Aren’t you coming in for supper?”
Paul shook his head. “I’m going home.”
Was he serious? “Because of David?”
Paul scowled, and his voice mimicked hers. “No, not because of David.”
“What then?”
He regarded her with a cold, blue-eyed stare. “Because you think it’s okay that he fucks your sister.”
Connie was speechless, totally repulsed by his words. She pushed the door open and stepped out. The car squealed away the instant the door shut behind her, and Connie never turned to watch him leave. She felt surprisingly calm and without regret. If she lamented anything, it was letting him get into her blouse that afternoon.
When Connie walked into the upstairs kitchen, Gianna was bent over the open oven door, adding sliced vegetables to the pot roast. She looked up from her work. “Where’s Paul?”
“He went home. Is David here?”
Gianna straightened up and closed the oven door. “No. He can’t come after all.” Her gaze followed Connie as the latter crossed the kitchen toward the living room. “I thought Paul was coming for supper.”
“He’s being a jerk.” Connie looked into the living room. Her mother sat in the easy chair, busily crocheting. Nonna was nodding off in the recliner, her needlework resting in her lap.
“You told him about David, didn’t you?” Gianna’s voice wavered.
“Where’s Papa?”
“He’s insulating pipes in the basement. Did Paul go home because of David?”
Connie looked at her sister’s stricken face. “He went home because he’s too pig-headed to see the big picture. Don’t worry about it.”
“Damn!”
Connie did a double-take. Gianna never swore. “Forget it, Gi; it’s no big thing.”
“Yes, it is! First Greg and now Paul?” Gianna turned watery, red-rimmed eyes on her. “All because of David?”
“They’re the ones with the problem, not David. And Greg’s
fine. He got over it.”
Gianna swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just that…” Gianna’s chin began to quiver.
Connie’s heart skipped a beat. “That what? You and David haven’t broken up, have you?”
Gianna shook her head, sniffling loudly as she searched her apron pockets for a handkerchief. “I really love him, Connie. And he loves me. We need for this to work.”
“And it will. I won’t bring in some guy who can’t deal with it. I don’t care who he is.”
Gianna gave her an imploring look. “But you’re crazy about Paul. You always have been.”
Connie pondered that for a moment. “I don’t know if I am. I’m amazing myself here, how calm I am about him leaving. I can’t say I really care.”
Gianna seemed unconvinced. “But why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I just saw a part of him I don’t like very much. And I’m realizing it wasn’t a surprise.” But there was more to it, and she needed to tell someone. The words came out in hushed tones.“Greg said he loves me. And I think I could love him.” Awe overwhelmed Connie as she spoke her thoughts out loud. “When I’m with him, I feel safe. Not like a dependency thing. Just … safe.”
Gianna’s empathetic smile underscored how much Connie’s words resonated with her. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“And I don’t feel that with Paul. If anything, I’m always on my guard.” Why hadn’t she recognized that before? She looked at Gianna with a sense of wonderment. Could it be, she might be in love with Greg?
***
Papa was in the basement, cleaning up after insulating the pipes that ran from the water heater up to the first and second floors. Connie greeted him with a kiss on his bristly cheek and offered to help. He handed her the broom, and she swept up the debris from his project while he collected his tools.
“Papa, do you remember that angel I used to talk about when Angie was born?”
Papa grunted.
“I saw it today. In front of a cemetery near St. Albans.”
He continued to put his tools into the toolbox, his eyes on his work and his face without expression.
“I always thought it was a dream,” she said. “But it’s real.”
“How can it be real?”
“I’m talking about a statue, Papa. A big angel that stands at the gate to a cemetery. Hope Cemetery. Why do I know that statue?”
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