Dermot beamed. “Good, Vittorio?”
“A home run!”
Whether it was their friendship or the exercise Dermot got, Vittorio thought he saw an improvement in his friend’s speed and coordination. He told his mother about the boy, and invited her to the lot to meet him. She sat next to him on the bench at a game and watched as he followed Vittorio’s every move, sometimes trying to imitate his swing, clasping his hands around an imaginary bat and energetically fanning the air. “Go, Vittorio. Home run!” Ottavia could see the boy was obviously devoted to her son, and she found herself drawn to this innocent young man who idolized him.
Dermot, still feeling the loss of his mother, loved Ottavia’s warmth. As they chatted, Dermot felt less shy around her, telling her about his father and his sister, Kitty, whom he loved very much.
After the game, an easy win for Vittorio’s team, he ran to his mother. “What do you think, Mama?”
“You won! And you made many hits and runs. Now I understand why you like this game so much.”
He laughed at his mother’s enthusiasm, and gestured toward Dermot. “Now I’m going to show you another good ball player.” They took to the field and began a game of catch. Dermot caught a surprising number of the gentle tosses, and Vittorio praised each one. Ottavia smiled in approval of her son’s generous heart.
Vittorio celebrated their win by treating them all to apples at a fruit stand. They ate as they walked along, laughing when Vittorio tossed pieces in the air and caught them in his mouth, feeling silly and clownish and good.
Chapter 22
Kitty’s new friends made a world of difference in her life. They got together for strolls along the water, games of catch, and ice cream licked in the shade of a tree. Kitty loved the bright conversations and the easygoing fun. Brian and Stan continued to vie for her attention, and for the first time in her life, she considered the possibility that she might be attractive.
It unsettled Liam to see another change in his life. They argued about it, the hot-tempered father and his equally hot-tempered daughter. He secretly admitted that she had a right to be with other young people. She had certainly blossomed since meeting these friends. The hardest thing for him to admit was that she had grown up. She was a young woman, not too much younger than Maeve had been when they married. Maeve was gone from him, and though it was difficult for him to show his love for Kitty, he desperately did not want to lose her, too.
Kitty noticed that Dermot had undergone a change of his own. He came home from the baseball games happy and talkative, eager to tell Kitty of his new friend, Vittorio, and of his own success with the game. She noticed that he was more assured, and she promised herself to meet this man to thank him for what he did for her brother. Her chores intruded, and weeks slid by without time for a baseball game.
One night Dermot came home from a game with a frightened look in his eyes.
Kitty had been patching a hole in a bed sheet, and put down her mending. “What’s wrong, Dermot?”
“Leave me alone,” he said with uncharacteristic sullenness, and went right to his room.
She sat there, her sewing untouched, for a long time. She hoped her brother would tell her in his own time. A week later, he came home with his face scratched and his arm swollen and bruised.
“What’s going on at these baseball games? You must tell me.”
“I can take care of myself,” he said, hanging his head.
“We all can most of the time, but sometimes we need help. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“Some boys followed me after the game. They called me names. They pushed me down and laughed.”
“Oh, Dermot!” Kitty hugged him gingerly, afraid of hurting him. She could feel her anger rising. “We’ve got to stop this. Do you know who they are?”
“They came before and made fun. Vittorio made them go away. Now they’re back.”
“What about your friend? Why didn’t he help you this time?”
“He didn’t see. I was almost home.”
She clenched her fists. “When is the next game? I can’t wait to go.”
Kitty and Dermot were late arriving at the field, and the game was already underway. She looked around at the benches lining the field but saw no one who looked like trouble, just a few young people watching the game.
“They aren’t here,” Dermot said, confirming Kitty’s thoughts.
Kitty stayed alert, expecting the young thugs to appear at any moment. It distracted her from the game. Men swinging, missing, batting, running—it was a mystery to her. She hadn’t even thought to ask her brother about his friend, when a young man she hadn’t noticed stepped up to the plate. He was tall, with a tan and a build that spoke of outdoor work. His slim-featured face was almost patrician. He was one of the handsomest men Kitty had ever seen. As he swung at each ball, Dermot imitated his swing. She looked at her brother in fascination. He was so engrossed it was as if she weren’t there.
The batter finally connected for a double. The next batter sent the young man running past them to home place.
“Home run, Vittorio!” Dermot shouted as he passed. The batter smiled and waved.
Kitty was unable to take her eyes off the athlete. “That’s Vittorio?”
Dermot pushed out his chest. “He’s my friend.”
Kitty had to remind herself to stop staring. “This is a wonderful game,” she said. “I must learn all about it.”
Vittorio took his place on the pitcher’s mound and expertly threw several fast balls toward the batter. In one fluid motion, he arched his leg, wound up his arm, and threw with the force of his whole body, driving the ball straight at the plate. Even if he were not handsome, she thought, he would be a joy to watch. But that dark brown hair, muscular body, and beautiful smile made him perfection.
She looked at Dermot and grinned. “We yell, ‘Home run, Vittorio’? I can do that.”
Vittorio obliged by smashing a home run the next time at bat, and as he passed the bench where Kitty and Dermot sat, he heard two voices cheering him on. When he looked in Dermot’s direction, he noticed the young woman beside him, and her fair skin and mane of thick auburn hair. To his surprise, it was she who, along with Dermot, cried enthusiastically, “Home run, Vittorio!”
The game was nearly over, and Kitty began to relax. Perhaps the bullies had had their fun and wouldn’t return, she hoped, when Dermot nudged her.
“Here they are!”
Two thickset young men, with leering eyes and overworked muscles bulging from their short-sleeved shirts, sat down. From the corner of her eye, she saw them point in their direction, poking one another and laughing. Probably brothers, Kitty thought. No two men could look so menacingly alike otherwise. The thugs edged closer to them. Dermot moved closer to his sister, and she quietly patted his hand. Her heart sank as they got up and ambled over. One sat next to Kitty, the other next to Dermot.
“What’s it like to be a halfwit?” one sneered.
Kitty jumped up and whirled to face him, her fury stoking her courage. “If anyone doesn’t have his wits about him, it’s you. I’ve already alerted the police about you. If I were you, I’d get out of here and not come back.”
“The police!” They laughed. “Sure you did.”
The second one grabbed her by the wrist. “Come here.”
Kitty’s instinct was to pull away, but instead, she lunged at the seated man and he tumbled backward, Kitty on top of him, punching him with her free hand. Dermot struggled to break away and help her. The commotion caught the attention of the players and the other spectators.
“Dermot!” Vittorio dropped his mitt and raced over. His teammates followed, shouting war whoops and ready for a fight. The two thugs struggled to get away, but it was too late. Fists flew, benches upended, the brawl half concealed in billows of dirt. Even Dermot was able to face the one who had held him, now backed up to the bench. With a shove, he sent the young hoodlum toppling backward. When a patrolman arrived, the two lay
on the ground, cowed.
“Up, you two!” the policeman commanded. They rose gingerly, one holding his red and swollen nose.
He pointed to Kitty. “She bit me on the nose!” The crowd howled with laughter.
“You’re lucky you didn’t get worse. Miss Kitty told me about you, and I’ve been on the lookout. You won’t be bothering these nice people again.”
“Are you all right, Dermot?” When he nodded, Vittorio turned to Kitty. Her curls were in a jumble, auburn wisps falling in front of her eyes, and her skirt was torn. “You took an awful fall. Are you hurt?”
“Not as much as that hooligan. He made the mistake of hurting my brother.” At Vittorio’s surprised look, she wiped her hands in an effort to get them clean, shrugged pleasantly, and extended a dirty hand. “I’m Kitty Dwyer.”
He smiled. “Dermot’s favorite person.”
“You’re giving me competition.”
He looked into her eyes. They were clear blue, friendly and intelligent, but he had seen a flash of temper. He liked that. She had already proved herself feisty and courageous. He liked that, too.
“If you wait a few minutes, we’ll finish the game and I can walk you home.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’d like to,” he said so earnestly that her heart jumped.
“Fine,” she said, smiling and feeling suddenly shy.
Kitty and Dermot stayed for the final inning, she trying to tame flyaway wisps of hair with her hand. She tried to brush off some dirt her brother had gotten on his face during the scuffle, but he fended off her hand. “I want it on,” he said.
“You’re proud of it, are you?” Her answer was Dermot’s satisfied grin.
Vittorio did not come up to bat that inning, though Kitty had no idea why. Instead, he sat at the far end of the field while some of his teammates batted. As he chatted with other players on the sidelines, Kitty noticed that he often glanced their way. He’s probably concerned about Dermot, she told herself, yet the knowledge that he was looking set off a flutter in her throat.
The game finally over, they joined players and spectators who milled around, recounting the earlier excitement. Kitty and Dermot found themselves celebrities of the moment.
A teammate shook his hand. “Nice going, Dermot.”
Another player grinned at Kitty. “If that guy ever sees you again, he won’t know what to do first, hold his nose or run like a rabbit.”
“It might be wise if he did both,” she responded, to laughter.
“We showed them,” Dermot said.
“I think your sister showed us how,” Vittorio said. “One minute the thug was sitting, and the next he was on the ground.”
“That will teach him to stand in the presence of a lady,” Kitty said, pretending to be angry.
Vittorio laughed. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.” He couldn’t believe he said this to someone he had just met, and meant it. Unlike the other girls he knew, with olive skin, dark eyes and hair, Kitty’s skin looked like fine porcelain, and her hair danced with highlights that were red like the heat of the sun. Vittorio was enchanted.
While Dermot amused himself running a stick along the Dwyers’ tenement railing, Vittorio lingered on the stoop, talking with Kitty. She sat on the steps, and he leaned over the railing, chin on his hands, close to her. They talked until the summer sun dipped behind the buildings and Dermot complained of being hungry.
Reluctantly, Kitty stood up. “I have to get dinner. Thank you so much for helping us today, and for all you’ve done for my brother. It’s a miracle you’ve wrought with him.” She walked up the steps.
“Kitty,” he said when she had reached the top, “will you come to the next game?”
She skipped back down the steps. “I think I will. I’ll be needing someone to teach me why you hit and run and sometimes you’re out and sometimes you’re foul, and sometimes you’re perfectly all right. But I already know when to call out, ‘Home run, Vittorio.’ ”
Vittorio had promised to stop by Wednesday evening to teach Kitty the game.
Ottavia noticed that her son took a long time getting ready. He was humming a tune when she interrupted. “Are you going to play ball with Dermot?”
“I’m going to see him and his sister, Kitty, to explain baseball to them.”
“Yes, Kitty. The young woman who got hurt protecting her brother.”
“She has spirit.” He smiled as he recalled Kitty that day.
Ottavia had never seen Vittorio that happy at the mention of any other young woman. Her lips curved in a knowing smile.
“Papa, Dermot’s friend is coming by to teach us about baseball. We’ll be going out for a while.”
“He has certainly taken an interest in Dermot, hasn’t he, playing ball and looking after him,” Liam said. “What sort of person is he?”
“I’m sure you’ll like him, Papa.” Kitty tried not to sound too hopeful as she dried the dishes and rushed to comb her hair. In truth, Kitty dreaded introducing Vittorio to her father. At a knock on the door, she swallowed hard and took him to the living room.
“Papa, I’d like you to meet Vittorio Rossi.” Liam raised an eyebrow, and she rushed to grab her sweater. At that moment Dermot ran into the room and gave Vittorio a playful punch on the arm.
“My friend,” he told his father, and broke the tension. Liam extended his hand, and thanked him for bringing Dermot a baseball mitt. They chatted a while, but when they left, Liam scowled at the closed door.
In the lot, Vittorio grabbed a stick and drew a diamond in the dirt. The players were represented by stones, which Vittorio moved around the bases as he explained the game.
Kitty threw up her hands. “What good will it do if he’s on first and steals second? He’ll have no base to run to. Besides, it’s immoral,” she said indignantly, sending Vittorio into fits of laughter.
“Let me show you,” he said. “Dermot, here’s the ball. You act like the batter and send the ball to your sister. She’ll be in the outfield, and I’ll back her up.”
Dermot sent the ball sailing between the two of them. Kitty spun toward the ball. She collided with Vittorio and sent the two of them sprawling . They sat there in the dirt, laughing helplessly, giddy with life.
Vittorio extended his hand. “Do you spend a lot of time in the dirt, Miss Kitty?” He pulled her up and, for a few moments, they stood close.
“Only since I met you,” she said. She meant it as a funny retort, but it turned serious at the touch of his hand and the nearness of his face.
Kitty recovered her composure and thrust her hands on her hips. “If you’re backing me up, then go round my back!”
“You play for an hour and suddenly you’re the coach!” They stood in the lot, laughing together, their arms around Dermot to include him, but it was the two of them. Only the two of them.
Chapter 23
Vittorio was happier than he had ever been, his mother noticed. If he came home starved and dinner was late, he’d smile. He hummed to himself as he lay on the kitchen floor under the sink, which dripped on him as he tried to repair it. Tired or hungry or soaked by a summer downpour, he was happy. Ottavia asked about Kitty and he talked about her at length. Ottavia merely smiled.
At work he thought about her often but did not realize it until he was hammering two-by-fours and noticed a young woman with thick auburn hair walk by. He hammered his finger in his eagerness to see the woman, who, it turned out, was not Kitty at all.
Paolo saw the incident. “What is making you so distracted and happy at the same time?”
The question caught Vittorio by surprise. Did his feelings show? Yes, he was happy, and he did think often of Kitty. In fact, he missed seeing her, and told Paolo so.
“When are you going to see her again?”
“I think I’ll drop by there tonight.”
Afterward, Vittorio had second thoughts. If he went straight from work, he would have the opportunity only to wash, not to change into clea
n clothes. Would she mind? He hoped not. Would her father object? Dermot would be there. Her father didn’t seem to mind his friendship with Dermot. He had foolishly not made a date to see her again. All of a sudden, he wanted more than anything else to see her.
****
Kitty scraped carrots for the evening meal, and Dermot sat on the kitchen floor, drawing.
“Draw me a picture,” Dermot asked.
She put the carrots in a pot with the roast, lowered the heat, and sat on the floor across from him. She drew energetically but wouldn’t let her brother see when he leaned toward her. “It’s a surprise,” Kitty said, working diligently. Finally, she held up a picture of a dark-haired man swinging a baseball bat.
Dermot beamed. “That’s Vittorio!” Heads together, they were chatting about him when a knock at the door surprised them. Kitty stood open-mouthed to see Vittorio standing there. He was dressed in work clothes, his face and hands clean, his hair freshly combed. The summer sun had tanned his skin golden. Kitty thought he looked wonderful.
“Please come in,” she said.
“I will not stay, but I wanted to ask if you would come to the park with me on Sunday. I will show you an Italian feast.”
Dermot ran over and pulled him by the hand. “Come, draw with me.”
Vittorio looked questioningly at Kitty, who laughed and nodded. He allowed Dermot to pull him into the kitchen, where the three of them plopped on the floor. Kitty slid the drawing of Vittorio under some paper, and the three tried to outdo one another with silly drawings.
Kitty drew herself with her hair on end after the melee at the ball field, and Dermot insisted on drawing smudges on her face. Dermot’s childlike drawing was of himself and Kitty at the game. He gave her the picture. “Write ‘Home run, Vittorio!’ on the bottom,” he requested. She obliged, putting silly faces in the three o’s.
“Draw yourself,” Kitty told Vittorio, when Dermot interrupted.
“Show him your picture.”
The more Kitty tried to change the subject, the more her brother insisted, and Vittorio joined in as well. Red-faced, she found the picture in a pile of papers, flashed it in front of them, and put it behind her back.
Choices of the Heart Page 14