“Wait a minute! I have a right to see my picture. Right, Dermot?”
She was forced to take it out again and show him. Vittorio studied it, a sketch of the muscular ball player, smiling while up at bat. He was secretly pleased. “I’d like to take it home,” he said.
Kitty whipped it away. “Certainly not!” She folded her arms to let him know there was no arguing. Vittorio leaned over to snatch it from her, but she promptly sat on it. Dermot shouted and clapped over the commotion. They didn’t hear Liam enter, but their laughter died as he stood there, grim, over them.
Vittorio jumped up and extended his hand. “Mr. Dwyer, I just dropped by…”
Liam nodded curtly in the young man’s direction. “Kitty, is supper ready?”
Kitty followed Vittorio to the door. “I’d love to go on a picnic with you Sunday,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll see you at one o’clock.”
She hurried around the kitchen to get dinner on the table. Her father’s silence made every morsel of food stick in Kitty’s throat. Any remark from her father would ignite the fire within her.
“What was that young man doing here uninvited?” he said after Dermot had gone to bed. “It’s not seemly for a young woman to be entertaining a man alone in her home.”
Kitty took a deep breath. “He just stopped by to ask me to a picnic on Sunday, and Dermot pulled him into the kitchen and begged him to stay and draw with us.” She stood when talking to him, her arms folded, her mouth tight.
“He asked you to a picnic. Of course, you told him no.”
“I told him I’d be happy to go.”
“Are you daft? You are a Dwyer. What would you be doing going round town with the likes of him? He’s I-talian, a grimy wop.”
Her voice rose. “He was fine to be Dermot’s friend, to teach him ball and protect him from the bullies, but not good enough to take me out, is that it?”
“That’s a different story.”
“The only difference is that with me you’re afraid of losing someone to cook and clean and take care of your son.”
“Thanks be to God your sainted mother is not here to hear you talk this way. And I won’t stand for it!”
Her anger boiled over, and she paced, feeling the force of her years of servitude. She whirled on him. “Will you take away my privileges? The privilege of shopping in the market with all the old women, carrying home my roast beef and my bucket of milk? The privilege of cooking for you every day?” Her face flushed. “Or the privilege of scrubbing every floor until my hands are red? Or hanging out the wash in back, holding the clothespins in my mouth so I have both hands free to lift up the wet sheets? Which will you take away?”
She flung her words at him. Liam, also red-faced, was momentarily speechless. He wagged a finger at her. “This is about doing the proper thing. You can find someone better.”
“I don’t want anyone else. And I’m old enough to choose for myself. He’s kind and gentlemanly, and Dermot and I love to be with him. And I especially!”
Kitty believed that her father needed her too much to try to forbid her from seeing him. If he is going to be angry, Kitty thought, he has met a temper as big as his.
Kitty awoke early on Sunday, overwhelmed with excitement, already planning the chores she had to do before she was free. It was a hot midsummer day, the lazy kind when the only activity in the park was the buzzing of bees. On the streets of New York, the heat simmered up from the tar and cement. The tenement would be stifling. The park was the only place to be today. She hoped her father would take Dermot for a swim.
After Mass, Kitty roasted chickens. They would be good at room temperature, and the kitchen would have time to cool off before her father and brother ate.
She chose a cool white voile blouse and a pale green skirt that made her think of waterfalls. She piled her hair in an upsweep and tied it with dark green ribbon, accenting her burnished hair. She was about as cool as she was going to be, and paced about until it was time to meet Vittorio.
As she walked to the corner, he was already waiting for her, dressed in crisp gray pants and a white shirt, leaning his foot against the lamp post, a picnic hamper next to him. As he walked toward her, two young women turned their heads to admire the handsome man, and Kitty glowed to know he was there to meet her.
He took her hand, and they fell into step together. “I have a surprise for you. We’re going uptown, to Central Park. We can take a rowboat on the lake.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” That was indeed a surprise, but being anywhere with Vittorio was all she needed.
They rode the trolley up Fifth Avenue. It was farther than Kitty usually traveled, her life ordinarily bounded by the butcher, the grocer, and the shoemaker. Vittorio pointed out passing buildings, some of which he had helped to build. They admired the tall Gothic spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, which rose in grandeur above the townhouses and shops.
Kitty appreciated the way Vittorio took her hand to help her off the trolley. The sidewalks of New York were steamy underfoot, but there was a noticeable difference when they reached Central Park. People strolled along the tree-lined walks. A breeze rustled the leaves, and they looked up to see wisps of clouds in a brilliant blue sky. They walked slowly to the lake, chose a spot in the softest grass along the bank, and Vittorio spread a blanket. He insisted that she rest there under the tree while he went to get the boat.
Kitty rested on her elbows and looked up at the trees. If she squinted, the leaves looked like lace. Straight ahead, the sun glittered on the lake. Couples in rowboats, the men in white shirts and straw hats, the women in pastels, looked like a scene from a painting.
Vittorio rowed into sight and pulled the boat onto shore, where he put one hand over his heart and burst into an impassioned song in Italian, waving his arm dramatically.
Kitty applauded. “Bellissimo!” she said, calling upon one of the few words of Italian that she knew. “What was the song about?”
“Ah! It tells of my undying love”—he paused—“for my horse, my cows and my chickens.”
“Only Italians could make that sound romantic,” she said, laughing.
Vittorio stepped into the boat and extended his hand. She stepped in gingerly and sat, and he shoved off.
Kitty trailed her fingers in the water. “This is lovely. Is it safe?”
“Perfectly safe as long as you do not stand up. Then we tip.”
They rowed in companionable silence, Vittorio quietly admiring the fiery glints in her hair and the way it was swept up with green ribbon. Occasionally she dabbed the water on her forehead, and reached over to him to do the same.
“The boat seems sturdy,” she said, when her movement did not rock it.
“You just cannot stand up in it,” he repeated as he rowed with no apparent effort. She was reminded of the way he played baseball, his motions seamless and fluid. Kitty loved the chance just to look at him, watching his muscles flex as he pulled back on the oars, basking in his smile.
“I’d like to try to row,” she said.
“Stay low in the boat, and we’ll switch places.”
After a few shallow strokes, she was able to row deeper, but with effort. “This is harder than I thought. You make it seem so easy.”
“Why don’t you head for shore, and I’ll bring it in.”
As they neared the shore, they started to change places, but Kitty caught her shoe in the hem of her skirt. She lunged toward Vittorio, who caught her in his arms, but their weight shifted to one end of the boat. With shouts, they toppled into the shallow water. Wet from their spill, they pranced and thrashed about, laughing and splashing each other.
They made their way onto the grass, and Vittorio pulled the boat up behind them. “What happened?”
“I did exactly as you said, until the heel of my shoe caught in the hem of my skirt. As I fell, I did exactly what my instinct told me—I yelled.”
He burst out laughing.
“There is something wanting in the constru
ction of a rowboat,” she said seriously. “When I think of a tip-less design, I shall write to the manufacturer.”
As soon as they were on the blanket, they pulled off shoes and socks and set them in the sun to dry. Kitty felt wonderfully free by the informality of it, wiggling her toes and enjoying the touch of grass on bare feet. The unexpected dip was cooling and welcome, another silly accident to laugh over, another silken tie that bound them together.
In late afternoon, Vittorio unwrapped the meal his mother had prepared for them—salami, cheese, eggplant and veal, crusty homemade bread, fruit, and red wine. Kitty inhaled the aromas. “This is a feast.”
He fed her a sample of each, then sat back to watch her reaction. The flavors were new and exotic to her. “The pepperoni and cheese go wonderfully together.”
“Take a sip of wine, and I’ll give you some eggplant.”
“It looks unusual, but of course I’ll try it.” She took a bite. “I love it! What does your mother put in that tomato sauce?”
“Oregano. Probably more, but you’ll have to ask her.”
The possibility of meeting Vittorio’s mother both pleased and frightened her, until she remembered that Dermot liked her and so she was reassured. Dermot could see people as they were. Dear Dermot, she thought happily. He has brought us together.
After Kitty had sampled everything, Vittorio insisted on each course being eaten in a leisurely manner. For Kitty, whose days were busy with chores, this was wonderful—the leisurely meal, the conversation, and the nearness of him. She could ask for nothing more.
By the time they finished the last of the wine, the sun was sinking and a cool breeze had sprung up. “Are you chilly?” Vittorio asked, putting his arm around her. She put her head on his chest and could smell the clean scent of soap and, ever so faintly, hear the beating of his heart. Without thinking, she reached up and touched his face. His eyes showed surprise and tenderness. He took her hand and kissed her palm, then pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. It was Kitty’s first kiss, and she had never imagined it would feel like this. They pulled back, then kissed again, this time long and passionately. She was hungry for more, but he set her down beside him and took her hand. There would be time enough.
They talked of their plans and dreams.
“Someday we will own our own construction company, Paolo and I.”
“My father had a dream, too,” Kitty said, “a pub of his own. But he lost interest in everything when my mother died, and that includes Dermot and me, I’m afraid.”
“No!” Vittorio was shocked. “Children are to be cherished.” He spoke softly. “And so is a father, if you are fortunate enough to have one.”
Kitty hesitated. “And your father?”
“He is a mystery to me. My mama plainly does not want to talk about him. At first I thought it was because he died on their wedding night.”
“How awful.” She slid her hand on his.
“I’m not so sure. My papa’s name was Federico. I was named Federico Vittorio. I remember when I was little, the people of Argiano called me Federico, but in private, my mama called me Vittorio.”
“Perhaps she didn’t like the name Federico.”
“I think she didn’t like Federico the man.”
“Vittorio! What makes you say that?”
“It was an arranged marriage, as they all were in Argiano. From the time we came to America, she gave me her name. I have been Vittorio Rossi and she is Ottavia Rossi. It is as if Federico Gibelli did not exist.”
Vittorio looked off in the distance, and Kitty held his hand tightly. They sat quietly for a long time, the curtain of evening slipping away to a starry night.
“I’d better be getting home,” she said.
“Let me show you the summer stars first.” He helped her up from the blanket, and they walked to the edge of the lake. He pointed to a brilliant cluster of stars. “There’s Cygnus, the Swan, and Lyra, the Harp. They’re part of the summer sky. The stars in winter seem more brilliant to me. I like to think the stars I see now are the ones I saw as a little boy in Italy. I love America. It’s my country now, but I still think of Argiano, where I knew everyone in the village. In a life of changes, it’s good to know some things remain the same.”
“One of my favorite stories is an old Chinese legend about the sun and the moon,” Kitty said. “The sun and the moon met and instantly fell in love. This enraged the goddess of the heavens, who decreed that they must be separated. Not all the tears the moon wept or the pleas of the sun would change the goddess’s mind, and they were separated by time, the sun forced to shine only in the day and the moon at night. They searched after each other forever, never meeting. Finally, the goddess had pity on them, and allowed them to meet after years, when they came together for an eclipse.”
“What a sad story. Have you ever seen an eclipse?”
“I will never forget it,” Kitty said. “The moon glides softly over the sun, and the earth becomes hushed. Darkness at noon. The moon wears a fiery crown given her by the sun, a pledge of his love. The lovers have so much love to share that it spills over and the earth is bathed in the soft, silver light of their love.”
“That’s beautiful, and very, very sad. Why do the lovers have to be separated for so many years waiting for the eclipse?”
“That’s the greatest tragedy,” she said. “When two people who love each other are kept apart.”
Chapter 24
“Dermot, can you keep a secret?” Kitty stood before him, trying to straighten out his shirt after he had skipped a button.
He nodded solemnly. “I want to see Vittorio.”
“That’s what this is about.” She smoothed his shirt collar. “When we see Vittorio, it will be our secret. We won’t tell Papa.”
He flailed his hands, understanding more than he could express. “Vittorio is my friend.”
“Yes,” she sighed, “but Papa doesn’t know Vittorio as well as we do. Perhaps someday, but for now…” She put her finger to her lips, and he followed in imitation.
Kitty had rushed through her chores, knowing they were to meet him this afternoon. Papa was at work, and she had no intention of telling him. She would not give up Vittorio; there was no turning back. The easiest way for now was not to tell Papa. Perhaps in time, she told herself, he’ll see what a wonderful person Vittorio is. She prayed that the heart that had frozen with the death of her mother might thaw at the sight of her happiness. A miracle, she thought, that’s what it will take.
She and Dermot stepped into the steamy August afternoon. They were going to walk along the East River and lob stones into the water, a favorite pastime of her brother’s. She walked quickly, anxious for the first sight of Vittorio. Her heart quickened at the sight of him lounging in the shade of a shop awning. He turned and saw them, his eyes warming in a smile. He walked the half block to meet them, putting an arm around Dermot and reaching for Kitty’s hand.
When they reached the waterfront, they were greeted by the first breeze of the late afternoon. Kitty lifted the tendrils that had escaped her upswept hair and felt the cool breeze on her neck. As they walked along, Dermot searched for stones. Vittorio had taught him that they must be flat and smooth to skip well in the water, and Dermot was conscientious about choosing the right ones.
The three of them skipped stones on the water, vying with each other, Vittorio letting Kitty and Dermot win. Then with a deft sidearm, he flung a stone into the river, and they counted the number of skips.
“Seven!” she announced, and her brother repeated it, wide-eyed.
“Teach me,” Dermot begged. Vittorio stood behind him and guided his arm. “Four!” Kitty applauded as Dermot grinned.
“Let me teach you,” Vittorio told Kitty.
She stepped in front of him, and he put one arm around her waist, the other guiding her throwing arm. Just the nearness of him, his arms around her, the brush of his chin on her hair, made her knees weak. Vittorio guided her arm back, then forward in a swing. At
the last minute, he shook her hand so the stone plopped straight down into the water.
Dermot laughed. “I won, I won!”
She turned on Vittorio. “You made me do that!”
“I don’t mind showing you until you learn.” He grinned lazily at her, and put his arm around her again. She feigned outrage, but smiled up at him as he pulled her close.
“Let’s swing in the park,” Dermot said, and the three strolled to a neighborhood park, tree-shaded and lined with benches. Women chatted as they watched their children play hopscotch or pushed them in carriages, and an old man played a hurdy-gurdy with a chimp prancing beside it.
Dermot claimed one of the swings and began pumping with his legs. When Kitty sat on the swing, Vittorio held it from behind and whispered into her hair. It was almost inaudible, but she thought he said, “I love you.” He pulled the swing back and gave it a powerful push.
I love you! She was sure; she couldn’t be sure. Had he really said it? She had never flown higher. She looked over at Vittorio on the swing next to her. He was swinging as high and looking at her, smiling. He had said it! Kitty thought the tips of her shoes could touch the clouds.
Vittorio watched Kitty swing next to him. She was grace and beauty, with a feisty remark and mud on her face. So different from the girls he had known, who could only gaze at him and agree with whatever he said. That was what many men wanted, to talk to the children and to have his family listen to him. He wanted more. Kitty was smart and funny and good. He loved to see the wind play havoc with her hair and ripple the lace on her blouse as she swung. When it whipped the collar in her face, she laughed, enjoying the fun of it all—the place, the moment, being together. She had a capacity to enjoy any pleasure to the fullest.
She slipped off the swing and wandered to a patch of black-eyed susans nodding in the sun. Impulsively, she broke off two, one for her brother and one for him. Dermot wanted to hold his as he swung. She held the flower up to Vittorio, then placed it in his shirt pocket, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.
Choices of the Heart Page 15