She nodded. “A long time ago, in Firenze. You were on the railing by the Arno, and you reached for a kite.”
Vittorio nodded, remembering.
“You lost your balance, and he saved you.”
“I remember! I can’t forget that incident. It happened during the feast, when all the kites were flying.” His voice trembled with excitement, and he closed his eyes to picture the scene long buried in his memory.
“The kite flew right past you, and you reached up so far you lost your balance. I called out for him to save you. Like lightning, he had his arms around you.”
“I remember being frightened…and I remember the man! I remember strong arms and looking into a kind face that was smiling at me.” Then he shook his head. “He was not kind. I’ve known of my father only minutes and already I hate him for what he made you suffer. Why didn’t he marry you?”
“Please, don’t hate him. He did not know you were his son. Like everyone else, he thought that Federico was your father. He had a duty to his family. From the time he was little, he knew he was to become a priest. It was their wish.”
“If he loved you, why didn’t he do what he wanted? Why couldn’t you have been together?”
“I want you to understand him, not hate him. I am telling you this now so you will not be separated from your love. Do not think of me now; think of Kitty and yourself. I want you to stay in New York. I want you to be together. If her father will not give his blessing, marry her anyway. Elope! Don’t spend the rest of your life without her.”
He sat there, silent for a while.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I am thinking that, at this moment, I have never loved you more.” He hugged her again. She was lost in his strong arms, small and frail compared to him. But he understood that his mother was a woman of great strength and selfless love.
“And Kitty?” she said finally.
“Yes, I love her, and she loves me. Yes, I want to marry her. No matter what happens, I won’t let her get away.”
****
Her school books in her arms, Kitty searched the dark street. Vittorio walked to meet her, and she kissed him on the cheek as he bent to take her books. They chatted as they walked, he about his job, she about her class. She seemed unaware that often her sentences trailed off, unfinished.
“Kitty, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve spoken to my father, and he is impossible. He will not listen. The truth has no bearing on his feelings, and the truth can’t change them.”
“Have you been arguing?”
“No.” She sighed. “I can’t have an argument when one person refuses to speak. He is sullen most of the time.”
“I knew you were upset.”
“It’s just that, in spite of it all, I do love my father. And of course I love my brother. Dear Dermot, he’s so dependent on me, especially with Papa angry all the time. If my brother could take care of himself, could meet a girl and have a life of his own, I wouldn’t feel so responsible for him.”
“I understand about family and responsibilities to the ones you love. Selfishly, that worries me. You are so devoted to your father and brother, I’m afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes, that I will lose you to them. I would understand, I really would, but the thought of losing you…”
She stopped walking and faced him. “You hush with that talk! I love you, Vittorio Rossi. You are the most important person in my life. Now and forever!”
He grinned. “Do I have permission to drop your books?”
“Carefully.”
He placed her books on the sidewalk, took her in his arms, and kissed her. The light from a nearby gas lamp silhouetted the couple in each other’s arms. Carefree lovers, a passerby thought, and smiled.
“I want to marry you, Kitty. If I could, I would take you away with me here and now. I want us to be together forever.”
“And I want to marry you. Yes, I will marry you.”
They embraced, and for now, the future with its problems was far away. They stood together under the stars as lovers had for centuries before them. When they parted, they stood arm in arm, looking up at the solitary moon, a bright beacon in the darkness.
“Alone again,” Kitty said. “The moon isn’t lucky like us.”
“I’m going to find out how many eclipses there will be in the next hundred years,” he said, smiling down at her. “I want us to share every one of them together.”
Chapter 26
As before, Vittorio walked Kitty to the corner, she fearing that if her father saw them it would ignite his fiery Irish temper.
He handed her the books. “I want to ask your papa for your hand in marriage.”
“Let me prepare Papa first. I must make him see that he is wrong. No one can make me happy but you.”
He knit his brows. “Maybe he thinks my English is not so good.”
“Your English is fine.”
“Or that I can’t read.”
“Please don’t torment yourself any more. It’s easier for my father to wallow in his memories. From the time Dermot and I were young, he has ignored the fact that we hurt as much as he. He has fancied himself alone, and day by day, he is accomplishing it, making Dermot fearful and me angry, pushing us away with every self-absorbed memory.”
“I’ll go with you when you speak to him.”
“No, dear one, I will speak to him alone. No matter what he says, he cannot stop me from marrying you.” Kitty reached on tiptoe and kissed him, a promise.
Vittorio watched her walk up the steps of her tenement. She is determined, but is that enough? If he forbids our marriage, can she turn her back on her father and brother? He uttered his concern to himself. “I hope you are right. I hope and pray you are right.”
Kitty waited until a brisk Monday afternoon, when Dermot was playing catch with a neighbor and she and her father could take a leisurely walk. The bustle of the city streets might cheer him, she thought, and make him more amenable to her announcement. At worst, she reasoned, his reluctance to make a fool of himself on the street would keep him from raising his voice.
They passed newsboys on street corners, stacks of papers on upended milk cartons beside them, a rock to keep the papers from blowing away in the autumn wind. To a boy, they shouted dire headlines about the war, and Liam ventured his opinion that if the Allies did not win it quickly, the war would reach out and grab America in its bloody clutches.
“If a man is lucky enough not to be killed,” Kitty said, “war must haunt his spirit for the rest of his life.”
“Killing and maiming are part of it,” Liam said, his limp a permanent reminder of his own war against British injustice. “But if you know you’re right, it can’t kill your spirit.” He chuckled, remembering his success in outwitting the Redcoats and winning his freedom in America years ago. His unusually good humor encouraged Kitty.
“Vittorio! You want to talk about Vittorio!” The mention of his name shattered Liam’s mood. He looked nettled, as though Vittorio were an annoyance that would not go away. “We will not discuss him; I thought I made that clear.”
“You made that very clear, Papa, but you have not given me a chance to tell you how good and kind he is. I want to tell you why I love him.”
“We have been through this nonsense before. You haven’t listened to me.”
“No, you haven’t listened to me. Vittorio is a good son. He loves his mother. When he was fourteen, he told her to quit work, and he has taken care of her from then on. He will be a good husband to me.”
“You hardly know the fellow,” he said with a self-satisfied smile.
“No, I have been with him many times for walks, to his house to have dinner with his family—”
Liam interrupted with a snort. “And when…” He almost shouted, so that passersby turned to stare, and Liam was forced to lower his voice, but he spat out the words. “And when did you do such a thing—behind my back?”
“I pretended to go
study because I knew you would not permit me to see him.”
“Behind my back!”
The look on her father’s face, white with fury, made Kitty’s stomach shake.
He pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. “You are never—Do you hear me?—never to see him again!”
Kitty’s jaw was set. “I can’t promise that, Papa.”
Liam stopped and faced her, his brows knit in an angry line. “Think it over carefully. If you disobey me, you will no longer be my daughter.”
Kitty drew in her breath. “Papa!” She wanted to plead with him, to shout at him, to weep for sadness and anger, but she could not. If she could hate him for making her choose, it would have made it easier, but she loved him still.
Liam turned and walked away, leaving Kitty to stare after him.
****
Ottavia had just cleared the dinner dishes from the table and was setting out the cups and saucers for Vittorio and herself when a pounding on the door made her jump.
“Sancta Maria! Who could that be?” Vittorio ran to open it.
Kitty stood in the doorway, looking small and pale. It was a school night, and she pressed her books to her chest. Her chin jutted in defiance, but he could see a tearstain that she had not wiped from her face.
“Cara Katerina,” he said. “My dear Kitty.” He opened his arms to her, and she fell into them, weeping. All her resolve, the brave front she had put on for days, dissolved in his arms. She tried to speak, each word isolated by a sob.
“It’s all right. Don’t try to speak. It’s all right,” he repeated, holding her until her tears subsided.
Ottavia stood in the background, her heart breaking. What is love when lovers are apart? she wondered. A shadowy figure in the heart, there to torment, only to slide into the darkness when you reach out to hold it. It was too late for her, but she did not want to see the same fate destroy her son.
Ottavia pulled out a chair for Kitty. “Sit here, cara filia, and tell us what is wrong.”
“It’ s my papa,” she said. “He is set against our marriage. He won’t listen to anything I say.”
“Such a foolish man to try to interfere with your happiness,” Ottavia said.
Kitty sat there, shaking her head, but offered nothing more.
Vittorio, who was holding her hand, felt it tremble.
“He said…he said that if I marry you, I am no longer his daughter.”
“No! He does not know what he says!” Ottavia cried.
Vittorio’s face turned ashen. Her father had forced her to choose between love and family. They needed her, he knew…almost as much as he did.
“No matter what my father says or does, I want to marry you.”
He held his breath. “You want to marry me, but what?”
“Nothing more,” Kitty said, looking into his eyes, and gaining strength from being here with him. “I want to marry you.”
As he hugged her to him, she said, “I just don’t know how.”
Vittorio looked crestfallen, and Ottavia could bear it no more. “You will elope! Vittorio will come and get you.” Her mind raced, thinking of a plan. “You will stay here overnight with me. I will arrange it with Father Copo at Sancta Maria della Croce. He is a friend; he will understand. The next day you will go to him and be married.” Ottavia smiled triumphantly.
The lovers looked at each other for approval. Vittorio was happy with it, but he knew it was ultimately up to Kitty. She had to speak first.
“You can come for me at school.”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
“I can leave a note on my pillow for my father.”
“A good idea.”
“And one for Dermot,” she said softly. As her eyes filled, Vittorio’s heart sank.
She wiped her eyes with her hand and took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said, smiling.
Vittorio kissed her, and Ottavia, unable to contain the happiness she felt, hugged them both at once, laughing and crying.
The day of their elopement dawned gray and rainy. Kitty rose and prepared breakfast for her father and brother. She put extra cinnamon in the hot oatmeal, something Dermot particularly liked, and made sure his cocoa and her father’s tea were good and hot. She jumped up to retrieve Dermot’s napkin when it dropped to the floor, and she couldn’t resist kissing the top of his head as she stood over him.
“Is your tea hot enough, Papa?” she asked.
He gave her a rare smile. “The way I like it.”
She looked over at Dermot.
“Good oatmeal.” He blew a kiss in her direction.
Are any choices ever all good or all bad? she wondered. Choices were figures in a mist, changing from moment to moment.
Her father drew her from her thoughts. “I’ll be quitting early tonight,” he said. “I’ve decided my bartender can handle the evening. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything together, and I thought we’d go to the play at the Erin Theater.”
Dermot clapped. “That’s fun, Papa.” He turned to Kitty for affirmation. She was stricken. Her father’s surprise gesture cut her like a knife. Ignoring them as long as he did, why did he pick tonight to act like a father? She was angry that, out of the blue, he offered to take them out, but overriding her anger, growing like a weed that choked everything else, was guilt. She would betray them.
“You’re quiet, Kitty. What do you say?”
“I have class tonight, Papa; you know that.”
“You can’t miss one night?”
“Please,” Dermot begged.
“All right.” She lowered her eyes, and did not look up until her father had left for work. Choices, she thought with a heavy heart. Terrible, implacable choices.
****
Dermot spent the morning outdoors, and Kitty wandered around the house, trying to pack a few belongings. She opened a drawer and stood immobilized, then shut it again. Finally she forced herself to pack her clothes—underwear, a few ribbons for her hair, and her best dress, a pale blue with tiny sprigs of pink flowers and a wide lace collar. It would serve as her wedding dress. The last piece she placed in the case was a brooch that her mother had given her. It was an opal surrounded by delicate gold filigree and had been in her family for generations, the only good piece of jewelry Maeve had owned. She fingered it, admiring the faint veins of pastel in the white stone.
“Am I doing the right thing, Mama?” she asked aloud. She studied the brooch at length, tracing its contours with her finger, as if to find in it an answer to her question, but it was smooth, cool, and silent. Kitty sighed, placed it in her bag, rolling it in her underwear to keep it safe, and snapped her bag closed.
The act had a decisiveness about it, and in a strange way it helped her. She went to the kitchen and reached for the flour. She decided to make an apple pie for Dermot and her father. She hoped they would see in her gesture a farewell act of love.
Dermot came in while she was slicing apples. He prattled on about his walk and the neighbors he’d met, every so often reaching into the bowl to snatch a slice of apple. Kitty pretended not to notice until he had taken each slice, and he laughed at his success in fooling her.
“Put lots of cinnamon,” he directed, and she rolled a few more slices in sugar and cinnamon and handed them to him.
“You make the best pie,” he said. Impetuously, she wiped her hands on her apron and hugged him. “You are so dear,” she whispered.
She rolled the crust and placed it over the apples, and then, with his thumb, Dermot painstakingly pressed the edge to flute it, concentrating on the task until it was done. He smiled while Kitty praised his work lavishly. What a shame, she thought, that there is no work for him somewhere. He takes such pride in doing the smallest task well.
Dermot puttered around the house while the pie was baking, and Kitty lingered over setting the table. Finally, she sat down with pen and ink.
Dear Papa and Dermot,
Writing this letter is the hardest thing I have ever done
. I want you to know that I love you both very much. I also want you to know how much I love Vittorio. As you already know, Papa, he has asked me to marry him, and I have accepted.
She bit the end of the pen, looking for the courage to continue.
When you get this letter, I will have left with him and we will be married. Please don’t try to stop us, for I have made up my mind. As difficult as this is for me, I know he is the man who will make me happy, the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Papa, I do not mean to cross you, but you leave me no choice. I hope you will understand and forgive me. Dermot, be good for Papa. I will miss you both very much. I look forward to coming home to visit you both.
I love you. Kitty.
Kitty could not bear to read over the letter. As she slipped it into an envelope and wrote her father’s name across it, tears blurred her vision. She wiped them away. It was done.
Kitty left the warm pie on top of the stove and grabbed her bag and her books. She had to go to the bank to withdraw what little money she had in her savings account, and then she would meet Vittorio in front of school.
She took Dermot to a neighbor’s house. The woman had no children and looked upon him almost as a child of her own. She was attentive to his talk and loving to him, and the visits, a change in his simple life, were something he looked forward to.
As she left her brother off, he impulsively hugged her.
“Goodbye, Dermot,” Kitty whispered. She hurried into the street, needing all her resolve to leave him.
Although it was mid-afternoon, heavy clouds made it dark as evening. Thunder rolled in the distance. Traffic clogged the streets, and people rushed to their destinations before being soaked by a deluge.
Kitty hurried several blocks to the business section, her mind preoccupied with her decision. With a twinge, she wondered what Dermot was doing right now. Her mind swung back to Vittorio, and her heart raced when she realized that by tomorrow at this time she would be his wife.
As she was just a block away from the Irish Emigrant Savings Bank, it began to pour. She lowered her head as the rain pelted her face. She ran into the bank, eager to withdraw what little money she had and walk to school to meet Vittorio.
Choices of the Heart Page 17