As the car turned onto the street where she lived, Kitty was surprised to see it looked the same: rows of beige brick houses, each with five steps up to a cement stoop; lace curtains at some windows, indicating wealth, plain white cotton curtains at others, a few with a lone plant in the window, leaning to catch what sun there was amid the density of the tenements in the dead of winter.
Nothing had changed. Only she was different. In a few months, she thought, I have lived a lifetime. “That’s mine.” As she pointed to the tenement in the middle of the row, the front door opened and a young man walked out, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it, sometimes missing and scrambling to catch it before it rolled down the steps.
“That’s Dermot,” Kitty said, overjoyed at the sight of her brother.
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“No, please. Just let me off and drive around the park across the street. I’ll join you after I’ve seen him.”
Dermot didn’t notice Kitty approach until she called out his name. At the sight of her, his face lit up, and he ran to her. They hugged for a long time, Dermot showing no signs of letting go of his sister.
“Dermot,” she said breathlessly, “let go of me so I can have a look at you.” She held him at arm’s length. “You look so handsome.”
“I missed you,” he said simply.
Kitty touched his cheek. “And I’ve missed you too, every day.”
“Where’s Vittorio?”
The question shot an arrow through Kitty’s heart. We didn’t get married,” she said hastily.
“Why not?”
Spare me his honesty, she thought, remembrance flooding through her.
“It just didn’t work out, Dermot. And I’m marrying someone else, a very nice man named Charles.”
“Charles?” He said the name as though it were a foreign language. He hated the name being linked with his sister. “No, no!” Dermot clenched his fists in frustration. Though unable to express it, he knew who Kitty was meant to be with. Simple-hearted, not caught up in the distractions of the world, he saw right to the heart of things. “Vittorio!” he shouted. “Vittorio!”
“I can’t, Dermot.” She struggled for the courage to say the words. “He married someone else.”
“No! You!” He stamped his foot.
Kitty was desperate to divert his attention.
“How is Papa?”
“Dermot. Come in here right now!”
Kitty looked up to see her father leaning out the window.
“I have to go,” Dermot said reluctantly.
“I’ll come, too.” At the sight of her father, her anger began to melt, and she walked with Dermot toward the house.
“Papa!” She waved up to him. “I’d like to talk to you.”
Liam looked only at Dermot. “I want you inside, now!”
Dermot gripped Kitty’s hand.
“Papa, can’t we talk? I’m moving to Boston.”
Liam slammed the window so hard the glass rattled.
“You’d better do what Papa says,” Kitty whispered. “I’ll write to you, and I’ll come for you someday soon.” Kitty and Dermot clung to each other. “I love you,” she said as they parted.
“I love you,” Dermot replied. As he reached the front steps, she saw the sadness in his eyes. “I love you,” he repeated, “but not Vittorio.”
Unable to say any more, Kitty walked to the car. “Please, let’s leave.” She stared straight ahead as they sped off. She didn’t see her father barely part the curtains to watch her get into the car and drive away.
Chapter 32
The move to Boston was good for Vittorio. He saw how happy it made his mother to be near the Crespis, who had long ago become her family, and his friendship with Paolo lifted his spirits as well. They would talk long into the night over a glass of wine, or when they opened their lunch pails on the job. Paolo listened patiently to Vittorio talk of Kitty. Vittorio talked all he needed to, until one day he had said all he could about her, had questioned aloud her change of heart enough times, and he talked about her no more.
He seemed happy enough on the surface, but his mind still questioned and his heart still pained. He kept the thoughts of Kitty to himself and nightly remembered the mischief in her smile, the passion in her kiss. The one thing that he could not do was forget her. Quietly, she would always be a part of him.
Long before he told Vittorio that he would marry, Paolo had met Annamaria at Tarantino’s, the grocery store her father owned. She worked in the store every afternoon, helping her father during his busiest hours. Hungry after a hard day’s work, Paolo often stopped in there for something to eat, to hold him until dinner. It quickly became a daily routine, and Vittorio noticed that Paolo stayed longer and longer, his purchase eventually just an excuse to talk to Annamaria. In Annamaria’s company, Paolo could not keep his eyes off her. Away from her, he spoke of her constantly. Everything reminded Paolo of her, a bird flying overhead, a doll in a store window, or a song on the hurdy-gurdy.
His store visits turned into courtship, and Paolo spent as much time as he could with Annamaria. Vittorio hid the pain he carried for Kitty and rejoiced in his friend’s happiness.
The announcement came when the family was assembled at the Crespis’ house for Sunday dinner. Vittorio and Ottavia were there with Antonia and Tomasso, Paolo and Annamaria. All through the antipasto Paolo and Annamaria exchanged secret looks. Finally, after the women had cleared the table of the salamis and cheeses, Tomasso gave his son a nod.
“Aunt Ottavia and Vittorio, Annamaria and I want to tell you. In the spring, we are going to be married.”
Ottavia drew in her breath. “Bene, bene!” she cried. She ran to the couple, cupped each one’s smiling face in her hands, and lavished them with kisses. “The blessings of God on you. I’m so happy for you.” The sight of the couple’s happiness stirred memories of long ago. She had long since dealt with the pain of her loss, but the remembrance of her son’s loss lay like a rock fresh in her heart. She hoped for the consummation of this marriage. The world was a cold place without love.
Vittorio watched Annamaria during dinner. She was a pretty girl with thick dark hair and bright color in her cheeks. Her robust healthiness made him think of the people of Argiano. Her brown eyes softened whenever she looked at Paolo, and Paolo couldn’t look at her without smiling. Vittorio was happy for them but envied the love they shared.
She was eager to help, setting out a bowl of sauce, mopping up a spill. Annamaria would fit right into the family. Her family had come from a small farming village in central Italy, very much like the ones they had come from, Paolo told him.
“We met already knowing each other,” Paolo said, and Vittorio understood the significance of his friend’s remark. Perhaps his world and Kitty’s were farther apart than he knew. Then her exquisite face rose before him. No, he thought, we were not far apart. In soul and spirit we were one.
Talk of the wedding took up much of the dinner. They would be married in her parish church, St. Rocco’s, and the reception would be in her parents’ home. When Antonia suggested that perhaps they should wait longer so that Paolo could save up more money, Ottavia and Vittorio spoke up quickly.
“What’s the point in waiting?” he said.
“You have love; the money will come,” Ottavia said.
Mother and son looked at each other, knowing that each feared, more than anything else, another loss.
“My sister, Francesca, will be the maid of honor.” As Annamaria said that, Paolo looked at Vittorio. “I’d like you to be my best man. Maybe you and Francesca can get to know each other before the wedding. She’s just a year younger than Annamaria and almost as pretty.”
They all laughed, but encouraged him to do so, none more insistent than Paolo. Vittorio smiled and said nothing. He would admit it to no one. but he still held a shred of hope that someday, somehow, Kitty’s and his paths would cross and he would have a second chance. More than
a hope, it was a belief. In his heart, he knew they were meant to be together.
“Did you see this?” Paolo held up the morning paper, its headline proclaiming, “National Defense Act Becomes Law.” He read, “The National Defense Act, signed into law by President Woodrow Wilson, will increase the peacetime strength of the U.S. Army to 175,000 men…and its wartime strength to 300,000 men…The National Guard will quadruple to 400,000 men.”
Tomasso leaned forward on the table. “Why build an army unless you plan on war?”
“We are drifting toward war, for certain.” Paolo shook his head. “If America goes to war, I go, too.”
“And I go with you,” Vittorio added.
“No!” the three women cried in unison.
“It’s too early to worry about that,” Tomasso said, dismissing the subject in front of the women, but later, when the women were in the kitchen washing the dishes, he spoke quietly to Vittorio and his son.
“Are you serious about fighting if America gets into the war? What of Italia, our mother country?”
“We are Americans now,” Vittorio said, and Paolo nodded.
Tomasso shook his head. “This war was supposed to be over quickly. Instead it grows longer and bigger, threatening to take our young men on this side of the ocean. It is an octopus reaching out its tentacles to draw us in. It already has affected our shipping, our exports; next it will take our men. Paolo, you will have a wife, and Vittorio, your mother needs you.”
Paolo nodded solemnly, but each man had already made up his mind. If America entered the war, he would serve.
The women returned to the table with bowls of fruit and nuts, and the men ended their conversation.
Paolo laid his hand on Vittorio’s shoulder. “Now that I am about to become a married man, I think you and I should give some thought to starting our own business. I for one am getting tired of working for someone else. Together we have muscle, and we have business sense. We have more work now than we can handle. What do you say, Vittorio? Shall we give it a try?”
Vittorio grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m ready if you are.”
The two raised their wine glasses. “Today we have two things to celebrate,” Vittorio said. “Paolo and Annamaria will join in marriage, and Paolo and I will join in business.”
Chapter 33
“Paolo, stop pacing. You’re making me crazy.” Vittorio stood before the mirror in his friend’s room, trying to tie an expert knot in his dark tie. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was nervous, too. A wedding was a big event, and this happened to be the first one he had ever attended, much less as best man.
“I can’t believe it. In less than two hours, Annamaria and I will be married.” He grabbed the lapels on Vittorio’s jacket. “I’ll be a married man!”
“Paolo, my good suit. Rule one, don’t wrinkle your best man.”
Paolo paid no attention.
“Annamaria,” Vittorio cried.
Paolo looked around. “Where?”
Vittorio put his hands on Paolo’s shoulders. “Now that I have your attention, sit down.”
“Don’t do that to me. I’m a nervous groom.” But Paolo obediently sat on the bed.
“Listen to your best friend. If you don’t calm down, you are not going to enjoy this wonderful day. And Annamaria has every right to be nervous.”
Paolo nodded.
“You’ll have to calm her. You can’t do that while you’re pacing like a tiger.”
“You’re right.” He slipped his arm around Vittorio and gave him a friendly hug.
“Do I look all right?”
“Any better and you’ll outshine the bride.”
“Not a chance.” Paolo grinned. “She’s really beautiful, isn’t she?”
“The best. I know you two will be the happiest couple from here to Naples.”
Paolo became serious. “And what about you?”
The question stabbed unexpectedly. He wouldn’t ruin Paolo’s day with the truth, that he would never be truly happy without Kitty. “Oh, I’ll find someone some day.”
“How about Francesca?”
“Who?”
“You know, Annamaria’s sister. She’s friendly and easy on the eyes. And can she cook! Better than Annamaria, but don’t ever tell her I said that.” He paused. “So?”
Vittorio looked blankly at him.
Paolo threw up his hands. “You’re impossible. Give Francesca a chance. We could live next door to each other. Our children would be friends and cousins.”
“Wait a minute. You’re putting the roof before the foundation.”
His friend persisted. “Will you give her a chance?”
“I promise, my friend, for you.”
“You cannot go on breaking hearts. They may put you in jail.”
“You and your talk.” Vittorio laughed. “Come on, let’s get you married.”
The Church of St. Rocco glowed with the brilliant light of a hundred candles. The morning sun through stained glass cast patterns of gold and red on the marble floor. Vittorio stood next to Paolo and looked down the aisle. Seated in the first row were Antonia and Tomasso, looking handsome in their best clothes. Next to the Crespis was his mother in a lavender dress. Still a beauty, he thought with pride. The church buzzed with anticipation as friends and families awaited the arrival of the bride. Suddenly the church grew quiet. Vittorio put his hand on Paolo’s shoulder to calm him. Annamaria had arrived.
Organ music filled every corner of the church with its joyful swell. The double doors opened, and the crowd stood, all eyes on the rear of the church. Francesca, in a pink gown, was the first down the aisle. She looked straight ahead, a smile locked on her face, her pink flowers trembling.
So this is Francesca. He had met her before but had not paid her any attention. At sixteen, she had a youthful peasant bloom like her sister. She was pretty, he had to admit.
Behind her walked Annamaria on her father’s arm. She seemed not a bit nervous, smiling and nodding to friends. Vittorio heard Paolo give a low gasp when he saw her, radiant in her white gown and lace veil.
At the altar rail, her father lifted the veil and kissed her. Annamaria and Paolo kissed each other with their eyes as he offered his arm, and they ascended the steps of the altar, Vittorio and Francesca behind them.
From where he stood behind Paolo, he could see Annamaria’s face as she looked at him. She radiated love, enveloping him as though he were all, enough. Vittorio was overcome with sadness. Kitty’s image flooded his mind, Kitty, delicate and beautiful in her mind, soul, and body. Seeing his friends on their wedding day, he ached for her, for what could have been, for what he still desired with all his heart.
“The ring,” Paolo whispered, jolting Vittorio to the present. He fumbled in his pocket, handed it to his friend, and watched as he sealed his devotion to her. A blessing from the priest, a kiss, and it was done. Paolo and Annamaria were man and wife. Vittorio watched the beaming couple start down the aisle. He dutifully offered his arm to Francesca and fell in step behind the bride and groom.
The Crespis’ house and yard were filled with white paper wedding bells, hot trays of spaghetti, sweet wedding cookies, and noisy guests. They toasted the newlyweds with glasses of red wine, spun to the music of an accordion player, and filled the bride’s satin bag with money as she went from guest to guest.
Antonia approached Vittorio, who stood at the side when the music began. “Vittorio, a beautiful wedding.”
“Yes, Aunt Antonia. I’m so happy for them.”
She put her hand on his arm. “It’s good that you are happy for them, but when are we going to be happy for you?”
“Aunt Antonia…”
“Don’t ‘Aunt Antonia’ me. You are young and handsome and can have your pick. What do you think of Francesca?”
“She’s very nice.”
“She’s a good girl. Get to know her. You know it’s time you thought about getting married yourself and having a family. It’s the way of the wo
rld. You cannot be truly happy without a wife and bambinos. Trust me.”
Vittorio smiled at her but said nothing. She was right, but she didn’t understand. There was only one wife he wanted. When Antonia left, he wandered around, talking with friends. He turned when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Antonia and behind her, Francesca.
“Vittorio, here’s Francesca. She likes to dance.”
Antonia showed no signs of leaving until he acquiesced, so Vittorio led her to the center of the yard where the couples whirled.
She was a good dancer, able to follow his lead when he was wrong as well as when he was right. For a while they just danced without speaking, enjoying moving to the lively rhythms. He looked around, after they had been dancing a short while, and saw his mother and Antonia together watching him.
“Would you like to stop and have a drink?”
She nodded, and they walked over to a table laden with pitchers of wine. They stood there chatting, and she was pleasant enough. At least she didn’t giggle at everything he said, and she talked of her sister and their closeness growing up.
A young man approached and asked Francesca to dance. She gave Vittorio a glance over her shoulder as he led her to the center of the yard. Vittorio, feeling suddenly alone, decided to ask his mother to dance. He had never seen her dance, and was surprised at how well she followed.
She smiled up at him. “You are wondering how I know how to dance.”
“I’ve never seen you dance before.”
“It is the music in my soul. And perhaps a mother’s knowing her son better than he knows himself.”
Marveling at her, he whirled her faster and faster until she laughed breathlessly. Neither one noticed the young woman approach them.
“Vittorio, may I ask you to dance?”
If Ottavia was surprised, Vittorio was more so. He looked at his mother. “Please, the young people should dance.” She backed away politely.
He slid his arm around her waist, a slim waist that accentuated her full breasts. Her eyes were dark and sensual. They had never known shyness.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
Choices of the Heart Page 21