She tossed her dark hair. “We met at the store where Annamaria works. You and Paolo came in. I’m Tina.” She looked up at him through long lashes.
Thinking back, he recalled meeting her. It was winter, and she had worn a full, heavy coat that hid her voluptuousness.
“I asked you if you two were friends.”
“And I said we worked together and wanted to own our own business someday.”
The music slowed, and they continued to dance. He had danced with many girls, but none who danced this way. Her moves spoke wordlessly, her hand caressing his back, her hair soft against his cheek, her body swaying close to his.
When the music stopped, she held onto his hand. “Your hand feels so strong around my small one. I like that. What do you do that makes you so strong?”
Vittorio smiled at the obvious flattery, but found himself telling her about his work and his love of baseball. When the music began, they seemed to glide naturally to the dance floor, and once again she was in his arms.
“Look at her,” Ottavia complained to Antonia. “She has taken him away from Francesca. I do not like the looks of that girl. Underneath those long lashes and seductive poses, a she-wolf.”
“If we think a moment,” Antonia said, “we can remedy the situation.”
The two women planned quietly until finally Antonia clapped her hands, while Ottavia moved to Francesca’s side.
“Vittorio, you have not asked your Aunt Antonia to dance.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Antonia. This dance is yours.” He glanced at Tina, who gave Antonia a stiff smile as she relinquished her hold on Vittorio.
Pleased with her success, Antonia chatted happily with Vittorio until, pleading exhaustion, she asked him to bring her to Ottavia. The foursome began to talk, and Vittorio wasn’t sure how, but soon he was back dancing with Francesca. Aware now that she had competition, Francesca chatted and flirted shyly, wanting to keep him with her.
Vittorio, suddenly weary of every young woman who was not Kitty, smiled politely and waited for a chance to flee unnoticed.
He did so after he offered a toast to the bride and groom. As he stood next to Annamaria and Paolo, he lifted his glass and the guests followed.
“I wish you a long life and many children around your table. But my greatest wish for you is that your paths never part for more than a day. By the time the moon rises in the sky, may you have the good fortune of being in each other’s arms.”
Annamaria’s eyes grew misty as she hugged him. “That was beautiful, Vittorio. I will remember it always.”
“I could wish the two of you nothing better. It is from my heart.” He smiled at the two of them gazing at each other with eyes full of love. For a moment he imagined Kitty in a wedding gown, looking lovingly at him, and he ached for her touch. He had heard that at a wedding, a celebration of love, the Lord hears the prayer of a lover in pain. Hear me, Lord.
It was suddenly too much. Making an excuse, he slipped from the crowd before Francesca or Tina saw him leave. He ran next door to his empty house. Alone now, he knelt on the floor and looked out the window at the sky—vast, empty space, an eternity of solitude. He could hear the gaiety next door, but it was far, far away, as far away from him as the sun circling the earth. Alone.
Chapter 34
Kitty kicked her shoes off and curled up on the chair by the window. Though it was just for a month or two, Charles had found her a lovely tenement apartment on the east side of Boston. Charles’ place was near the hospital, so he could be there on a moment’s notice. Her apartment was on a hill, he told her, to give her a taste of the house they would eventually live in. He wanted to live on a hill, a vista spread before them.
“The view is important,” he said. “It must make us feel like a king and queen.” He protested at Kitty’s laughter. “I’m serious. At the very least, it has to make you feel like a queen. You already make me feel like a king.”
Kitty sighed as she remembered the conversation. Charles could not do enough for her. Yet his worship of her became a burden. Not loving him, she did not deserve the love he lavished on her, and guilt gnawed at her in quiet moments like this.
She tried to think of other things. They had gone house-hunting today, and she had enjoyed poking through homes, looking at how they were furnished, checking out comfortable nooks just right for an easy chair, seeing if the kitchen were large and welcoming. So far, they had not seen a house they loved without reservation. She would have been satisfied with several of them, but Charles was adamant about their loving it.
“Finding a house is a love affair. When you find the right one, you won’t be satisfied with anything else.”
She shuddered. The harder she tried, the more her thoughts returned to Vittorio. “Damn you, Vittorio,” she cried aloud. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
She jumped from the chair, only to wince as her feet hit the floor. Her feet ached from climbing what seemed like every hill in Boston in search of a house. She crashed back down in the chair in pain and frustration.
Good Lord, what am I to do? I can’t pray that I fall in love with Charles. I know that is not possible. Help me make him believe that I love him, though it can never be. I owe him more, but it is beyond my power to give more.
She drew her knees up to her chest and rocked, looking out at the sky as sunset bathed the city in cerise. Strange, she mused, that the sun, all alone, can affect all within its scope so powerfully. Kitty drifted off to sleep, to dream of rowboats on a lake in summer. Noise from the tenement next door awoke her. She made her way through the dark apartment to her bedroom and crawled into bed. In sleep, there was forgetting.
Kitty greeted the new day with determination. She did have much to be thankful for, and she would make the best of it. It was only fair to Charles.
She had hot coffee and muffins waiting for Charles when he arrived to take her house-hunting. He had the morning free to go with her and knew of a few homes for sale that they hadn’t yet seen.
“My dear, these muffins are wonderful.” He beamed when she told him she had made them for him. She found a warmth sitting in the sunny kitchen, knowing she had made Charles happy.
“There’s a house on Beacon Hill we should view.”
“Beacon Hill!” The thought of living in such a wealthy area was more than she had dreamed of.
“It may be a little more than I planned to pay, but let’s see it. And don’t you worry about the price. That’s my department,” he added, smiling.
The long walk up Beacon Hill gave them a chance to see the stately homes that graced the tree-lined street—large Victorians with gingerbread trim, Georgian-style homes with graceful columns, wrought iron fences that protected velvet lawns, and windows with the finest lace curtains drawn back and tied in delicate beauty.
“Each is elegant. I wouldn’t know which one to choose,” she said. “Oh, Charles, look at that one.” She pointed to a large red brick home with white shutters and a black door trimmed with gleaming brass. Red roses grew under the first-floor windows and yellow ones climbed to the second story.
“You could reach out any window and pick a rose. I couldn’t think of any lovelier way to begin a day.” She stopped and admired the gracefulness of its lines and the way the roses softened the brick and offered a welcome. “I wonder who lives here.”
Charles took her arm. “We’ll soon find out.”
She stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“This is the very house we came to see.”
A thrill sang through her as Charles clapped the brass knocker. A maid answered the door and showed them into a large parlor, where a pleasant old gentleman sat in a wing chair by the fireplace.
“Sir.” He extended his hand. “This is my bride-to-be, Kitty Dwyer.”
The old gentleman rose and took her hand. “Cecil Penwood, Miss Dwyer. I suppose Charles told you I am retired from the hospital.”
“I didn’t have a chance, sir, but you are a legend at Boston Gene
ral.”
Cecil smiled. “I helped build the east wing into the finest emergency treatment center in Boston. I was a demon in my day; they couldn’t stop me. But my wife died last year.”
Kitty extended her condolences.
He sighed. “The light went out of my life. Now I have my son and grandchildren. My son got it into his head he wanted to own a farm, and he bought one in the wilds of Pennsylvania. He asked me to live with them. At first I thought, ‘What will I do there?’ Then I thought of all the things my grandsons and I could do together, so I decided to become a gentleman farmer. Now, let me show you the house.”
A fireplace with a gracefully carved mantel dominated the sitting room. Across from it, large windows were thrown open, the scent of roses filling the room. The spacious dining room accommodated a long mahogany table that seated sixteen comfortably. Rose trellis paper covered the dining room walls.
Kitty looked around the room. “A garden indoors.’’
The kitchen was large, warm, and welcoming. Kitty looked at Charles, her eyes sparkling. He had said nothing, preferring to hear Kitty’s comments, but he was smiling, too. She stopped as they walked onto a sweeping circular porch extending into a garden in the back, overlooking a profusion of roses in every color. Floral cushions on white wicker made the indoors blend with the garden beyond.
“This is heavenly.”
The five upstairs bedrooms continued the garden theme. The bed in the master bedroom faced a large window, and Kitty ran to it. Above the line of trees, it revealed a spectacular view of the city.
“Charles, look!”
“Our own corner of the city,” he said, smiling down at her. “What do you think?”
“I love it.”
“No doubts? Want to look further?” He smiled as he teased her.
“No. It’s perfect.”
He looked at Dr. Penwood. “It’s love at first sight.”
“I can be out in two weeks. In the meantime, please come by anytime, Miss Dwyer, to look, measure, bring fabric, whatever it is you women do to turn a house into a home.”
“Thank you, Dr. Penwood. If you don’t mind, then, I’ll come by to do a little planning.”
“Only if you stop for tea.”
They walked down the front path. “Charles, I love the house. Do you love it, too?”
“I’d say it’s unanimous. I think you’ll have to go back just to have tea. You already have every nook of the house memorized.”
She grabbed his hand. “You’re too good to me.”
“My motives are not altruistic.” He bent over and kissed her. “I do it all for love.”
Chapter 35
“I’m so pleased you can have tea with me.” Dr. Penwood sat with his back to the garden so Kitty, facing him, could have a full view.
“If you ever come back to Boston, please visit us. I feel as though we are old friends.”
Dr. Penwood smiled. “I’d like that.”
This was the first time Kitty had returned to the house, but Charles was right. Kitty had memorized every detail and had thrown herself into shopping for furniture, rugs, curtains, drapes—everything. It was something she enjoyed; it was an escape. If she had to carry colors in her head and recall the sizes of the rooms, she was totally absorbed, pushing out thoughts of Vittorio and her impending marriage to Charles. She threw herself into a whirl of activity so that by evening each day, when her thoughts inevitably turned to Vittorio, she was exhausted and sleep overrode her pain.
Dr. Penwood looked upon Kitty as the daughter he’d never had, and when he moved out, he would leave much of the furniture—the wicker on the porch, the large mahogany dining table and chairs, and an exquisitely carved bed in the master bedroom.
“The bed is old, carved in Germany and brought over in pieces aboard ship. It is rather valuable in monetary terms, but that’s not why I leave it. I leave the bed to you as a wedding present, a wish for happiness. I hope you and Charles are as happy as Martha and I were.”
Kitty hugged the old doctor. “You are so kind. We love your house and promise to care for it as you did.”
“I know you will. I leave it with a contented mind.”
The next time Kitty opened the front door, the house was theirs. All the furniture except what the doctor had given them was gone. As she and Charles sat on the porch and planned, Kitty told him of the doctor’s generosity, but she purposely did not mention the significance of the bed.
To her, it symbolized all that married love should be, a love she was incapable of giving to Charles.
“That’s a lovely bed Dr. Penwood left us,” Charles said.
“It’s attractive enough,” she lied. “It will fit perfectly in the large guest room.” Kitty filled Charles in on her progress in decorating the house. “I’d like the parlor painted rose. It seems so appropriate for a house surrounded by roses. And I’ve ordered two sofas for either side of the fireplace. They will be cream, with pink and rose pillows. There’ll be a wing chair for you in forest green. You can read there, or doze by the firelight when you get old.”
“I’d like nothing better, as long as I have you beside me.” He hesitated. “Will I?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Of course, Charles. Why do you say that?”
“Just bridegroom jitters, I guess.” He grew silent, then said, “There’s more…”
If Charles knows, it will be better to get it out now. Fingers of guilt jabbed at her.
“I guess I haven’t been completely honest with you,” he said.
Kitty sat forward in her chair.
“The war. You know, my parents live in England. I wanted to join the RAF, but my duties at the hospital made it impossible. Now it looks as if America will be drawn in. If we are, I must go.”
She reached for his hand and held it tight, flooded with memories of Vittorio’s promise to serve, and now Charles. Twice terror. She trembled in spite of herself.
Charles wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t worry, I will only tend the wounded. I’m sure I won’t see battle.”
Kitty forced a smile. “I understand.” Yes, I understand. I was forced to leave Dermot. I have lost Vittorio, and now I may lose you. Is there no end to loss?
****
“Vittorio, come over to dinner tonight. I want you to see how Annamaria has decorated our house.” Paolo grinned, proud of his wife’s accomplishment. “And,” he added as an extra inducement, “Francesca will be there, helping Annamaria to cook.”
Vittorio was eager to accept until he heard that Francesca would be there. He did not want her pushed on him.
Paolo, sensing his friend’s ambivalence, said, “I promise we won’t try to match-make. We’ll just have fun. You know I just want to see you as happy as I am.”
Vittorio smiled and put an arm around Paolo. “I’ll come. And I wish I were as happy as you.”
He arrived at their house after work, having washed and slipped on a clean shirt. His hair was slicked back and his tan a deep honey color. When he entered the kitchen, Francesca looked up from slicing pork and colored at the sight of him. She seemed speechless after their greeting, then concentrated on slicing the meat. He kissed Annamaria, whose happiness gave her a glow.
“Sit down,” she said, “and have some wine with Paolo. Dinner will be ready soon.”
As the women worked, the two friends sat and reminisced about their childhood. The women joined them at the table, over a bowl of spaghetti and a platter of pork. The talk was happy, punctuated with laughter, and Francesca was able to join in as the women told their own stories of growing up and helping their father in his store.
At least she can talk, Vittorio thought. So many young women became tongue-tied in his presence. The evening passed quickly, and Vittorio had to admit how much he enjoyed being with them.
As the women cleaned the dishes, Paolo beckoned Vittorio into the parlor. “Didn’t Annamaria do a beautiful job?” he said, then lowering his voice, added, “And what do you think of F
rancesca?”
“Paolo, you promised.” A tinge of annoyance was evident in Vittorio’s voice.
“I’m worried about you. She’s very nice, not hard to look at, a good cook. Why not give her a chance? Walk her home tonight.”
“If I give her a chance, you must promise me you’ll stop trying to get me married.”
Paolo grinned as he shook Vittorio’s hand.
Later, he and Francesca walked the few blocks to her home. When they got to her door, he said, “On Sunday, would you like to go for a walk? We can get a soda at the candy store.”
“Yes. I know my mama would approve.”
“I’ll come by for you at one o’clock.” Vittorio had the strange feeling that it was someone else who was talking, not him. He was just an observer in a scene that had nothing to do with his life. He turned and walked toward home, thinking that without Kitty, his life was going nowhere.
****
Life was flying by too fast for Kitty. Her wedding day was drawing near, only a few days away. She wanted to cover her eyes and command the world to stop. But with every day, the chances dimmed to stop the fast-rolling force of her life. Yet she could not fault Charles. He was kind, gentlemanly, thoughtful, and generous to a fault. She was, in fact, waiting for him to come over this very afternoon. He had a surprise for her, and she expected a knock on the door any minute.
She went to the window just in time to see him walk up the path, a large box under his arm. She swung open the door, and there was Charles, smiling an impish grin, his blue eyes flashing behind his steel-rimmed glasses.
Dear Charles. You saved my life once, and you save it every day. I owe you so much. She smiled bravely and kissed him on the cheek as he stepped inside.
“Wait till you see what I have for you.” He seemed particularly excited today. He put the box on the sofa and stepped back. “Open it.”
“Charles, what is there left to give me? You are always bringing me presents.”
“No protests, just open it.”
She lifted the cover and parted layers of tissue. “Oh!” she gasped, and looked up at Charles.
Choices of the Heart Page 22