“Charles, you’re priceless. I really think she fancies you.”
“Oh, yes. I saw a man, a construction worker, who was hit by a falling two-by-four. He was good-looking, muscular. It must have hurt like mad—fell right on his elbow and broke his arm. I had to set it.”
Kitty stopped sipping her soup and stared at him as he went on, “Even though it hurt, he still joked about it. Said he can’t play baseball for a while.”
“Baseball?” she asked, her broth forgotten.
“Yes, I understand he’s quite an athlete, a handsome Italian.”
She struggled to find her voice. “What was his name?”
Charles chuckled. “That’s what I love about you. You’re curious about many things, even the most insignificant.”
He took another bite of his steak. “Let me see, it was Russo.” He screwed his brows together, then shook his head. “No, not Russo. Hmmm.”
The silence reverberated in her head.
“It was Rossi, Vittorio Rossi.”
She tried to lay down her soup spoon before he noticed her trembling, but it was too late. The spoon clattered to the table, splashing soup all over the tablecloth.
“What’s the matter, dear? Are you feeling worse? You’re pale and trembling.”
“I need to go upstairs.” She stood uncertainly, and Charles jumped up to hold her, helping her upstairs and into bed.
She slept fitfully that night, dreaming of being in Vittorio’s arms, walking along the waterfront, looking up at the stars—wonderful, passionate dreams of their times together. When she awoke, Charles had already gone to the hospital, and she lay there alone, a dull ache in her stomach, real and physical, and a sharp pain in her heart, just as real.
She had to try to see Vittorio. She dragged herself out of bed, splashed water on her face, and dressed. In too much pain to walk to the hospital, she ordered a carriage to come for her.
“Please wait,” she told the driver, and shuffled her way into the building. Kitty planned that if she ran into Charles she would tell him she didn’t feel well. It was a half-truth, but she hoped she didn’t have to use it.
The nurse at the station greeted her warmly. “I’m inquiring about someone whose arm my husband set yesterday. A Vittorio Rossi. I…I think he may have been in my family’s employ at one time. May I see him?” She held her trembling hands beneath the counter.
The nurse checked a list and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lawrence. He left yesterday without leaving an address.”
Kitty grabbed the counter for support. “I see. Don’t bother to tell my husband I stopped by. I’ll tell him tonight. Thank you.”
Kitty barely managed to leave the hospital and crawl into the carriage. During the ride, in spite of feeling sick, her mind was on Vittorio and the tragedy of missing him when he had been so near. Once home, she fell into bed fully clothed.
The pains began soon after, and the blood, in telltale spots. When Charles came home, he forbade her to get out of bed and took time off to tend to her. She spent every waking moment praying. “Merciful Lord, I can’t deny that I have continued to love Vittorio. Hearing news of him shatters me. Yet I have tried to be a good wife. Charles is so looking forward to this child. And though I have no right to, I am, too. Please let our child live, for Charles’ sake, if not for mine.”
Three days later, the pains and the bleeding increased, and as she lay there, sweating profusely from unrelenting cramping, she felt something thrust from her body, and at that moment she knew she had lost the child.
Though he wanted to stay at home, Charles had to return to the hospital. Kitty spent her days alone, despondent, believing that her continuing love of Vittorio had caused the miscarriage.
Chapter 39
“How are we doing, partner?” Paolo sat down in the small wooden structure that was the office of Crespi and Rossi. Near the partially framed office building that, when completed, would house fifty offices, sat the tiny field office, a brave little structure dwarfed by a growing behemoth. Like the structure, the construction business of Crespi and Rossi was growing boldly, the large office building in no small way responsible for it.
Vittorio looked up from his accounting books and smiled expansively. “We are doing very well, thank you. A year in business and we are well ahead of what we expected to do.”
Paolo leaned over the desk and clasped Vittorio’s left hand. “I knew we could do it.”
“I’d return the handshake, but that’s not possible.” He pointed to his right arm, encased in a cast supported by a sling.
“How much longer for that, paesan?”
“A few weeks.”
“You know, that may have been the best thing for our business. You do so well with the numbers.”
“I actually like it, Paolo. But I always want to keep working with my hands, too. The two of us, side by side.”
“Always,” Paolo said. “But the way our business is growing, we may be side by side in the office, counting money.”
The two of them smiled at the prospect and, as they often did, stayed late after their crew went home, finishing up paperwork. They were in the right place in Boston. Buildings were rising all the time. As their reputation spread, clients came to them.
“We are building a business as strong as our friendship,” Vittorio said as the two got up to leave.
“Speaking of friendship, you haven’t been over for dinner in more than a week. Come on over tonight.”
Vittorio looked suspicious. “Is Francesca going to be there?”
Paolo laughed. “I’ve given up on you. I’m resigned to your being godfather to our bambinos, that’s all.”
They buttoned up their jackets against the chill November wind and walked together to the Crespis’. Engrossed in conversation, they had almost arrived at the steps when a gust of wind blew a scarf in Vittorio’s face. He reached for it as another gust was about to drive it past him and down the street.
In the early evening darkness, a young woman ran up to them. She stopped short in front of Vittorio, her eyes wide.
“Tina!” Paolo was the first to speak. “You remember Vittorio.”
“We danced at your wedding.” She smiled at him from under warm, languid eyes.
Paolo gestured toward his front door. “Come in and say hello to Annamaria,” and Vittorio found himself hoping she would accept.
Annamaria greeted the unexpected pair, pointed to the huge pot of macaroni on the stove, and insisted they both stay for dinner.
“What a happy coincidence,” Annamaria said after she had set the dinner on the table and sat down with them.
She shared a conspiratorial look with Paolo, who reached for Annamaria’s hand. “We have an announcement to make. In the spring, we are going to have a baby.”
Vittorio jumped up to kiss Annamaria and embrace Paolo. “A baby! Another member of the family.”
Tina kissed them both as well. The meal forgotten for the moment, Vittorio raised his wine glass in a toast. “Here’s to the spring and to your baby. If it’s a girl, may she be as pretty as her mother. If it’s a boy, may he be as good a friend as his father has been to me.”
Amid much toasting, planning, and laughter, Paolo periodically refilled the glasses with red wine his father had made last fall. From time to time, Vittorio glanced at Tina. Rather than shyly lowering her eyes as most young women did around him, Tina flashed him a brilliant smile. When she helped Annamaria clear the dishes from the table, her arm brushed against his, reminding him of the sensual way she had danced last summer. The evening eased his loneliness. He enjoyed sharing laughter with Tina, their glances meeting in awareness of each other. Perhaps the hint of forwardness was what he needed to forget Kitty.
“May I walk you home?” he asked when dinner was over.
They walked with the wind behind them, wayward gusts blowing Tina’s dark hair across her cheeks. She shook her head like a proud racehorse, laughing at the wind’s tricks.
“
I’m glad the wind blew my scarf to you,” she said, looking up at him with those languid eyes. He knew it was silly of him, but he was flattered. Kitty’s rejection was devastating, and Tina, the first girl he was attracted to since Kitty, buoyed his spirits by her unabashed flirtation.
“Can I see you again?” The question came to him without forethought. He was pleased when she said she’d like it. She suggested a movie. He walked home feeling pleased with himself, and for the first time in months, he looked forward to an evening out.
****
“I’m so happy that you are seeing a young woman this evening.” Ottavia was in the kitchen, tidying up after dinner. “What is her name?”
Vittorio called to her as he combed his hair in front of a small mirror in his room. “Tina. Mama, you know her.”
“I don’t know any Tina.” Ottavia hummed as she wiped off the stove with a wet cloth.
“She was at Paolo and Annamaria’s wedding. We danced together.”
She abruptly ended her song.
“You remember her, don’t you?”
“Yes, dear.” She snapped the cloth and threw it in the sink. “I’m happy you’re going out. Perhaps you will meet other young women.”
Unexpectedly, a vision of Kitty flashed across his mind. The pain had become a dull ache—an improvement, he thought with a wry smile. At least seeing Tina was my idea, not like with Francesca. Perhaps I’m ready to meet someone else. I miss sharing. If I saw Kitty today, what an endless list of life’s pleasures we’ve already missed—her reading over my shoulder, quiet glances over coffee, a secret squeeze of my hand, smiling at our reflections as we look into shop windows—things too little to mention, but the thread that binds two lovers together.
At Tina’s house, before Vittorio and Tina could leave, Tina’s mother asked her into the kitchen. From the corner or his eye he could see her admonishing her daughter with a wag of her finger.
Her father, with Tina’s three brothers standing by, spoke just as severely. “Vittorio, I want you to respect my daughter and bring her home by ten o’clock.”
“Of course. Yes, sir.” He breathed a sigh of relief when they left the house.
“What did my father say to you?”
“Oh, it was nothing,” he said, but her look of apprehension made him wonder.
Vittorio, who rarely had a chance to go to a silent movie, tripped on his way down the aisle. “This place is really dark,” he said, grabbing for the arm of a theater seat to keep from falling.
“It’s dark and private. Just the film and us.”
He gave in to the darkness and the presence of a pretty girl beside him. Boldly, he slid his arm around her, half expecting a rebuff. Instead, she put her head on his shoulder. In the darkness, he smiled.
****
The fall winds took on their winter chill, but by April they had mellowed to a gentle spring breeze. Vittorio saw a great deal of Tina through the winter, the fire of her passion doing much to dispel the chill in his soul. She was insistent for his kisses, insatiable in her desire to feel his body against hers in an embrace. Her boldness drew him to her, reaffirmed his virility after Kitty’s rejection. And yet he felt something missing. Was she just someone to nurse his wounded heart, a passionate diversion? There to push to the background his ever-present thoughts of Kitty? Or was the sexual attraction the beginning of love?
Vittorio sensed a reserve toward Tina that was unusual for his mother. “You see a lot of this Tina,” Ottavia said as he helped her carry groceries home from the store.
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you think you love her?”
“I don’t know, Mama. What do you think?”
She sighed, silent for a moment, choosing her words. “I am happy to see you alive again, seeing a young woman, going out as you should.”
“But?”
“But I don’t think she is the girl for you. There is a…a boldness about her that I do not care for. She is not like…” She caught herself, but Vittorio knew.
“No one will ever be like Kitty. Maybe I have to face that.”
“I don’t want you to be without someone for the rest of your life.”
“Mama, I don’t know why you never married.”
She pointed to him. “I had you to take care of and to love.”
“I hate Father Vittorio for what he did.”
“Never say that about your father. His station in life forced choices upon him.”
“And left you with no choice. I hate him for leaving you, and nothing will change that.”
Ottavia read the fire in his eyes and was about to say more when they heard a shout from a crowd gathered on the corner to buy the newspaper, and they hurried toward it. A newsboy shouted the awful news: “America declares war on Germany! Read all about it!”
The inevitable had happened. America was at war. Knots of humanity shook their heads and murmured protests. The young among them shook their fists as though the enemy, an ocean away, could see and quake in fear.
Vittorio bought the paper and read the news aloud as they walked along.
“War. A tiny word with endless consequences,” Ottavia said.
“The United States today declared war on Germany, four days after President Woodrow Wilson asked Congress for a declaration of war, and little more than a month after the release of the contents of the telegram sent by German foreign minister Arthur Zimmerman to the German ambassador in Mexico. The infamous telegram, which was stolen and decoded, offered German support for the reconquest of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas in an effort to convince Mexico to enter the war on their side. The country has begun mobilization for war. U. S. Army troops and Navy men and ships are being readied for battle, according to President Wilson.”
Ottavia looked at her son with alarm. “What does this mean for us?”
Vittorio said quietly,” It means I am going to war.”
****
In the months since her miscarriage, Kitty had learned to accept her loss. She also learned to enjoy cleaning and fixing up the house. The garden was her particular love, and now that spring had arrived, she planted and pruned, waiting for the forsythia to bloom before she trimmed back the rosebushes, anxious for their first glorious blooms in June.
She spent the late afternoon cutting a mass of daffodils, arranging them in a large earthenware crock on the kitchen table, and waiting for Charles. Life had settled into a pleasant routine, and Kitty, who made the best of any situation, kept her spirits up by refusing to dwell on what she had lost—her damnably stubborn father, whom she loved in spite of his bigotry, her sweet brother, and Vittorio—always Vittorio.
Kitty had to cope with Charles’ long hours at the hospital. His absences made her eager for news when he came home. Charles tried, but he often was content to read or doze in front of the fire after dinner. At first, Kitty thought that was a signal that he would prefer to sleep when they went to bed, but invariably the nap revived him and his desire for her was unabated.
Out of continuing gratitude, she tried to respond, but his touch on her body sent her into shivers of apprehension. Whether he climaxed slowly or quickly, it could not come fast enough for her. Her whole body was taut when she finally rolled away from him, waiting for the final touch, the final kiss goodnight, and then release from her nightly repayment. When depression overtook her, she grew angry with Charles. Gratitude without love, she thought, is not gratitude but penance.
Kitty left a few daffodils on the table when she heard Charles’ knock on the door. “Wait till you see my flowers,” she said, but her smile disappeared when she saw the grim set of his mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
He lifted the newspaper and showed her the headline, War with Germany.
“Oh, no! What we feared would happen.”
“There’s no turning back now, my dear. We are committed to fight.”
When she saw the determined look in her husband’s eyes, a chill shot through her. “Charles, what are you thi
nking?”
“Sit down, dear.” He led her into the parlor. “You know we have to stop the German onslaught. England is in jeopardy, and that means my parents. I cannot abandon them. I must go.”
“No!” She felt as though the wind had been knocked from her, and she fought to breathe again. She was gripped with fear for him, and for herself, that she would be abandoned once again.
He put his arms around her. “I’ll go as a doctor, to tend the wounded. I won’t be in the midst of the fighting. I won’t be in danger.”
Tears overflowed her eyes as she clung to him. “I’ve known of war for only five minutes, and already is has shattered my life.”
Chapter 40
Vittorio sat at the head of the family table, surrounded by his mother, Aunt Antonia and Uncle Tomasso, Paolo and Annamaria, and Aunt Concetta and Uncle Vincenzo. Dinner was early that Sunday, because Vittorio wanted to visit Tina before he boarded the troop ship. He had enlisted in the army, a “doughboy” they called him in his olive drab uniform.
“How handsome you look,” Antonia told him when she arrived at the house, and made him try on his felt campaign hat. There was much reminiscing and joke telling, a conscious effort to keep this last dinner light.
Vittorio looked across the table at his mother. It seemed to him that she had aged in the month since he told her he would enlist. More silver streaked her dark hair, and her skin had lost its glow. The family tried to engage her in conversation, but Vittorio noticed how often she stole a look his way, her eyes lingering on his face.
Vittorio, too, wanted to commit to memory the faces before him. Aunt Concetta and Uncle Vincenzo were old now and no longer went out much, often sitting by the window to watch the children at play.
“It was so good of you to come today,” Vittorio told them. “You make me feel special.”
Dear Aunt Antonia and Uncle Tomasso. He was so glad they would be here to take care of Mama. With you, at least she will not be alone. Paolo and Annamaria. My lifelong friend has made a good choice. They are so happy together, especially now that a baby is on the way. And Paolo. He has always stood by me, even though he did not always understand. I will miss him. Mama. Most of all, Mama. She has given me my life, and her own as well, years of it, never complaining about her sacrifice. I love her dearly.
Choices of the Heart Page 25