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Choices of the Heart

Page 30

by Margaret Gay Malone


  As she left the room one day, the doctor called her aside. She touched his arm. “I’m afraid of that look on your face.”

  He nodded. “The infection has gotten such a strong hold throughout his body that we can’t combat it.”

  “Arthur, no.”

  He put his arms around her. “He wants to go home. I think this is the time.”

  Kitty stared off into space. “I have tried to prepare myself. In my heart of hearts, I knew, but there is no preparation. He is so young, so good…”

  “With everything to live for, but Kitty, that is the awful thing about being a doctor. The senselessness of death is a humbling experience because we’re powerless before it.”

  She buried her face in her hands.

  “At home,” he said, “you can do so much for him.”

  Charles came home on December tenth, a month after the armistice was signed.

  “I’m doubly happy today,” he said, holding her hand in the ambulance as they rode home. “I’m happy for all the fighting men that there will be no more wounds, no more death, only healing. And I’m happy for myself that I can go home while so many men could not.”

  Charles’ return home had such a beneficial effect on him that for days it seemed as though he might yet recover. But eventually, the disease did its deadly work and he deteriorated day by day, then moment by moment.

  As she sat beside the bed, the crisp winter sun angling through the window, sending bright shafts across the rose coverlet, Charles reached for her hand.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” he said weakly.

  “I love it when the winter sun streams in,” she said.

  “There are things…” He stopped to get his breath. “Things I want to tell you.”

  “Please, try to save your strength.”

  “No, I must.”

  Alarmed that he was trying to raise himself up, Kitty knelt on the floor and leaned her head near him as he spoke.

  “I want to thank you,” he whispered.

  “Thank me?”

  “You have been the best wife any man could have.”

  “No, Charles, I should thank you. You have been wonderful.”

  He waved aside her protest. “I haven’t spoken of the war, but there is one thing I want to tell you. It’s about…” His chest heaved with the effort. “When I was wounded.”

  She looked up in alarm, but he was determined to go on.

  “After I was shot, a German soldier made it right to the trench where I lay, next to the wounded that I had been tending. He stood above me, his rifle pointed right at my head. He intended to shoot us all. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  Kitty squeezed his hand as she imagined the terror he’d faced.

  “From…out of nowhere…a soldier jumped him. It was hand-to-hand combat until he wrestled the rifle away. The German fled like a frightened animal. And then the soldier helped me and the other wounded out of the trench, and at great risk, he carried us one by one to safety.”

  “We owe him so much,” she said quietly.

  Charles lifted himself on an elbow. “That soldier was Private Vittorio Rossi.”

  Kitty’s heart jumped, her hand going limp in his.

  “I asked him why he saved my life. You know what he said?” He coughed from the effort to speak but waved away her protest. “He said, ‘She would hate me if I didn’t.’ ”

  She nodded, her heart filled, not trusting herself to speak.

  He turned away so he couldn’t see her face. “I know you love each other.”

  “Charles, I married you.”

  He appeared not to hear. “I’ve always done what’s best for you. Even…” His voice became fainter. “Even in dying.”

  Kitty wanted to protest, to cry, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but she was mute. Charles had said it all.

  “Dear,” he whispered, “help me to sit up.”

  She fluffed up extra pillows and slid them behind his back. Then her hands followed, under his arms, and pulled him to a sitting position. He was too sick of late to eat much, and his brittle bones felt so fragile.

  “Sit next to me.”

  She climbed beside him and held his hand. Through half-closed eyes, he looked out at the city laid before them, glittering in the winter sun.

  He smiled. “Like a king…” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

  Kitty felt for a pulse. There was none.

  “Oh, Charles. Dear Charles,” she sobbed. “In my own way, I did love you.”

  Chapter 44

  The last of the guests who had come to pay their respects had left. Kitty sat alone in the parlor, the casket in front of her, when she heard voices in the hall, Dermot laughing and calling out.

  “Kitty! Kitty!” She heard Dermot’s excited voice as she hurried into the hall. Her heart stopped to see Vittorio standing there, Dermot with his arm wrapped around him, leading him toward her.

  “Look, Vittorio’s here.”

  “I heard about Charles. I wanted to pay my respects. My mother sends her love. I don’t know if my coming is proper.”

  Kitty took his hand. “Who better than the man who saved his life.”

  Vittorio’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Charles told me. He was grateful that you gave him the chance to come home.”

  Vittorio demurred. “Anyone would have done it.”

  “But you did it. That’s just another reason why you mean so much to me.”

  Flanked by Kitty and Dermot, he walked into the parlor, made the sign of the cross in front of the casket, and bent his head in prayer.

  “Please, sit down,” she said when he had finished.

  Eager to show Vittorio his new achievements, Dermot offered to serve them coffee and cookies and hurried into the kitchen.

  Vittorio sat in a chair opposite her. “You look tired.”

  “It’s always a shock. He was very good to me.”

  Vittorio nodded and fell silent for a while. “I know this is not the time,” he said, “but I have waited so long. I want you to think of our future, us together.”

  “I’m saddened that such a good man had to die. I could never be the wife he wanted.”

  He instinctively moved forward, ready to comfort her, but he stopped abruptly. “Don’t torture yourself. You were a good wife.”

  She shook her head. “You were always on my mind. I owe him at least a decent period of mourning, a year of remembering his passing.”

  Vittorio started. “A year! Our life has already been in limbo for years.”

  “I should do the right thing by Charles.” She looked to Vittorio for understanding. “Please,” she begged.

  His face clouded. “I feel hostage to everyone’s feelings but our own, but if that’s what you wish, I’ll wait for word from you.”

  He stood quickly. Kitty rose to show him to the door. “I can let myself out,” he said.

  As the door shut, Dermot came into the parlor carrying a tray. “Where’s Vittorio?” he asked.

  Kitty’s response was to burst into tears.

  ****

  The restaurant kept her busy, and out of a sense of duty, she made regular visits to Charles’ grave with Dermot. It had been three months since he died, and Dermot grew tired of going to the cemetery.

  “Can we go now?” he asked, fidgeting at the gravesite one day in April when the daffodils were a riot of yellow and the sky an intense blue.

  “Just a little while longer,” she said, “while I visit Charles.”

  “I thought you said Charles was in Heaven.”

  “He is.”

  “Then why are we coming here?”

  She looked at him in surprise. She prayed all the time for Charles, but it seemed to Kitty that she spent every waking moment longing for Vittorio.

  “When are we going to see Vittorio?” he asked.

  The question shot a lightning bolt that found its target.

  “Soon, very soon,” she said. “I’m t
aking you home to be with Doughboy, and then I have to go out for a while.”

  At home, Kitty raced to the bedroom, unbuttoning her black dress as she went. She rummaged through her closet until she found what she was looking for, a dress as yellow as the flowers. She hummed as she slipped it over her head, fastened it, and tied a yellow ribbon in her hair. She stepped back, looked at herself in the mirror, and grinned.

  ****

  Vittorio, poring over bills in the tiny field office, felt the first pangs of hunger and looked at the clock. The hands jumped to noon just as the whistle blew and the men on the crew assembled on the grass behind the office, lunch pails at their sides, to eat their huge sandwiches and wedges of cheese. Vittorio looked out the window behind the desk and signaled to Paolo. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he called, as the door opened.

  “Maybe not, Vittorio Rossi. We have things to discuss.”

  Vittorio whirled around. Kitty stood there, smiling, holding out a daffodil to him. He took her in from head to toe. Gone was the widow’s black. She was dressed like the sunshine, a yellow ribbon wound through her auburn hair. She glowed like the sun on this riotous spring day.

  Vittorio was speechless.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she teased, extending her hand farther.

  Mutely, he accepted the daffodil.

  His brown eyes wide and questioning, he looked utterly confused. He looked about to run to her, but remembering her pledge of mourning, he stood rooted to the spot.

  Kitty thought he had never looked more handsome. After all her impulsiveness, she felt suddenly shy. Vittorio’s shocked silence wasn’t helping.

  “Ask me a question,” she said, moving closer to him.

  He hesitated, then threw his hands up. “Why are you here?”

  “That’s not the question I expected, but…”

  She drew in her breath. Lord, don’t let me stop now. “I’m here to ask you to marry me.”

  “Marry you!” A half-smile lit his face, the import of the words dawning slowly.

  “Yes, marry me. As soon as possible.” She moved closer and touched his face. “I don’t want to spend another minute without you.”

  “Marry you!” He held his arm out, his voice loud. “Kitty Dwyer, I want you to marry me.”

  “Yes, yes.” She nodded her head. “You, me, me, you. The answer is yes.”

  He reached to take her in his arms. As a reflex, he stopped himself.

  “It’s all right,” she cried. “For the rest of our lives.”

  She gazed at his face, so close, before she closed her eyes, felt his beard graze her cheek, then his lips on hers, sweet-hot. It was as she remembered, only better…infinitely better, their love honed by separation, the sorrow intensifying the sweetness.

  Remembering the lost years and unsatisfied hunger, wrapped in each other’s arms, they kissed now as if to make up for their loss.

  Suddenly, they were surrounded by noise. Cheers and applause erupted outside, invading their private world. They pulled apart and looked at each other, then turned toward the window to find Paolo and the work crew looking in, clapping and cheering for their happiness.

  They blushed and laughed, and to the delight of the men, Vittorio pulled her to him once more and they kissed again.

  They were married in May, on the gentlest of days, the flowers nodding homage to a soft breeze. Kitty awoke that morning feeling joyous, leaped out of bed, and sank to her knees. “Thank you, Lord, for your goodness to me,” she prayed, remembering how sad she had been when she was to marry Charles. She added a prayer for him, still grateful for what he had done. Wrapped in her robe, she joined Dermot in the kitchen. He was already puttering around, making coffee. Impulsively, she hugged him tight.

  “Dermot, I’m the happiest woman in the world.”

  Dermot returned the hug. “I’m happy, too, because now I’ll have you and Vittorio.” They laughed together, feeling young and wonderful.

  After breakfast, each one scurried upstairs to dress. Dermot put on his best suit, for he was to give her away. Kitty slipped into a short ivory lace dress with satin binding at the neck and wrists, put her feet into ivory satin pumps, and placed a wreath of tiny yellow and white rosebuds in her hair. She was just assessing her image in the mirror, turning right then left, smoothing her hair around the wreath, thoroughly pleased, when Dermot knocked.

  “Can I come in? You have to help me with this.” She opened the door to see her brother struggling with the knot in his tie.

  “Oh, dear, let me help you,” she said. When she had arranged his tie, she pulled him in front of the mirror, and the two of them stood there, admiring their image. She looked at her brother. “If Mama and Papa could see us now…”

  ****

  Vittorio, tall and straight in a navy suit and dark tie, paced back and forth in the parlor.

  “Paesan, why don’t you sit down,” Paolo said. “You’re pacing like a cat.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re a man of experience, with a beautiful wife and baby.”

  Paolo grinned at the mention of his son. “My son looks just like me, don’t you think?”

  “Just like you, chubby and hairless.”

  “Now that’s more like it, the old Vittorio.”

  “Mama, are you ready yet? We can’t be late.”

  “They can’t hold the wedding without you,” Ottavia called, but a moment later, she opened the door and emerged in a rose silk dress that brought color to her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled. She knew too well the unhappiness when lovers were separated, and she was blissful to see her son and Kitty’s wedding day.

  He held out his arm. “Mama, you look beautiful.”

  Tears came to her eyes as they hugged. “You have been a wonderful son. I know you will bring Katerina as much happiness as you do me.”

  He held her tight. “Mama, all the sad times have melted away.”

  ****

  “Stand still, Kitty,” Dermot whispered, beside her in the vestibule of the church as the organist played soft background music.

  “I’m so happy, I can’t stay put. When will the organist start the wedding march?”

  A moment later, the music swelled, the guests stood, and the double doors opened. Kitty and Dermot started up the aisle, her eyes flitting from guest to guest, then resting on Vittorio, standing next to Paolo as he waited at the front of the church.

  Paolo leaned forward and whispered, “She’s beautiful.” Vittorio nodded, his eyes riveted on Kitty. His heart palpitated with the foolish notion that this was a dream, that he had to hold her hand to make it real. It seemed forever until they made it to the head of the aisle and Dermot solemnly gave her hand to him.

  They gazed at each other with a love deepened by their years of longing. They said their vows to each other, and when the ceremony ended, the priest leaned over and spoke to them privately.

  “In all my years as a priest, I have never seen a couple so much in love. Your love is a treasure, long sought after, perhaps, but yours now to enrich the rest of your lives.”

  With those words, Vittorio Rossi and Katherine Dwyer Rossi, now man and wife, turned to the joyous swell of the wedding march and, arm in arm, beaming, walked down the aisle.

  Kitty had the reception at Eclipse, which the employees had festooned with garlands of white flowers. They danced into the evening, marveling at everything and everyone with the newness of children. The candles glowed softer, the music was sweeter, the flowers more fragrant than ever before. Could the world be more beautiful than on this day, at this moment?

  Ottavia approached Kitty. “I have told Vittorio that it’s getting time for you to go.”

  “Is it already? Where did the time go?” Kitty replied, still drinking in the day.

  “Cara Katerina, I want you to know this is the happiest day of my life. It is a joy to see the two of you together, and the answer to my prayers.”

  Kitty hugged Octavia. “I’m so happy to have you. You’re so like m
y own mother.”

  “Don’t worry about Dermot or Doughboy. I will take good care of them while you’re away. I will teach Dermot how to cook like in Italy.”

  They laughed and hugged, and then the newlyweds said goodbye to their guests, Vittorio taking Kitty by the hand and leading her to his car, which was packed with luggage for their trip.

  They drove to Cape Cod that evening, arriving at a little hotel with a wide porch and windows overlooking Old Silver Beach. Kitty looked out the window as Vittorio lifted the luggage onto its stand.

  “Look, Vittorio, the moon makes the water shimmer silver.”

  He stood behind her, his arms around her waist. “Only for us.”

  He picked her up and set her on the bed before he uncorked a bottle of champagne and took a huge piece of wedding cake from a box he had gingerly transported from Boston. He filled the glasses, took off their shoes, and sat on the bed with her. “To Mrs. Vittorio Rossi,” he toasted, lifting his glass to hers.

  “To my love,” she said.

  They drank the champagne and fed each other cake until they were giddy. Kitty accidentally smeared whipped cream on his cheek. He retaliated by dabbing cream on her nose. The battle escalated until she was on his lap, a spoonful of cream in her hand, and they were close as a heartbeat. Kitty stopped in mid-attack, and Vittorio took the spoon and placed it on the table.

  Her heart pounded as he began unbuttoning her dress and slipped it off her shoulders. In her satin slip, still sitting on his lap, she unbuttoned his shirt. They stayed there for a moment, drinking in the wonder of their bodies so close; then desire overtook them. Suddenly, their need was immediate and overwhelming. In a sinuous dance, they kissed and stroked and undressed each other, then fell back on the pillows. Naked, they melted together in a union that was always meant to be.

  They spent the night drifting in and out of sleep and lovemaking, locked in each other’s arms, afraid that if they couldn’t touch, the other might fade like a dream.

 

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