The Shoemaker's Wife

by Adriana Trigiani

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I want to know everything about you.”

  “Well, there was a man at the Meta Walker factory who was awful to all the girls, and one night, he grabbed me. After months of putting up with his slurs, I fought back. I was so angry, I thought I could take him. I went to kick him, but I fell against the wood planks of the floor, and I cut my eye on a nail. But Laura saved me. She threatened him with a pair of cutting shears.”

  “I would have killed him.”

  “She almost did.” Enza smiled at Laura’s bravery, the moment that had cemented their friendship. “I look at the scar every morning when I wash my face. It reminds me of how lucky I am. I don’t think about the wrong that was done to me, I remember my friend and how brave she was. She taught me English, but I realize now, she taught me the words that I needed to know, not so much the ones I wanted to learn. Those would come later when she gave me Jane Eyre. She used to make me read it aloud to her. Sometimes she would make a comment when Rochester was surly, and we’d laugh about that. Like Jane, we had no connections, but Laura taught me to act like we did. Laura tapped my creative vein, pushing me to sew a straighter seam, choose a daring fabric, and to never be afraid of color. My world went from the hues and tones of our mountain to this great American palette, and I would have never had the guts to try if it weren’t for Laura. I walk in the world with confidence today because of her.”

  “You must always stay close. And we’ll visit them, and they’ll come to our house.”

  “Of course, I would like that. But we’ll be happy to write to one another, because that’s how we learned to be friends, on the page, with words. I imagine that won’t change.”

  Ciro kissed her. “I don’t think a man could ever come between you. Or two, if you’re counting Colin.”

  Enza looked through the window as Ciro fell asleep, his face nestled into her neck. She imagined there would be many nights like this ahead, just the two of them, holding tight in a world that was flying by.

  Until she met Ciro, Enza had spent her spare time contemplating facts and figures, thinking up sensible solutions to her problems, estimating how many feet of fabric she needed for a particular garment or how to send a little extra money home to the mountain. Her dreams were about the safety and comfort of her family. This great romantic love shared with Ciro was mystical to her. He had finally made a dreamer of her, but at the same time, love felt as practical and durable as a sturdy velvet that only gets softer and lovelier with age. Without knowing the future, she was assured, in the deepest place in her heart, that this love would last.

  There was something constant and reliable about Ciro Lazzari. He made her feel no harm would come to her as long as she loved him.

  As Enza said her prayers that night, she pictured her father’s safe passage on the steamship to Naples, and a speedy train ride from the south to Bergamo in the north. She imagined the entire family there to greet him by the garden of their new home, built by the labor of their own hands and lit by the light of the winter moon.

  Chapter 23

  A LIBRARY CARD

  Una Tessera della Biblioteca

  Enza could barely make out the flats of the Iron Range under the snow from the window of the train as it pulled into the station at Hibbing. Low rolling hills covered in white drifts seemed untouched for miles. Close to the train tracks, there were gray zippers on the ground where flatbed and dump trucks had made impressions in the snow. Haulers and cranes were parked close by in an open field, plenty of equipment at the ready to plow, carve, and dig into the earth.

  The mining operations were vast, decamped over two hundred miles of northern Minnesota terrain. The mouths of the mines were studded into the earth like nailheads along the range. Shifts went round the clock, as hundreds of miners extracted the ore with a mechanical vengeance. Iron ore, the key component in the manufacturing of steel, was valuable and in demand. Steel was the building block of the future, used to create motorcars, bridges, and airplanes. Iron ore fed the industrial boom, and the development of defense weaponry, tanks, and submarines. The range was split open wide and deep for the taking, the precious ore a lucrative business.

  As the couples stepped off the platform at the Hibbing station, a bitter cold wind greeted them, nearly toppling Enza over. Ciro put his arm around his bride to guide her safely over the ice. Luigi followed with Pappina, worried that she might slip, and terrified that she and the baby would be injured. The air was so cold, they could barely catch their breath. The sky was saturated as blue as India ink, without a star in sight. Enza thought no place on earth could be colder than the Italian Alps, but now she knew she just had never been to Minnesota.

  As they crossed Main Street, Enza could see that Hibbing was a city raised quickly on the outskirts of the mines. A collection of new buildings including a hospital, a school, a hotel, and a few stores stood away from the landscape like stakes plummeted into the flat earth. The architecture of the buildings was serviceable and plain, with thick windows, sturdy doors, and functional trim, including spikes attached to every roof to break the ice that inevitably formed during the long winters. There was nothing grand about Hibbing; it was built to withstand the harsh elements.

  As they passed the Hibbing department store, Enza noticed that the mannequins in the window did not wear gowns of silk and brocade they might in B. Altman’s in Manhattan; rather, they were outfitted in wool coats, boots, and scarves, the couture of subzero living.

  Pappina took note of the construction of the buildings along Pine Street, where a red-brick schoolhouse faced the Carnegie Library. Scaffolds, ladders, and the open steel frames of unfinished buildings were set against the sky like pencil slashes. Hibbing was growing, and not even a Minnesota blizzard would halt the progress.

  As a mother-to-be, Pappina’s first concern was where her children would be educated. She also looked at the modest homes that lined the streets, full of children who would become potential playmates. She saw snow-covered lawns and sledding hills with sleek grooves carved into them. The town was tidy, sidewalks were shoveled, and the parking lots were scraped clean of snow. The stable lights glowed outside the barns off Main Street, indicating that while the area was industrial, they didn’t have machines for everything just yet. A horse-drawn carriage was still a popular mode of transportation in this part of the world.

  “Just a few more steps,” Ciro shouted over the wind as he guided the group to the entrance of the Hotel Oliver. Ciro held the door open for Pappina and Enza, who were so thrilled to be inside in the warmth, they embraced.

  Luigi followed them inside, carrying the bags like a good sherpa, handing Ciro’s off to him. They peeled off their hats, coats, and gloves. The hostess sat them in a Victorian dining room, decorated with lace curtains and polished walnut tables with matching chairs. The crackling fire in the hearth warmed them immediately. The scent of the burning pine was sweetly fragrant and welcoming. Miner’s lamps were used on every table instead of traditional candlelight. “We know who runs the town here,” Luigi commented as he placed a napkin on his lap.

  “They do it with a pick and shovel,” Pappina said.

  “Mr. Latini?” A sturdily built man around forty joined them at the table. He wore a wool suit and tie, and snow boots on his feet.

  “You must be Mel Butorac,” Luigi said as he stood and shook his hand. Luigi had sent a telegram from New York to Mel Butorac, a local businessman who leased real estate to entrepreneurs and helped them set up their businesses with the local banks.

  “Ciro, this is the fellow who lured us up here to make boots.” Ciro stood and shook Mel’s hand. They introduced their wives and pulled up a chair so Mel might join them.

  “How was your trip?” Mel seemed friendly and energetic.

  “I think the trip across the ocean was faster.” Pappina smiled.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Mel smiled. “I’ve only been as far south as the Twin Cities. Someday I hope to visit my cous
ins in Croatia.”

  “Nothing like the Adriatic Sea in the summertime,” Luigi said.

  “I’ve heard,” Mel agreed. “I’m here to help you make a smooth transition. The city government is here to provide whatever assistance you need. We want to make you feel at home.”

  “You said you had some real estate for us to look at,” Luigi said.

  “I do. But I wanted to offer up an idea. I know your plan was to open a shop together, but the truth is, we need a shoemaker in Hibbing, but there is also a need for one down the road in Chisholm. If you split up, you could open two shops and still have plenty of work.”

  Enza leaned back in her chair. They just dropped their luggage, and already the deal was no longer the deal as it had been presented to them in New York.

  Ciro could see that Enza was concerned, so he said, “This isn’t what you promised.”

  “Of course I will show you the real estate for the shop here in Hibbing as planned. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about Chisholm,” Mel said in a tone that told Luigi and Ciro that he had given this speech before to other tradesmen lured to the Iron Range to serve the mining industry. “Hear me out. I didn’t mean to mislead you in any way. The conditions on the Iron Range change daily. Mines open, we get an influx of new workers, and we have to meet their needs. Give me a chance to show you what I’m talking about. Have your dinner, get a good night’s sleep, and I can show you both properties in the morning. I have a truck, and we can go over to Chisholm and you can take a look around. You may like what you see, and if you don’t, we’ll stick with the original plan. Fair enough?” Mel proposed.

  Ciro and Luigi looked at one another. They did not expect that everything would go according to plan, but they had counted on the fact that they would face whatever came together. Still, they had come to Minnesota in the first place to make bold business choices. Ciro spoke for their partnership. “All right, Mel, we’ll keep an open mind and we’ll see you in the morning. Seven o’clock all right with you?”

  “I’ll be here in the lobby,” Mel said. “We are happy to have you, and we look forward to introducing you to your fellow Italians here on the Iron Range.” He shook hands with the men, bowed his head to the ladies, and went.

  “I don’t like the idea of splitting up. We just got here.” Pappina smoothed the napkin on her lap.

  “Neither do I,” Luigi said. “Should I check the train schedules back to New York?”

  “Let’s decide in the morning,” Ciro said as he took Enza’s hand. “Let’s take a look before we leave.”

  The next day, Enza stood on the corner of West Lake Street in Chisholm and looked across the bridge to Longyear Lake. It reminded her of Schilpario. The lake was deep and wide, making her think of the midnight blue waters of Lake Como and the windswept whitecaps on Lake Garda. To her astonishment, Chisholm felt like home.

  Ciro put his arms around Enza. “Come inside.”

  The empty two-story red-brick saltbox had two workrooms on the first floor, separated by a service window. A small patch of yard for a garden was just a step off the back room, but it was covered in ice. Ciro and Enza joined Luigi and Pappina in the front room. They were chatting with Mel. “I’m going to leave you folks to talk things through. I’ll be at Valentini’s, having a cup of coffee.” He put his hat on and left them alone.

  “What do you think?” Luigi asked.

  “I think Mel has a point. If we split up, we can serve two mining operations. I can handle the work from Buhl and Chisholm, and you can handle the Hibbing operation.”

  Luigi paced with his hands in his pockets as he considered their options. “It’s true. When we had the cart, we made double the money for the Zanettis.”

  “Yeah, but was that us or Signora’s bullwhip?”

  “A little of both.” Luigi smiled.

  “Mel assured me we can get enough of a loan from the bank to open both shops,” Ciro said. “The only problem is that we’ll be separated, essentially starting a business single-handed, even if we’re partners on paper. What do you think, Enza?”

  “There’s a hospital in Hibbing, and Pappina needs to be close to it when the baby comes. There’s a trolley, so it isn’t difficult to get from here to there. I think the more boots you can make, the better off all four of us will be. It’s simple, really.”

  Ciro and Luigi took Enza’s opinion seriously. She was experienced in weighing business propositions, first with her father, and later in the costume shop. Enza had learned that even the Great Caruso took extra jobs to fill his purse. He sang in the opera house, but he also performed private concerts for profit and made records of his arias. There was no such thing as a one-track career, and Enza knew the value of two men capitalizing on two towns that needed shoemakers.

  “I liked Hibbing.” Pappina smiled. “But I leave the shoemaking to the shoemakers, and the business to you, Enza. You know what you’re talking about. I’ve only ever worked in my mother’s home, so I don’t know the first thing about ledgers, figures, and banks.”

  One thing was decided for certain that morning. They were not going to run back to New York City at the first bump in the road. They were going to give the Iron Range a real shot. Luigi and Pappina left to meet up with Mel and sign the lease for the shop in Hibbing. They would also take the apartment above the shop, which was clean and spacious. Ciro and Enza stayed behind and spent the afternoon looking over the property at 5 West Lake Street.

  A set of wide-plank wooden stairs, painted burgundy, led to the upstairs apartment. A large open living room with three windows overlooked the lake. A dining area connected to the kitchen. A hallway led to three bedrooms and a landing porch outside the master bedroom that overlooked the backyard. A small bathroom, one of the town’s only indoor facilities, was tiled in white, with white enamel fixtures.

  Enza’s heart leapt when she noticed that despite the dark sky on that winter day, the apartment was filled with light because every room had a skylight in the ceiling.

  “What do you think?” Ciro asked when he joined Enza in the room that would become their master bedroom. “The rent is three dollars a month.”

  “Tell Mr. Butorac we will take it. You’ll make shoes in the front workroom, and I’ll sew in the back. We’ll do just fine.”

  Ciro kissed his wife, certain that he was the luckiest man in the world for having married her. Enza’s practical nature was a tonic for the emotions that had controlled him all of his life. In her presence, Ciro forgot the isolation he’d felt as a child, and the injustice he’d endured when he was exiled from his mountain. He even put the anguish of war behind him. Ciro was in love with a good woman who had become his full partner, and they were going to build a life together.

  Ciro unpacked the crates in his new workroom. He set up a pattern table, with bright metal lamps suspended overhead. He had purchased several planks of wood to build cubbies for storage, a top-of-the-line saw to cut the patterns, a buffing machine with four brushes, a threading machine, and a rolling machine to prep the leather.

  Ciro had also bought a Singer sewing machine for Enza, with enough thread, needles, buttons, and trims to start her own business.

  “Buon giorno! You look like you could use a hand,” Emilio Uncini said as he entered the front door of the shop. He leaned on the table and smiled at his new neighbor. Emilio was in his middle forties, with a thick thatch of gray hair, a small black mustache, and a winning smile. He placed his hands on his hips. “What is the wood for?” he continued in his rapid-fire dialect.

  “I’m going to build shelves. I’m Ciro—”

  “Lazzari. I heard all about you. Our prayers have been answered. We need a shoemaker.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a stonemason. I live one street over. I built the fieldstone wall around the library.”

  “Very nice. So tell me about your town.” Ciro lifted the wood onto the pattern table, and Emilio helped him stack it.

  “It’s a nice place. But
watch your business. The Chisholm bank is solid, but avoid the third window and Mrs. Kripnick. She repeats figures at the bar at Tiburzi’s after work on Fridays, so if you don’t want everyone to know what you have, don’t let her see your deposits.”

  “Va bene.” Ciro laughed.

  Emilio continued, “The winters are harsh, but the spring and summer more than make up for it. You will love the cool breezes off the lakes when the weather turns warm. There are lots of italians here. Molte famiglie . . . we have the Maturi, Costanzi, Bonato, Falcone, Giaordanino, Enrico, Silvestri, Bonicelli, Valentini, Ongaro, oh, and the Falcone, Sentieri, and Sartori families. I don’t like to leave anyone out because they mind if I do! We also have Austrians from Trentino, who are as Italian as you and me.”

  “I know all about them. I spent a few years on Mulberry Street in Little Italy.”

  “So you know about the rest of the Middle Europeans. We have the Czechs, Hungarians, Romanians, Polish, Yugoslavians, Serbians, and Croatians. They just got here too. The Finlanders, the Scandinavians, this is their town. They got here first, and they act like it. They still are frosty with outsiders, but that’s because they opened the first iron ore mine and became the padrones. But most are nice, if you’re polite to them.”

  “I build boots for all feet, including Finlanders,” Ciro assured him.

  “Have you made a friend?” Enza asked from the doorway. Ciro introduced his wife to Emilio.

  “My wife, Ida, will be happy to show you around,” Emilio told Enza.

  “I’d like that. Grazie. Ciro, we need some things for the apartment. I’ll be back shortly.” Enza waved good-bye. Ciro had used Marco’s dowry to put a down payment on 5 West Lake Street. Enza had kept a firm hand on her savings and was happy to spend it on things that would bring the newlyweds comfort. She also liked the feeling of not having to ask her husband for money; it was that sense of independence that attracted Ciro, and it gave Enza a certain self-confidence.

  Enza made her way up West Lake Street, taking in the storefronts. Chisholm was a prim, small town compared to New York City, but when she thought of Schilpario, Chisholm was a big city by comparison. It was interesting that her new married life had landed her somewhere in the middle, between the small alpine village of her childhood and the international city of her young adulthood.