The Train to Orvieto

by Novelli, Rebecca J. ;

  At the Women’s League Luncheon the Carvers sat with the Handels and their guest. “Are there many young artists in Firenze?” Mrs. Carver asked.

  Signora Farnese nodded. The gilded combs in her hair flashed in the light. “Some attend the Accademia while others go to university or apprentice themselves, as in the old days. Of course, some do work on their own and are mostly self-taught.”

  Mr. Carver leaned toward the guest of honor. “Tell me, Signora, what do the young, inexperienced artists do?”

  “It’s now a matter of some debate as to whether they will be classically trained or left to find their way alone. Apprenticeship is largely a thing of the past, I’m afraid. Either way, there are, shall we say, desirable and undesirable results.”

  “And what is your opinion?”

  Signora Farnese’s eyelids fluttered. “The value of classical training cannot be overestimated.”

  Their conversation continued into the afternoon. At the end, Mr. Carver shook Signora Farnese’s hand. “I look forward to discussing the plan you suggest with Willa. I think she will be very interested in studying art in Firenze.” Later that evening Mr. Carver summoned Willa to the living room. “Pack,” he said. “You’re going to Italy.”

  4

  NEW YORK CITY, OCTOBER 1934

  “Remember, dear, you can never go wrong by saying something nice,” Ruth Carver reminded Willa as they stood next to the gangplank. She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and hugged her daughter. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s a package for you. Something from Aunt Leonie for you to read on the ship.” Willa opened the gift. Inside were three books—Daisy Miller, Portrait of a Lady, and The House of Mirth—and a note: Dear Willa, Learn much and don’t let these ladies be you. With love from your Aunt Leonie.

  “We read these at Miss Waltham’s,” Willa said. “They’re about women in the nineteenth century. They all came to a bad end.” Does Aunt Leonie think I will, too? she wondered. “Tell Aunt Leonie please not to worry. I promise I won’t end up like they did.”

  “You’ll remember to write a thank you note, won’t you?” Ruth Carver hugged Willa again. “And write to us as soon as you get there…and do as Signora Farnese advises.”

  Willa followed Signora Farnese up the gangplank. Inside her cabin, she dropped her purse and carpetbag on the bed and returned to the deck. Her parents’ final instructions to avoid strangers and obey Signora Farnese seemed as distant to Willa as the port of New York soon would be. Away from home and uncommitted to another place, she felt the giddy freedom reserved to those who release the past without regret and anticipate a future that unfolds only in their favor.

  During the voyage Willa enjoyed presenting herself as anyone she chose for a few hours or, at most, the number of days it took the ship to complete its crossing. She felt increasingly expansive, engaging in animated conversations with her shipmates at dinner, at shuffleboard, on the observation deck, even with people she might have ignored previously; confiding that she was going to Italy to study art, to become an artist, a painter; embellishing her plans and expectations as the voyage continued; marveling at all that now seemed possible just by claiming it was so.

  Indeed, Willa developed a way of entertaining herself that involved imagining what other passengers might be thinking about her, imagining that they found her mysterious or attractive, concocting ideas they might have about who she was or what she was doing. One day, she was a famous actress, the next a wealthy émigrée, another day a courtesan, and still another a fiancée on her way to meet her husband-to-be. These imaginary flights seemed to her pleasant and harmless. Perversely, however, such excursions made Willa less certain of her own identity and thus in greater need of the attention of others to affirm that her existence still retained both its substance and its meaning. As the voyage progressed, her fancied roles also created unanticipated problems.

  On their last evening aboard, Signora Farnese complained of a headache and went to bed early. “Go to dinner without me,” she told Willa, who had been looking forward to wearing a special dress for the occasion, a long aqua chiffon gown and matching satin pumps that had sparkling buckles over the instep. Willa sat at the captain’s table with some ten other passengers, an arrangement she owed to Signora Farnese’s ingenuity. She unbuttoned her long, white kid gloves and took them off slowly as her tablemates watched. To her left sat her host, Captain Forth, in his dress uniform, and on her right, a large man who, during the cocktail hour, had announced that he was the owner of a company “engaged in the manufacture and distribution of haberdashery goods and services for the gentleman.” He looked at Willa as if he were measuring yardage.

  “Nice dress.”

  Willa felt slightly uncomfortable on the one hand and challenged on the other. “Thank you.” She returned his frank gaze intending to shame him. She marveled at how small his eyes were in relation to the expanse of his face. How much of my dress can he actually see? she thought. He extended his hand toward her.

  “Harry Grable.” She looked at his hand, noticing the thick, dark hair on the back of it.

  “I’ll bet she has lots of beaus,” Grable said to the entire table. He turned to Willa quickly. “Do you?” He spoke as if he were accusing her of wrongdoing.

  “You’re a flatterer, Mr. Grable.” She recognized something unpleasant, almost threatening, in him.

  “Never more sincere.” He gestured to include others at the table. “So, hon’, how many boyfriends do you already have?” He spoke too loudly.

  Willa knew he was vulgar, yet she indulged the temptation to use her power to resist his attention without humiliating him publicly. “I really can’t say, Mr. Grable, but certainly none as charming as you,” she replied, recalling that her mother’s advice justified her complimenting him. She saw the effect of her words, his surprise and then the direct way that he focused on her, a hound picking up a scent. Ignoring his dinner, he pressed on, clearly pleased with what he took to be a conquest.

  “Discerning gal, right, Captain?” Grable said. The Captain and the others looked down at their food and began to eat.

  “Yes, Mr. Grable,” the Captain replied, “but I would be careful in pressing what seems to be an advantage.” He turned and looked at Willa. “I believe she may have other interests.”

  “Yes, I do,” Willa said, seizing recklessly on the Captain’s safe lead.

  “What might those be?” Grable asked placing his hand on his chest and smiling.

  Willa stopped eating the prime rib and set her fork down. “I’m a dancer.” The idea had just popped into her head, and she said it before she thought about it. She noticed Grable’s surprise. The other diners inclined their heads the better to hear.

  “Is that what brings you to Italy?” the Captain said.

  “I’m going to Firenze,” she replied, emphasizing the word.

  Grable leaned forward. “So am I.”

  Had her answer appeared to include him? That wasn’t what she had intended. She tried to distance herself “To buy costumes,” she added, thinking of Signora Farnese’s clothing.

  “I like a gal who knows how to shimmy,” Grable cut in. “How ‘bout we have ourselves a little dance after dinner?”

  “I’ll have to…check my card,” Willa said. She had no card and Grable knew it.

  “Forget that card business, young lady. We’ll show these folks how to do the Milwaukee Two-Step. That’s a promise.” He winked at the Captain.

  After dessert was served, Willa turned to the Captain and began putting on her gloves. “Do you dance, Captain Forth?”

  “Nah, he steers the ship,” Grable said. He put his sweaty hand on her arm. She looked down at the two greasy fingerprints on her pale leather glove.

  The Captain turned to Willa and smiled. “We have a custom on our last evening at sea,” he said evenly, looking at Grable. “I ask a lady at my table to dance, and then others at the table follow our example until everyone is dancing.” He pushed back his chair and held out h
is hand to Willa. She got up, and he led her to the dance floor. “I believe you’ve found an admirer in Mr. Grable. He seems intent on pursuing you, if that is your wish.” Across the dance floor, Willa could see Grable rising from the table. He lumbered toward them. She felt uneasy.

  “Please excuse me, Captain Forth. I’m not feeling well.” Captain Forth escorted her from the dance floor, and she escaped from the crowded dining room. The next morning they would land at the port of Naples, and she would never see Grable again. She knew she had made a mistake. In the future, she would be more careful.

  5

  ITALY, OCTOBER 1934

  Well before breakfast Willa put on her wool suit that was the color of lilacs and secured the matching flowered hat, adjusting the veil so it fell just below her cheekbones. On the lapel she attached a pin that had belonged to great grandmother Carver, a tiny spray of gold flowers with centers of diamonds and pearls. It had been an engagement gift from great grandfather Hugh. She touched her wrists and behind her ears with rose petal water and counted her money. Then, she put on her dark blue coat and buttoned her matching kid gloves just above the wrist. The porter knocked at the door.

  In one hand, Willa carried her purse and a carpetbag in which she had stowed the sketchbook from Maestro Ottaviani, several drawing pencils, an eraser, a stump, an Italian novel, and a map marked with the directions to Signora Farnese’s villa in Fiesole in case they should become separated. In the other hand, she carried a hatbox papered with scenes of happy travelers with parasols. Signora Farnese was waiting for her near the gangplank. As soon as they left the ship, they boarded a taxi.

  The entrance at the train station teemed with people. They look so poor, Willa thought. Not at all like the lavish Renaissance paintings she had studied at home. As she got out of the taxi, she saw an elderly woman bent under a load of rags nearby. A man in a uniform shouted, “Vai via! Vai via!” Go away! “You can’t stand here.”

  “Why is he telling her that?” Willa asked.

  “She’s just a cenciaiola,” Signora Farnese said. A ragpicker.

  “But why did he tell her to go away? She wasn’t doing anything.”

  “People like that aren’t allowed to stand around in public places. They’re supposed to stay in the marketplaces.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it looks bad.”

  Willa wished she could draw the cenciaiola unobserved, but knew that her own and Signora Farnese’s comparative wealth made them conspicuous.

  Nearby, a chestnut seller sat next to his brazier shaking the chestnuts in the hot pan. Several children, ragged and coatless in the raw morning, formed a ring around him. Dragging a scrawny puppy by a cord around its neck, one boy no more than four years old held out his hand. “Ho fame.” I’m hungry. The puppy whined and the child kicked it. The animal squealed.

  A woman with a baby wrapped in a shawl wound around her shoulders and carrying two heavy bundles shouted in the direction of the children, “No! Vattene! Troppo costoso!” Get away from there! Too expensive! The children backed away, their dark eyes devouring the chestnuts. The woman set the bundles down, seated herself on them, and began to nurse the baby. Appalled, Willa went to the chestnut seller and bought little bags of chestnuts for the children and the woman.

  “Grazie, signorina,” they said with one voice, watching her as they ate, eager for more. They even smell poor, Willa thought. The puppy begged for some food. The child holding the cord glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then kicked the dog again. The animal yelped. The officer returned and ordered the children and the mother out of the station. Willa moved to speak to him.

  “Let it be,” Signora Farnese said.

  “But she was feeding her baby.”

  “After you’ve been here a while, you’ll understand why.”

  A porter stacked their suitcases and trunks on his cart with the hatbox on top and led them inside. The station smelled old, stale, a mixture of fuel, dust, food, dampness, people, and time. The shriek of metal brakes hurt Willa’s ears. Still, it’s quite clean, she thought, surprised.

  “The eight o’clock train is a local, and there are no first class seats left,” the clerk told Signora Farnese. “I still have seats available on the ten o’clock.”

  “We’ll wait,” Signora Farnese said. They bought food for their trip— bread and cheese, several pieces of fruit, some pastry, a bottle of wine, two bottles of mineral water—and Willa put these supplies in her carpetbag. They sat down on a bench together. Willa took out her drawing materials and began to draw, trying to remember the children, the mother, the cenciaiola.

  She had been drawing for nearly an hour when the sight of two officers escorting a man in a wrinkled suit, the pockets of his jacket nearly torn off, caught her attention. The man had large bruises on the side of his face and he walked with difficulty. The officers, one on each side, held his arms. One of the officers also carried a battered suitcase that seemed to belong to the prisoner. The three moved toward a waiting train and got on.

  “What happened to that man?” Willa said.

  “I recognize him,” Signora Farnese said. “I saw his picture in the paper when he was arrested. He’s a journalist who spoke out publicly against Mussolini and the Fascist party. He’s been sentenced to confino.”

  “Confino?”

  “Exile. People who cause trouble are sometimes sent away to remote places so they can’t continue their illegal activities.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He didn’t follow the rules that everyone knows to follow.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was foolish.”

  Could this be the real Italy? Willa wondered.

  “There you are!” Willa looked up. “Hey, young lady, you went off and left me last night when I was lookin’ forward to a dance. Or two or three.” It was Grable. She had forgotten about him. He extended a meaty hand toward her. His eyes seemed to disappear. Just then the children to whom she had given the chestnuts crowded around them. They must have followed me, Willa thought. They held out their hands. “Get outta here!” Grable shouted. Willa put her drawing materials in her bag. “Hey, I thought you was a dancer. Instead, you’re a draw-er. My mistake.” He chuckled.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” said Signora Farnese in a tone that foreclosed conversation.

  “Name’s Grable,” he said. “G-R-A-B-L-E.” He offered his hand. “Piacere.” He chuckled. “Sounds like pee-on-a-cherry, don’t it?”

  Signora Farnese signaled to the porter. “Willa, it’s time to go.”

  Willa gathered her belongings, grateful to follow. “He sat at my table last night,” she told Signora Farnese as they walked along the platform. She glanced back, relieved to see that Grable hadn’t moved. He was still watching her.

  “He isn’t someone you want to know, dear, wherever he sat,” Signora Farnese said. “Here, we don’t talk to people unless they’ve been properly introduced and then only if we want to know them. Nor do we allow them to talk to us.” Willa hoped Grable was on a different train.

  The porter helped them up the steps and guided them to their compartment. Through the glass door of the compartment, they saw a young army officer sprawled across the seats. He was asleep. When they opened the door, he snorted and stirred.

  “Un compagno di viaggio,” a traveling companion, the porter said, smiling. He stowed their luggage and Willa’s hatboxes on the racks above and then took their trunks to the baggage car. Willa and Signora Farnese sat down opposite the soldier. He had a fresh plaster cast on his right arm, which rested in a sling. He had used his jacket as a pillow, and a black felt cap covered most of his face. Willa thought he would make a good study of a reclining figure. She had just taken out her sketchbook when the soldier awakened and sat up, spoiling the pose. The porter appeared in the doorway with their claim checks.

  Willa rummaged in her purse, pulled out several bills, and put them in the porter’s hand. The porter lo
oked at the money with an astonished smile.

  “Aspetta!” said the soldier. Wait! He glared at the porter, took the bills from him, and returned them to Willa. “It’s illegal for him to accept money,” he told her in Italian. “You should be more careful or you’ll attract thieves.” Willa laughed.

  “Grazie mille,” she said. Could the soldier be someone I want to know? she wondered.

  “Grazie mille,” Signora Farnese said with a sigh.

  Willa’s attention was distracted by the sound of pebbles thrown against the window. She turned and looked out through the dirty glass. Below, the children waved to her shouting, “Per favore, signorina.” They weren’t supposed to be in the station. A little money might make them leave before they get into trouble, she thought. Taking the bills out of her pocket, she went the window and opened it.

  The soldier reached out and caught her arm. “Signorina, you mustn’t try to end all the poverty in Naples before our train leaves.”

  Willa turned back to him. “What’s wrong with helping them?” she said, speaking in Italian. He smiled and adjusted his cap, leaving its small, red feather at an angle, and looked at her with a kind of directness that compelled her attention. He had a round face framed by almost black, curly hair that grew to a peak in the middle of his forehead. Despite a beak-like nose, he was handsome. A good subject for a painting. Though he was sitting down, she guessed he was of medium height, muscular and stocky, with square-ish hands that suggested an earthy strength. Practical. Like a carpenter or a farmer. His olive skin and dark uniform gave him an almost smoky appearance, but it was his soldier’s vitality that attracted her as one is attracted to both the warmth and also the danger of flames. Willa put her money back in her purse. “Do you disapprove of helping people in need?” she said.