The Godmothers

by Camille Aubray

  “He didn’t say it was fake. He said he knew our family. He said he just wanted some small change to play the numbers,” Chris objected.

  Lucy said severely, “And you expect me to believe that you didn’t know how fishy that sounds? Even if you believed him, gambling is illegal, too.”

  Now Chris gave her a knowing look. “Well, if it’s so bad, how come Pop and Uncle Johnny run numbers?” he countered. “How come it’s only bad when kids do it?” Lucy was taken aback when Chris added slyly, “You have to take a chance in life if you’re going to get anywhere. I heard you say that to Godmother Amie.”

  Lucy felt her own ears burning now. She had said exactly that, when Amie once voiced concerns about Johnny’s betting operations at the bar. Furthermore, Lucy could not deny that part of the thrill of her own courtship with Frankie had been the aura of danger and risk that accompanied the glamorous whirl of being seen with an influential man. But until now, she hadn’t realized how much Chris had observed and absorbed.

  More gently she said, “You got lucky, because the man at the candy shop likes us. But you can’t depend on luck to hold out forever. That’s why Frankie wants you to have a better childhood than he did. If I were to tell him what you’d done, he’d thrash you for it. So I won’t bother him with this. I have big dreams for you, too. But for now, my lad, all you have to do is be a good boy and walk the straight and narrow.”

  “Okay,” Chris muttered, but as he went off, although he was chastened, the look on his face indicated that he was not entirely convinced.

  * * *

  The war news that winter was grim; Europe seemed hell-bent on destroying itself, with vicious bombardments across the continent—including an ancient site near Rome called Monte Cassino, where a historical Benedictine monastery was blasted to ruin. The fighting was especially fierce in a town called Anzio, where American soldiers were trapped in caves and attacked by the Nazi army.

  Filomena felt an acute sympathy, remembering how awful it was to watch the skies and think of who would die next. It pained her to wonder if her family in Italy had survived. She forced herself to push away such feelings. She could hear Rosamaria speaking from the grave: Your family didn’t care if you lived or died. The world you left behind is gone. So do as Tessa said. Live the life you chose, and give your love only to those here who love you.

  So when Tessa enlisted her daughters-in-law to collect clothes, food, and Easter toys for Italian war orphans, and for American families whose mothers were war widows, Filomena pitched in. They made packages of cakes and sweets to send to soldiers overseas, too. Tessa’s grandchildren, eager to help, had heard about the war in school, in church, and in the movies.

  Tessa was also determined to make the hopeful season of Easter beautiful for her grandchildren, so she marched them off to a department store called Best & Company to get the youngsters completely outfitted for Easter. She chose peony pink for Pippa, butter yellow for Gemma, and navy suits with dark velvet collars for Chris, Vinnie, and Paulie. Everyone got a haircut. And their mothers received pastel scarves and stylish new Easter hats.

  The grand finale, of course, was the food. Tessa insisted that all the ladies accompany her on a shopping trip for la domenica di Pasqua.

  “She does this every year,” Amie explained to Filomena as the wives assembled in the vestibule of Tessa’s town house, buttoning their coats. “She’s old-fashioned; she says that when she was a girl, Easter was a much bigger deal than Christmas.”

  Petrina’s daughter, Pippa, was going along with them; her school term ended a little earlier than the younger children’s, so she and Petrina were spending their Easter holiday in the guesthouse.

  “Where do things stand with Richard?” Filomena whispered to Petrina after Amie got into the car, since nobody else knew about the impending divorce.

  “The lawyers are still hashing it out,” Petrina said gloomily.

  “Come, ladies!” Tessa called out as Sal opened the car doors for them.

  The last one on board was Lucy, who came hurrying down the street to join them, having just returned from the early shift at the hospital. “Listen,” she said breathlessly, “guess who just got admitted to the coronary ward? Alonza! She had a heart attack. The doctors don’t think she’s going to make it.”

  Tessa paused. “Then we must say a prayer for her at the Good Friday service.”

  They piled into the car, and Sal drove them to Tessa’s favorite shops. They filled their baskets with spring’s first and freshest vegetables and fruit, then moved on to the butcher to order lamb for their holiday roast. The next stop was the baker’s shop for a sweet Easter bread made into a braid with a whole egg baked into its center, the bread dotted with currants, orange peel, and slivered almonds, all glazed lightly with honey. Then, cookies for the children, cut into rabbits and chicks. The baker’s brisk assistants put everything into white boxes tied with red string that came from dispensers that resembled golden beehives hanging on chains overhead.

  The ladies deposited their purchases in the car and collapsed in their seats, ready to go home. Then Tessa said, “Oh, look at the florist’s new shipment! I just want to see the tulips. Wait for me here. Pippa, you come with me.”

  “I don’t know where she gets her energy,” Petrina groaned from the back of the car, slipping her feet out of her shoes and rubbing her heels.

  When Tessa finally emerged from this last stop, Pippa was carrying her tulips for her. “You go ahead,” Tessa said, pausing at the sidewalk to admire the outdoor display of baby trees and shrubs—azalea, lilac, magnolia.

  Pippa was halfway to their car when an unmarked black delivery van, which had been parked at the far end of the street, suddenly pulled out speedily with tires screeching, causing people to pause, startled by its recklessness. Tessa, still at the floral display, glanced up and frowned, because the van squealed to a stop right next to her.

  Two men, wearing sunglasses, with hats pulled low and scarves wrapped high, jumped out of the van. In a flash, they raised their guns and fired away. Then, as quickly as they had come, they jumped back into the van and drove off. One of them knocked Pippa to the ground as he escaped.

  Tessa had only enough time to register a look of surprise before she fell to the sidewalk, crumpled like an abandoned doll.

  “Nonna!” Pippa cried out.

  “Pippa! Mama!” Petrina screamed, running out of the car without bothering to retrieve her shoes. Sal had jumped out and rushed to Tessa’s side. Lucy emerged and, after looking about cautiously, hurried over to check Tessa’s vital signs.

  “For God’s sake, call an ambulance!” Lucy shouted to the horrified bystanders who had come running out of the shops. “Somebody call an ambulance!”

  Filomena had already gone into the florist’s shop to telephone for help.

  Petrina was cradling her mother in her arms, so they were both covered with blood. Amie had run over to Pippa and was trying to drag her back into the car. Pippa scrambled to her feet but could only stand there on the sidewalk and scream and scream. Finally they all heard the wail of an ambulance and the police sirens.

  Tessa had not regained consciousness. “Nonna, Nonna!” Pippa was still crying as her grandmother was carried on a stretcher into the ambulance, with Petrina still clinging to her mother’s hand as she climbed into the ambulance beside her.

  “I called Mario at the shop,” Filomena said to Amie. “He and his brothers will meet Petrina at the hospital.” Gently they managed to guide Pippa back into the car.

  “Ladies, I’ve got to take you straight home,” Sal said to the wives. “Then I’ll go to the police station. But please, keep everybody indoors—and away from the windows. We don’t know who those savages were—and whether they might come back.”

  18

  April 1944

  In the days that followed Tessa’s death, her house was engulfed in a terrible, heavy silence, broken only by the occasional whispers of her family as they struggled to overcome the
ir shock. After the exhausting ordeal of hospital, police, funeral parlor, and burial, the family discussed the question that still remained unanswered but which Amie articulated: “Who would do such a horrible thing?”

  They tallied the possible suspects, saying to one another what they could not tell the police: it might have been any number of people—those who owed Tessa money and could not repay it, or those who had been refused a loan, or those, like the Pericolos, who coveted the family’s operations.

  “My sources tell me that this hit definitely didn’t come from the Bosses; we’re still good with them,” Johnny explained, lighting up a cigarette as he emerged from Tessa’s study. All the ashtrays in the house were filling up with his spent cigarette stubs faster than the maid could clear them away. “So, I doubt that this came from anyone else we’ve been doing business with. They’d know better, they just wouldn’t dare.”

  But one evening, after a silent, mournful family dinner, when the women and children had gone into the parlor, and the men once again retreated into Tessa’s study, it was Pippa—who’d been sobbing in her sleep with terrible nightmares for days on end—who finally made a definitive statement.

  “We all know who did it. Those two fat men who came to Grandpa’s funeral,” she said furiously. “I smelled their rotten cologne on the street again, that day they killed poor Nonna.”

  “That could have just been the scent of the florist shop,” Petrina cautioned.

  Pippa stamped her foot and shouted, “NO, it wasn’t the flowers. I tell you, it was those big fat bad men!” And she ran off to her bedroom and slammed the door. Lucy signaled the maid to put the other children to bed before they got too upset.

  “The gunmen did look like the Pericolos, size-wise,” Amie recalled as Johnny, Frankie, and Mario entered the parlor. Petrina told the men what Pippa had said.

  “Yeah, we figured it had to be the Pericolos,” Frankie said bitterly.

  “But it’s stupid,” said Lucy. “Why would they do this, so publicly, so brutally? What can they hope to gain from it?”

  Johnny said shortly, “Revenge. Because of their mother. I bet those mama’s boys blamed Ma for Alonza’s heart attack and were afraid that their mother was going to die.” But, as Lucy had found out at the hospital, Alonza had recovered and was sent home.

  “Maybe they imagine they can do business with us—with men—better than they could with an old-fashioned woman like Ma,” Mario said, reminding them of what Sergio had said as he left the jewelry shop at Christmastime: You can’t let your mama run your life . . . you and I need to talk business, man to man. And then, we come to a better arrangement.

  “We can ask Strollo to dispense with the Pericolos, tell him they’re trying to muscle in on the business,” Frankie said impatiently.

  “No, that could backfire,” Mario said quickly. “If the Bosses think there’s money to be made in getting me to fence stolen jewels, they may want me to fence for them. They haven’t noticed my business yet, it’s so small. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Then let’s handle this ourselves,” Frankie retorted. “Let’s just do it.”

  “We could arrange a meeting with the Pericolos at Mario’s store,” Johnny suggested. “Get them to show up after hours for a ‘business conference.’ It might flatter them enough to make them come. Then, we finish them off.”

  The women, who’d been silent, now looked utterly horrified.

  “Are you all crazy?” Petrina said in a sudden burst of scorn. “Do you know how hard Mom and Pop worked to keep you all from becoming murdering thugs?”

  “Right, and you see what came of trying to settle this problem without bloodshed. Ma shed her blood!” Frankie shouted.

  “Stop it, Frankie,” Lucy said to her volatile husband. “Don’t yell at Petrina. She’s only trying to keep all of her hotheaded brothers out of jail.”

  “We won’t get caught,” Johnny assured her. “The cops couldn’t care less about the Pericolos, can’t you see that? They don’t even care to find out who killed Ma.”

  Petrina reached for a cigarette. “Well, Johnny and Frankie, you can do what you want,” she said furiously. “But, Mario, you are not to get involved, do you hear me?”

  “I’m already involved,” Mario said in his reasonable tone. “They came into my shop and said they’d return. Rosamaria can’t work there with those creeps showing up.”

  “Then close your shop and take your wife out of here!” Petrina retorted. “And go as far away from this family as you possibly can. They’ll only ruin you, Mario! You’ll never get to ‘the other side’ and be free and safe and happy.” Petrina’s face was streaming with tears now.

  Her brothers looked stunned. “You’re just upset over Ma,” Johnny said reasonably.

  “That’s not it,” Petrina snapped. She turned to Mario. “For once in your life,” she insisted, “you are going to listen to me. Pack up that shop of yours, get on a train with your wife, and go make a life for yourself somewhere far away from this mess.”

  “Stop it, Petrina!” Mario said firmly. “I’m not your baby brother anymore. I can fight for myself. So please, mind your own business.”

  Petrina visibly flinched, then raised her long red talons as if she wanted to claw his face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shouted. “I’m sick of this family and all its secrets and lies. There is only one thing you’re right about, Mario—you are not my brother. You never were. But you are my baby—you always will be!”

  “What the hell is she talking about?” Frankie demanded. “She’s lost her mind.”

  “I tell you, she’s hysterical over Ma,” Johnny suggested.

  Petrina said furiously, “You all make me sick! I am the sanest person in this family. Mama was a liar. Papa was a liar. And they made me lie! I was only fifteen years old, what was I supposed to do? You dumb fools,” she said, turning on Johnny and Frankie with her eyes blazing, “you were too stupid to see what was going on, right in front of your own eyes. You say you remember that summer that Mama took me to Maine, but you forget that was the year she said she was pregnant with Mario. That was why she said the city was too hot for her and she needed to rest by the ocean. She took me up to Maine with her, all right, and none of you noticed or cared why, because Papa took you to all the baseball games and introduced you to the famous ball players. And when Mama and I came home with the new baby, they made me say that little Mario was her son. Well, he wasn’t! He was mine, mine!”

  The room was filled with a stunned silence. Amie reached out a comforting hand to Petrina, who waved it away, her cigarette making a trail of smoke.

  Frankie spoke first. “You are the liar,” he exclaimed. “Pop would never—”

  “Oh, yes, he would!” Petrina cried. “They put their own names on Mario’s birth certificate. Then they sent me off to that strict boarding school in Massachusetts. They made me live there, sleep there, away from my baby, so I wouldn’t break down and tell the truth. They only let me come home to see him on my school holidays—”

  She broke off, sobbing. For a while, nobody dared speak.

  Finally Mario, horrified, said, “But—Petrina—then—who is my father?”

  Petrina glanced at Filomena before saying, “Bobby. A boy I loved. A sweet boy, as sweet as you, Mario. A good boy, but not good enough for us! Mama said he was ‘beneath us’ because he came from ‘the wrong side’ of town. Papa said he would ‘kill the boy.’ He meant it. It was all about his pride. Not once did he or Mama think of me, what I wanted. They said they knew what was best for me. They said if I dared to defy them and speak of this, they’d send me to a mental hospital, for crazy girls, where I would live like a prisoner, a madwoman that nobody listens to, for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh, God, Petrina!” Lucy said in shocked sympathy, recalling her own girlhood fate.

  “Did they kill that boy?” Mario asked in disbelief.

  Petrina seemed to be gathering energy from the giddy pleasur
e of telling the truth at last. “Bobby was my age. He had no father, no one to help us. I told Bobby to run. Run, run! He said he’d come back for me. He never did. He had a beautiful voice, he could have been a great singer, but he had to run, run as far away from here as he could. I got a letter from him, months later, to assure me he was safe. He joined the army. I only heard from him one more time after that, to thank me. He’s an important man in the army now. He married an English girl. So, I say to you, Mario, what I said to him. Run, run! Get as far away from this family, this life in New York, as you possibly can!”

  Johnny and Frankie, still dumbfounded, were looking at each other as if rapidly revisiting their own past with all this new information.

  And suddenly, Filomena remembered what Gianni had said to her on her wedding day, in the parlor, just before they left the house to go to the church: There are things that happen in life that can’t be helped. Mario’s life has not been without its complications. He does not fully understand this yet. But whatever happens, please, always be there to remind him how important it is to have his family near, for they only want to love and protect him.

  “Mario, this is still your family,” Filomena said softly. “These people love you.”

  Mario, still reeling, said slowly, “Petrina, if what you say is really true—”

  “Of course it’s true,” Petrina snapped. “Why would I make this up? Just so you could all call me a crazy liar? Think about it, Mario. Did any sister ever love her brother as much as I’ve loved you? What sister worries so much about what her kid brother wears when it’s cold outside? When you had measles that year, who sang you to sleep? What girl gives up her Easter vacation to take care of her stupid little brother?”

  “Basta!” Mario shouted suddenly, trembling. He had been drinking a whiskey but now he hurled the empty glass into the fireplace, and the shattering sound made Amie flinch. Apparently no one had ever heard Mario raise his voice before, because they all looked awed. “All right, then,” he said, as if throwing down a gauntlet. “If this is true, then take me to my father. Right now!”