The Godmothers

by Camille Aubray

  Frankie saw Sal hastily go out the back door. “What’s the matter with him?” he said.

  “We need to talk, just you and I,” Lucy said tremulously.

  “What for?” Frankie demanded. “Did something else happen?”

  Lucy cut straight to the point. “We think that man Eddie is Christopher’s father.”

  “But—but—you said his father died,” Frankie said, looking so trusting that Lucy burst into tears, right then and there, and told him that Chris was not her son.

  Frankie sank onto a chair, looking so confused and devastated that Lucy wished with all her heart that she could die, right now, if it meant that Frankie wouldn’t have to look like that anymore.

  But when he raised his head as if in a dream and said, “What are you saying, Lucy?” she knew she must tell him everything as directly as possible—starting with the infant she’d lost in Ireland, which had caused her to give all her love to a baby she’d rescued who looked up at her so innocently when she held him in her arms and whom she simply could not give away.

  Frankie was silent for a long time. Finally, he said quietly, “You know, Lucy, you didn’t have to play me for a sap. I would have still loved you and Chris anyway.”

  “Oh, Frankie, I played myself for a sap,” she cried. “I actually thought Chris was a gift from God. That he was mine. Can you believe it? I thought God loved me because he knew how much I suffered when I was just a young girl myself.”

  Frankie fell silent again, sitting very still. Then he said in a choked voice, “If only you’d told me all this a long time ago, I could have protected Chris better. You lied to me, Lucy—not just once, but over and over, all this time!”

  “Don’t you see—by then, Chris really was ours,” she whispered.

  Frankie said more brusquely, “Apparently Eddie Rings didn’t like being lied to, either.”

  Lucy said in a burst, “Oh, Frankie, I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life, but we’ve got to find Chris, before that horrible man kills him, just to get back at us.”

  “Stop it. I don’t hate you. He won’t kill Chris, because he’d lose his leverage over us. And the boy is his own flesh and blood. That matters. Now, Eddie’s in trouble with the cops and has to lay low until he figures it’s safe to resurface. So, I’ll find Chris. I’ve got our best people looking. All men have enemies, even on their own crew. We’ll find out who Eddie’s enemies are.”

  Resolutely, Frankie stood up and, without another word, went to join Sal. Lucy watched them go off in the car. She knew they’d be out all night, combing the city.

  Unable to move, Lucy just sat there at the kitchen table, until Amie came home with the kids and put them to bed. After telling Amie the whole story, Lucy, for the first time in her life, took a sedative and went to bed, waiting for a sleep that felt like death.

  22

  June–July 1944

  “I don’t see why I have to go to a doctor,” Pippa objected, swinging her long, dark ponytail. “I’m not sick. This is a lousy way to spend the summer. And how come it’s such a big secret that I come here to see Dr. Nora?”

  “It’s not a secret, exactly,” Petrina said as they alighted from their cab on the Upper East Side. “It’s just private. It’s your time, to tell the doctor anything you want, without worrying about other people hearing what you have to say.”

  “This is worse than all the homework the tutor makes me do,” Pippa complained as they rode up in the elevator. “I’d rather go to dance camp.”

  “Okay, you can go to dance camp next month,” Petrina promised as they entered the reception room. “Just finish out these sessions with the doctor first, okay?”

  Pippa shrugged and followed Dr. Nora into her conference room. Petrina, alone in the waiting room, wondered if these visits with the child psychiatrist were really doing any good. Pippa still suffered from nightmares, which she’d been having ever since Tessa’s death. Pippa’s grades had slipped, which was why Petrina hired a tutor for her. And the normally diplomatic Pippa was now snappish with everyone, adults and kids.

  “I wonder what she actually tells that doctor, behind those closed doors,” Petrina murmured as she waited.

  Richard and his mother would have kittens if they found out about these visits; they thought only the mentally ill, and Jewish intellectuals, went to psychiatrists to spill their personal problems. If Richard’s lawyer knew, he’d no doubt use it as evidence against Petrina, in what was amounting to a pitched battle for the divorce settlement.

  “Everything’s always my fault,” Petrina mused gloomily. She’d been treated as an incorrigible and a delinquent by her own family, just because she’d gotten pregnant with Mario when she was fifteen. No other reason; she’d been so obedient the whole rest of her life, but nobody ever noticed. So she didn’t want Pippa labeled as “troubled.”

  “I’ll bet Mario’s wife blames me for making him trot off to war,” Petrina fretted. If Mario got killed, even Petrina would never forgive herself. Yet, to be honest, it had been a huge relief to let go of that damned secret, which had weighed her down for so long. Perhaps, she mused, her parents had done her a favor, after all, by claiming Mario as their son, for she’d never had to tell Richard about the child she’d had with another man. Imagine what her in-laws could make of that now, if they ever found out! “But they won’t,” Petrina vowed.

  Forty-five minutes later, Pippa emerged from the consulting room looking as inscrutable as ever, and Dr. Nora asked Petrina if she could “have a word.” Pippa sighed mightily, flopped into a chair in the waiting room, and perused the magazines.

  “Is she very sick?” Petrina asked the instant the door closed behind her.

  Dr. Nora said gently, “I’d say she’s wounded, but she’s a brave girl, a strong one.” Petrina exhaled in relief, until the doctor said, “I think it’s the impending divorce that’s bothering her now. She thinks her father doesn’t want her.”

  “He doesn’t,” Petrina said bluntly. “It’s all because his fiancée doesn’t want Pippa around. And Richard’s mother and sister don’t, either; Pippa reminds them all of me, you see. Even in the best of times, they all treated her like a pet poodle who might win them a trophy at the dog show. Now they couldn’t care less. But that doesn’t stop their lawyer from holding this custody thing over my head. They use it to make me toe the line about the money, which is all they really care about.”

  “And your family?” Dr. Nora asked delicately. “How do they feel about Pippa?”

  “They adore her,” Petrina said softly. “Her cousins especially.”

  The doctor smiled. “Yes, she loves them, too. She told me quite firmly that she wants to stay with you. But—do you think that you and your family can provide a stable, secure environment for your beautiful daughter?”

  Petrina’s eyes were bright. “Look, I know what you’re asking. My family has its flaws. But they’re good-hearted people. There’s warmth in that house. Whereas, Richard’s parents’ house—it’s like an ice palace. Ever seen one of those?”

  Dr. Nora shook her head, looking intrigued. Petrina explained, “I once visited a friend in Minnesota, where the rich in town built a big ice palace in the winter, for fun—like we New Yorkers make snowmen. Anyway, that’s how it is with Richard and his family. They live in an ice palace. You don’t notice how cold it is right away. Because from the outside, it glitters in the sun and dazzles you. But inside—it’s pitch dark, and cold as hell.”

  Dr. Nora nodded as if she comprehended everything that Petrina was trying to say. Gently, the doctor concluded, “I do think Pippa would be better off with you. But a twelve-year-old needs an environment where she feels confident that things will be all right. She can’t live on a roller coaster, wondering if there’s a big drop around the next corner. You see, I think she can survive this shock she’s suffered. I’m not so sure she can endure another one.”

  Petrina absorbed this, but looked the doctor straight in the eye when she said, �
��I think you underestimate my daughter. Her heart is full of courage. And one thing I’ve learned is that life is a roller coaster. You have to figure out how to handle the downs as well as the ups. When the ride is nice and flat—you’re dead.”

  * * *

  Lucy’s daughter, Gemma, was sitting on the front stoop of her town house, waiting for Pippa to show up. Gemma loved it when she had a girl cousin to play with, one who could teach her all the fun games and popular songs. Gemma didn’t mind playing boy games with her twin cousins, but boys got upset when you played better than them.

  Just last week, her father had taken Gemma and Vinnie and Paulie to the park, where they all took turns as Frankie pitched a baseball at them, so they could practice their batting swings. And Gemma had hit the ball right past the outfield and over the fence. A home run! So what reaction did she get from her father and cousins? Dead silence, as if she’d disgraced herself.

  Then Vinnie said, “You’ll have to go chase that ball.” So she did, and when she returned, they all resumed playing, but her father didn’t give her another turn at bat.

  “Your swing is good enough,” Frankie had said. “You don’t need more practice.”

  Gemma sighed now, tossing her strawberry-blond hair like a dog shaking itself off. She glanced back at the house and saw Donna, the maid, worriedly peering at her from the window. Gemma groaned. Ever since her brother, Chris, had “gone on a trip” somewhere without the family’s permission, now everybody was keeping an eagle eye on Gemma, as if she might wander off, too. So, although she was nearly six years old, she couldn’t do anything alone, not even sit here on the front stoop without being watched.

  “How come when Chris does something wrong, I get punished?” she’d objected.

  “Don’t get smart with me, missy,” Lucy had retorted. “It’s for your own good.”

  Gemma had managed to convince her parents to buy her a pair of shiny ball-bearing roller skates, but nobody had time to teach her how to use them. The maid, Donna, had tried to help, but she was useless, since she’d never owned a pair and had no idea how to skate. So here Gemma sat, with her brand-new skates, hoping against hope that Pippa would teach her. Pippa was twelve, and knew everything about everything.

  “Hi, Pippa!” Gemma shouted when her cousin arrived. Aunt Petrina immediately went off to talk to Filomena, so the girls had a blissful time where they could play and talk openly. Pippa had brought her own skates with her, and now she taught Gemma how to find her balance and how to make beautiful turns.

  “See, a turn is not like making a squared corner. You go in on a curve, sideways, like this,” Pippa said, gliding into something like a ballet second position, “then make a backward semicircle to go out of the turn,” she said, guiding Gemma. It made all the difference.

  Gemma was thrilled with this new power, and they skated back and forth awhile.

  “Sidewalks are bumpy,” Pippa said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “It’s better in a skating rink. It’s all smooth. Lots of other people at rinks, though.”

  When they were tired of skating, they sat down on the front stoop. Donna, reassured to see the savvy Pippa in charge, gave them a bowl of grapes to eat, then went back inside.

  The two girls sat there spitting out the pits from fat purple grapes, until a pair of ladies carrying shopping bags walked by and one woman said to the other, “Aren’t those girls cute? This one here looks like little Elizabeth Taylor,” and she pointed to Pippa, who gave them a restrained, tolerant smile at being compared to a child movie actress.

  “And the other one looks just like Shirley Temple,” said the companion. “Do you sing and tap-dance, little girl?”

  “No,” Gemma said bluntly, “but I can skate.”

  “Isn’t she a doll?” The ladies laughed and went away.

  “Too bad you’re too young for dance camp, Gemma,” Pippa said thoughtfully. “That’s where I’m going, when I’m done with this doctor stuff.”

  “Why do you keep going to a doctor? Are you very sick?” Gemma asked.

  “Nope.” Pippa shook her ponytail decisively. “I just go because it makes the grown-ups feel better. The doctor asks me about my dreams and stuff, that’s all.”

  “I had a dream last night,” Gemma volunteered. “I saw Nonna.”

  Pippa looked startled. “You saw Grandma?”

  Gemma nodded vigorously. “Yes, she told me to tell you she’s all right.”

  Pippa sat so stone still that at first Gemma thought her cousin had swallowed a pit. But then Pippa spoke in a hushed voice. “She said to tell me that?”

  “Yes,” said Gemma matter-of-factly. “She said, ‘Tell Pippa I’m doing just fine, so she should stop crying, and tell Pippa to take care of you all, now that I’m in heaven.’ But then she said that Aunt Rosamaria can still hand out those money gifts to us at Christmas.”

  Pippa gave Gemma a sideways look. “Hey, Gemma,” she said respectfully, “don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not smart. You’re as sharp as they come.”

  “I know.” Gemma sighed. “But nobody likes me when I’m smart.”

  “I have to find a new place to live,” Petrina announced to Filomena with more bravado than she felt, as she entered Tessa’s study. “Richard and I don’t own our house. His parents do. Now they want it back!”

  Filomena looked up from her book of figures. “Our guesthouse here is available.”

  Petrina shook her head ruefully. “Pippa’s doctor thinks I should keep her in her private school in the suburbs; less disruption. Plus, Dr. Nora thinks the city has too many ‘traumatic memories’ for Pippa, even though she loves visiting with her cousins. So, I have to go house hunting in Westchester, and the nice homes don’t come cheap.”

  “All right, we’ll find a way,” Filomena said thoughtfully.

  “It has to be close enough so I can keep commuting into the city, to work with you,” Petrina said.

  She’d been riding the train along with all those bankers and brokers who were her neighbors. Except for the smoking-car passengers, these men rode to work in silence, punctuated only by the rustle of their newspapers; even then, they seemed to turn the same page at the same time. But she liked being a commuter. Making money was more challenging than gossiping at the ladies’ clubs and endless rounds of bridge games.

  “Even with the alimony, I’m going to have to sell a lot of jewelry to pay for my new life. But I will,” Petrina said resolutely. “I’m done with Richard and his family.”

  Filomena, seeing that Petrina was truly worried about Pippa, said, “We must all carve out a new kind of life for all our children. It’s the only thing that matters now.” She knew that this could not be accomplished without risk of more trouble ahead. But she did not say aloud what else she was thinking: Whatever happens, I am not going to die like Tessa did.

  * * *

  “Johnny’s getting so thin,” Amie whispered to Frankie as they were driving back from the sanitarium one Sunday afternoon.

  “I know,” Frankie said quietly. “But he was always kinda lanky. Don’t worry, Amie. He’s tougher than you know. He beat the TB once. He can do it again.”

  Amie stole a glance at Frankie’s profile—so handsome, like Johnny and Mario and Gianni, but Frankie had become so dispirited ever since Christopher disappeared.

  Frankie had managed to weather all the other family tragedies, but this one seemed to be too much for him. On the surface, he’d accepted the situation, forgiven Lucy and was affectionate with her; in fact, because he was so circumspect these days, he was unusually patient with them all. Yet, as stoic as Lucy and Frankie were, the strain of worrying was plain to see, as the weeks went by and there were still no new leads.

  “Don’t worry. Chris will be returned to us. And Lucy loves you so much,” Amie said consolingly, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

  “I know that Sal and my men will find Chris,” he said broodingly. Then in a burst he added, “And I do understand why Lucy didn’t tell me the w
hole story at first. I really do. But, hell! I gotta say, once we were married, she could have trusted me. It bothers me. I mean, if Lucy could lie to me once, and then keep that lie going, I can’t help thinking that she could lie to me again, anytime. How would I ever know?”

  “She won’t,” Amie assured him. “She feels so awful about it. Secrets hurt the one who keeps them. So do grudges. They chew away at your insides. You must forgive her.”

  Their car was winding around narrow mountain roads, and Frankie stopped talking so that he could concentrate; this was a tricky spot even on a sunny day, but the sky had suddenly blackened and the wind was picking up. An ominous rumble of thunder seemed to be rolling toward them.

  “This looks bad,” Frankie said just as a shaft of lightning split the sky and flashed violently ahead of the next, even louder thunderclap. “We aren’t going to make it to the highway,” he shouted as the rain came down—sudden, loud, and hard.

  “There’s a little inn at the bottom of the hill,” Amie shouted back.

  The road had become muddy and slippery, and they skittered perilously with each zig and zag of the descent. Amie held her breath the whole way down, crouching in her seat and flinching at the rain that was pelting hard against the windshield. She wondered how Frankie could possibly see ahead of him through this watery veil. But he plowed on determinedly and managed to steer down the slippery slope, until finally he swerved into the parking lot of the local inn.

  A deafening crash of thunder directly over their heads made Amie shriek. Frankie turned off the car, jumped out, and ran around to her side, holding his jacket aloft so that he could make a canopy over them both as they dashed into the inn. The road was flooding already. They just made it into the lobby before another flash of lightning created a sudden white light, like a giant flashbulb popping as if God had snapped a picture of them.

  “Care for a room, mister?” asked the short, balding man behind the desk.