The Shoemaker's Wife(111)

“Of course.” Enza smiled. “It’s just a shame that whenever life is good, things can’t stay the way they are. Every decision leads you forward, like when I used to step across the stones to cross streams in the Alps. I’d take a step, and another, and another, and soon I’d be safely across.”

“As it should be.”

“But there were times when I took a step and there was no stone to step onto. And the water was so cold. ”

“You’ll get through the bad times,” Laura assured her.

“Because we know they’ll come.”

“For all of us.” Laura smiled. “This is not a day to be solemn. It’s a day to celebrate. Leave serious Enza right here in this room. You’re a beautiful bride, and this is your moment.”

Enza and Laura said good-bye to the girls of the Milbank House, who gathered on the front steps to wish Enza well. The future dancers, playwrights, and actresses were enthusiastic about Enza’s new life, an affirmation that all the stories told on the stage with happy endings were somehow true. Enza was a walking symbol of success to them that morning. They were giddy with delight for her.

Enza and Laura traveled the few blocks to Our Lady of Pompeii from the Milbank House on foot. Vito and Colin Chapin, his best man, would meet them in the sacristy. The small ceremony would take place with Father Sebastianelli officiating at the Shrine of the Blessed Lady.

Enza and Laura walked past the fruit vendors, the street sweeper, the men in felt hats on their way to work. Everything in Greenwich Village was in its place, as it was every morning, reliable and predictable. The only people for whom this day was special were Enza and Vito. The world outside was spinning as it always had, and two lovers exchanging rings was not going to change it.

“You wait here.” Laura gave Enza a hug. “I’ll go inside and make sure everything is ready for you.”

“Thank you, Laura.” She gave Laura a warm embrace. “Always be my best friend.”

“Always.” Laura smiled and went into the church.

Enza stood on Carmine Street. She remembered Signora Buffa, and how hard her first months in America had been, how those months had turned into years, and how homesick she had been. She looked back and remembered her room at Saint Vincent’s Hospital, just a few blocks from where she stood. She reviewed the forward movement of each year of her life since, the decisions made and steps taken, sewn like small stitches with care and consistency. Enza could step back to see, at long last, a finished garment. Her life was something beautiful to behold, and she had built it herself.

“Enza,” a voice said from behind her. She smiled and turned, thinking it was Vito, with her flowers.

“Enza,” Ciro Lazzari said again. He wore the dull brown uniform of the doughboys, the belt notched tight, the knee boots laced with precision, though Enza could see where the laces had been knotted together several times to make them long enough. Every hem on his uniform was ragged, each cuff turned from wear. He was thin, his face etched with exhaustion and worry, but he was clean, his thick hair cut short, and his eyes were more blue than the sky that morning. He held a bouquet of violets in his right hand, his helmet in his left. He gave her the flowers.

“Ciro, what are you doing here?”

“I made it.” He managed a smile, knowing he was not too late. The girls at the Milbank had filled him in. “I went to the Milbank House. They said you’d be here. You’re always in church. Is it a Holy Day of Obligation?” He asked knowing for sure her purpose in attending church that morning.

She shook her head that it wasn’t.

He saw the worry in her eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” Ciro leaned forward to embrace her, and she stepped back.

“I’m getting married,” she said.

“I know.”

“I should go inside,” Enza said. “The priest is waiting.”

“Padre can wait. He has nowhere else to go. It’s a Monday. Who gets married on a Monday?”

“There’s no opera tonight,” she explained. “We . . .” Enza stopped herself. We suddenly sounded selfish, as if to exclude Ciro.

They stood and looked at one another. Laura pushed the church door open, but they didn’t hear it. Enza didn’t hear Laura when she whispered her name. Ciro took his hand out of his pocket and motioned for her to close the church door. Laura slipped back inside and quietly pulled the door behind her.

“You can’t do this,” Ciro said.

“I most certainly can. I’m getting married.”

“He’s not the right man for you, Enza. You know it.”

“I made a decision, and I’m going through with it,” she said firmly.

“You make it sound like you’re taking a punishment.”

“I don’t mean it to sound that way. It’s a sacrament. It requires thought and reverence.” Enza wanted to walk away, but she couldn’t. “I have to go.” She checked her wrist. She had forgotten to wear her watch. Ciro reached into his pocket and opened his watch. He showed her the time. “There’s no rush,” he said calmly.

“I don’t want to be late.”

“You won’t be,” he promised. “Let him go.”

“I can’t,” Enza replied, but she couldn’t look at Ciro when she said it.