The Shoemaker's Wife(118)

“We’ll go right to the doctor and make sure he can help before the ship ever leaves the harbor,” Marco said.

“And what if he can’t help, Papa? What if I get so sick I don’t make it across? I want you to go home and be with Mama and our family and revel in every corner of that house. I want you to throw open the windows and light the fire, and plant the garden and fill it with love. That will make me happy.”

“But that house belongs to you too. You worked harder than I did to build it. I don’t want to believe you won’t ever live in it.”

“But it’s my choice, Papa. I’m going to stay here. And it’s more than my job. Do you remember a boy named Lazzari? He was sent from Vilminore to dig Stella’s grave. I brought him home to meet you?”

“I don’t remember much about that time, Enza.”

“And you met him again at Saint Vincent’s Hospital in the chapel when I was ill. Ciro is from a good family. His brother has become a priest. They lived at San Nicola when they were boys.”

“The Lazzaris of Vilminore.” Marco pondered the name. “I once drove a widow Lazzari down to Bergamo. I remember it was snowing. She had sons, and she had taken them to the convent. I remember that. And the nuns paid me three lire. It was a fortune then.”

Enza took in a breath. The threads that connected her to Ciro were so strong, it seemed inevitable that they would have found one another again and after so long. “Another sign that we are meant to be together.”

“What makes you think that this young man knows how to treat you? Just because he’s from the mountain doesn’t mean he’s good enough for you. He was raised in a convent. That’s not his doing, but how would he know how to take care of a family if he’s never been a part of one? How can you be sure that he won’t leave you, as his mother left him?”

“I’m very sure of him, Papa.”

“But can he be a good husband?”

Marco knew his daughter. She’d had a mind of her own since she was a girl, and she had always honored her own heart. Marco stood and went to the window. He surveyed the street below, buying time to find the right words to say to his daughter. She was at a turning point in her life, and needed her mother’s wisdom, but she was not there to provide it. Marco would have to do his best.

Ciro, polished and neat, wearing a suit, was bounding up the front stairs to the entrance door of the boardinghouse. “Is this Lazzari coming to meet me?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“You have chosen a tall one, haven’t you?”

Miss DeCoursey brought Ciro into the beau parlor. He wore a navy blue suit, white shirt, vest, and tie. His oxblood shoes were laced in navy. Marco turned to meet his future son-in-law, and they shook hands. “It’s good to see you again, Signore.”

“Enza, I’d like to speak privately with Signor Lazzari,” Marco said.

Enza deferred to her father and left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Lazzari,” Marco said aloud.

“Yes, Signore.”

“What did your father do?”

“He was a miner. He worked in the marble mines in Foggia, and then went up the mountain to work in the iron ore mines in the Alps.”

“What happened to him?”

“He came to America almost twenty years ago to find work. I was told he died in an iron ore mine in Minnesota.”

“And your mother?”

“The Montinis.”

“The printers?”

“Yes, Signore.”

“They made the missals for Holy Week,” Marco remembered.

“For all the churches on the mountain, and in Bergamo and Citta Alta.”

“Why aren’t you a printmaker?”

Ciro looked down at his big hands, not exactly the best tools for pen-and-ink calligraphy. “I’m not delicato, sir.”

Marco took a seat and motioned for Ciro to join him. “How do you earn your living?” Marco asked.

“I apprenticed to Signor Zanetti on Mulberry Street. I’m a shoemaker.”

“Are you a master?”

“Yes. I’ve completed my apprenticeship to Signor Zanetti. My debt to him is paid, and I’m ready to go into business for myself.”

“A lot of competition in this city. They say you can throw a rock in Brooklyn and you’ll hit a shoemaker.”

“I know, Signore. I have a partner, Luigi Latini, and we’re looking to get a loan and start a business where shoemakers are needed.”

“You need a partner?”

“I prefer it, Signore. I grew up with a brother to whom I was devoted. And when I went to enlist in the Great War, I made good friends. One in particular, Signor Juan Torres, looked out for me, and I did the same for him. Sadly, he didn’t come home, but that does not lessen the bond I have to him. I’ve made my way alone for a very long time and it comes naturally for me to seek a partner. Luigi Latini is a good man, and I work well with him. I think we could build a good business together.”

Marco took this in and reflected upon his own experience since he’d come to America. It had been a long and lonely slog. A partner in business was a sounding board, the work was cut in half, and life was less isolated. Ciro made sense.

Marco leaned over the chair and looked at Ciro critically. Ciro’s size and strength designated him as a natural leader. He was an attractive young man, probably popular with the ladies. “Have you had many girlfriends?”