The Shoemaker's Wife(120)
“This is not necessary,” Ciro said.
“It is to me. I am giving you permission to marry my firstborn daughter. Men hope for sons, but I will tell you that there was never a son who brought a father more joy than my Enza did for me. There are daughters and daughters, but there is only one Enza. I entrust you with my own flesh and blood. I expect you to honor that trust.”
“I will, sir.”
“Our home on the mountain was completed nearly one year ago. I could have gone home then. Instead, I stayed on to make this purse for my daughter’s dowry. It brings me contentment to know that this small sacrifice will make it easier for my daughter as she starts her new life. One year of my forty-six on this earth is a pittance compared to what she means to me.”
“I thank you, Signore. And I won’t forget how hard you worked to provide this for Enza.”
Marco rose from his chair. Ciro stood. Enza pushed the door open and peeked into the room.
“It’s all settled, Enza,” Marco said.
Enza ran to her father and put her arms around him. “Your happiness is mine,” he whispered in his daughter’s ear. “Be happy, Enza.”
Later that same night, Enza slipped down to the library in the Milbank House, striking a match to light a small work lamp on the writing table. She pulled a clean sheet of linen paper out of the desk drawer, along with a fountain pen.
November 30, 1918
Dear Signora Ramunni,
It is with a heavy heart that I resign my position as seamstress in the costume shop of the Metropolitan Opera House. I have loved every moment of my job, even when the hours were long and it seemed we might not finish a project in time for the opening night curtain. I will never forget the privilege of standing in the wings and watching as costumes we created by the labor of our own hands delight the audience through color, line, shape, drape, and form, the essential elements you taught me.
Laura and I often reminisce about the day you hired us. We thought then, as we do today, that no greater lady ever graced the opera. In every way, you made our work sing, which was always the point.
As I leave you, the staff, my coworkers, and the great singers, please know you will always be in my heart, and when I think of you, I will say a prayer of gratitude. I wish you the best in all aspects of your life, as I know no one is more deserving of happiness than you. Your generosity to me will hopefully be repaid tenfold in the years to come. Mille grazie, Signora. Auguri! Auguri!
Sincerely yours,
Enza Ravanelli
Station 3, Singer machine 17
Enza carefully placed the letter on the blotter. As the ink dried, her eyes filled with tears. This was the true meaning of sacrifice. Ciro had made a plan to start their life together in Minnesota, and Enza had agreed. Ciro had laid out the plan like a cartographer, explaining where in Minnesota they would go, and how he and Luigi planned to start their business. Enza had liked Pappina from the first moment she met her at the Zanetti’s shop so many years ago, so she knew that she would begin this journey with a good friend who would be there for her.
She had no regrets about her choice to go to Minnesota, or about marriage to Ciro, but she knew she would always pine for the Metropolitan Opera. Enza remembered sitting at this very desk and writing a letter seeking employment at the opera house. She smiled when she thought about the silly samples she had placed in the envelope, showing off her technique with beadwork and embroidery, along with Laura’s effortless stitchwork. Serafina Ramunni had overlooked Enza’s insouciance and hired them anyway. And what a glorious career path had ensued, in service to great singers and actors, who relied on the costumes they built to tell the timeless stories in song of the great operas. It was a small thing, Enza knew, and yet, it wasn’t. Their garments were part of the spectacle, and the show had been spectacular.
Enza knew what it was to stand in the pale blue edge of the spotlight, to serve the Great Voice, and now, hopeful she had made the right decision, she was more than ready to serve another, this time around: the man she loved.
Ciro Augustus Lazzari and Vincenza Ravanelli were married at Holy Rosary Church on Pearl Street in lower Manhattan on December 7, 1918. Luigi Latini served as best man, while Laura Heery was maid of honor.
Colin Chapin read the scripture. Pappina Latini laid a bouquet at the feet of the shrine of the Blessed Lady, unable to walk behind the communion rail because she was with child. Enza wore blue and carried the black leather-bound prayer book that Eduardo had given to Ciro, over which she placed a bouquet of red roses.
After the ceremony, they brought Marco to Pier 43 to board the SS Taormina for Naples. After the nine-day crossing, he would take the train north to Bergamo, where he would be reunited with his wife and children, who could not wait to show him the house he and Enza had made possible.
Enza stood at the foot of the gangplank to say good-bye to her father. She pulled a red rose from her bouquet, snapped off the stem, and placed it in the buttonhole of her father’s coat.
Marco remembered standing on this pier years ago, afraid that Enza had died and he would never see her again. He also remembered putting his hand in the pocket of his old boiled-wool coat and feeling a small patch of fine silk where Enza had lined the inside. This was a girl who sought in every way she could to make the world beautiful, to give comfort when it was least expected and joy where it was most needed. His heart was breaking that he could not take her home, but he knew that a good father would support her desire to build her own house and a new life with the man she loved. And so he did.