The Shoemaker's Wife(121)

“Papa, write to me.”

“I will. And you must write to me,” he said through his tears.

“I will,” she promised, reaching into her pocket for the wedding handkerchief that Laura had made, with her initials and Ciro’s intertwined.

Marco put his arms around his daughter. She took in the scent of the tobacco and clean lemon that she had come to know as his, and held on just a moment longer until the horn sounded aboard the ship. Marco turned and went up the gangplank. As the aisle of metal was lifted and secured, Enza didn’t move from her spot on the pier. She stood and searched the layers of the decks, until she found her father and the red rose. He took off his hat and waved it in her direction. She waved good-bye to him and smiled, and knew that from this great distance, he would not be able to see her tears. And she couldn’t see his either, but she knew for sure he would not stop weeping for the loss of her for the rest of his life.

Enza joined her new husband and friends behind the fishing net that separated the pier from the docks. Ciro put his arms around Enza and held her for a long time. To her relief and delight, his embrace helped her endure what she had just lost.

Afterward, Laura, Colin, Luigi, Pappina, Enza, and Ciro celebrated their nuptials with a breakfast feast in the atrium of the Plaza Hotel under the Tiffany skylight. Ciro outlined his business plan, while Colin offered suggestions. Laura looked over at Enza, who smiled blissfully at the ring on her finger, a glistening gold signet ring with a C engraved upon it, which Ciro had worn since he was a boy.

There were many toasts at their table, wishes for long lives and many years of happiness. But there was one very special toast in honor of Enza’s new citizenship. Ciro’s citizenship had been awarded to him on the day he received his honorable discharge from the U.S. Army. Now, his legal wife shared in that gift. The sacrament, the vows, the ring, and the license made Enza an American at last.

The entrance to the Plaza Hotel was heated by small cast-iron ovens tucked discreetly behind velvet ropes along the red-carpeted stairs of the entry. A soft snow had begun to fall. Colin pulled Ciro, Luigi, and Pappina aside so Laura would be able to say good-bye to Enza.

“Are you happy?” Laura asked. “Don’t answer that. You’d better be, and I know you are.” Her voice broke.

“Please don’t cry.” Enza tried to reassure her. “I swear. This is not the end of anything.”

“But we had our beginning together. And I can’t imagine my life without you.” Laura fished in her purse for her handkerchief. “I don’t want you to go. It’s so selfish of me.”

“There is no way I could ever thank you for all you’ve done for me. You made me the most beautiful hats I’ll ever wear. You always split your pie with me at the Automat, even when you were very hungry. You almost killed a man for my honor with a pair of factory scissors. You gave me words. I couldn’t read or write English until I met you.”

“And I wouldn’t have been able to speak to Enrico Caruso without the Italian you taught me. So you see, we’re even.”

“Are we?” Enza cried.

“All right, maybe I pictured us together forever, and maybe someday, we will be. But I want you to know, if you need me, any time, you write to me and I’ll run to Minnesota. On foot. You understand?”

“And the same goes for me. I’ll come back when you need me,” Enza promised.

“And start writing me a letter first thing in the morning on the train. You can mail it in Chicago.”

“Come on, girls, we have to make the train,” Colin said. He loaded everyone into his Ardsley. There were a lot of laughs in the ride between Fifty-ninth Street and Penn Station—not enough to last a lifetime, but enough to have made this wedding-day departure end on a joyous and gay note.

At three o’clock that afternoon under a gray sky the color of old velvet, the Latinis and the Lazzaris arrived at Penn Station, bought four one-way tickets on the Broadway Limited, and boarded the train for Chicago, where they would transfer trains to take them to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Colin and Laura saw them off, watching until the silver train disappeared like a sewing needle into thick wool.

Ciro and Luigi were business partners. They would make shoes and repair them, just as they had on Mulberry Street, except this time, the purse would be theirs to keep.

The Caterina Shoe Company was born.

The dining car on the Broadway Limited was elegant, with polished walnut walls and leather banquettes, like a sophisticated Manhattan restaurant on wheels. The tables were dressed in starched white linen, crystal glasses, white china trimmed in green, and silverware buffed to a sparkling sheen.

Small vases with white roses were clipped to the window sashes. A series of eight booths, four on either side, with an aisle down the center, were connected to the kitchen car. The leather seats in the booths were forest green to match the china.

“I can barely fit in the booth,” Pappina said, laughing. “How long is this ride?”

“Twenty hours,” Luigi said as he adjusted the cushion on the seat to make his wife more comfortable.

Enza and Ciro slipped into the booth across from them.

“They just got married,” Luigi said to the Negro waiter.

“Congratulations,” the waiter said to Enza and Ciro. His crisp black uniform with a gold bar on the chest made him look like a general. “I’ll see you have some cake.”