The Shoemaker's Wife(131)

“We don’t have to make them,” Enza said. “We could buy them from a middleman and sell them at a profit, just like any store in town. I could have Laura check with some suppliers in New York. There’s enough room in the front of the shop. We could put in a couple of glass cabinets.” Enza turned and imagined the perfect spot for the display cases.

“I don’t have time to sell shoes,” Ciro reminded her.

“But I do,” Enza said. “We send more customers up the street than we keep. I won’t bother you with any of it. I just need the space in the front of the shop.”

“All right,” Ciro said. “But when I start making women’s shoes, you’ll have to stop selling the ready-mades.”

“You have a deal.”

Enza took the trolley to Hibbing. She entered the Security State Bank of Hibbing on Howard Street in her best hat and gloves and went to the loan department to see Robert Renna.

“Mrs. Lazzari?” Mr. Renna looked up from his paperwork. He wore a suit with a vest and a plain navy tie. A pair of reading glasses was perched on the tip of his long nose. “How is everything working out?”

Enza smiled. The last time she was in the bank, she had cosigned Ciro’s loans for the business and witnessed Luigi’s paperwork. “Both shops are busy,” she said as she took a seat.

“I’m happy to hear it. What can I do for you today?”

“We have a lot of ladies come through the shop. I’d like to sell ready-made shoes. But I need a loan to build the inventory.”

“You have three stores in Chisholm that sell shoes.”

“I know, but they don’t sell the kind of shoes I would stock. I have a connection in New York City to bring real fashion to the ladies of the Iron Range. That is, of course, if you’ll help me go into business.”

“What does your husband think?”

“He has his hands full, so this would be my project.”

Renna was used to widows coming into the bank for loans, but not married women. Usually their husbands handled the banking. Mrs. Lazzari was obviously an uncommon woman. “Let’s take a look at your present loan.” Mr. Renna went to the shelf and removed a ledger containing the pertinent information on all current loans. He opened the leather bound ledger and with a ruler, scanned the handwritten columns. “Here we are.” He turned the page. “Your husband and his partner opened an account with a nice nest egg. You and Mrs. Latini co-signed the loan. They’ve borrowed against it at a reasonable rate. So I think there’s some wiggle room here to help you out.”

Mr. Renna went to the file desk and put together loan papers for Enza. She watched him as he handed the secretary some forms to type. A few minutes later, he returned with a contract.

“Take this home. Look it over. Talk it through with your husband, because I need his signature on the loan. And then let me know how much you need.”

Enza smiled. “I can make a go of it, I know it!”

Renna showed Enza a ledger with a note in the margins. “Does your husband have a brother?”

“Yes. But he’s in Italy.”

“No, a brother here. There’s a safety deposit box in the bank, it’s under C. A. Lazzari.”

“His father was Carlo Lazzari. He worked here about fourteen years ago.”

“Would you like me to check?” Mr. Renna offered.

“Thank you.”

Renna went to check on the information regarding Carlo Lazzari’s accounts. Enza felt queasy, as she always did when the subject of Ciro’s father came up. She thought of the Italian expression, “If you truly love someone, when he is cut, you bleed.” Enza didn’t know if it was simply her empathy for her husband that made her anxious about his father, or the unanswered questions that surrounded his disappearance and death. After a few minutes, Renna returned to his desk.

“Well, the accounts are closed,” Renna explained. “But there’s an unclaimed safety deposit box.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for a key,” Enza said.

“We keep them here.” Renna pulled a small silver key from his pocket and gave it to her. “I can show you to the vault.”

“Should I wait for my husband?” Enza looked down at the key in her gloved hand.

“You’re a signatory on all of your husband’s accounts, including the business. You are authorized to open the box if you’d like.”

Enza followed Mr. Renna through a steel gate to a large room with a marble floor. The walls were lined with small steel boxes, etched with numbers. Mr. Renna excused himself and went back out into the main floor of the bank.

Enza looked for Box 419. When she found it, she lifted the key to the lock. Her hand shook, though she hadn’t thought she was nervous. She turned the key in the lock and looked inside. There was one sealed envelope inside. She removed it. It was a plain white business envelope, with neither an addressee nor a return address, slightly yellowed with age.

Enza removed a hairpin from her chignon, carefully opened the seal, and pulled out a document. It read:

Burt-Sellers Mining Corporation

Hibbing, Minnesota

100 shares of common stock

Carlo A. Lazzari

Enza folded the stock certificate and returned to Mr. Renna’s desk. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she said, “but can you tell me what this is?”