The Shoemaker's Wife(137)

Enza laughed, as she always did when Laura was philosophical. She tried not to think about what it would be like when Laura went back to New York. It had been a wonderful two weeks, more of a vacation for Enza than for Laura, who had waited on her, anticipating her needs and encouraging her to rest.

Ciro placed a sack of pierogies and a box of cold sodas on the blankets. Enza, sitting on the blanket, felt a low, deep pain across her belly. She shifted on the blanket, thinking it was how she was sitting, until a few minutes later, the pain came again.

“Are you all right?” Laura asked Enza.

The band began to play, its brass section braying a patriotic march. Laura reached across the blanket to Ciro, nudging him. He turned and looked at Enza, his face turned ashen. “Is it time?” he said, though he didn’t have to ask.

She nodded that it was. Laura handed baby John back to Pappina. Ciro helped Enza stand, and as the band played, he and Laura slowly walked Enza to the edge of the park, where he asked the policeman for a ride to the hospital. Luckily Officer Grosso played poker at the shoe shop when he was off duty, and was happy to give the anxious trio a lift up the hill to Chisholm Hospital.

Ciro pushed through the door of Enza’s room at Chisholm Hospital. He stopped when he saw her, in a white chenille robe, holding a small blue bundle. Her beauty had taken on a new dimension now that she was the mother of his firstborn son. July 28, 1919, would be a date he would remember all his life, no matter what other details had slipped his mind. This was the day he and Enza became una famiglia.

Laura smiled and patted Ciro on the back as she left the room. Alone with their baby, Ciro went to Enza, slid his hand under the small of her back, wrapped the other around her and the baby, and pulled his small family together in a single embrace. His son had the scent of new skin and clean talc. He was long and pink, and his fingers poked the air as if he was trying to grab it.

When it came to naming their son, Enza had wanted to call him Ciro. Her husband had other ideas. He had thought to name the boy Carlo, after his father, or Marco after Enza’s, or Ignazio, who had been good to him, or Giovanni, after Juan Torres, who had died in the trenches. But while all these men had shaped him, he decided to name his first son Antonio, after the patron saint of lost things.

He remembered the night he first met Enza, and as an orphan, he had always felt the vague rootlessness of abandonment, a quiet displacement that echoed loudly in the chambers of his growing heart. It was a hollow feeling of regret that he’d thought might never leave him. But after Enza’s short labor, he had been found again. He was a father now.

Enza handed the baby to Ciro as if she were passing him a fine china teacup, fearful she might drop it.

“I am your father, Antonio. I will never leave you,” he promised as he held his son. And as the words left his lips, which found themselves gently placed on the sweet, smooth cheek of his newborn son, he believed them and would do everything in his power to make certain they would always be true.

“He looks just like you,” Enza said. “Imagine, two of you in the world.”

Laura made a pot of vegetable soup with lots of diced potato, knowing it would give Enza strength. She had everything in the apartment ready, so when Ciro brought her home, all Enza had to do was nurse the baby and rest.

Laura sat with Enza as she nursed the first night, then took the baby and changed him, placing him in the bassinette, before she helped Enza across the hall to her bed. It was such an exciting time—Laura was such a good friend that any happiness Enza had, she felt doubly.

When the morning came for Laura to begin her journey back to New York, she packed slowly as Enza sat with the baby.

“Are you sure you don’t want my sweater?” Laura offered her classic navy cardigan.

“Stop trying to give me things.” Enza smiled.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” Laura sat on the edge of the bed.

“You can come back anytime.”

“Maybe you can come to New York,” Laura offered.

“Someday.” Enza smiled. “What are you going to do when you get there?” she asked.

“Start over.” Laura’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away with her handkerchief. “I plan to leave my tears between here and Penn Station. Once I get off the train, I’ll be fine.”

Ciro appeared in the doorway.

“I know, I know, Ciro, I have to leave now or I’ll miss my train.” Laura stood and snapped the clasps on her suitcase. She lifted it off the bed.

“I think you may miss your train after all.”

“Why? Has there been an accident?”

“No. There’s a delay.” Ciro leaned against the door frame.

“What do you mean?” Laura looked at her itinerary, as if it would hold a clue.

“There’s someone here to see you,” he said. “Will you girls come down to the shop, please?” He reached over and took the baby from Enza. “Follow me.”

Laura was confused, and Enza didn’t know what to say, so they followed Ciro down the stairs. Ciro went through the door first with the baby, followed by Enza. Laura came through the door last. Standing by the worktable was Colin Chapin, looking handsome but rumpled in a seersucker suit after the long journey. Seeing him, Laura was so stunned, it was as if she’d seen a ghost. She began to back out of the room toward the door.