The Shoemaker's Wife(145)

Luigi and Ciro made their way back from the shore of the lake. “Okay, girls, what did you make to eat?” Luigi asked. “I need to feed the beast.”

“Your beast could do with a little less feeding,” Pappina said as she prepared her husband a plate.

“Am I fat?” Luigi asked, patting his stomach.

“The third hole in your belt hasn’t seen the prong in two years,” Pappina said.

Ciro laughed.

“Not so funny.” Luigi sat down on the tablecloth.

“Luigi and I were talking about the old days at Zanetti’s.”

“Signora could cook,” Luigi said as he took a bite of a chicken. “Not as good as you, Enza, but pretty good.”

“We’d like to be in the same shop again.”

Enza and Pappina looked at one another.

“I like this town. Hibbing is getting too big. The boys like the lake, and they want to go to school with Antonio. They want to be Bluestreaks.”

“Oh, the kids came up with this?” Enza asked.

“No, we came up with it on behalf of the kids.”

“Well, Pappina and I would love nothing more than to be neighbors.”

“That’s true,” Pappina agreed.

“So we’ll close Caterina One and consolidate with Caterina Two,” Ciro said.

Pappina handed her husband a cup of wine, and gave one to Ciro. She picked up her own cup, while Enza raised hers. “One God. One Man. One shoe shop,” Pappina toasted.

Enza propped feather pillows around Ciro’s back until he was comfortable. “You take good care of me.” Ciro pulled Enza close and kissed her.

“Do you think I’m a dope?” Enza asked. “Consolidating the shop. Working under one roof. I understand what you’re up to. You’re shoring up the shop. You’re putting a plan in place. A man in place.”

“I’m being practical,” Ciro said.

“I have a say in this. But you went ahead and made a plan without me. Luigi will keep things running, and you can die in peace, knowing there is someone to look after us.”

“But I’m just trying to take care of you!” Ciro said, bewildered. “Why does this make you angry?”

“Because you’ve accepted your fate when you can change it! You’re not going to die. But if you think you are, you will.”

“Why do you insist every day that I have control over this?”

“Because you do! And you’re just giving up! You’re giving up on me, your son, and our family. I would never give up on you. Never.”

“I wish things were different.”

“If you want to bring Luigi here because it’s good business, then do it. But don’t bring him to take care of me. I won’t have it. I can take care of myself. I can take care of our son.” Enza began to cry.

“Come here,” Ciro said softly.

“No. You come to me,” she said to him.

Ciro went to his wife and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I want you to be secure. I didn’t mean to insult you. Of course you can take care of yourself. You survived Hoboken without me.”

“What would help you get better, Ciro?”

“A miracle,” he said softly.

“I think I know of one.”

“Monsignor Schiffer already dropped off a vial of holy water from Lourdes. Only a German priest would bring an Italian French holy water,” Ciro joked.

“Not that kind of miracle in a bottle—the real thing. I want to take the money we’ve saved and send you to the mountain. You should go home and see your brother. Your friends. The convent. You should swim in the water of Stream Vò. It would heal you faster than the water from Lourdes.”

“What are you talking about, Enza? My place is here with you and Antonio.”

“No, Ciro, listen to me.” She pulled Ciro close. “Remember the berries in late summer? The way the juniper trees had pale green shoots underneath the branches, and they’d turn velvety and dark as they grew closer to the sky? If anything can make you well, it’s the place you come from and the people that loved you. Your friend Ziggy—”

“Iggy,” he corrected her.

“Wouldn’t you like to see him again?”

“He taught me to smoke.”

“You have to thank him,” Enza said wryly. “And the nuns—”

“My nuns.” Ciro laughed. “I wonder who is left at the convent of San Nicola?”

“You must go and reclaim your home again. That mountain is as much yours as it is anyone’s. That rotten priest banished you, and you never returned. It’s not right.”

“Is my beautiful wife at long last turning on the Church of Rome?”

“No. But a bad priest is a bad priest.”

“I used to dream of building a home on the mountain like the one you helped your family build. I wanted a garden.”

“Where was I in this picture?”

“You were always there. I just didn’t know it yet. I didn’t know the woman I would love all of my life was you.”

“If you love me, you’ll go back to the mountain and let it heal you.”

In the days that followed their conversation, Pappina and Luigi met with Ciro and Enza, and they agreed to consolidate the business. The Latinis would move to Chisholm that summer and rent a home on Willow Street. The men would pull together and build an inventory, making work boots and fur-trimmed winter boots for snowshoeing.