The Shoemaker's Wife(16)

“I’m five.” Stella held up five fingers.

“This is going to be a bad year for porcini,” Battista said as he ate his sandwich. “This ground is too wet.”

“It’s too soon,” Enza told him. “Don’t worry about the porcini. You have to help Papa this summer.”

“I’d rather hunt truffles.”

“You can do both.”

“I want to make lots and lots of money. I’m gonna sell truffles to the Frenchmen. They’re suckers,” Battista said.

“You have such big plans. I’m impressed,” Eliana said, though clearly she was not.

“I’ll help Papa,” Vittorio said.

“We’ll all help Papa. He’s going to get a lot of fares this summer,” Enza said.

“Good luck. Cipi won’t last the summer,” Battista said.

“Don’t say that.” Alma’s eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t upset your sister,” Enza said. “Nobody knows how long Cipi will be around. You have to leave that up to God and Saint Francis.”

“Will Cipi go to heaven?” Stella asked.

“Someday he will,” Enza answered quietly.

“I want to go wading.” Alma stood.

The sun, high on the ridge, burned hot on the children. Even Enza felt the heat as she followed the children to the wading pool, where she took off her shoes and long woolen knee socks. She hiked up her skirt, tied it under her shirtwaist, and waded into the pool. The cold water grazed her ankles. Enza jumped as the frigid water tickled her feet.

“Let’s dance!” Stella said. Soon all the children were splashing in the cold, shallow water. Stella fell into the pool and laughed. Enza scooped her up, holding her close as Alma, Eliana, Battista, and Vittorio waded over to the waterfall to let the cold water rush over them.

Through the clear water of the pool, Enza saw something odd. As Enza leaned over to set Stella down, the child’s thin legs were magnified in the sunlight. Enza saw blue veins and splotchy maroon pools underneath Stella’s skin, darker in places, a network of them from ankle to thigh.

“Stand up, Stella.”

Stella stood in the water, the ends of her pigtails dripping like wet paintbrushes. Enza checked the back of her legs in the unforgiving light, where she saw more bruises that extended up to the top of Stella’s thighs. In a panic, Enza checked her sister’s back, and upper arms. There, too, were the bruises, like blue stones visible on the lake bottom in shallow waters.

“Eli, come here!” Enza shouted to her sister. Eliana, reedy, tall, and athletic at thirteen, trudged over in the shallow water.

“What?” She looked at Enza, pushing her hair off her face.

“Do you see these bruises?”

Eliana looked at them.

“Who hit her?” Enza insisted.

“Nobody hits Stella.”

“Did she fall?”

“I don’t know.”

“Battista!” Enza shouted. Battista and Vittorio were at the far end of the falls, peeling lichen off the stones. Enza waved them over. She gathered up Stella, took her to the cloth spread on the ground, and dried her off with her apron. Stella’s teeth chattered, and, frightened by Enza’s quick movements, she began to cry.

“What did I do?” Stella wailed.

Enza pulled her close. “Nothing, bella, nothing.” She looked up at Eliana. “We have to go home.” Her tone changed. “Now.”

A feeling of dread came over Enza as she watched her sister gather the children.

Enza counted the heads of her brothers and sisters just as her mother did when they went to neighboring villages for feast days, careful to keep track of every child, careful not to lose one to the gypsies, or in a large crowd.

Stella nestled into the warmth of her older sister, holding her tight.

Mama always said a good family has one heartbeat. No one knows you like the people you live with, and no one will take up your cause to the outside world quite like your blood relatives. Enza knew Battista’s moods, Eliana’s courage, Vittorio’s ego, Alma’s restlessness, and Stella’s peaceful nature. When one laughed, eventually they all did. When one was afraid, they did whatever they could do to shore up the other’s courage. When one was sick, soon they all felt the pain.

There was an especially deep bond between the eldest and the youngest. Enza and Stella were the beginning and end, the alpha and omega, the bookends that held all the family stories from start to finish as well as the various shades and hues of personality and temperament. As Enza held Stella closely and rocked her, the children silently gathered the lunch, cleaned up the napkins, and repacked the basket. Enza could feel Stella’s warm breath in the crook of her neck.

The boys hoisted the food hamper, while the girls helped Stella onto Enza’s back, to carry her back down the mountain. Eliana followed, keeping her hand on the small of Stella’s back, while Alma led them, kicking away any rocks or sticks on the path that could trip Enza as she carried Stella. A small tear trickled down Enza’s face. She had prayed for spring to come, but now she was afraid it had brought with it the worst of luck.





Chapter 4

A POT DE CRèME

Vasotto di Budino

There was a strange moon the night after Stella got the bruises. Filmy and mustard colored, it flickered in and out of the clouds like a warning light, reminding Enza of the oil lamp Marco used when he traveled by cart in bad weather.