The Shoemaker's Wife(161)

Antonio’s nose burned, and tears came to his eyes as he thought about his father, and how he’d gone around Chisholm, hat in hand, asking his friends to fill in for the times to come when he could not be there. The realization of this made Antonio long for his father and miss him more. He wiped his tears on his sleeve as he closed the gate to the rink.

“You all right?” Mr. Uncini asked.

“Just cold,” Antonio answered.

“You are six-three, Antonio,” Dr. Graham said, scribbling on the report. “You weigh two hundred and fifteen pounds, all muscle.” The doctor chuckled. “Have you decided where you’re going to go to school?”

“The University of Minnesota offered me a four-year scholarship.”

“Of course they did.”

“But I’m going to Notre Dame.”

“Good for you.”

“I want to play professionally once I graduate.”

The phone rang in Dr. Graham’s office. “I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone. “Antonio, please, go get your mother. Tell her Pappina Latini is in the hospital.”

Antonio ran a mile swiftly; in a matter of minutes, he’d pushed the shop door open, called for his mother, and told her to come with him to the hospital. By the time they made it up the hill, Luigi and his children were in the waiting room. They were holding one another, weeping. Angela let out a wail, and called out for her mother.

“What happened, Luigi?” Enza put her hands on his shoulder.

“She’s gone, Enza. She’s gone. There was trouble with the baby and they tried to save her, and they couldn’t. Pappina never came out of it . . . and our baby son died.”

Pappina was a year or two younger than Enza, and this baby had been a surprise. Pappina had been going through the change of life early, and hadn’t thought creating another life was possible. But the Latinis had been as happy with the news as they had the first four times. Enza, who had prayed for years for a sibling for Antonio, was always profoundly touched by the way Pappina included her at the heart of every pregnancy. Pappina never made a fuss, but she somehow drew Enza into the circle of happiness with her, involving Enza in every aspect of the new baby’s life, so Enza might be filled up with joy despite her longing.

After leaving the hospital and ensuring that Luigi was capable of handling the final arrangements, Enza took the Latini children back to 5 West Lake Street with her. John Latini was eighteen and an apprentice in the shop. The older boys were stoic, but Angela could not stop crying for her mother. As they walked along the sidewalk beneath the bare winter trees, Enza tried to comfort them.

“Children come to us in many ways,” she remembered Pappina saying. The thought sent a chill through her.

At home, Enza cooked for the Latini family, Antonio and John led them in games to distract them, and later on, Enza bathed Angela and prepared her school clothes. It was, of course, the least she could do for all the Latinis had done for her and Antonio when Ciro died. The children had always called her Zenza, a combination of Zia and Enza, and most of them had spent as many nights under her roof, playing with Antonio, as they had under their own.

Pappina’s funeral was held four days later in a standing-room-only mass at St. Joseph’s. Pappina had been beloved in the community, a wonderful baker, a beautiful wife and mother. Luigi was bereft at the loss of his wife and new baby. His life would never be the same, nor would his heart.

Each of her children took a turn reading the scripture. Enza knew her friend would have been very proud of her children that day.

Enza slowly eased the younger family back into their routine. After a few weeks, she moved them back to the Latini house, showing the boys how to do their own laundry and prepare meals.

Angela watched Enza carefully, and tried to do chores as her mother had done. Cleaning was not difficult, but cooking and baking for the entire family were too much for a child only ten years old, and she grew frustrated at the challenge. Enza stepped in and made the meals. She arranged to have the children come only on the weekends for lunch, and made sure they went to church on Sundays.

One morning, Enza had opened the shop and was sewing in the back. Luigi came in, and called out to her. He began to repair shoes as he had every morning. But something was different about him that day. He put down his tools, went back to the sewing workroom, and sat in front of Enza.

“I’m going back to Italy,” he said.

“Luigi, it’s too soon to make any decisions.”

“No, I’m going to do it.”

“You can’t run away from what happened to you.”

“I can’t bear it. I want to start over. And the only way I can do that is go back to the beginning.”

“But your children!”

“I’m going to take the boys with me.”

“But what about Angela?”

“I was hoping you would take her. I don’t know what to do with a girl,” he cried. “She needs a mother.”

Enza sat back in her chair. She understood Luigi’s concern. In the coming year or two, Angela would begin adolescence. Without a mother in the home, there would be no one to guide her in the matters of womanhood.

Antonio was leaving for Notre Dame in the spring, to begin training for the basketball team. Enza would be alone, and now, if Luigi left for Italy, she would have to rent the workroom out.