The Shoemaker's Wife(164)

“I think it’s not Hoboken.”

Enza and Laura laughed. Through the years, whenever they liked something, they would say, “At least it’s not Hoboken.”

“But you know, this is where Colin came to claim me. It will always be a special place to me.”

Enza smiled and remembered the exact place she had stood on Carmine Street when Ciro came for her on the sidewalk in front of Our Lady of Pompeii. It’s funny how a woman remembers exactly where she stood when she was chosen.

“Miss Homonoff sent quite a letter to the Institute. She believes your goddaughter is a talented soprano.”

“We brought her down to the Twin Cities, and the professors at the University of Minnesota agreed. Laura, she would never be able to go to New York if you weren’t there.”

“I’m lonely with Henry away at school. You’re giving me a gift.”

“Oh, Laura, she’s so shy sometimes. She misses her mother, and there’s nothing I can do to comfort her. It brings up all my feelings about home and how much I miss my family. Her father and brothers are in Italy, and she’s afraid for them. They’re unfounded fears, but they’re real to her.”

“Angela needs to focus on her work. You and I made it because we stayed busy and we had goals. Look, she can live with me and walk across the park to her classes at the Institute. Colin is close to the dean. We’ll make her feel at home.”

“Is it all too easy?” Enza said worriedly.

“You just said the kid has had a terrible childhood. I didn’t say she could come to New York and nap. She’ll have to work hard, but why can’t we give her that little bit of security we know she needs? Didn’t Miss DeCoursey give it to us at the Milbank? How many times did we fret about the rent, and she’d give us a few extra days to go and wash dishes? I won’t pamper Angela, but I can encourage her—and she can learn. I’ll be her Emma Fogarty. I’ll make the connections for her like Emma did for us.”

Enza took a deep breath. Every fear she had for her ward was now assuaged. The truth was, she trusted Laura with her life, and with anyone that she loved. “What would my life have been, had we never met?”

“I have a feeling you would have been just fine.” Laura embraced her old friend for a long time. “I, on the other hand, would have been in a suite at Bellevue, eating crushed bananas, singing ‘Tico Tico’ on a loop.”

Enza and Laura sat on the shore of Longyear Lake, sipping wine in paper cups while they ate figs and cheese Enza had wrapped in a starched moppeen.

“This is when I miss Ciro. You know, we’re at the stage of life where things get quiet, and when you’re a widow, that silence is painful.”

“I think of you when I want to push Colin out the window.”

“Enjoy him.”

“Come and stay with us!”

“I do miss New York. I’m sorry so much time has passed without a visit. But now I’m waiting for Antonio to come home, and when he does, I can make some big decisions, and one of them will be to come and see you for a nice long visit. ”

“I have a bedroom for you. We could go to the opera every night of the week. Colin has a box.”

“The diamond horseshoe.”

“Can you imagine? Remember the first time we walked in there? And now I sit up there and I complain if I can’t see the stage-left wings from my seat. And back then, we would have scrubbed floors to be anywhere in the building. And we did! But ultimately we didn’t have to, because you were an artist and could sew better than any machine. And it didn’t hurt that you were Italian. That went so far in the opera house—as it should.”

“I still play Caruso’s records.”

“You cooked for Caruso. I washed his dishes! The man would not eat raw tomatoes.” Laura clapped her hands together. “We’ve lived in the days of Caruso at the Met.”

“I wonder what he’d say if he saw my white hair.”

“He would have said, ‘Vincenza, you may have white hair, but I will always be older than you.’ ”

“You know, whenever I pick up a pen, I think of you. You taught me how to read and write English. You never got impatient and snapped at me.”

“You were so smart, I worried you’d teach me a thing or two about grammar.”

“No, it was the most generous thing anyone’s ever done for me. You have a way of finding out what people need and giving it to them.”

“All you needed is what every girl needs, a good friend. Someone to talk to, to share with, to run things by . . . You were always that person for me.”

“I hope I always will be.”

“As long as there are telephones.” Laura laughed.

Angela walked to her classes at the Institute of Musical Art carrying her sheet music in a newspaper boy’s burlap tote which she wore across her body. The sun in late March was hot, but the air was cool. She hummed as she walked, imagining the musical notes of her audition piece in succession, visiualizing them in her mind’s eye, and rehearsing as she went. Whenever she reached a crosswalk and the trolley would speed by, clanking on the tracks, drowning out all sound, Angela would practice her high register and test her vocal power by singing her scales as loudly as she could.

Heads turned as Angela walked; young men would whistle, but she didn’t hear them. Her long black hair ruffled in the breeze as did her long pleated skirt which she wore with bobby socks and Capezio flats. She didn’t need lipstick, as her lips were deep pink without it. Like her unstudied, effortless beauty, singing came naturally. Angela was a delicate soprano, known in her class for her perfect pitch and crystal tone.