The Shoemaker's Wife(52)
“And you think the girls on Mulberry are lining up for Ciro Lazzari to take them away from their troubles?” Ciro smiled.
Remo smiled too. “There will be a few.”
“Well, sir, I’m here to work,” Ciro said solemnly. “I want no permanent part of this beautiful country. I want to save my money and go home to Vilminore, find a good wife there, and build a house for her with my own hands. I’d like a garden like this, and one cigarette a night in a deep, comfortable chair where I can sit and think after a hard day’s work. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but that would be the perfect life for me.”
“So you won’t be a Romeo in Little Italy?”
“I didn’t say that. But I won’t get serious, that I promise you.”
Carla pushed through the door with a tray of popovers and three small glasses of red wine. Ciro rose and gave her his chair.
“I thought we needed to toast our new apprentice,” she said.
“The Italian way,” Remo said, winking at Ciro.
Every May, Our Lady of Pompeii Church on Carmine Street held the Feast of Santa Maria, in honor of the Blessed Mother. The church bells chimed the tune of “Hail Holy Queen Enthroned Above” as the vestibule doors were propped open to reveal a church overflowing with baskets of white roses. This was the most important feast day for the girls of the parish who, at sixteen, were at the peak of their adolescent beauty.
The girls wore white silk gowns and tiaras of tiny satin rosebuds woven by the women of the church sodality. Across their gowns, they wore sashes in a demure pink called ashes of roses. The street was cleared as the girls processed single file from the church on Carmine Street to Bleecker Street and back again, following the priest, the altar boys, and the men of the church carrying the statue of the Blessed Lady.
This parade was a celebration of what it meant to be both Italian and American. As Americans, they were free to march through the streets, and as Italians, they could express their devotion to Mary, the mother of all mothers. They hoped the queen of heaven would shower them with health, good fortune, and strong families in exchange for their alms. The religious aspect was only part of the celebration. It was also a chance for the young men of the village to choose the girl of their dreams from the May court.
Ciro stood on the corner in the midst of the crowd as the girls passed. The May Queen was the most beautiful girl in the parade. Felicitá! Felicitá! The crowd chanted her name. She wore a sheath of white silk and, upon her lustrous black curls, a long lace mantilla. Her veil fluttered on her shoulders in the breeze.
Ciro remembered a similar mantilla worn by Concetta Martocci in the church of San Nicola, the afternoon he sat with her. Ciro no longer felt the sting of regret when he thought of Concetta, just the pang of rejection. The wise man leaves the past behind like a pair of boots he has outgrown.
Ciro set his gaze upon Felicitá, as did every young man in the crowd. Ciro watched as Felicitá pulled a white rose from her bouquet and handed it to an old lady in the crowd. This simple gesture was full of grace, and Ciro took it in.
Women move through the world never knowing their power.
The next time I fall in love, Ciro thought to himself, I will choose wisely. I will make sure that the girl loves me more than I love her. It was in that moment, when he made that promise to himself, that he set his cap for Felicitá Cassio, the May Queen.
Chapter 11
A BLESSED MEDAL
Una Medaglia Benedetta
The quarter moon peeked through the alpine trees like a snip of pink ribbon in the purple night sky. By the first day of May 1910, a few weeks after their disastrous meeting with Signor Arduini, the Ravanellis were settled into another rental two streets away from the house where their six children had been born. Enza made fast work to find another house with the help of her boss at the dress shop.
The move from Via Scalina to Via Gondolfo meant less space and a higher rent. Instead of an entire house, Marco rented the bottom floor of the Ruffino homestead, which had a small garden in the back, a patch of green grass in the front, four rooms, and a fireplace. Even though they were lucky to find a house so quickly, leaving one landlord for another was not what Marco had envisioned for his family.
Marco kept the family stable on Via Scalina, refusing to sell it to Signor Arduini. He built a low fence between the two buildings and laid a new stone path to the entrance from the street. Signor Arduini was not pleased with the situation, but Marco would not sell the barn to the man who had forced him out of his home.
When Marco passed Signor Arduini in the streets of Vilminore, he continued to show his respect and tip his hat. Signor Arduini did not return the kindness. Enza’s words still burned in the padrone’s gut like the perpetual flames in the coke ovens below the village. It was a fire Arduini could not put out.
The final piece of the Ravenellis’ bad luck came one day while Enza was working in Signora Sabatino’s dress shop. Enza remembered the day the old lady from Lake Iseo came to pick up her dress for her son’s wedding. Ida Braido was small, slim and white haired, but she had the focus of a much younger woman with a project in mind.
Ida’s blue eyes were clear behind her eyeglasses as she sat in the window seat, waiting for Signora Sabatino to attend to her. Enza sat behind the sewing machine, carefully feeding two sides of a cotton placket under the bobbin. Ida watched her with interest.