The Shoemaker's Wife(6)

The stable was cold, so Marco and Enza threw themselves into their chores. As Papa brushed Cipi, their beloved horse, Enza polished the bench on the governess cart. The cart was smaller than a regular carriage, seated only two, and was painted a sophisticated black, to emphasize the graceful curves of its design. Enza dusted the seat with a clean moppeen, careful to polish the trim.

Working people in service to the wealthy must pay particular attention to details. Paint must be lacquered, gold trim must dazzle, every notch, joint, and button of brass must shine. The stature and social position of the customer is reflected in the gloss that results from the servant’s elbow grease. It’s what the wealthy pay for; it’s what they require. Marco taught Enza that everything must gleam, including the horse.

Enza placed the lap robe she had made of sturdy gold cotton on one side and brown suede on the other, on the passenger side of the cart. It would keep the paying customer warm.

“I don’t think you should go, Papa.”

“It’s the only job I’ve been offered all winter.”

“What if the hitch snaps?”

“It won’t.”

“What if Cipi falls down?”

“He’ll get back up.”

Marco checked the suspension on the cart. He took an oilcan and greased the springs.

“Here. Let me.” Enza took the oilcan from her father and slipped under the cart to oil the gears. She was careful to give a few extra squirts, so the cart could take sudden turns and jolts on the icy mountain road without toppling.

Marco helped her out from under the cart. “The snow is always the worst on the mountain. By the time I get to Vilminore di Scalve, it will be a dusting. There’s probably no snow at all down in Bergamo.”

“What about the rain?”

Marco smiled. “You worry enough for your mother and me.”

“Somebody has to.”

“Enza.”

“Sorry, Papa. We have enough flour until spring. A little sugar. Lots of chestnuts. You don’t have to take this job.”

“What about the rent?”

“Signor Arduini can wait. All he’ll do with the money is buy more dresses for his daughter. Maria has enough.”

“Now you’re going to tell the richest man in town how to spend his money?”

“I wish he’d ask me. I’d tell him plenty.”

Marco tried not to laugh. “I’m getting three lire to take the passenger down the mountain.”

“Three lire!”

“I know. Only a fool would turn down three lire.”

“Let me go with you. If you have any problems, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Who will help your mother with the children?”

“Battista.”

“He’s nine years old, and a bigger baby than Stella.”

“He just likes to have fun, Papa.”

“That’s not a quality that gets you far in life.”

“Eliana is helpful.”

“She’s not strong,” Marco reminded her.

“But she’s smart; that should account for something.”

“It does, but that doesn’t help your mother with the chores. Vittorio and Alma are small, and Stella is nursing. Your mama needs you here.”

“All right. I’ll stay. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“One day down the mountain. I’ll stay the night, and one day up the mountain.”

“Two whole days—”

“For three lire,” Marco reminded her.

Marco was ambitious. He had drawn up plans to build a deluxe carriage with three benches to transport the summer tourists who craved the quiet of the mountain summers, with their cool nights and sunny days. The pristine alpine lakes were popular for swimming. Tourists could take the healing waters in Boario if they wished, sun on the beach of the Brembo River or take the mud baths of Trescore. The new carriage would take the tourists anywhere they wanted to go! Marco pictured a modern carriage with a canopy of bold black-and-white stripes with brass bindings, while silk-ball fringe along the edge would provide a touch of glamour. Giacomina and Enza would make corduroy cushions for the benches, turquoise blue.

Marco hoped to earn enough money to finally make the Arduinis an offer on the old stone house. The rent was high, but it was close to Cipi’s barn, where the carriage and equipment were stored. The Ravanellis couldn’t live in the barn. They needed the house.

Signor Arduini was getting older; soon his son would take over as padrone. The wooden box filled with folded parchments of surveyed land lots in Schilpario would be handed down and managed by the next generation of Arduinis. There had been signs that Marco should seriously consider buying the house. Sometimes after Marco delivered the rent, Signor Arduini would implore him to buy their house before his death, before his son took over and a potential sale might be off the table for good. It was Signore’s desire to sell that had motivated Marco to expand his business; the present carriage would not provide the profit needed to buy the house.

Buying the house on Via Scalina was Marco’s dream for his family.

Marco arrived in Vilminore on time. Across the piazza, he saw his customer waiting for him, a nun by her side. Resting on the ground next to her was a small brown duffel. Caterina’s blue coat stood out against the pink and gray of winter. Marco was relieved that his customer had been waiting for him, as arranged. Lately, most of his fares had not honored their appointments, a sign of how dire the poverty in these mountains had become, as travelers attempted to pass on foot.