The Shoemaker's Wife(73)

“We will. You’ll be first. And I hope you don’t settle.”

“Are you kidding me? Never. I want a man with a bright future. And you don’t have to wait for that guy back home, you know. You need to live now.” Laura smiled back at a handsome young man who tipped his hat to her.

“I’m not waiting for anyone.”

“You are pining for that grave digger. Ciro, right?”

“I wonder about him. But I don’t pine for him.”

“Okay.” Laura wasn’t buying it. “Do you write to him?”

“No.”

“Letters to Italy go two ways, Enza.”

“He isn’t in Italy. He’s here.”

“In America?”

Enza nodded. “In Little Italy.”

“You’ve been holding out on me!” Laura shrieked. “Do you know his address?”

“He was a shoemaker’s apprentice on Mulberry Street. But that was so long ago.”

“He could be one block from where you’re standing, and you’re eating a sausage and pepper sandwich! I don’t believe it.”

“Who knows where he is? It’s been six years! He had a girlfriend.”

“So? You were teenagers. I think we should have a stroll on Mulberry Street.”

“He probably went back to Italy. ” Enza shrugged. “I don’t care. He never tried to find me.”

“Maybe you ought to try and find him."

“Maybe I don’t want to find him.”

“The maybe means that you do,” Laura insisted. “You’re never going to look prettier than you do today, so you might as well let the man see what he is missing.”

“I didn’t dress for him!”

“A girl never knows when fate is going to give her a tumble. Look at me. I’m always prepared.” Laura pulled a small sterling silver atomizer from her pocket. “A little mister in case I meet my future mister.” Laura spritzed the perfume on her neck. “Want some?”

“All right. But just a little. I don’t want you to waste it on me. If he’s not there, what’s the point?” Enza closed her eyes, letting a cloud of cedar and jasmine settle over her.

As the girls made the turn onto Mulberry Street, they were stunned by the size of the crowd. The street was filled with revelers, but so were the sidewalks, the stoops, and the roofs. There was barely any room to move. Enza took in a short breath as her heart beat faster.

“Do you remember the address?” Laura asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Come on. You’ve memorized every detail of every person you have ever met. Think.”

Enza surrendered. “He works for the Zanetti Shoe Shop.”

Laura squinted down the block. “There it is!” They saw the awning in the middle of the block, the name of the shop emblazoned upon it. Laura took Enza by the arm. “Come on.”

Enza had little faith in Laura’s plan, but before she could protest, Laura had grabbed her hand and pulled her headlong through the crowd until they reached the shop.

“Wait!” Enza’s intuition told her that she would not like what she found behind the door. But it was too late—a determined Laura was unstoppable, on the factory floor or the streets of Little Italy.

“Leave this to me. I’ll do the talking.” Laura climbed up the steps and poked her head inside.

Enza followed with a combination of dread and curiosity. Her thoughts raced, placing Ciro at the center of every possible scenario, with or without her. Ciro was probably married by now; after all, he was twenty-two, and he seemed hardworking and ambitious. Enza would be cordial and get out of there fast. That’s all. She smoothed the front of her skirt before entering the shop after Laura.

Carla Zanetti stood behind the counter. She handed money to a young boy as he placed a large cookie tray on the counter. “I included your tip,” Carla said to the boy as he went.

“Hello. My name is Laura Heery, and this is my friend Enza Ravanelli. We’re looking for a young man, the apprentice here . . . ,” Laura began. “Ciro Lazzari.”

“He’s out.”

“Oh,” Laura said, taken aback by the gruff manner of the old gatekeeper. “Enza knew Signor Lazzari from their province in Italy.”

“We’re from the same mountain,” Enza said quietly.

Carla waved her hands. “You see those crowds out there? We’re all from the same place. I could call any jadrool on the street a blood relative if I wanted to. But I don’t want to”—she peered over her reading glasses—“so I don’t.”

“But this is different. Ciro and Enza really do know one another from some cliff in the old country,” Laura insisted.

“We’ve met, Signora.” Enza stepped in, before Laura could do further damage. “I met you, with your husband and Ciro, on my first day in New York, at Saint Vincent’s Hospital. I was with my father.”

Carla looked at Enza, taking her in. She studied the details of Enza’s clothes and hat, deciding that this young woman was a lady.

“The day Ciro cut his hand,” Carla remembered.

“Yes, Signora.”

“How’s your father?”

“He took a position in the mines, but now he’s building roads in California.”