The Good Left Undone(58)

LONDON

Domenica made the connection that would take her north to Scotland. After she took her seat and the porter punched her ticket for Glasgow, she wept. She felt relief, having navigated the complicated steps of the journey through the terrible weather. She allowed herself a cup of hot coffee and a soft roll from the sweet trolley. Her stomach had been too upset to take any food, but now that she was close to her final destination, she became ravenously hungry.

The train was packed with men in uniform, which made her wonder about the state of the world. But Liverpool was an industrial city, where ships were built and soldiers were trained. In peace time, the train full of troops was a sign that the English were industrious. The mood was upbeat; occasionally she would hear laughter and conversation around their card games. Most of the soldiers disembarked in Liverpool. Domenica was relieved to depart the Liverpool station. The port was a gray steel wall of battleships so massive she could not see the sky or sea. The claustrophobia she felt in the port melted away as the train chugged north to Scotland, where the hillsides were green and the sky had no edges.

Serious matters weighed on Domenica’s mind. She agonized about her parents, and hoped they were getting on without her. She had seen the submarine drills off the coast of Viareggio with her own eyes. If they ran drills on Il Tirreno Mare, and sidled up the Ligurian coast like snakes, surely the Italians were preparing to go to war. Her father wasn’t a fighter, and her mother talked too much. The Fascisti were cruel to older people; she had witnessed their contempt—they were like Guido Mironi: relentless.

Domenica opened the paper sack from Sister Marie Bernard. Inside, she found a pot of raspberry jam, a sleeve of crackers, a chocolate bar, a small bottle of whiskey, and a jar of the miraculous bee ointment. She snapped off a square of chocolate and savored it as it melted on her tongue. Domenica said a quick prayer of gratitude for the treats, and another prayer so her luck might hold. If she needed a sign that all would be well, she found it; at the bottom of the sack, Sister had placed a set of rosary beads.


MARSEILLE

August 1939

The peal of the bells at the entrance of H?pital Saint Joseph reminded Mary Gay that she had promised the Sisters she would unbolt the wheel and chimes and pack them to be taken with the final round of boxes to the motherhouse. As a postulant of the order, she was assigned chores that required youth and stamina.

Mary Gay quickly made her way down the stairs to the entrance to answer the bells. She wove through the boxes stacked in the lobby and unbolted the front door. An attractive young seminarian wearing a long black cassock and a wide-brimmed Saturno hat fished a stack of mail out of a worn leather sleeve and gave it to Mary Gay.

“Are you being punished, brother?” she joked.

“They thought it wise to send a religious instead of a layman. There are people who fear the hat.” He tapped the brim. “It’s getting more difficult to move mail through France.”

Mary Gay thanked him and went inside. She bolted the front door, sat down on a packing box, and shuffled through the mail. She whistled when she came upon a blue onionskin envelope addressed to Mademoiselle Domenica Cabrelli. She remembered when the Italian nurse arrived at Fatima House. Mary Gay had hoped that Domenica would join the order with her, but it soon became clear that Domenica would not become a nun. And now, the mail confirmed it. The return address on the envelope was Glasgow, Scotland, with the seal of Captain John L. McVicars. It was postmarked 10 August 1939. Mary Gay slashed a line through the hospital address and rerouted the letter to Dumbarton, Scotland. Before placing it on the stack, she drew a small Sacred Heart on the back for luck.





CHAPTER 23


Viareggio


NOW


Anina waited for her grandfather near the entrance of the hospital.

Olimpio pushed through the doors. “Where is she?”

“The doctor is with her. Follow me.” Anina held the elevator doors open for her grandfather. She followed him inside. When the doors closed, Anina pressed three.

“What happened?”

“She was teaching me how to make the strudel, and she had to sit down. Then she fainted.”

“Did you give her a pill?”

“What pill? She didn’t mention a pill. I brought her here as fast as I could.”

“Thank God.”

They stepped off the elevator together.

“This way, Nonno.”

Olimpio quickened his pace; when he saw his wife’s name on the door of her room, he bolted inside. Anina followed behind him.

“Matelda!” Olimpio was out of breath.

“Why are you panting?” Matelda said calmly as she sat upright in the hospital bed.

“You scared me to death.” He kissed her.

“I had a little spell. It was nothing. Anina insisted I come to the hospital, but there was no reason to—”

“You fainted, Nonna.”

“I hadn’t eaten.”

“We just had lunch.”

“Well, I hadn’t eaten much.”

“You ate a chicken breast, a bowl of soup, and a salad of tomatoes and mozzarella. Oh, and two slices of bread.”

“Well, then maybe I overindulged.”

“Did you take your pill this morning?” Olimpio asked her.

“I didn’t need it.”