The Gilded Hour (89 page)

•   •   •

J
ACK
HAD
GIVEN
strict orders to everybody—sisters-in-laws included—about how to greet Anna.

“You make her sound like a timid rabbit,” said his aunt Philomena. “I
know your Anna, there is nothing timid about her. She is a strong woman and can hold her own.”

“That is true,” his mother said. “But we still don’t want to overwhelm her on her first visit.” And his mother’s word was final. There would be no mob to greet them. Anna’s aunt Quinlan and the Lees had been welcomed with all the good cheer and respect Jack expected, and would serve as a bit of a buffer between his wife and his female relatives.

From ahead came the sound of children caught up in some game, and the cousins had gotten out their instruments. Fiddles, a clarinet, a trumpet, an accordion in comfortable harmony. Women called to each other in Italian and English about bowls and dishes and children who needed attention, dogs in the way, the need to wipe a table. Jack only heard this in some corner of his mind. The bulk of his attention was focused on Anna and the children sitting behind them.

Rosa and Lia were talking to Tonino in a galloping whisper. If they never heard Tonino’s voice again, Jack thought, it might be a simple matter of never having the opportunity to get a word in edgewise. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the boy wasn’t overwhelmed, and saw with some relief that he looked content, if a little glassy-eyed. As anyone would be, with such a sudden change in fortune.

As Jack brought the Rockaway to a halt everyone turned toward them.

Anna’s aunt Quinlan laughed out loud at the sight of them.

“Tonino?”

Rosa jumped up and threw out her arms. “Yes, this is our brother Tonino. Aunt Anna and Uncle Jack found him for us.”

•   •   •

F
OR
SOMEONE
WHO
could name every bone and muscle, every gland and nerve in the human body, Anna told herself, it shouldn’t be difficult to attach the names she had already memorized to the faces around her. Especially as the women were all sitting together, and she could look from face to face without apology.

Chiara’s mother, Mariangela, was very tall, while Carmela, married to the second oldest son, was very slight and hardly taller than her nine-year-old son. Susanna, daughter of the famous band director, had lost an eyetooth, but her smile was wide and genuine. The two youngest of the
sisters-in-law—Benedetta and Lucetta—were more of a challenge; they looked so much alike that they might have been sisters. For the moment Anna would have to depend on the color of their skirts to distinguish them. How that would work at the dinner table she had no idea, but that was a problem for another time.

They sat in the fragrant shade of a grape arbor with the low buzz of honeybees not very far off, and together they made a study of Anna. They weren’t mean spirited about it; they spoke English, asked straightforward questions, and listened to her answers. And still Anna was reminded of the way a group of women passed a newborn back and forth to admire it. They saw everything, she knew very well: her posture, her features, the way she held her head, the tone of her voice, the dimples that she used to such good advantage. They watched her talking to the older women and to their children, and judged each for herself how well Anna met the challenges.

She didn’t have to pretend to like children. She didn’t even have to pretend to admire these particular children; they were all healthy, well mannered—at least under the watchful gazes of mothers and aunts—and curious. Like children everywhere they ran the full gamut, from the painfully shy to the very bold.

As her aunt was leaving to rest before dinner Mrs. Lee leaned down to talk into Anna’s ear. “And not one of them asked could they see my tail. Good, hardworking people. Kind at heart.”

•   •   •

T
HE
CHILDREN
TOOK
her on as a project. The little ones climbed into her lap to show her their battle scars. She examined and exclaimed over skinned knees and scabby knuckles, admired the muscles the boys put on display, and declared herself very much interested in a tour of the best trees for climbing, the wild blueberry bushes, the rabbit hutches, the prize sow, the two foals in the pasture, a collection of pennies, a map of Italy, or their grandfather’s photograph of Garibaldi, signed by the man himself.

Before they got very far with this long list of chores, it was time to get dinner on the table. Anna offered to help, but was refused quite firmly. Instead while the sisters-in-law went off Jack appeared and spirited her away.

“Intermission,” she said in a mock whisper.

“That bad? You need rescuing?”

“Oh, no. It was very pleasant. And informative. Where are we going?”

“Grand tour.”

As soon as they were out of earshot she asked, “How am I doing, do you think?”

“I told you you’d win them all over, and you did.”

“Women with children are easily charmed,” she said. “Admire their offspring and you’ve won most of the battle. And they are healthy, your nieces and nephews. Healthy and full of life.”

“My mother will be pleased to hear that.”

Anna thought of Carmela, one of the two sisters-in-law who had emigrated from Italy, and whose English was least fluent. But she was also very bright, it seemed to Anna, and somewhat unexpectedly, the kindest and most friendly of them all. And she wasn’t well. There was nothing specific Anna could tell Jack, but she did voice her concern.

“I wondered if you’d notice about Carmela,” Jack said. “Mama worries about her.”

“My guess is that she’s anemic,” Anna said. “That can be addressed with diet, for the most part. If she asks me I’ll examine her, but I have to wait for her to ask.”

One brow lifted. “That’s not likely.”

“It might be easier than you think,” Anna said. “She has struck up a friendship with Elise, and Elise can be quietly persuasive. I’ll talk to her about it later this evening.”

Jack said, “I noticed that too, about Elise. I wouldn’t have imagined them as especially suited.”

“Female friendships are sometimes very mysterious,” Anna said. “But a true friendship between women is the strongest bond of all. Where is Elise, have you seen her recently?”

Jack made a low rumbling sound in his throat. “I saw her walking down toward the orchard with Ned.”

“Oh.” Anna considered this. “Just the two of them?”

He nodded. “Bambina was standing just there—” He pointed. “Watching them go.”

Bambina, who never hesitated to find something about Ned to criticize. Anna said, “There’s a line from Shakespeare that comes to mind, something Aunt Quinlan says now and then. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jack said. “But here’s an idea. Let’s forget about all that for an hour. No talk of Bambina or Ned or anybody else. Just for an hour, while I introduce you to my favorite places.”

But then he started, he admitted readily, in the biggest of the greenhouses, which was not his favorite place. Rows of pots stretched out, as carefully ordered as a regiment of soldiers.

“There must be five hundred of them,” Anna said.

“Closer to seven hundred fifty,” Jack said. “And I’ve had my hands on every one of them.”

At her surprised look he said, “In March when it’s time to sow the seeds we’re all pressed into service. While you were on your way to the island with the girls to see their father buried, I was here, up to my elbows in loam and manure. Next year you’ll be here too, right next to me.”

“Will I?” She lifted a shoulder. “There are worse ways to spend a day.”

“And better ones,” he said, and pulled her into the shade of a shed, where he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her breathless.

•   •   •

T
HEY
ENDED
THE
tour by collapsing to the ground under a pear tree. In a month’s time, given rain and sunshine, the small hard fruits would be ready to fall, gravid with juice, into a cupped palm. Things changed so rapidly, sometimes it took her breath away.

“That was a deep sigh,” he said. “Exhausted? Unhappy? Both?”

“Not unhappy. Not at all. I was just thinking how quickly things change, but sometimes for the better. Not always for the better, of course.” An image of Janine Campbell came to her, unbidden. She hoped that Janine’s boys were healthy and learning how to be happy.

Jack ran his knuckles over her shoulder. “It’s not a sin to leave your patients behind for a few days.”

“I know that. Or let’s say, I have learned that.” She looked back toward the house, where someone was banging on a bell with great abandon.

“The dinner bell,” Jack said. “Time to get back.”

He stood up and offered his hand, pulled her to her feet.

“So what’s next?” she wanted to know. “What will we be doing?”

“Eating,” he said. “For hours we’ll sit around the table and watch the kids run themselves ragged until they’re tired enough to be rounded up and scrubbed down and put to bed. The cousins will play their instruments
and if Mama has had enough wine, she’ll sing and make all of us sing with her. We’ll toast Massimo’s birthday, and my parents’ anniversary. The old stories will get told, about how Mama and Pa met. Every couple has to tell that story, and they’ll want us to tell ours, too.”

She must have made a face, because he laughed and squeezed her hand. “I’ll take care of that, no need to worry.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll tell a story,” she said, trying not to grin.

“Then we’ll eat some more and talk some more. A little before sunset—about three hours from now—we’ll walk over to that rise”—he pointed—“and watch as the longest day of our year comes to an end. How does that sound?”

“Good,” she said. “So what are you going to say about how we met?”

“You’ll have to wait and hear it for yourself.”

“I think I had better come up with a contingency plan.”

“You think I’ll embroider the truth?”

“Jack,” she said, rubbing her face against his sleeve. “You’re a lot like your sisters that way. Everything has to be embroidered, or it’s just not finished.”

•   •   •

D
INNER
WAS
NOT
quiet, but quieter than Anna had imagined. There were two reasons: the food demanded attention, and when voices did start to rise and conversations to cross, Jack’s mother would half stand up, her palms on the table, her arms straight, and cast a gaze over her family. Conversations settled down again to a steady patter.

At the next table the children made far more noise, and no one seemed to mind. Aunt Quinlan pointed this out, with some satisfaction.

“I wish Margaret were here to see that boisterous, happy children can in fact grow up to be reasonable adults. No straightjackets or corsets required.”

There were spots of high color on her cheeks, which could be attributed to the strong red wine she was so clearly enjoying, or simply to the fact that she was content. More important, she was holding a fork without any hint of pain, and eating with an appetite.

“You like it here,” Anna said to her aunt. “It reminds you of home.”

“I suppose it does remind me of Paradise,” said her aunt. “In all the ways that matter most.”

“You grew up in a town called Paradise?” Elise looked intrigued at this idea.

“I did,” Aunt Quinlan told her. “Long ago and far away. Now almost all my people are gone from there. Time is a river, my girl. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t any of you forget that.” And she smiled at Anna, to take the sting out of the truth.

•   •   •

L
ATER
,
WHEN
IT
was their turn to tell the story of their first encounter, Jack stood up and put a hand on Anna’s shoulder while he talked.

Jack said, “I walked into the church basement and there she was, in the middle of examining a little boy, a baby, really, who was sitting on her lap with his hands fisted in her jacket, as if she were all that kept him from drifting away into deeper waters. And she was just that. Then she realized that some of the children weren’t vaccinated, and how angry that made her. So she marched right up to a dragon of a nun—Elise will back me up, just ask her—and scolded her. She took up for those children like they were her own and she wouldn’t back down. And I knew it was her, the one I thought I’d never find. A strong woman, a smart, beautiful, uncompromising woman, and sure of her place in the world.”

His mother was smiling at Anna. “And what did you think when you first saw our Jack?”

“I heard his voice before I saw him and I thought,
Oh, there’s a priest come to help
. And then a little later, when I did look at him and saw him smiling at me I thought:
He’s a priest. How sad.
”

•   •   •

W
HEN
THE
FIRST
hint of twilight slipped across the sky just an hour later, Anna sat with Jack on the rise that overlooked all of the farm and the countryside beyond. They were alone, and not alone: the elder aunts had shepherded all the children off to bed, but the grown-ups were nearby, scattered over the hillside in twos and threes. Now and then a voice came to them, cajoling or scolding, singing or laughing.

An earthy, clean scent rose up from the ground as it gave up the day’s heat, mingling with punk-stick and wood smoke, the pennyroyal and sweet everlasting and wild bergamot that grew wild along the edges of fields and pastures. All the smells mingled together to float on a breeze that rose and fell like the sea.

She let her eyes roam over the farm buildings, the hothouses and greenhouses and barns and the apiary. The river wound its way along the fields
to disappear into a small pond where the reflected blue of the sky began to give way to deeper reds and pinks and oranges all limned with gold. Colors so saturated and alive Anna imagined them falling to layer on her skin like flower petals.

In a silence threaded with whip-poor-will song and the low buzz of bees Anna tried to reconstruct the afternoon for herself.