The Shoemaker's Wife (48 page)

“I sew a little,” Pappina offered. “But nothing fancy.”

“Well, we’ll sew clothes, curtains, layettes—whatever they need, we’ll make,” Enza said warmly.

Ciro took Enza’s hand and kissed it.

Enza was surprised that she was filled with anticipation for their new life together in a new place. New York City had meant everything to her. She had reveled in the excitement, glamour, and sophistication of the port city, and she couldn’t, before Ciro returned, have imagined living anywhere else in the United States.

But she was beginning to understand that her great love for Ciro transcended every other desire. She had heard of the power of this kind of love, but was certain it would never happen to her. Now she understood why her father could leave the mountain and the woman he loved for so many years. It was only to serve her that he could leave her. And now Enza was in the same position. Building a new life meant sacrifice, but it also meant that fulfillment and surprise would be hers, and she would have a wonderful husband to share it with. She couldn’t imagine a better reason to start over again.

Enza trusted Ciro with her future. This did not mean a vow of obedience like the one the priest intoned at their wedding. Enza had long ago rejected second-class status for women; she’d left those notions behind when she earned her first paycheck. Her plans for sewing on the Iron Range weren’t about busywork, or keeping up with her craft, or earning pocket money. In fact, she intended to contribute to their home life and be a full and equal partner in the young marriage that they had yet to define.

Ciro had made a bet in proposing to her, and on that same day, Enza made a bet of her own. She was putting her money, effort, and future into a partnership that she believed could not fail. She was going to pour all of herself into her marriage: love would sustain them, and trust would see them through. That was her belief, and that’s how she was raised. When she spun the gold ring on her finger, it was as though it was made for her, but it meant even more that her husband had worn it since he was a boy. She was a part of his history now.

Ciro held Enza in his arms in the top berth of the sleeping car. He pushed the curtains over the window aside. The countryside of Pennsylvania, with its low rolling hills, was purple in the moonlight as they sped through it.

Occasionally a flicker of light from the lamp of a distant barn or the glimmer from the flame of a candle in a window lit up the dark briefly like the dance of a firefly. But mostly, the world rolled away from them as they pressed forward to their future.

They had celebrated their wedding with cake and champagne, and a silver dish filled with small chocolates dusted in powdered sugar and dressed with small candy violets. They laughed and told stories in Italian, immersed in the rhythms of the language of their birth.

When they returned to the sleeping cars, Enza changed into a peignoir set that Laura had made for her, a floor-length white satin gown with a ruched bed jacket. Enza thought it too fancy for the train, but she knew Laura would be upset if she didn’t wear it. Plus, she felt like Mae Murray in the arms of Rudolph Valentino.

The steady purr of the engine and the smooth coasting of the wheels made a kind of music as the train moved through the night. As they made love for the first time, Enza thought it was like flying, and love felt like a dream state, where she was safe, in a place and time she hoped never to leave. She understood at long last why this act, at once so natural and so universal, was also considered sacred.

Ciro was experienced in these matters, but he felt enveloped by Enza and treasured each of her kisses. Her expression of love for him meant even more in reality than it had in his imagination. His body wasn’t his own anymore, but
hers
, and there was nothing he would deny her; whatever she wanted, whatever small happiness he could provide, he would search the world to bring it to her. Ciro knew Enza had sacrificed for him; she had given up a good life on the gamble that he could build one. He held her trust in the highest regard, and he knew it was on loan.

Enza responded to him without restraint. Her love filled the deepest places in his heart, healing the loneliness that had followed him since he left Eduardo at the train station in Bergamo. In Enza’s arms, Ciro felt whole. He could feel the possibilities of what they could become together, the thing he had reached for, and hoped for, a family of his own.

La famiglia.

Ciro slid his hand up Enza’s hip to her waist and pulled her close. “When you love someone, you think you know everything about them. Tell me one thing I don’t know about you.” Ciro kissed her neck.

“I have one hundred and six dollars in my purse.”

Ciro laughed. “Good for you.”

“It’s yours to open the shoe shop.”

“
Ours
, you mean,” he corrected her.

“Ours.” She laughed.

“Have I taken you away from a life you loved?” Ciro asked her.

“I’ll miss Laura and the opera. And the candied peanuts on the corner of Fortieth Street and Broadway.”

“I’ll make sure you have your peanuts.”

“Thank you, husband.”

“How about Signor Caruso?”

“Yes, I’ll miss him, too. But I guess I understood the words in the arias he sang. A happy life is about love—every note he sang reinforced it. I’ll miss how he made every person he met feel special. He made us all laugh. I’ve come to appreciate a good joke and the conversation of intelligent people. But I have that with you.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Why would I be afraid?”

“We might get to Hibbing, and you won’t like it.”

“Well, if I don’t like it, we’ll have to move.”

Ciro laughed. “
Va bene
.”

“It wasn’t at all like I thought it would be,” Enza said.

“Getting married?”

“Making love. It’s really a blessing, you know. To be that close. It has a certain beauty to it.”

“Like you,” he said. “You know, my father said something to my brother, and I never realized what it meant until now. He said, ‘Beware the things of this world that can mean everything or nothing.’ But now I know it’s better when it means everything.” Ciro kissed her. He traced the small scar over her eye. It was barely discernible, the width of a thread and as long as an eyelash. “Where did you get this scar?”

“In Hoboken.”

“Did you fall?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I want to know everything about you.”

“Well, there was a man at the Meta Walker factory who was awful to all the girls, and one night, he grabbed me. After months of putting up with his slurs, I fought back. I was so angry, I thought I could take him. I went to kick him, but I fell against the wood planks of the floor, and I cut my eye on a nail. But Laura saved me. She threatened him with a pair of cutting shears.”

“I would have killed him.”

“She almost did.” Enza smiled at Laura’s bravery, the moment that had cemented their friendship. “I look at the scar every morning when I wash my face. It reminds me of how lucky I am. I don’t think about the wrong that was done to me, I remember my friend and how brave she was. She taught me English, but I realize now, she taught me the words that I needed to know, not so much the ones I wanted to learn. Those would come later when she gave me
Jane Eyre
. She used to make me read it aloud to her. Sometimes she would make a comment when Rochester was surly, and we’d laugh about that. Like Jane, we had no connections, but Laura taught me to act like we did. Laura tapped my creative vein, pushing me to sew a straighter seam, choose a daring fabric, and to never be afraid of color. My world went from the hues and tones of our mountain to this great American palette, and I would have never had the guts to try if it weren’t for Laura. I walk in the world with confidence today because of her.”

“You must always stay close. And we’ll visit them, and they’ll come to our house.”

“Of course, I would like that. But we’ll be happy to write to one another, because that’s how we learned to be friends, on the page, with words. I imagine that won’t change.”

Ciro kissed her. “I don’t think a man could ever come between you. Or two, if you’re counting Colin.”

Enza looked through the window as Ciro fell asleep, his face nestled into her neck. She imagined there would be many nights like this ahead, just the two of them, holding tight in a world that was flying by.

Until she met Ciro, Enza had spent her spare time contemplating facts and figures, thinking up sensible solutions to her problems, estimating how many feet of fabric she needed for a particular garment or how to send a little extra money home to the mountain. Her dreams were about the safety and comfort of her family. This great romantic love shared with Ciro was mystical to her. He had finally made a dreamer of her, but at the same time, love felt as practical and durable as a sturdy velvet that only gets softer and lovelier with age. Without knowing the future, she was assured, in the deepest place in her heart, that this love would last.

There was something constant and reliable about Ciro Lazzari. He made her feel no harm would come to her as long as she loved him.

As Enza said her prayers that night, she pictured her father’s safe passage on the steamship to Naples, and a speedy train ride from the south to Bergamo in the north. She imagined the entire family there to greet him by the garden of their new home, built by the labor of their own hands and lit by the light of the winter moon.

Chapter 23

A LIBRARY CARD
Una Tessera della Biblioteca

E
nza could barely make out the flats of the Iron Range under the snow from the window of the train as it pulled into the station at Hibbing. Low rolling hills covered in white drifts seemed untouched for miles. Close to the train tracks, there were gray zippers on the ground where flatbed and dump trucks had made impressions in the snow. Haulers and cranes were parked close by in an open field, plenty of equipment at the ready to plow, carve, and dig into the earth.

The mining operations were vast, decamped over two hundred miles of northern Minnesota terrain. The mouths of the mines were studded into the earth like nailheads along the range. Shifts went round the clock, as hundreds of miners extracted the ore with a mechanical vengeance. Iron ore, the key component in the manufacturing of steel, was valuable and in demand. Steel was the building block of the future, used to create motorcars, bridges, and airplanes. Iron ore fed the industrial boom, and the development of defense weaponry, tanks, and submarines. The range was split open wide and deep for the taking, the precious ore a lucrative business.

As the couples stepped off the platform at the Hibbing station, a bitter cold wind greeted them, nearly toppling Enza over. Ciro put his arm around his bride to guide her safely over the ice. Luigi followed with Pappina, worried that she might slip, and terrified that she and the baby would be injured. The air was so cold, they could barely catch their breath. The sky was saturated as blue as India ink, without a star in sight. Enza thought no place on earth could be colder than the Italian Alps, but now she knew she just had never been to Minnesota.

As they crossed Main Street, Enza could see that Hibbing was a city raised quickly on the outskirts of the mines. A collection of new buildings including a hospital, a school, a hotel, and a few stores stood away from the landscape like stakes plummeted into the flat earth. The architecture of the buildings was serviceable and plain, with thick windows, sturdy doors, and functional trim, including spikes attached to every roof to break the ice that inevitably formed during the long winters. There was nothing grand about Hibbing; it was built to withstand the harsh elements.

As they passed the Hibbing department store, Enza noticed that the mannequins in the window did not wear gowns of silk and brocade they might in B. Altman’s in Manhattan; rather, they were outfitted in wool coats, boots, and scarves, the couture of subzero living.

Pappina took note of the construction of the buildings along Pine Street, where a red-brick schoolhouse faced the Carnegie Library. Scaffolds, ladders, and the open steel frames of unfinished buildings were set against the sky like pencil slashes. Hibbing was growing, and not even a Minnesota blizzard would halt the progress.

As a mother-to-be, Pappina’s first concern was where her children would be educated. She also looked at the modest homes that lined the streets, full of children who would become potential playmates. She saw snow-covered lawns and sledding hills with sleek grooves carved into them. The town was tidy, sidewalks were shoveled, and the parking lots were scraped clean of snow. The stable lights glowed outside the barns off Main Street, indicating that while the area was industrial, they didn’t have machines for everything just yet. A horse-drawn carriage was still a popular mode of transportation in this part of the world.

“Just a few more steps,” Ciro shouted over the wind as he guided the group to the entrance of the Hotel Oliver. Ciro held the door open for Pappina and Enza, who were so thrilled to be inside in the warmth, they embraced.

Luigi followed them inside, carrying the bags like a good sherpa, handing Ciro’s off to him. They peeled off their hats, coats, and gloves. The hostess sat them in a Victorian dining room, decorated with lace curtains and polished walnut tables with matching chairs. The crackling fire in the hearth warmed them immediately. The scent of the burning pine was sweetly fragrant and welcoming. Miner’s lamps were used on every table instead of traditional candlelight. “We know who runs the town here,” Luigi commented as he placed a napkin on his lap.

“They do it with a pick and shovel,” Pappina said.

“Mr. Latini?” A sturdily built man around forty joined them at the table. He wore a wool suit and tie, and snow boots on his feet.

“You must be Mel Butorac,” Luigi said as he stood and shook his hand. Luigi had sent a telegram from New York to Mel Butorac, a local businessman who leased real estate to entrepreneurs and helped them set up their businesses with the local banks.