The Shoemaker's Wife (15 page)

“Yes, of course, we must do what’s right for San Nicola.”

Sister Teresa and Sister Domenica entered to clear the plates. Sister Domenica carried a silver tray with a dish of baked custard for dessert.

“If you don’t mind, I am going to skip dessert tonight,” he said. “Sister Teresa, I need to speak to you alone.”

Sister Teresa looked at Sister Ercolina nervously.

The older nuns nodded and retreated into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

“Did you get the money?” Sister Domenica whispered frantically.

Sister Ercolina nodded. “He said he would give it to me. I hope that Sister Teresa corroborates what I’ve told him.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’s as smooth as custard.” Sister Domenica lifted a spoon and ate Don Gregorio’s dessert.

In the dining room, Sister Teresa stood in front of Don Gregorio. She folded her hands and stared straight ahead.

“Sister Teresa, I would like to know why you went to Signora Martocci about their daughter.”

“I was concerned, Father.”

“You believed the little story that the Lazzari boy was spreading about me?”

“He has been at the convent since he was a boy, Father, and I’ve never known him to be dishonest.”

“He’s a liar,” Don Gregorio said.

“Father, if you’re trying to upset me, or cause me to doubt my own instincts, you won’t succeed.”

“You upset the Martocci family and caused them great distress. The sin of envy has swept through this village. Or perhaps it is you who has embarked upon an inappropriate relationship?”

“I assure you that is not the case. He’s like a son to me.” Sister Teresa raised her voice defensively.

“I would call that an inappropriate relationship. You’re a nun, not his mother. Had I been the priest here when their mother dropped them off, I wouldn’t have allowed them to stay. You’re not running an orphanage over there.”

“We minister to the poor in whatever capacity they need us.”

“You’re here to service the church, Sister Teresa. Now go and send in Sister Ercolina.”

Trembling with rage, Sister Teresa bowed and exited to the kitchen.

In a moment, Sister Ercolina stood at the table, facing Don Gregorio.

“I want you to transfer Sister Teresa from our parish.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Sister Ercolina was firm and clear—she had done enough horse trading for one night. “Sister Teresa is a good nun, and an excellent cook. I think you might remember when Sister Beatrice was the cook. We practically starved.”

“Have someone else deliver my meals, then.” Don Gregorio checked his watch.

“Of course, Father.” Sister Ercolina was relieved to have saved Teresa. “But first, I need the one hundred lire,” she said placidly.

“Oh, yes.” Don Gregorio didn’t make a move.

“I’ll wait.”

Don Gregorio got up and went out the door to the living room. Sister Ercolina reached down into her habit pocket and gripped her rosary. She bowed her head and prayed. After a few minutes, Don Gregorio returned.

“Here.” He handed Sister Ercolina the money. “But it’s an enormous amount. You’ve been taken advantage of.”

“You gave me an urgent command, Don Gregorio. Perhaps you would prefer that Ciro—”

“No,” he snapped. “It’s a small price to pay to clean up this village.”

Sister Ercolina put the money in her pocket. “Good night, Don Gregorio,” she said, and went.

As Sister Ercolina joined her friends in the kitchen, she placed her fingers over her lips, smiling. The nuns lifted the trays and extinguished the oil lamp. Sister Ercolina opened the door and showed the sisters out.

That night, the sisters of San Nicola filed into their pews in the convent chapel. Ciro and Eduardo joined them, taking seats behind them. Sister Ercolina entered from the sacristy. She closed the door and faced them.

Sister Ercolina began with a heavy heart. “The arrangements have been made. This Saturday, Ignazio is going to take you both down to Bergamo, in the church cart.”

“I’m allowed in Don Gregorio’s cart? I thought he’d make me walk barefoot down the mountain, hauling a giant cross like Jesus on Golgotha.”

“Ciro, I’m going to ask you to hold your tongue until I finish talking.”

“I’m sorry, Sister.” Ciro smiled.

“Eduardo, your train ticket will be waiting for you at the station. You will join four other seminarians. When you reach Rome, you will proceed with them to your new home in the seminary at Sant’Agostino. Ciro, the ticket waiting for you at the train station will take you to Venice. From there, you will sail to Le Havre, France, where you will purchase a one-way ticket to New York on the SS
Chicago
.”

“Have you secured me a spot as an indentured servant? I only had one lira, and I gave it to Sister Domenica, who may have already squandered it on a bottle of Cuban rum.”

“Ciro!” Sister Domenica laughed. The nuns giggled.

“No, your passage will cost one hundred lire.” The sisters gasped at Sister Ercolina’s defiance.

“Sister Anna Isabelle’s family wired us to let us know that they will meet you in Manhattan at South Port 64 after you have been processed through Ellis Island. Take this letter.” She gave it to Ciro. “And this money.” She gave Ciro the lire. “There are two extra lire for you.”

“Thank you,” Ciro said. He held the envelope and the money and looked at his brother. “You’ve all sacrificed for me, and I’m not worthy.”

“You are worthy, Ciro. But, I must ask you something in return. And I must ask you, Eduardo, and all the sisters, to hold a confidence for me. I told Don Gregorio that you were being sent to the work camp in Parma.”

The sisters gasped; they had never known Ercolina to lie.

“I prayed about it, and I must follow my conscience in this matter. I believe you to be an honorable young man, Ciro. It’s ironic that in order to take care of you, I had to lie. But the priest’s power is absolute, and a thousand years of begging him to change his mind would not have turned the result in your favor. You should never have been punished for telling the truth.”

“Thank you, Sister.” Sister Teresa was full of emotion.

“I’m asking you to forgive me, and to pray for Eduardo and Ciro as they leave us to start their new lives. And also, please pray for Don Gregorio, who needs your intercessions on his behalf.”

“You had me until you asked us to pray for the padre,” Ciro muttered.

Sister Ercolina snapped, “Ciro, you realize, had you ever met me halfway, I’d be sending you to the seminary with Eduardo.”

“Better to ship me off on a boat to America. I don’t think the Holy Roman Church and I are a match.”

“That would be my conclusion also, Ciro.” Sister Ercolina smiled.

The rectory carriage was parked outside the entrance of the convent. The sun was not yet up over Vilminore; only the farmers and the town baker were up this early. Sunrise was an hour away.

Ignazio Farino drank a cup of strong coffee and hot milk and dipped a heel of day-old bread into it in the convent kitchen while Sister Teresa prepared eggs on the stove. Ciro and Eduardo joined them in the kitchen.

“It’s the last supper, Sister,” Ciro joked.

“I didn’t know a sense of humor was awake this early.” Eduardo pulled out a work stool and sat. Ciro poured his brother a cup of coffee, and then one for himself.

“Thank you for getting up early to milk the cows,” Sister Teresa said to Ciro.

“I’m going to New York City. I don’t know when I’ll see another cow.”

“That’s a talent that you can use anywhere in the world,” Ignazio assured Ciro. “They drink a lot of milk in America, I hear.”

“I’m going to be a shoemaker, Iggy.”

“I’ve always wanted a pair of black leather boots with blue spats and gray pearl buttons. I’ll tell you what, I’ll have my wife take a pencil and draw my feet on butcher paper. I’ll send you the patterns and you can make the shoes. And you”—Ignazio turned to Eduardo—“You can pray for me and arrange some indulgences, if and when I need them.”

“You’ll always be in my prayers, Iggy,” Eduardo said.

Ignazio finished his coffee and headed outside to prepare the cart for the trip down the mountain. He had agreed to transport several boxes for the Longarettis and deliver a collection of missals to the church in Clusone.

“I’m going to go and pack up my books. Thank you, Sister.” Eduardo took his plate to the sink.

“I’ll be right there,” Ciro said to Eduardo.

Sister Teresa turned away from Ciro and cleaned the frying pan on the griddle.

“The pan is clean, Sister.”

“I can’t look at you, Ciro.”

Ciro looked away, trying not to cry. The only sound was the soft sizzle of the pot of boiling water in the fireplace. Finally, Ciro said, “You knew this day would come. I just hoped to live up the road and visit a lot. Bring my wife over and my children. Maybe stop in and be of some use to you.”

“You’re going so far away.”

“If only Don Gregorio knew how far.”

Sister Teresa smiled, knowing this was the last bit of humor from Ciro that would brighten her mornings. “He’ll never find out, but even if he does, you’ll be safe.”

“Do you know what happened to Concetta?” Ciro asked quietly.

“Her mother didn’t believe me until Concetta admitted the whole thing. The relationship between the Martoccis and the priest has ended. Concetta won’t see the priest any longer. That’s why Don Gregorio is so angry at us. We ruined his happy arrangement.”

“I loved Concetta, you know.”

“I know.”

Ciro tried to lighten the mood, for Sister Teresa’s sake and his own. “I can’t believe Sister Ercolina shook Don Gregorio down for one hundred lire. He didn’t even know what hit him. I wish she would’ve asked for two hundred, and then you could’ve gotten some cows and pigs for the convent.”

“Sister only takes what she needs. It’s the secret to happiness, you know. Only take what you need.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ciro smiled. “I guess I should say good-bye. I will write to you. One day, I promise, I will return to Vilminore. This is my home, and I plan to grow old here.”

“I’ll be so happy to see you when you come back.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” Ciro embraced Sister Teresa.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Ciro wiped his own tears on his sleeve. “You have been my mother and my friend. You have been on my side from the day I arrived here. Eduardo will always do well because he knows how to follow rules. I never could, but you protected me and made it seem as though I was. I’ll never forget you. It’s only fitting that I leave you with a special gift so you’ll always remember me.”

“Absolutely not, Ciro.”

“Oh, yes, Sister.”

Ciro whistled. “Come on, boy.”

Spruzzo bounded into the kitchen.

“Spruzzo will keep you company. You can feed him bits of salami, just like you fed me. He won’t talk back, and he won’t hound you for seconds. He will be happy with whatever you give him. Promise me you’ll be as good to him as you were to me.”

Sister Teresa’s tears gave way to a hearty laugh. “All right, all right. But when you come back, he’s all yours.”

“Absolutely.” Ciro hugged Sister Teresa one last time, then slowly walked out the door. Ciro did not look back. He wanted to, but he knew that the greatest gift he could give Sister Teresa was to forge ahead and take a bold step into his new life. He knew that she hoped above all he would be brave; courage would keep him from harm.

Spruzzo looked up at Sister Teresa. She sat down on the work stool, lifted her apron to her face, and cried into it. She had vowed to be true only to God, and then to her community, but she hadn’t counted on raising a hungry little boy who had walked into the convent kitchen and won her heart. No mother had ever loved a son more.

The bells in the tower above the convent chapel rang out over the valley as the rectory carriage made the turn on the ridge above Valle di Scalve. Iggy pulled the reins tightly as Eduardo and Ciro looked up the mountain at Vilminore for the last time.

Ciro’s eyes did not linger on the landscape, as he vowed to return quickly. Eduardo knew differently, taking a few moments to commit the green cliffs to memory. He was certain the antiquities of Rome could never be this beautiful.

“Those bells are for you boys,” Ignazio said. “If I didn’t have to drive you down the mountain, it would have been me working the ropes in the tower to say good-bye to you. I’m deaf in one ear from ringing those chimes.”

“I’m sorry you have to scrub the church from now on,” Ciro said.

“You left it so clean, I think I can get to next Easter without a major scouring,” Iggy said. “Now, Ciro, when you get to America, remember that every other person you meet is trying to trick you out of what’s in your pocket. Only drink wine with your spaghetti and never alone at a bar. When a woman seems interested in you quickly, she is looking to take advantage of you. Ask for your wages in cash, and if they pay by paper, don’t let them take a cut for cashing your check. Open a bank account as soon as you get there, with ten lire. Leave it there, but never add to the sum. Every man needs a bank, but the bank doesn’t need your money.”

“I’ll only have two lire after I pay my passage,” Ciro reminded him.

Ignazio reached into his pocket and gave Ciro eight lire. “Now you have ten.”

“I can’t take this.”

“Trust me, Mother Church will never miss it.” Iggy winked as Eduardo rolled his eyes and made the sign of the cross.

“Thanks, Iggy.” Ciro put the money in his pocket.

“I always felt for you boys. I remember your father, and I know he would be very proud of you.”

Eduardo and Ciro looked at one another. Whenever they asked Iggy about their father, he made a joke or told a funny story.

“What do you remember about him?” Eduardo asked.

Iggy took his eyes off the road and looked at the boys. He believed dwelling on the past and revisiting the pain would make their loss worse, so he had kept quiet all these years. Today, though, Iggy wanted to share all he knew. “He never set foot in church. You must get your devotion from the Montini side. Anyway, his people were from Sestri Levante originally, down in the Gulf of Genoa. He came up to Bergamo to find work. At that time, they were building the train station, and there were many jobs. Your mother’s people had a printing shop, and he would walk by on his way to work and see your mother in the window. He fell in love with her and that was that.”