The Shoemaker's Wife (49 page)

“Ciro, this is the fellow who lured us up here to make boots.” Ciro stood and shook Mel’s hand. They introduced their wives and pulled up a chair so Mel might join them.

“How was your trip?” Mel seemed friendly and energetic.

“I think the trip across the ocean was faster.” Pappina smiled.

“I wouldn’t know.” Mel smiled. “I’ve only been as far south as the Twin Cities. Someday I hope to visit my cousins in Croatia.”

“Nothing like the Adriatic Sea in the summertime,” Luigi said.

“I’ve heard,” Mel agreed. “I’m here to help you make a smooth transition. The city government is here to provide whatever assistance you need. We want to make you feel at home.”

“You said you had some real estate for us to look at,” Luigi said.

“I do. But I wanted to offer up an idea. I know your plan was to open a shop together, but the truth is, we need a shoemaker in Hibbing, but there is also a need for one down the road in Chisholm. If you split up, you could open two shops and still have plenty of work.”

Enza leaned back in her chair. They just dropped their luggage, and already the deal was no longer the deal as it had been presented to them in New York.

Ciro could see that Enza was concerned, so he said, “This isn’t what you promised.”

“Of course I will show you the real estate for the shop here in Hibbing as planned. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about Chisholm,” Mel said in a tone that told Luigi and Ciro that he had given this speech before to other tradesmen lured to the Iron Range to serve the mining industry. “Hear me out. I didn’t mean to mislead you in any way. The conditions on the Iron Range change daily. Mines open, we get an influx of new workers, and we have to meet their needs. Give me a chance to
show
you what I’m talking about. Have your dinner, get a good night’s sleep, and I can show you both properties in the morning. I have a truck, and we can go over to Chisholm and you can take a look around. You may like what you see, and if you don’t, we’ll stick with the original plan. Fair enough?” Mel proposed.

Ciro and Luigi looked at one another. They did not expect that everything would go according to plan, but they had counted on the fact that they would face whatever came together. Still, they had come to Minnesota in the first place to make bold business choices. Ciro spoke for their partnership. “All right, Mel, we’ll keep an open mind and we’ll see you in the morning. Seven o’clock all right with you?”

“I’ll be here in the lobby,” Mel said. “We are happy to have you, and we look forward to introducing you to your fellow Italians here on the Iron Range.” He shook hands with the men, bowed his head to the ladies, and went.

“I don’t like the idea of splitting up. We just got here.” Pappina smoothed the napkin on her lap.

“Neither do I,” Luigi said. “Should I check the train schedules back to New York?”

“Let’s decide in the morning,” Ciro said as he took Enza’s hand. “Let’s take a look before we leave.”

The next day, Enza stood on the corner of West Lake Street in Chisholm and looked across the bridge to Longyear Lake. It reminded her of Schilpario. The lake was deep and wide, making her think of the midnight blue waters of Lake Como and the windswept whitecaps on Lake Garda. To her astonishment, Chisholm felt like home.

Ciro put his arms around Enza. “Come inside.”

The empty two-story red-brick saltbox had two workrooms on the first floor, separated by a service window. A small patch of yard for a garden was just a step off the back room, but it was covered in ice. Ciro and Enza joined Luigi and Pappina in the front room. They were chatting with Mel. “I’m going to leave you folks to talk things through. I’ll be at Valentini’s, having a cup of coffee.” He put his hat on and left them alone.

“What do you think?” Luigi asked.

“I think Mel has a point. If we split up, we can serve two mining operations. I can handle the work from Buhl and Chisholm, and you can handle the Hibbing operation.”

Luigi paced with his hands in his pockets as he considered their options. “It’s true. When we had the cart, we made double the money for the Zanettis.”

“Yeah, but was that us or Signora’s bullwhip?”

“A little of both.” Luigi smiled.

“Mel assured me we can get enough of a loan from the bank to open both shops,” Ciro said. “The only problem is that we’ll be separated, essentially starting a business single-handed, even if we’re partners on paper. What do you think, Enza?”

“There’s a hospital in Hibbing, and Pappina needs to be close to it when the baby comes. There’s a trolley, so it isn’t difficult to get from here to there. I think the more boots you can make, the better off all four of us will be. It’s simple, really.”

Ciro and Luigi took Enza’s opinion seriously. She was experienced in weighing business propositions, first with her father, and later in the costume shop. Enza had learned that even the Great Caruso took extra jobs to fill his purse. He sang in the opera house, but he also performed private concerts for profit and made records of his arias. There was no such thing as a one-track career, and Enza knew the value of two men capitalizing on two towns that needed shoemakers.

“I liked Hibbing.” Pappina smiled. “But I leave the shoemaking to the shoemakers, and the business to you, Enza. You know what you’re talking about. I’ve only ever worked in my mother’s home, so I don’t know the first thing about ledgers, figures, and banks.”

One thing was decided for certain that morning. They were not going to run back to New York City at the first bump in the road. They were going to give the Iron Range a real shot. Luigi and Pappina left to meet up with Mel and sign the lease for the shop in Hibbing. They would also take the apartment above the shop, which was clean and spacious. Ciro and Enza stayed behind and spent the afternoon looking over the property at 5 West Lake Street.

A set of wide-plank wooden stairs, painted burgundy, led to the upstairs apartment. A large open living room with three windows overlooked the lake. A dining area connected to the kitchen. A hallway led to three bedrooms and a landing porch outside the master bedroom that overlooked the backyard. A small bathroom, one of the town’s only indoor facilities, was tiled in white, with white enamel fixtures.

Enza’s heart leapt when she noticed that despite the dark sky on that winter day, the apartment was filled with light because every room had a skylight in the ceiling.

“What do you think?” Ciro asked when he joined Enza in the room that would become their master bedroom. “The rent is three dollars a month.”

“Tell Mr. Butorac we will take it. You’ll make shoes in the front workroom, and I’ll sew in the back. We’ll do just fine.”

Ciro kissed his wife, certain that he was the luckiest man in the world for having married her. Enza’s practical nature was a tonic for the emotions that had controlled him all of his life. In her presence, Ciro forgot the isolation he’d felt as a child, and the injustice he’d endured when he was exiled from his mountain. He even put the anguish of war behind him. Ciro was in love with a good woman who had become his full partner, and they were going to build a life together.

Ciro unpacked the crates in his new workroom. He set up a pattern table, with bright metal lamps suspended overhead. He had purchased several planks of wood to build cubbies for storage, a top-of-the-line saw to cut the patterns, a buffing machine with four brushes, a threading machine, and a rolling machine to prep the leather.

Ciro had also bought a Singer sewing machine for Enza, with enough thread, needles, buttons, and trims to start her own business.

“
Buon giorno!
You look like you could use a hand,” Emilio Uncini said as he entered the front door of the shop. He leaned on the table and smiled at his new neighbor. Emilio was in his middle forties, with a thick thatch of gray hair, a small black mustache, and a winning smile. He placed his hands on his hips. “What is the wood for?” he continued in his rapid-fire dialect.

“I’m going to build shelves. I’m Ciro—”

“Lazzari. I heard all about you. Our prayers have been answered. We need a shoemaker.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a stonemason. I live one street over. I built the fieldstone wall around the library.”

“Very nice. So tell me about your town.” Ciro lifted the wood onto the pattern table, and Emilio helped him stack it.

“It’s a nice place. But watch your business. The Chisholm bank is solid, but avoid the third window and Mrs. Kripnick. She repeats figures at the bar at Tiburzi’s after work on Fridays, so if you don’t want everyone to know what you have, don’t let her see your deposits.”

“
Va bene
.” Ciro laughed.

Emilio continued, “The winters are harsh, but the spring and summer more than make up for it. You will love the cool breezes off the lakes when the weather turns warm. There are lots of italians here.
Molte famiglie
. . . we have the Maturi, Costanzi, Bonato, Falcone, Giaordanino, Enrico, Silvestri, Bonicelli, Valentini, Ongaro, oh, and the Falcone, Sentieri, and Sartori families. I don’t like to leave anyone out because they mind if I do! We also have Austrians from Trentino, who are as Italian as you and me.”

“I know all about them. I spent a few years on Mulberry Street in Little Italy.”

“So you know about the rest of the Middle Europeans. We have the Czechs, Hungarians, Romanians, Polish, Yugoslavians, Serbians, and Croatians. They just got here too. The Finlanders, the Scandinavians, this is
their
town. They got here first, and they act like it. They still are frosty with outsiders, but that’s because they opened the first iron ore mine and became the padrones. But most are nice, if you’re polite to them.”

“I build boots for all feet, including Finlanders,” Ciro assured him.

“Have you made a friend?” Enza asked from the doorway. Ciro introduced his wife to Emilio.

“My wife, Ida, will be happy to show you around,” Emilio told Enza.

“I’d like that.
Grazie
. Ciro, we need some things for the apartment. I’ll be back shortly.” Enza waved good-bye. Ciro had used Marco’s dowry to put a down payment on 5 West Lake Street. Enza had kept a firm hand on her savings and was happy to spend it on things that would bring the newlyweds comfort. She also liked the feeling of not having to ask her husband for money; it was that sense of independence that attracted Ciro, and it gave Enza a certain self-confidence.

Enza made her way up West Lake Street, taking in the storefronts. Chisholm was a prim, small town compared to New York City, but when she thought of Schilpario, Chisholm was a big city by comparison. It was interesting that her new married life had landed her somewhere in the middle, between the small alpine village of her childhood and the international city of her young adulthood.

Enza peered into the glass window of Leibovitz Jewelry and admired the pearls resting on a velvet display. She was mesmerized by the beautiful gold rings studded with clear blue aquamarines and diamond chips, the slim platinum chains dripping on velvet, and the enameled cuff bracelets stacked on a Lucite dowel. A town that had beautiful jewelry for sale must have a clientele that required them. This boded well for her custom clothing business. Enza passed the Valentini Supper Club, the Five and Dime, and several bars (the staple business of all mining towns), including the bustling Tiburzi’s, until she reached Raatamas Department Store.

The department store was owned by a Finnish couple who had lived in Chisholm all their lives. It was an enormous single-story room with a tin ceiling painted pale blue and the clean lines of Scandinavian design. The walls were painted oyster white, a cool backdrop for the variety of merchandise.

Unlike the chic stores in New York City, each filled with merchandise over several floors connected by escalators, Raatamas displayed all their goods on one level. The sections were cordoned off with sheer linen curtains. There was a fabric and notions section, another for furniture, and yet another with housewares. Glass cases were filled with gloves, purses, hats, and scarves. Enza walked up and down the aisles, surveying the inventory.

“May I help you?” The salesgirl was a young Nordic beauty, around sixteen years old, with a small nose and large blue eyes.

“I’m a new bride.” Enza smiled. “And we just moved to Chisholm.”

The salesgirl followed Enza as she chose a mattress and box spring, two lamps with yellow ceramic bowl bases, a white lacquered table with four chairs, and two comfortable reading chairs, covered in soft sage green chenille. Enza remembered the sage green and coral used for the interior decoration of the Milbank House, and chose the same colors for her new home, reminding her of happy times with Laura.

Enza intended to splurge on the best items she could afford. She had American money in her purse, but she had the Italian determination to purchase things that would last. She had a good head start, as she and Laura had packed a trunk with the basics for any proper home, including linens, sheets, towels, moppeens, napkins, and tablecloths, made in the costume shop of the Met. They filled another trunk with fabric—yardage of wool, silk, cotton, and corduroy—knowing that there were things that Enza might need once she arrived, and she would already have the material to sew whatever she needed.

In the furniture department, along the wall, were three models of phonograph players in wooden cabinets. Enza ran her hands over a mahogany model with brass bindings. She lifted the lid and spun the turntable with her gloved hand.

“I’d also like to buy this record player. Could you deliver it to Five West Lake Street?”

“Of course.” The girl smiled, knowing that her mother and father, the owners, would be thrilled with the sale. “Would you like to see the records?” she asked Enza. “They’re over here in this cabinet.” The salesgirl opened a wooden cabinet filled with phonograph records, arranged in alphabetical order.

Enza looked through the selections until she found the recordings of Enrico Caruso. She was pleased to find compilations that included duets with Geraldine Farrar and Antonio Scotti. Their faces adorned the cardboard sleeve, their profiles drawn inside large silver stars with their names emblazoned in clouds underneath their images. Enza bought the scores to
La Traviata
,
Aida
, and
Cavalleria Rusticana
. She decided not to have the records delivered; she would carry those herself. She held the brown paper package close to her, and somehow it made her feel connected to her days at the opera.