Connie dutifully followed her around the side of the house to the small urban backyard. Despite its tight boundaries, the yard managed to accommodate an extensive vegetable garden, a full-sized pear tree, a chicken coop full of laying hens, and a grape arbor heavily laden with dangling, ripening fruit. In their attempt to recreate a small section of Puglia in their Vermont backyard, the three elderly sisters even managed to keep a fig tree, making poor Tony bury it in a trench every winter and resurrect it every spring in order for it to survive the cold.
“Next year, the olive tree,” Nonna would say with a sparkle in her eye, knowing full well that wouldn’t be happening but always open to the possibility.
She led Connie into the depths of the neatly maintained garden, past carefully staked tomato plants and rows of ferny kohlrabi, and bent to pull two oversized zucchini from beneath massive, overspreading leaves.
“I know, I know,” Nonna said, waving her hand when Connie began to protest. “My son runs a store. But he doesn’t have squash like this. You take them to your mother. She’ll be happy to have them.”
Connie took the zucchini and held one in each arm like two big green babies nestled into the bends of her elbows. “Thanks, Nonna. Angie loves these stuffed and baked.”
“Ah, this reminds me. Can one of you girls come to stay with Lucretia after church on Sunday? Sissy Barbarosa is in the hospital, and I should visit, but Mariana and Tony go to Boston on Sunday to see Teresa’s new baby.”
“I’m sure one of us can.” Connie kissed her grandmother’s soft, wrinkly cheek, then headed down the narrow sidewalk along the side of the house, calling back over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Nonna. I’ll be there by ten. Thanks for the zukes.”
As soon as she hit the tree-lined public sidewalk, Connie sped up the pace. She had half a block to go on Church Street before turning toward home, and this was the neighborhood where several of Paul Cefalu’s relatives lived. She had harbored a crush on him since tenth grade, and even though they had gone their separate ways since graduation two years before, she still experienced a rush of irrational excitement at the possibility of seeing him on the street. At that moment, however, she didn’t want him to see her. Her pants and shirt were smudged with flour and dried ricotta, the humidity in the kitchen had turned her shoulder-length hair into an uncontrolled explosion of curls, and she was cradling two ridiculously large zucchini in her arms.
As if on cue, three young men, laughing and talking, burst out of the side yard of the house to her right, approaching the sidewalk at a brisk pace. One of them let out a long, low whistle and said, “Wow. Nice squash.”
Connie shot them a withering look and found herself gazing into the deep blue eyes of Paul Cefalu. They were bright with amusement, and the small smile on his full, closed lips made her heart skip a beat. He was incredibly good-looking with his black curls and olive complexion, and when he gave her a silent, smirking nod, the ragged beating of her heart left her light-headed.
He said nothing as his buddies laughed, and Connie’s insides tightened. Had her face revealed what she was feeling? Most likely it had, but then, Paul was used to girls swooning over him.
She turned away from the three of them and hurried toward home once more.
“Hey, Con, I saw your baby sister this afternoon,” Frankie Fiorello called after her. “She’s not such a baby no more.”
Connie’s heart plummeted. Angie was so naïve and trusting, she would be no match for any of these guys if they were to come on to her. Connie stopped in her tracks and turned back, glaring at him as he stood on the sidewalk watching her with an idiotic grin. “She’s fifteen, Frankie. Buzz off.”
“I’m just saying, she sure is a looker.” He put up both hands as if Connie were about to personally propel herself at him as he added, “Not that you’re not. You know what I mean? But something’s different about her. She’s not your run-of-the-mill ragazza, you know?”
“I think you should shut up now, Frankie,” his buddy Nino Scarpa said with a grin. “You’re not exactly making points here, man. You sayin’ our Connie’s run of the mill?”
“Shut up yourself, Nino.” Frankie made a rude hand gesture. “That’s not what I said.”
Connie shook her head and turned away from them once more. “I really don’t give a rat’s ass what either of you said. Just leave my sister alone.”
She had reached the corner and started down the final, sun-speckled stretch of tree-lined sidewalk toward home when Nino came up on her left and kept pace with her.
“Here, let me carry those things.” He gestured toward the zucchini in her arms. “One o’ them would feed all fifteen of Frankie’s family.” He gave Connie a conspiratorial grin, his brown eyes shining as he watched her. “He’s not gonna bother Angie, you know. He’s all talk.”
Connie kept her profile to him and her arms tight around the zucchini. She had gone out with Nino a few times the summer before she started college, but things hadn’t clicked. He was nice enough and he was a great kisser, but he lacked ambition, planning to do nothing more than what his old man had done—work in the granite quarries in Barre. His major goal in life was to build a cooler muscle car than Frankie’s older brother, Carl.
“Con, gimme a frickin’ zucchini.”
Connie hesitated, reluctant to let him help her. He could take it wrong and assume that she wanted to resume their relationship. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Con.” He stopped and frowned at her as though she were being a bratty child.
She avoided meeting his gaze as she stopped and said, “If you take one, you gotta take both. They balance each other out.”
He took the two zucchini from her, tucked one under each arm like a football, and they continued toward her house. “So, are you gonna be selling stuff at the festa tomorrow?” he asked.
Connie shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Yeah, probably.”
“It’s supposed to be a nice day.”
“Good. I hope so.”
An awkward silence hung between them.
“So,” Connie finally said, “are you and Tina still going out?”
Nino shrugged and looked straight ahead. “Sometimes. You got anybody right now?”
“Not really. I don’t want to, with school and all. I’ve still got two years. Besides,” she added in an attempt to keep things light, “tradition says we gotta marry off the oldest first. Know anybody?”
“For Topo Gigio?” He gave her a grin. “Nobody that desperate.”
“Hey.” Connie scowled at him. “I can say stuff like that about my sister, not you. Have some respect.”
Nino’s grin widened. “You name your sister after the stupid Italian mouse on Ed Sullivan, and you tell me to have some respect? Ha!”
They approached the front of the store. Two women were poking among the vegetables in the outside display, and the door to the store was still open. Connie sighed with relief and took the zucchini from Nino.
“Do you think you might want to go see a movie some time?” His cocoa-brown eyes were filled with hopefulness. “I heard Planet of the Apes is coming to Burlington.”
Connie directed her gaze toward the browsing customers a few feet away. She hated to hurt his feelings, but going out with him didn’t interest her. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve got other stuff to think about right now.” She glanced up at him and gave him a small smile. “Say hi to Tina for me, okay? And thanks for carrying the zukes.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He backed away with an awkward, embarrassed look on his face, and for a moment, Connie regretted brushing him off. Still, she had no desire to be with him, and feeling sorry for him was hardly a reason to go out on a date.
“Would you come if I said we could double-date with Paul?” His upper lip curled ever so slightly as he spoke.
He knew? “Why would I care?”
Nino let out a derisive snort.“Gimme a break, Con.”
Connie felt her color rise. “
No,” she answered with a forcefulness she hoped sounded genuine. “No, I wouldn’t. Paul’s good to look at, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah, right.” Nino’s eyes narrowed as the contempt on his face increased.
She wasn’t about to argue with him. “I need to help these customers, Nino. Thanks again for walking with me. Really. That was nice. Now, I gotta go.”
Nino turned on his heel without answering and headed back the way they had come.
One of the women had gone inside the store; Connie could hear Papa talking with her. The other was choosing from among the few eggplants remaining on the stand, and Connie paused to ask if she needed assistance. The woman looked at the giant zucchini cradled in Connie’s arms like a set of green twins and laughed, then said she was all set. Connie walked around the side of the building and carried her vegetables up the stairs.
The overly warm kitchen was redolent with the pungent smell of frying fish, and her mother was the only person in the room.
Connie set the zucchini on the counter beside the sink. “I thought we were having pasta e fagioli.”
Mamma turned from her position in front of the stove, her eyes settling on the large squash. “Signor LaCroix was here. He brought fish. Such big zucchini.”
Connie smiled at the prospect of seeing her father’s friend, a quiet little man whose company the entire family enjoyed. “Mr. LaCroix? We haven’t seen him in a long time. Is he still here?”
“No. Today he visits with your papa, then he goes. His wife, she is sick.”
Connie stood at the sink and washed her hands. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry I missed him.” She wiped her hands on a cloth towel and peered over her mother’s shoulder at two frying pans full of breaded fillets. “Wow. Those are big. What are they?”
Mamma shrugged. “Boh! I don’t ask.”
“He sure is good at catching stuff.” Mr. LaCroix appeared at their house several times a year, leaving packages of venison or whole pheasants or fish that he caught. Sometimes he brought meat from the rabbits that he raised. Papa was especially fond of rabbit meat.
Voices from the outside stairs signaled the approach of Papa and Angie. Connie helped carry food into the small dining room where Gianna had set the table and was pouring wine into each glass. Upon reaching the age of fifteen, each child in the family was allowed one glass of Papa’s homemade red wine with dinner if she wanted it. None of them refused.
The family sat down together, said grace, and proceeded to pass the food. Papa did not approve of talking at the table, and so they kept their attentions on the meal, beginning with small bowls of Gianna’s pasta and bean soup followed by plates of fish, braised fennel, and mixed greens. Angie passed Connie the basket of bread, and when their eyes met, Connie remembered what Frankie Fiorello had said about her little sister. Something’s different about her. She’s not your run-of-the-mill Italian girl.
Connie glanced at Angie as they ate, pondering what Frankie meant. Angie had always been smaller of frame than either Gianna or Connie—more like their mother. Her eyes and hair were as dark as her sisters’, but where Connie’s hair was curly and often needed taming, Angie’s was straight. Gianna’s, nobody could remember. She kept it in the damn braids all the time; it could have been anything.
Frankie was right, of course—Angie was a “looker.” She always had been the cutest of the three girls, with finer features and more well-defined cheekbones. Still, Connie couldn’t see what made Angie anything other than a cute paesana. Perhaps it was more about her demeanor, her ability to be comfortable in her own skin, something Connie and Gianna and many of their friends had yet to achieve. Angie was intellectual without being awkward, confident without being cocky. She never put on the tough front that Connie often did, trying to cover her insecurities. Angie was more grown-up at fifteen than either of her twenty-something sisters.
“So,” Papa said, officially breaking the silence as he put down his knife and fork and reached for his glass of wine, “tomorrow is festa. But the store is open. Who will be here with me?”
“Father Ianelli’s expecting two of us to sell cannoli all day.” Connie glanced hopefully at her older sister. “Gigi? You want to do it with me?”
Gianna looked up from her plate. “Me?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
Across the table, Angie stuck out her lower lip in an attempt to look pitiful. “What about me?”
Connie laughed. “You can come later. Maybe switch after lunch?”
“You all go,” Mamma answered. “I will work the store.” She turned to smile at Papa. “It will be like old times,” she said in Italian. “Maybe we even take the siesta in the afternoon.”
Angie cleared her throat and looked away. “Too much information for me,” she said with a wave of her eyebrows.
“Selling cannoli sounds better and better,” Gianna agreed, with an exaggerated widening of her eyes. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter Two
Saturday
The three sisters arrived at the festa grounds shortly before ten, and the priest immediately put them all to work—Gianna and Connie in the noisy, bustling kitchen and Angie outdoors setting up a stand of children’s games. The fair would officially open at eleven.
Gianna and Connie carried the cannoli shells and supplies out to their booth on the grassy festa grounds, winding their way among the wooden structures now bearing an array of painted signs, sparkling trinkets, and assorted types of food. Angie’s colorful stand meant to appeal to small children was surrounded by teen-aged boys, pushing and shoving each other, vying for Angie’s attention.
“I didn’t know teenagers were that crazy about the beanbag toss,” Connie said as she spread a tablecloth over their booth’s rough-hewn counter.
Gianna snorted.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Connie said. “Aunt Lucretia needs a babysitter tomorrow. It’s your turn.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Gianna pulled out the money box and set it on the counter, then opened it and counted the money inside. “I’ve got a date.”
Connie’s initial irritation transformed into delight. “You’ve got a what? With a guy? Who?”
A small smile teased at her sister’s lips, making her look uncharacteristically coquettish. “None of your business.”
“Why not? You know all of my business.”
Gianna closed the money box and slipped it beneath the countertop. “Yeah, I saw you with Nino Scarpa yesterday. Are you two a thing again?”
“We were never a thing. And don’t change the subject. Who?”
Gianna picked up the stack of napkins and squared them into a neat pile. “You don’t know him.”
Connie was thrilled. “He’s not from the neighborhood? Good for you! So, where’s he from?”
“St. Johnsbury.”
This was getting better all the time. “Really? How’d you meet him?”
Gianna kept her attention fixed on the napkins as though she expected them to reassemble themselves at any moment. “He went to seminary when Father Ianelli was teaching.”
Seminary? Connie leaned closer to make sure she had heard correctly. “He’s a priest?”
Gianna’s expression soured. “Of course not. He dropped out. He never took any vows.”
“How old is he? Father hasn’t taught there in ten years.”
“He’s thirty-two.”
Connie gaped. “Thirty-two?”
Gianna’s voice was plaintive. “I’m twenty-three, remember?”
“So? You say that like twenty-three is ancient.”
“Oh, really?” Gianna’s hurt expression reinforced her tone. “And you don’t think that’s how you and Mamma make me feel? Like it’s such a big deal that I’m not married by now?”
Connie winced. Had she really done that? “It’s only a big deal because you don’t try.”
Gianna raised her chin. “And who says I have to try? Maybe I don’t w
ant to get married. Did you ever think of that?”
Connie found that doubtful. “Is that true? You don’t want to? Because we used to talk about our plans for when we got married all the time, remember? Before you went off to that stupid all-girls college.” The all-girls college. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? “Gigi, you’re not—”
Gianna scowled. “What? One of them? No. I can’t believe you would ask me that.”
Connie took the napkins from her and set them on the corner of the stand. “Why? If you are, you are. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Well, I’m not. It’s just … I like my life the way it is.”
Was she kidding? “You like living with your parents, working in your father’s store?”
Gianna’s defiance returned. “I like being my own person. Reading a book when I feel like it. Going to a movie. Sleeping in. I don’t have to go do stuff I don’t want to do because it’s what some guy likes.”
“So now I’m confused,” Connie said. “Why are you going out with this guy tomorrow?”
Gianna took the serving utensils from their cardboard box and set them on the tablecloth. “We’re not exactly going out. He’s visiting Father. I’m just joining them for coffee in the afternoon. Father invited me.”
“Ah. You and how many others?”
“Just me.” Gianna lined up the utensils in a neat row. “I think he thinks maybe we have something in common.”
Connie sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was discourage Gianna from meeting a new guy. “Well, then I guess you won’t be staying with Aunt Lucretia. I’ll have to talk to Angie.”
“She’s got plans,” Gianna said quietly.
“What?” Connie threw her hands up in disgust. “What kind of plans?”
“I don’t know.” Gianna looked past Connie toward the entrance to the festa grounds. “People are starting to come. I’ll go get the filling. Do we need anything else?”
Their conversation was over, and for the remainder of the festa they were too busy to talk. During the warm and sunny daytime, the festa drew primarily families. They came for the food and the children’s entertainment and to buy holy cards and medals and saint-related trinkets that would contribute money to the coffers of the church.
Hope's Angel Page 2
