“That’s one of the hazards of working in a blouse factory.”
“I guess. But I bet I wouldn’t feel that way about cream puffs if I worked at Marcella’s bakery.”
“Probably not.” He laughs.
Franco lifts the blade off the spreader, pulling out the gears. I don’t know how he gets his big hands around those tiny joints and screws. The top half of his coveralls dangles around his waist. He wears a sleeveless undershirt, and I can’t help but notice how broad his shoulders are, and how defined the muscles in his arms. He is built beautifully; maybe it’s his height, or the perfect proportions of his face and shoulders. He could almost be a sheik, I think to myself.
“Do you need something?” he asks, looking up.
“No. No. I was just watching your … work.” I don’t want Franco to think I’m looking at his body. What kind of girl does that? Not a girl who goes to Mass every Sunday, I’m certain.
“Why won’t you go to the movies with me?”
I’m surprised he would bring up my rejection, so I try to joke my way out of it. “You haven’t asked.”
“Chettie asked for me.”
“That’s not the way to invite me.”
“Miss Castelluca, would you do me the honor of attending the picture show with me this Saturday night?”
“No.”
Franco laughs. “Well, even your own technique didn’t work. Are you sweet on someone already?”
“You could say that.”
“But I see you around town. Alone. It doesn’t look like you have a fella.”
“I do have a … well, he’s older and … you know what? I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Sounds like an excuse.”
“I assure you, it’s not an excuse.”
“I’m older,” he offers.
“Not as much.”
“Oh, so he’s a lot older. Why would you want an older man? You’d have a lot more fun with me.”
I put my hands on my hips. I can’t believe this guy. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
“When it comes to you, yeah.”
“Well, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the term ‘unrequited love’?”
“Who said anything about love?” Franco smiles.
“It isn’t love exactly,” I backpedal quickly. “It’s when a person likes someone who doesn’t return the same feeling.”
“You don’t like me as much as I like you, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not what I think.” Franco comes from behind the cutting table and walks toward me. I take a step back.
“You have no business thinking about me like that.” I tilt my head just like Jean Harlow. She knows how to throw off unwelcome suitors, and thanks to her, so do I.
Franco takes another step toward me. I take a step back, thinking I’m in the open doorway, but actually, I bump against the wall. He blocks the door with his arm and leans in toward me. “Someday you’re going to love me.”
He is so close, I put my hands against his chest and push him away. He doesn’t resist. He steps back. “Your confidence does not appeal to me, Mr. Zollerano,” I say.
“It will.”
I make a quick exit, grab my notebook, and go outside where the finishing department loads the blouses onto the truck, each tagged by size and in an overlay of white tissue paper. I walk between the racks of blouses and catch my breath. When I feel calm, I peek out of the racks and look for Franco. He’s gone. I’m relieved. I go to the soda machine and get a bottle of orange soda from the bin. I snap off the cap and swig.
“Can I have a sip?” Renato Lanzara says from the doorway. “I heard you were working late. Congratulations, Forelady.” Renato walks over to me, takes me in his arms, and kisses me on the cheek. “I saw Chettie over at Joe Mamesce’s. She told me all about it. She also said you were looking for me.”
“No, she didn’t!” I’m going to give it to Chettie when I see her. Or maybe not. I don’t care if Renato knows how I feel. He feels the same! He must like me very much. As soon as he arrived home, he must have dropped off his suitcase, gone looking for me, and didn’t stop until he found me.
“Oh yeah, she said you missed me every single day and she had to hold you while you cried buckets.”
“I never cried, not once!” Oh, how I wish I could tell him how much I think about him. I hope he thinks about me half as much!
“That’s not what I heard,” Renato teases. He gives me a small package wrapped in striped paper with a bow. “Open it.”
I hold the package gently, savoring the moment. Renato brought me a present. I must be his girl. I don’t even want to open it; it’s enough that he thought to bring me a package tied with a ribbon.
“Go ahead.” He smiles.
I tear into the package. It’s a silk handkerchief with my initials embroidered along the scalloped edge. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” I look at Renato and wonder how it can be possible for someone to be gone for months and then return as if he had never left. Our connection is that immediate. “Oh, and I suppose you cried for me?” I tease him back.
“Every day.” Then, just as he did on the Ferris wheel, he leans over and kisses me. I’ve tried to forget about his kiss, figuring it was never to happen again, and here it is. I hear a floorboard creak. Renato and I look toward the sound.
“Excuse me.” Franco looks at me with a stony expression and turns to walk back out the door. Instead of being embarrassed, I am glad he saw Renato kiss me. Now he can see for himself who truly owns my heart. The whole town can see! Renato Lanzara is home, and he has chosen me.
Chettie and Anthony Marucci sit in the front seat of his freshly scrubbed Ford roadster, which smells of linseed and fresh wax, while Renato and I sit in the backseat. This is Anthony’s chariot, and he’s really spiffed her up.
I asked Papa if I could go to the movies, and he said yes. I didn’t describe it as a double date, because if I had, I’m sure the answer would have been no. Since I’ve been working, I don’t ask Papa’s permission so much anymore. If I were still in school, I know things would be different. I would still be living on the farm and walking to town each day. But since I give most of my paycheck from the mill to Papa, I’m not a kid anymore, so I try not to act like one.
“I loved the picture,” Chettie swoons.
“Greta Garbo is so beautiful,” I sigh.
“You know, Garbo and John Gilbert are in love in real life too. I read about it in Photoplay. Flesh and the Devil should be a big hit.” Chettie turns around and looks at me.
“She’s the flesh, he’s the devil,” Anthony says to Renato in the rearview mirror.
“It looked very authentic to me,” I tell him.
Renato laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask him. Sometimes when Renato laughs at something I say, it makes me feel like a kid.
“Have you seen that many love stories to compare it to?”
“I saw The Sheik, The Son of the Sheik, and Blood and Sand, every picture Rudolph Valentino ever made. And I got very blue when he died this year, and so young. So, yes, if you’re asking if I’m an expert on motion-picture love stories, I am. A little.”
Chettie can hear a defensive tone in my voice, so she quickly changes the subject. “So, Renato, do you know what you’re going to do?” she asks. “Where you’re going to work now that you’ve graduated and traveled?”
“Pop heard they need a literature teacher at Columbus School …”
“That would be wonderful,” Chettie says.
“… but I’m not sure about teaching.”
The conversation hits a lull. Anthony is probably thinking about his job in construction, and Chettie is thinking about how her life changed when her father died and she was forced to work in the mill, and me, when I hear the word “teach,” I get very blue. If only it were me who had the college degree when there was an opening at Columbus School.
“Teaching is a great
profession,” Renato explains. “I just don’t know if it’s for me.”
“Maybe you’ll have the chance to find out,” I say, forcing a smile. It seems that the people with passion never get the thing they’re after. Circumstances seem to play out against people like Chettie and me, who know what we truly want. And then there’s Renato, who has the luxury of time and choice. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is.
Baby Assunta is a fighter. She has overcome colic and is starting to gain weight. She is a pretty baby, with soft brown eyes and lots of thick black hair. Elena is madly in love with her, and the baby responds to her as though Elena is her mother. Elena keeps Alessandro’s home running beautifully; she cooks, cleans, and does the laundry. It’s as though Elena has found her perfect place in the world. I have never seen her so happy.
I take the trolley out to the farm every Sunday after Mass to visit Mama and Papa. I feel insincere when I go to church because I’m not really sure why I’m there. My machine operators love to see me at Our Lady of Mount Carmel on Sundays, but I have yet to feel an epiphany. I hope the clouds will part and the angels will sing and I’ll be filled with the faith I long to possess. Father Impeciato expects the president of the Society of Mary to set a good example, so I never miss Mass, despite my doubts.
The walk from the trolley stop to the farm is less than half a mile. Papa has put paving stones down on the old dirt road to the farmhouse to make it easier for the milk trucks to get through. The barn is almost completely mechanical now, and Alessandro recently purchased another milk cow, bringing the herd up to fifteen. Papa oversees the work, but without Alessandro, I doubt the farm could continue.
As I open the old gate at the end of the lane, the farmhouse seems smaller, and the fields surrounding it seem less rambling than they used to. The Queen Anne’s lace that grows in white starry bunches is sparse this year. Even the field where the cows graze seems like a mere patch of land, when it used to look like acres. The world I come from is so small, after life in town, I wonder if I could ever be happy here again.
Mama and Papa are sitting on the porch. Mama is mending and Papa is reading the paper. I give them each a kiss.
“How’s the baby?” Mama asks.
“She’s over the colic.”
“We’ll come in to see her this week.”
“How’s the dairy business, Pop?”
He looks up and smiles. “We’re holding our own, thank you.”
“Alessandro’s in the barn if you want to take a look.” Mama breaks a thread between her teeth.
“Sure.” On my way to the barn, I peek into the springhouse, which looks to be in need of repairs. “Alessandro?” I call out as I go into the barn.
“Up here,” he says from the loft. I climb the ladder to join him.
“What are you doing?”
“The flashing on the roof was ruined over the winter. I’m replacing it,” he says without putting down his hammer. He yanks a rotten plank of wood off the roof. “Water damage. Nothing is worse. I did the same job on my father’s house in Italy.”
“How is he?”
“Much better.”
“You didn’t get into town this week.”
“Too much to do here. How’s my baby?”
“Good.”
“Still with the colic?”
“Nope. Elena said she’s cured.”
“And how is Elena?”
“She’s good.”
There’s an awkward silence as Alessandro stops yanking nails and looks at me intently.
“Nella, I want to talk to you about something.” Alessandro sounds serious.
“Sure. Anything.” The lines in Alessandro’s face have deepened since he came to America. He’s out in the field all day, and there are the worry creases that weren’t there before Assunta died.
“I love Elena,” he says quietly.
“I love her too—”
“Not like a brother,” he interrupts.
“You’re in love with Elena?” I say it out loud, but I can barely comprehend what he is saying. This is my sister Assunta’s husband. How could he love another Castelluca girl? It doesn’t seem right.
“I’ve done nothing about it. But I think maybe she loves me too.”
Elena has never discussed Alessandro with me, and the thought of the two of them falling in love after all that has happened is too strange to be real. And so soon! It hasn’t been a year since Assunta died. Did we do the right thing letting Elena take care of the baby? Maybe Mama should have taken over. I am stunned, somehow feeling betrayed for Assunta.
It’s as if Alessandro has read my mind. He sits down next to me and says, “There was nothing between us when Assunta was alive.”
“I know that.”
“But it’s very odd, Nella. I don’t see Elena in the same way I used to, when she was my sister-in-law. I can’t even remember that time. It’s as if it all washed away.”
“You forgot all about Assunta?”
“No, no. I will never forget her. No, and she is the mother of my daughter. I still love her. But Elena has saved me. She kept my home together all these months.”
“I know. She’s a good girl.” I say this less for his benefit than to remind myself of Elena’s excellent character.
“I would not have wished for this, believe me. But I see Elena with my daughter and my heart fills with so much joy I can’t describe it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I wanted to talk to you first. Even though you are younger, you have always been the leader. Elena looks up to you. Your parents respect your opinion. You understand your family better than anyone. I seek your advice on this.”
“I don’t know what to say.” And I don’t. I feel blindsided. I never imagined my brother-in-law would fall in love with my sister. Anyone who sees Elena with the baby is moved by the love that she has for her. It’s beyond being an aunt; Elena is a mother to the baby in every way. But is she in love with Alessandro? I remember moments now when Elena looked at Alessandro with such affection. I saw them in the yard one day with the baby on a blanket taking sun, and they were laughing and playing with her. At night when Elena’s cleaning up the dishes, Alessandro sits and talks with her. They seem to be such good friends, I shouldn’t be surprised that those feelings have turned to love. “You must wait, Alessandro.”
“I shouldn’t abandon the idea altogether?” Alessandro asks.
“No, of course not. You love Elena. I know that. But my mother and father would be insulted if a year had not gone by. They are still grieving my sister. It would seem disrespectful for you to tell them your feelings now. In time, I think it will be fine, but now it’s too soon.”
“What about Elena?”
“What you say to her is between the two of you. I don’t have anything to say about that.”
“I will wait then.” Alessandro seems relieved that he has unburdened his feelings to me. But now I have a heavy heart. I’m not sure Papa and Mama will approve of this, and in light of Alessandro’s feelings, our living situation in town is inappropriate. The Roseto grapevine will be electrified with this news when Alessandro makes his intentions known.
Every spare moment of the summer, when I’m not working, I spend with Renato. The girls in the mill nod at us appreciatively when he comes to have lunch with me in the field. I love the looks we get when we walk down Garibaldi after supper. His father makes me feel a part of town life, inviting me to sit on their porch and have espresso. And Renato seems to know every back road in the county. He takes me up to the Poconos to walk in the woods, we canoe on the Delaware, and we even go to Philadelphia on the train to visit the zoo.
“I brought you a present.” Renato lifts a satchel out of his father’s car, parked on the shore of Minsi Lake on the outskirts of Roseto. “You don’t have to go to college to read all the great books,” Renato begins. “Many intellectuals believe self-education is as valid as any degree from a university.”
The brown ducks
make lazy S’s as they swim across the smooth surface of the lake. I dip my toe in the water. The summer sun is so hot today, the lake is like a bath. “Do we know any intellectuals who could verify this?”
“Very funny.” Renato pulls me down to the ground and onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me. “There are those who would say I am an intellectual.” He kisses me before turning his attention back to his satchel of books.
“We will begin with Dante’s Inferno, then we will read The Confessions of Saint Augustine and the Greeks: plays by Euripides, Aeschylus, and Socrates.”
“I don’t like plays.”
“How can that be? You like the picture show.”
“That’s different. They’re silent.”
“You should get used to words. Not just that sappy organ music they use to underscore the scenes.” Renato leans over and kisses me again, this time on the nose. “What happened to the farm girl who was hungry for knowledge?”
“She got a job in a mill,” I tell him wryly. “And she’s tired after a ten-hour workday.”
Renato opens Dante’s Inferno. “You’ll like this one. It’s about faith.”
“You think I’ll get some if I read it?”
“Maybe.”
“You really believe in the power of books, don’t you?”
“Whatever it is that you’re feeling, whatever it is you have a question about, whatever it is that you long to know, there is some book, somewhere, with the key. You just have to search for it.” Renato opens the book and gives it to me.
“I used to want to learn everything. But life is so complicated now.”
“So simplify. Who said that?”
“Who said what?”
“Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity.”
“Henry David Thoreau in Walden.”
“Correct.” Renato could be a teacher. He certainly sounds like one.
“And Thoreau also said, ‘Beware all enterprises that require new clothes,’ and I think of that every time the truck leaves the Roseto mill with a shipment.”
Renato laughs. I bury my face in his shoulder. “You are so much more than a forelady at the Roseto Manufacturing Company,” he says.
“That’s true. I’m also your girl.” I lift my head onto his shoulder. “But you’ll leave someday, won’t you?” Renato squeezes me closer but does not answer. “Okay, if you won’t answer that, I will. I plan on leaving you long before you leave me. I’ve learned to head off a problem by addressing it first. That’s a rule in the mill handed down from forelady to forelady since the first blouse was made.”
The Queen of the Big Time Page 13
