What really worried him was how Leo might try to harm the rest of his family. Marco didn’t trust that the man would limit his revenge to him alone. Leo was crafty, and Marco knew better than to discount any possibility. He would have to talk to his father about what they should do to ensure the women’s safety. At least for now, Isabella and Chantel were out of harm’s way in Duluth. Of course, that left Mama alone during the day.
He raised his face and saw his father’s worried expression beneath the glow of his mining candle. No doubt he had been pondering the same things as Marco.
Mia colpa. This is all my fault. I brought this upon my family because of my drinking and being unwilling to heed the advice of my parents. Marco clenched his jaw and slammed the pick into a large chunk of rock. I have to make this right so that no one else pays the price.
Chantel came fully awake at the sight of Dante Calarco standing over her. Her stomach clenched. She’d made a grave mistake in falling asleep the night before.
“I . . . ah . . . I can explain,” she said, trying not to sound as terrified as she felt.
With catlike reflexes, Dante snatched her from the bed and placed her on her feet. “You bet you will.”
Chantel squinted against the brilliance of the sunlight and tried hard to think of what to say next. Anger emanated from Dante.
“Start talking,” he said, folding his arms against his chest.
“Well . . . you see . . . that is . . .” She knew she was rambling. “Could I have a drink of water?”
He frowned. “Not until you tell me where my brother is! You have no trouble speaking your mind any other time—so talk.”
Chantel nervously put her hand to her hair and realized she must be quite the sight. Feeling for her hairpins, she pulled them loose and let her hair fall around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I realize finding me must be a shock.” She used her fingers to brush through the tangles of her hair before wrapping it into a knot and repinning it.
“You have to understand”—she fought to keep her words soft and even—“my sister and your brother are very much in love. Orlando knew the risk when he left home to marry her, and it seems to me that . . .” She paused to put a couple of the pins in place. “Well, it seems to me that you are more concerned about yourself than him.”
Dante’s expression never changed. He continued staring at her with those same intense eyes that Chantel had come to see in her dreams. She couldn’t help but notice his lips and remember the night he had kissed her. Could it really have been just a few days ago?
She forced such thoughts aside. “I know your father will be angry about Orlando marrying Isabella, but if family truly means all that you say it does to him, then what you really need to consider is this: The baby that results from this marriage will be a Panetta and a Calarco.”
Chantel felt herself blush before continuing. “That’s the future we should all be focused on.” She looked away from Dante. “Look, I know it was wrong of us to dupe you this way, but we felt we had no choice. I love my sister, and I promised to help her in any way I could.”
“So you would ruin your own reputation by spending the night in a man’s hotel room—a man to whom you aren’t related—all for the sake of your sister’s desires?”
“Isabella and Orlando deserve to be happy. I would do it all again. That and much more,” Chantel said, feeling confidence overtake her fear.
“Oh, really,” Dante said rather casually. He stepped toward her. “Like what?”
“I . . . uh . . . don’t know what you mean,” she said. What strength and determination she’d felt was fading quickly at his nearness.
“To exactly what length would you go to see your sister happy?” he asked, his gaze settling on her face.
Chantel could barely breathe. “I would do anything.”
He touched her cheek. “Anything?”
She didn’t know what to say. Her tongue all but stuck to the roof of her mouth, and though she swallowed hard, she couldn’t clear the lump that had formed in her throat. Her mind felt foggy, but her heart warned her that she was in danger. Gathering what little remained of her wits, Chantel pushed against Dante’s steel-like chest.
“Anything within reason,” she finally managed to say. “Anything necessary to see to her safety and well-being. Now she and your brother are safely away, and I don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
Dante refused to move. “No, but you do have to worry about me.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’m leaving.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly. Chantel didn’t so much as move. She didn’t want to encourage his behavior, and yet as his kiss became less demanding and more passionate, she felt herself giving in to her own desires.
Without warning, Dante dropped his hold on her. He walked away to where his things were and started to gather them. “If I were a less than honorable man, I wouldn’t have stopped at stealing a kiss. You were a fool to put yourself into such a situation.”
Chantel felt so weak in the knees that she had to sit on the side of the bed to regain her composure. How was it that he had such power over her emotions?
“You would risk everything—your innocence, your very life—for the sake of your little sister having her own way?”
“No,” Chantel said, her voice weak. “I risked it . . . for love. For their love.” She straightened. “Orlando loved my sister enough to lose everything dear to him. He loved her so much that he was willing to die for her. That’s a powerful love, one that I might never know.” She felt her throat grow tight and feared she might start to cry. “But whether anyone ever loves me that way, I rejoice that Isabella has found such happiness and loyalty. I might have been foolish to come here—to risk my reputation—but my own welfare seems unimportant when I look at what we’ve gained. Isabella and Orlando are now safely away.” She sniffed back tears and stood. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to go home. My aunt is probably half sick with worry, and I need to let her know that I am all right.”
“We’ll have a message delivered to her. I have tickets to board a train that leaves in less than forty minutes. You can use the ticket I purchased for Orlando, but we need to go now.”
Chantel didn’t argue with him. There was no point in it. After all, he was doing exactly what she asked. He was taking her home. They paused by the front desk, and Chantel penned a brief message to her aunt. She knew Marilla would be curious as to how everything had worked out but relieved to know that Chantel was on her way back to her parents.
“I hope you and the missus enjoyed your stay with us,” the clerk said, handing Dante a bill.
Chantel grimaced at the comment, wondering if Dante would correct the man. When he didn’t, she felt a sense of relief. He was doing his best to protect her reputation, she supposed.
“I’m sure my aunt will post the few items I left at her house,” Chantel said, after handing the clerk her note and the address.
Dante paid for his room, then gave the man additional coins. “Please see that this note gets delivered right away.” The man nodded and assured Dante it would be sent immediately.
On the way to the train station, Dante purchased a sack of roasted peanuts and two apples. “This will have to suffice for breakfast,” he said, handing her one of the apples. “We can share the peanuts on the train. We’ll buy something else along the way.”
She still didn’t know quite what to say. The memory of his kiss kept invading her thoughts. Though he could have acted differently, he had cared too much for her reputation and well-being to hurt or take advantage of her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking up at him.
He seemed to understand, but said nothing. It only served to confuse Chantel’s heart all the more. She couldn’t deny that she cared for him. And to her surprise, she found that she wanted to stand beside him and help him when he faced his father.
Dante allowed the rhythmic sway of the train to lull him to
sleep. His dreams, however, were filled with thoughts of the woman who traveled at his side—who’d spent the night in his room only a few feet away from where he slept.
His mind conjured up visions of her smiling and welcoming him into her arms. He found himself longing to hold her—to kiss her again. And in the fogginess of his mind, he did just that. It felt so real that he awoke with a start at one point, only to find Chantel dozing, her head now on his shoulder.
Nonna Barbato had always told him that when his heart was confused on doing the right thing or the wrong thing, he should pray. But Dante had given up such things long ago. He couldn’t help but think about Mr. Panetta and what he’d said about God speaking to him in the mine. Had God really talked to him?
Dante felt the last speck of his resolve crumble at the sight of the woman now so close to him. They looked like a comfortably married couple for all intents and purposes, he thought. And for the first time in his life, Dante found himself wishing they were.
What was he to do? How could he fight the growing feelings he held for this woman? And why should he have to? Perhaps Orlando was right. It made no sense to continue calling the Panettas their enemy. Especially the women of the family—they’d clearly done nothing to deserve such a title. His father would never agree, but Dante could at least now understand why Orlando had been willing to risk his relationship with his family . . . and even his own life.
When Chantel snuggled up against him, Dante put his arm around her and held her close. He knew that it went against social etiquette, but he didn’t care. There were very few people in their train car and all of them were men. If anything, they would only envy him.
Chantel slept on. She feels safe with me. Dante shook his head. Somehow he was going to have to explain to his father that not only had his brother married a Panetta, but Dante planned to do likewise. The thought startled him. I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with this woman. He smiled. Of course, he would still have to convince Chantel, but somehow he didn’t think it would be all that hard.
Dante closed his eyes. It should seem wrong to contemplate marriage, but it didn’t. It felt like the missing piece to a puzzle had finally been found. He was in love with Chantel Panetta and intended to marry her.
Dwelling again on what Mr. Panetta had told him about God speaking on peace and reconciliation, Dante thought of how hard he had fought to ignore God over the last half of his life. He supposed his father’s negative outlook on God had something to do with it, but Dante also knew he was responsible for his own relationship with the Almighty.
I have to start somewhere. The train continued to rumble along, swaying him as gently as a mother would her babe. For reasons Dante couldn’t explain, he felt a great sense of peace.
God, I know it’s been a long time since I listened for your voice, but I want to hear you like Mr. Panetta did. I want to know that you really care—that you are there. He rethought his words and started again.
I’m sorry, Father. I came with demands when I should have come pleading and begging for forgiveness. Help me, because I have a feeling that if left to myself, I’m just going to make a bigger mess of things than I’ve already made. My heart is taking me in a direction I never expected, and my father is going to be livid. I’m going to need your help on this, God. But first I want to make things right between us.
He thought of what Nonna had taught him and of the Scriptures he had once committed to memory. Choosing to accept Jesus for his Savior involved repentance and a willingness to turn away from sin.
I accepted you a long time ago as my Savior, Lord, but I know I’ve been living wrong for some time. I want to make a change. I want to do right in your eyes, but I’m going to need more than my own strength to see it through. Please forgive my abandonment of your teachings. Forgive my arrogance and pride. And please, help my father to understand and let go of his hatred and anger.
Chapter 21
The following Sunday, Dante sat at the breakfast table. His father had returned late the night before, and now as they sat across from each other, he explained all that had transpired in his absence. It hadn’t been easy, but Nonna had assured him it was the right thing to do.
“I thought I had convinced Orlando to at least come home and tell you in person what he had done, but he changed his mind.” The last words were given in the form of an apology.
Dante could see that the older man was carefully considering what was to be done. Nonna served them a platter of sausages to go with their steaming cups of coffee. Italian breakfasts were traditionally laden with sweets, but the Calarco men worked much too hard to survive on such things alone. She gave Dante the slightest nod of her head. She approved of what he’d done, but she could never save him from his father’s wrath.
Spearing one of the sausages, Dante continued to wait, knowing further words would serve no purpose. The silence might seem welcome to some, but Dante knew it was just the calm before the storm.
Nonna, too, held her tongue. She joined them at the table with a plate of bomboloni—fried pastries filled with custard. They were one of Vittorio Calarco’s favorites, and Dante knew his nonna had made them to assuage her son-in-law’s anger.
Dante was on his second cup of coffee when his father finally spoke. “You will go after him.”
“I did, Papa. I went to Duluth and tried to bring him back. I told you that already.”
His father slammed his open palms onto the table. “I said you will go after him.”
“And where would I even begin to look? There were trains and ships, carriages and freighters. How am I supposed to find them now? It’s been days, and they could be almost anywhere.”
His father’s face reddened. “I won’t tolerate your disrespect. I don’t care where you look or how you do it, but you will find him.”
Dante wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it aside. “No, Papa. I won’t.”
“Vittorio . . . your boy, he is married,” Nonna said, joining their English conversation. “You cannot interfere with this thing God has done.”
“God?” Dante’s father questioned. “It seems God has been taking things away from me all of my life. My parents, my home in Italy, my wife, my brothers . . . and now He demands my sons? Well, He cannot have them.”
“You blaspheme,” Nonna declared in Italian. “You talk about God as if He should follow your directives, rather than the other way around. Vittorio, God did not rob you of your family, nor has He taken your sons. You have pushed them away and put a mountain of hate between you.”
“Be quiet, woman,” he snapped. “I won’t hear anything more from you. From either of you.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to listen to me, Papa,” Dante said, trying his best to sound respectful. “Orlando and Isabella have been married for nearly a week. She soon could be expecting a child. That baby will be flesh of your flesh, as well as that of the Panettas. It is time to put aside the past and look to the future.”
His father said nothing for several moments, and Dante thought perhaps he’d actually gotten through to him. When his father stood, however, Dante realized just how wrong he had been.
“Get out. You are no longer my son. If you seek a peace with the Panettas, then go. Go live with the Panettas if that is your desire, but I never want to see you again. I will see to it that you never work in the iron mines. I will declare you to be worthless and deceptive—as you are.” He tore his shirt in a bellowing rage. “I have no sons! I have no family!”
Dante said nothing as his father stormed from the room. Nonna was beside him almost immediately. She put her hand upon Dante’s shoulder. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just upset. Once he takes time to think it all through, he will change his mind.”
“I don’t think so, Nonna. Especially when he learns that I, too, am in love with a Panetta.”
A smile spread across her lips. “I knew it would be so. Chantel is a beautiful girl, and she loves God very much.”
&
nbsp; “I know. She loves her family, as well. She risked everything to help her sister and Orlando get away from me. She doesn’t love lightly, to be sure.”
“That is a good kind of woman to have for a wife. She will be good for you and to you.”
“But at the cost of my father.” He shook his head.
Dante’s father came back into the room, but he said nothing to either one of them. He went to the back porch and retrieved his boots. Dante waited as his father laced up his boots, wondering what he might say to him.
To his surprise, however, his father marched back into the kitchen and pointed his finger at Dante. “You be gone by the time I return.” With that he turned and, without bothering to close the door between the kitchen and porch, opened the outside door and allowed a blast of cold March air to fill the room. He left the house without another word.
Nonna padded over to the open doors and closed them one by one. “He is being unreasonable.”
“It is his home and right,” Dante said, getting to his feet. “And well past time for me to go.”
“Mrs. Merritt has rooms to let,” Nonna told him. “She’s a good woman. You should go there.”
Dante nodded. “I guess I will.” He looked around the room, wondering if this was how Orlando had felt. “Will you be all right?” he asked Nonna.
“I will talk to him when he comes home. He might not listen, but I will speak my mind,” Nonna replied. “And if need be, I will return to Italy.”
Dante knew that such an arduous trip would most likely cost his grandmother her life. “No, don’t go. Find me, and I will locate a house where we can both live.”
She smiled. “And Chantel?”
He nodded. “If she’ll have me.”
Mrs. Merritt showed Dante to a very small room with a single twin bed. It looked hardly big enough for a child, much less a man. “If you are sure you can’t share with the others, this is what I can offer you. I have a bigger room with two beds, but the price is greater and frankly it seems imprudent to waste the space. Bath is at the end of the hall and you share it with everyone on this floor.”
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