The Witch of Little Italy

by Suzanne Palmieri

  “You’ll get them,” he said.

  “And there’s something else. A secret,” she said. “Want to see?” A childlike excitement washed over both of them. Elly took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom where they’d first made love. Now the nursery. Anthony looked around the room with wonder. A mural. The roots of a willow tree grew from the base boards as the trunk moved up the sturdy wall and the weeping branches seemed to fall down all over the room.

  “It’s amazing, Elly. I can’t believe you did all this.”

  “Look up!”

  The sky (ceiling) went from a night sky, deep blue with golden stars through a pink and orange sunrise all the way to the light blue sky of a perfect September day. Clouds and all.

  “How did you do that?”

  “On a ladder! I’m a fresco restorer, remember? I’m a trained professional.”

  “You could have fallen, I can’t believe you didn’t ask me to help.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t just barge on in. This is something you are going to have to get used to about me, Mister Anthony Rivetta. You are going to need to realize that when I’m working, I’m consumed. Time stands still.”

  “Well, now I know … and this,” he motioned around the sunny room with his arms, “is just fantastic.”

  “Well … thank you. But that isn’t what I wanted to show you. Look at this.”

  Elly pushed aside the small bookcase and opened the little door. She led him up into the attic and showed him her secret hiding place.

  “So this is where you used to hide when we couldn’t find you? Excellent spot, Elly!”

  “But there’s more. It’s about a treasure. Something of value is hidden up here. I know it. I just can’t remember what it is.” Elly squinted her eyes as if trying to force the memory. “I only know I have to find it.”

  Anthony looked around at the attic full of trunks, sewing forms, mobiles made of seashells from Far Rockaway clinking from the rafters. A corner with a large, old-fashioned bed that the older Amore boys used to sleep in when they were small.

  “Something in a trunk maybe?” he suggested.

  “Maybe—but Mimi and I looked through practically all of them to find maternity clothes. I just have to figure it out. I’ve remembered so much. I hate any dark corners,” Elly reached down and picked up a large, leather-bound book at her feet. “And look at this. I’ve been reading it up here in the mornings. I’m afraid to bring it downstairs because it’s so old, and it’s used to the air up here. It was Margaret’s.”

  Elly opened the pages of the large book to reveal large pictures of plants and flowers, some real ones even pressed between the pages. And there were pretty, cursive words scrawled in the margins.

  “It’s like a botanical book of shadows!” said Elly.

  “It’s incredible!” said Anthony taking a closer look.

  “And at the back, just look,” said Elly carefully turning the book to its back pages. “Recipes. All the ones Mimi and the aunts keep showing me. They know them by heart. But it’s this one that I think is the most interesting … See here? “The Forgetting spell.”

  “Forgetting? Like … Oh yeah, with Cooper?”

  “Yes. And me, too … maybe.”

  “You think they cast a spell on you?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “You’ll do it,” he said.

  “Maybe you can help. Tell me what you know, Anthony. Tell me what you know about The Day the Amores Died.”

  “Well, I only know what most people know. But maybe that’s a little more than you. How about I tell you what I know while I show you what I love. You have to get out of this apartment!”

  “Yes … I think you’re right. The crying is worse up here, anyway.”

  “You still hear that crying?”

  “Yes. First crying, then laughing, now crying again. It moves when I move. I have this crazy feeling like it wants me to chase it. Like when we used to play hide-and-seek or sardines. It’s driving me a little nuts.”

  “Well, we can’t have that! You’re the only sane one around here. Let’s get outta Dodge and into the day, okay? I’ll take you on the ferry to Far Rockaway.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t the first time they’d been on an adventure in the Bronx. From the first week she arrived, every Saturday morning—before Elly became consumed with her new apartment and heavenly art supplies—Anthony would come right into Mimi’s apartment and call her. “Come on, E! Time for a walk, let’s get that baby moving around!”

  They walked all over the city, down by the river, and he showed her the secrets of her new home. The delicious smells and foodstuffs of Arthur Avenue. The butchers, bakeries, and dressmakers. The artists who lived in renovated factories and had studios and shows. The fishing community and the fresh lobsters sold right off the docks. The historic downtown that offered trolley rides to and from most anywhere.

  But they hadn’t visited Far Rockaway yet.

  “How did my mother steal all this from me?” she asked him as they rode the ferry.

  Anthony leaned against the rail. His black hair shining in the sun, his muscular frame. The back of his neck made her a little weak in the knees. How I love him, she thought.

  “She didn’t like it here. You can’t make a person have an opinion. Likes and dislikes are subjective. It’s a matter of aesthetics, you should know that, Miss Artist!” he said.

  And then he kissed her. Elly was aware of her belly pushing against him, the belly that was making her more and more uncomfortable. Out here, away from her art, she felt unlovely and insecure.

  “Why do you love me, Anthony?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

  “Well, it is my opinion that you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re smart, you’re exciting, and we were put here, right here on this earth to be together.” He paused, kissed her again, and then said, “You know I’ve always loved you. Since we were little. Your misfortune seems to be my gain.”

  “How do I know you don’t have some sort of hero complex?” she asked quickly. She’d been afraid to ask it for months. It had occurred to Elly all Anthony did was take care of people. His mother. Elly’s own aunts, and Mimi, too.

  Anthony looked down at the water for a moment and then back at Elly. He looked deep into her green eyes. “I see how you could think that—but look at this.” Anthony took his black wallet out of his back pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. “Do you remember this? You wrote this to me when you were thirteen. I never forgot it, and I’m going to hold you to it.”

  She blushed. “Dear Anthony, if we are not married by the time we are eighteen, you have to give me your sworn pledge that you will marry me.”

  “I didn’t even remember you then! Wow. I was bossy!”

  “You were adorable.”

  And then he did the unexpected and rightest thing in the world. In the middle of the ferry ride he got down on one knee and looked up at Elly. He took out a black velvet box and opened it, revealing a stunning ruby ring in a simple princess set.

  Just as she was about to cry and take the ring and scream, “yes!” into the universe, he snapped the box shut and put it back into the pocket of his heavy black leather jacket. Elly felt a different kind of tears prickle behind her eyes.

  Anthony placed both hands on her stomach and pressed his ear there, too. “I’m sorry little one, I forgot to consult you first. Kick once if you give me permission to ask your mama to marry me.”

  He waited.

  Elly waited.

  “Oh for God’s sake, Anthony! It’s a nice gesture and everything but just ask me! I give you permission.”

  Anthony laughed and took the box out once again. “You are bossy!” He stood up and took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her finger. A perfect fit, of course. “Will you?”

  She took his face into her hands. “Forever and ever.”

  They kissed un
til the ferryman told them they’d arrived at the very destination where they’d married each other years ago.

  As they made their way off the dock, Elly’s excitement turned to disconcertment. This wasn’t the Far Rockaway she remembered.

  “Mimi told me it was gone—but I don’t think my heart believed her.”

  “I know, it’s really a cryin’ shame. But the cottage is still there and the beaches, too. Let’s walk while I tell you what I know.”

  As they strolled through empty parking lots and littered patches of green grass making their way to the cottage, Anthony told his version of the story.

  “Well, the war was officially over in Europe, so I think your great-grandmother, the one who wasn’t Italian?” Elly nodded. “Right, well, I think she thought she’d avoided the whole mess. But actually, it all happened on the very day the army people came to the door and told her the news. I don’t know how everything happened from that moment on, but by the end of the day the parents, Margaret and Vincent, and the oldest daughter, Bunny, along with her own child Zelda Grace were all dead.”

  “I can’t even imagine how horrible it must have been. Were Mimi, Itsy, and Fee all there when it happened?”

  “I think Mimi was. I don’t know about Fee. Itsy wasn’t. Neither was George. I think they came to the building later on that day. Anyway, there’s more. See, Vincent—your great-grandfather, he didn’t believe in any sorts of magical ways. It was hard on them … hard on their love. A lot of stories come out of the walls of the buildings in the Bronx. So many people living so close together back then, it was hard to keep secrets. So, it was common knowledge that though they were in love, Margaret and Vincent had their problems. She was made of all things magic and chaotic, and he was made of straight lines and numbers. There are rumors that it was him, his plain ways, that blocked Margaret’s abilities to save them all from that tragic day.”

  “People have so much influence over each other, don’t they?” said Elly.

  “Yeah, I guess, especially when it’s all clouded with love.”

  “I wonder why she married him? I mean, they were so different.”

  Anthony simply winked at her. And in that instant she understood. Stability and constancy. It was part of the reason she was so in love with Anthony. But at least he understood the magic. Elly thought it would be maddening to be married to someone who couldn’t see past the nose on his face.

  Elly and Anthony were standing at the corner of a long, narrow street lined with broken-down beach cottages. Relics from another era.

  “I know where to go,” said Elly as if in a dream. She let go of his hand and walked down the middle of the deserted street. There was silence in the spring wind. The only sound was the soft “clink” coming from a sea glass mobile on the front porch. She walked up the creaking steps with Anthony behind and poked the mobile with her hands.

  “We made this,” she said.

  “Yes. We did.” Elly heard a hitch in his voice so she turned around. He was crying and trying to hide it. Craning his neck away from her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You’re back. You’re really back.”

  Elly reached for him and held him tight. It occurred to her for the first time how lonesome it must have been. Waiting for her to come back. Waiting for her to remember. Always the one left waiting. “Let’s go find out everything I need to know so we can start out this life without anything hidden, okay?” she whispered into his thick hair.

  “You bet,” he said roughly, regaining his composure.

  Elly went to the door. “Crap! Anthony, we don’t have the key.”

  Anthony went into his pocket and then dangled Georgie’s rabbit foot key chain out in front of her again, like he’d done her second morning in the Bronx. “Got ’em!”

  They opened the door and walked into the cottage. Margaret Green’s summer home. The house on Far Rockaway that had once been filled with laughter and children dripping with magic summer honey sun.

  It was perfect. Tidy. Not a thing out of place.

  “She’s been here,” said Elly. “It’s Itsy’s cottage, isn’t it? I can tell. It’s hers and she’s been here.”

  “Well, it’s clear someone has.”

  “There’s something sweet in that. But why do you think the old ladies haven’t sold this cottage, Anthony?”

  “Well, let me finish telling you what I know about your family. Rumor has it that Itsy had herself a man. And not just any man. A black kid. His name was Henry and he’d been George’s best friend since they were kids. Both outcasts and all. So maybe she keeps it because she can’t give it away?”

  “Itsy in love. I can see it.” Elly moved around the cottage touching things, absorbing their stories. “She lost much more than just her family that day, didn’t she, Anthony? She lost her independence, her voice, her identity…”

  Anthony nodded. “I know when we were kids and came back here, right after you got to the Bronx, Itsy and George were different.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, when I was growing up they were just … well, old. But when we came back here? It was like they’d had a pint from the fountain of youth. The old ladies made magic again and George was playing with us—and soon I didn’t even realize he was old anymore. And Itsy? Well, put it this way … she was running down the beach turning—”

  “Cartwheels,” whispered Elly.

  19

  Itsy

  Mama always went a little crazy near summer solstice. It was to be expected. It’s the most magical time of the year for us witches. The garden received her full attention and us, too. She’d make new summer dresses for all of us, and crisp white shirts for the boys. She’d make soda crackers to put in tins before the days got too hot to bake. She’d prune and plant and water. Cajoling, almost daring her garden to bloom louder than ever before.

  She was a tidy woman, most times. But she had priorities, and cleaning was low on the list during the times when she felt her hands were full with other things. Piles of cotton and ribbon and spools of thread would pile up in the kitchen and living room. Mountains of flour covered the counters, muddy footprints to and from the back hallway marking her constant route.

  Papa, though he knew she would be her old self soon, never seemed to have much patience for it. He’d yell and try to clean up after her. She’d yell back, telling him to leave her piles alone.

  It was during this time of year that she told us the story of the “Mound Builders.” I think she told us so that she could discount Papa’s words without discounting Papa.

  “The Mound Builders were people who lived here long before the earliest colonists arrived. They dug deep into the earth and created mounds to bury their dead. For them, the mounds were treasured. A way to remember, to memorialize. There isn’t anything wrong with building piles to remind us of things.”

  But some years were worse than others. She’d whisper with Bunny and the boys would try to clean up after her as well. She’d swat at them with her dish towels and shoo them away.

  * * *

  The year Mama took us on a day trip to Fairview was a year when their fighting was particularly bad. We took the train from Penn Station. The older boys stayed home, of course. Georgie and I were eleven or so, still able to be mesmerized by the station and the swarms of people and the elaborate red velvet seats.

  Mama was quiet. We behaved. We knew there was something amiss. We got off the train in Boston and onto a smaller, fancier train. I felt like I was going deeper and deeper into a storybook the more miles we traveled. The stop in Fairview was in front of what looked like a fancy fortress. I thought it looked very romantic and wanted to explore it right away. Bunny whispered to Mimi that it was a lunatic asylum. Georgie heard it and pulled on Mama’s skirt.

  “What is it, love?” she asked, with an uncanny distance in her voice.

  “Why are we at a lunatic asylum, Mama?”

  Mama shot Bunny a look that could have been a poisoned dart.<
br />
  “What? I’m sorry,” she said.

  We walked around the building and entered the center of a bustling, pretty town. Mama guided us to a bench under a large willow tree.

  “Listen close, my ducklings. Mama needs to go visit with your grandmother. One who you don’t know. And she’s ill. So you can’t come with me. But Bunny’s been here before, so she’ll take good care of you. There are lots of fun things to do. And there’s an ice-cream shop, and…”

  “I have it under control, Mama. You go,” said Bunny.

  “Okay,” said Mama, “But don’t take them near the water. Promise me? No matter how hot it gets. They can jump in the fountain over here, just not the sea.” Mama pointed at the fountain in the center of the town square.

  “I promise, Mama,” said Bunny.

  “Swear a solemn vow,” said Mama.

  “I swear a solemn vow,” said Bunny.

  Mama kissed her cheek and disappeared into a crowd of people.

  My sister was getting awfully grown up all of a sudden. I’d always known Bunny took after Mama more than the rest of us, but it was never so obvious.

  The people in the town all looked the same, sort of. They all looked like Bunny and Mama. Lighter. Freckles. Light eyes. Yes, their appearance was similar. But it was other things as well. Posture and smiles and gait. They seemed to share an internal rhythm. Mimi, Fee, George, and me? It was as if we slunk behind like dark clouds in a sunny sky. I could tell we looked out of place, and Bunny knew.

  “Oh Itsy! You’re so sensitive. Get over it. Hey, do you guys want to see the house where Mama grew up?”

  “Yes, yes!” we cried.

  Bunny led us through winding backstreets down toward the beaches. There were beautiful houses lined up with massive trees in front. The cobblestone streets ached with history.

  “There it is!” said Bunny and I almost lost my bloomers.

  Mama’s house. It was the largest house I’d ever seen, and certainly the fanciest. I’d learn later that it was a Victorian House. My eleven-year-old eyes only saw gingerbread and dolls. Lots of dolls.