He would be going back not as a broken man but with a case full of presents, photographs and news.
The voyage was the easy bit, then came the train and the journey by horse and cart up the mule tracks to the farm. Everything seemed slower, smaller, in the golden Tuscan light than he remembered. He was a city man now, not a farmer’s boy. He could scarcely understand the dialect he’d grown up with but he was so happy to be back in the scented hills.
His mother fell into his arms, so small, a far more shrivelled version of the strong woman who had waved him off nearly twenty years before, her fine features weathered by suffering. ‘Angelo, my darling boy. Let me look at you . so grey and skinny. I thank God I’ve lived to see you returned to us. Come in, come in.’
He felt like the honoured guest when he was given the room in the loft with the best mat-tress, a vaso da notte under his bed for his personal use in the night. The neighbours stood in awe of him as if he was a creature from another world, stroking his suit, his coat, beaming at him with toothless grins.
Onto the dining table came the zuppa , the pasta, the fine cheese, the country wine, the olive oil and wonderful castagnaccio chestnut bread, all with a fresh sharp flavour that came from the sun and the soil, and not from cans that had been shipped across the seas for months.
He was touched that all his letters and cards were pinned up on the wall above the shrine in the corner, treasured letters clearly read many times, and he wished with a pang that he’d written more often.
There was so much to tell, to explain. They thought he was a wealthy city slicker, not a man who was sick, out of work, only here because he’d been granted charitable funds. That wasn’t what they wanted to hear. They wanted to know letting their young men go so far
away was worth the sacrifice. He would not be disappointing them. He had forgotten just how poor they were and why the farm couldn’t sustain so many
sons. By the fug of the fornella a carbone , he watched his little brother, Gianni, who he’d last seen in short pants, towering above him, looking anxious in case he was home for good and wanting his share.
‘Come, eat.’ His father pushed him to the table before anyone else. ‘Only if everyone eats with me,’ Angelo replied, knowing they would want him to have
the biggest share. ‘The doctor says I eat too much for my health,’ he smiled, patting his stomach. ‘So forgive me if I hold back. You have spoiled me.’
He could see the relief on the faces of some of the children as they pounced on the feast. How could he take the bread from their mouths? Angelo sat back wishing his own family was there to share this with him. They felt so very far away.
He sensed deep within him that this pilgrimage home would do him good, along with the new tablets he must take each day. But first was another duty he must perform before any more festivity. He must make his way to Maria’s family and pay his respects. There were things there he needed to know. He felt the little shoe in his pocket . It had been there the whole journey. Would he find out the truth about its lace at long last?
Akron
Roddy was stuck in the depot making sure the deliveries went out on time, as the December weather closed in on the interstate roads. Everyone was in a festive mood, despite the wintry weather. Around him dangled a string of paper chains, which were not making his bleak of-fice look any more cheerful.
The haulage business was brisk enough if he could make sure there was always a return load. They’d sorted out a deal with an insurance company so that every time they crossed a state border they had the right cover. Each state had different rules about loads, required different licences. Will was out on the road as once again Jimmy Malone had turned in sick, or so he said.
Jimmy was one of their most unreliable contractors who ran his own schedule if he wasn’t kept in check. How could two greenhorn young bosses control men who had been on the roads for years, control wagon men who lived hard and slept rough to save time and ex-penses? Jimmy knew every trick in the book. Somehow they sensed when to come down hard and sack men who tried to make fools of them.
Freight Express was competing with the big boys now, businesses like Roadway and Cargo, but there was work for all of them. Roddy knew only too well that this business had to succeed. He’d cashed in Grandpa Parkes’s legacy to buy a new truck and premises, but so far so good.
Roddy kept an eye on Grandma by turning up at church regularly enough. They dined in the Portage Country Club or in a hotel downtown, and she kept him abreast of his father’s affairs.
‘He’s not so high and mighty now. The Diamond Rubber Company have been cutting back and have moved him sideways, tightening belts all round. He’s lost a mint of money in unwise investments and he’s got to sell Oak Court for a place in Talmadge. I’m not going with him. It’s too far out at my age, so I’m going to stay with Effie Morgan. She’s a widow and could do with some extra rent. Her place is big enough for the two of us and there’s a bed for you any time you choose to come home.’ Her eyes looked up without much hope
of a response.
‘I’m fine where I am, living on top of the job,’ he said. Over the years he’d grown closer to Grandma Harriet. She’d softened with age. These meetings, away from his pa, meant she could relax and be herself, telling him stories of life in Akron when she was a girl, show-ing him her picture album with such pride. The years of being under Grover’s thumb were coming to an end.
‘In those days we Parkes could hold our heads up high, young man, so make sure you do the same when your success comes. Don’t let it go to your head. But you’re working too hard, and not even a girl on your arm yet?’ She was always nosing around on that subject, pushing eligible girls in his direction.
‘When do I have time to go courting, Grandma?’ ‘All work and no play, young man,’ she smiled, patting his hand. He smiled back, touched by her concern, but girls were not in the picture right now. Not
the churchy ones with their sickly sweet flirting. He was not going to make the same mis-takes his parents had made.
He laughed at the thought that he would ever turn into his father in wanting an heir. This life suited him, driving down the eastern seaboard, across the mountains into Virginia, down south and out west, wherever he could deliver a load, then return with another. Tyres were not a problem, only rough roads and tiredness, but a flask of coffee was always ready. He ate in roadside diners and got to know other travellers and size up the competition.
Since that fateful night, when he’d turned up at Will’s house begging a bed, he’d never looked back at what might have been. He was boss of his own life now, king of the road, a wandering star, one who could do every job he asked of his men if needed. He’d filled out; chunky was what his grandma said, eyeing him up with concern. He’d lost his private school manners. It was dog eat dog in this business. Christmas could come and go for all he cared. He’d be sure of a roast at Effie Morgan’s place or at Will’s parents. He’d parcelled presents for the Lichfield crowd. He’d even managed to find some fur-lined gloves for Ella and Mrs Allen.
It was on the wireless in a diner that he heard the plaintive sounds of a choir singing carols. For a second he felt sick with nostalgia for Lichfield Cathedral by candlelight, the table in the dining room groaning with ivy and holly decorations and May’s plum pudding in which he used to search for the silver charms, pulling crackers with silly hats inside, playing charades and singing round the piano, and that brisk walk on Boxing Day across the Staffordshire fields.
It was another world away, and now he was a man doing man’s work. If he was lonely, if the job was tough and tiring and unpredictable, it was what he had chosen and there was no going back.
Christmas Day was only a date on the calendar, just another workday. And yet, a part of him wished he could make the trip back home . But how could it be home after all these years?
Frankie Bartolini loved the Christmas midnight Mass: the candles, the shuffle of the con-gregation round the adoration of t
he Magi on the Christmas crib. He felt important in his white robes as a high altar boy, set apart, holding the candles on poles as a priest solemnly intoned the Mass.
It was snowing outside, thick flakes, like a scene on a Christmas card. He could see his mother in her best hat, her red hair now tinged with silver at the sides. Patti was staring round trying to find her friends. Unsurprisingly, Jack was nowhere to be seen. He never came to church.
It was going to be their first Christmas without Papa. Everyone was putting on a brave face, trying to pretend his absence wasn’t leaving a huge hole in their family life. He’d been so excited to go back to Italy and had sent postcards home, but he’d been away for over a month now and Mamma was missing him badly.
There was no money left over for treats this year. Work was tough and Mamma needed every penny, but soon there’d be one less mouth to feed. Frankie was going away to the sem-inary to study, to test his vocation. It felt like a desertion until he saw Mamma’s proud face.
‘You were put on this earth to be God’s servant. Like Samuel, Hannah’s boy, who heard the voice calling in the night. We’ll manage fine. Patti’s troupe show brings in a little and your papa will be home soon so don’t you go having any ideas about packing in your new college. We start another year fresh over.
‘It doesn’t seem minutes since your papa and me met in the basement of St Patrick’s Cathedral, brought together by sorrow and finding joy. Who knows what’s ahead for any of us. To be sure, that’s not for us to be worrying about now. It’ll be a happy Christmas, Frankie, I know it will.’
‘Can we go home and get cookies? You promised,’ Patti whined. She was always hungry. Frankie pulled up his vestment and fished in his pocket for two quarters. ‘You can call in
at the bakery and we’ll have a feast.’
‘Frankie,’ his mother flushed, ‘that’s your choir money. You’ve been saving that.’ ‘So? It’s Christmas. Everyone should have a treat.’
He’d taken so much from the family pot by not leaving school. This was only a token but it felt good to be giving it back. Jack would roll up in the small hours loaded up with wine, candy and treats. No one would ask where he’d gotten them from. He was a survivor, more man of the house than Frankie was already, an alley rat who’d not see his family starve. But that thought gave Frankie no satisfaction at all.
One day he’d have to prove that all their sacrifices on his behalf had not been in vain. One day when he took his vows he’d have to cut the ties that bound him to his family for good. His life would not be his own, but that was a long way off yet. Tonight it was Christ-mas and they must all have some fun.
There was a tension at the dinner table that the usual Boxing Day jollities didn’t soften. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t played all the usual games, and dressed up for charades, but Ella still had such a pained look about her. She’d taken herself off to her freezing studio shed, wrapped in layers of woollies, and Selwyn had slipped back into his old drinking haunt, the pub next door. Celeste was beginning to feel she’d made all this annual fuss for nothing. Even Archie was lost in his own thoughts as she brought him a glass of sherry and sat down. He looked up. ‘I want to marry you. It’s time we made a proper life together. I’m sick of
being the secret lodger, the lover hidden in your cupboard.’ ‘But you’re not,’ Celeste protested.
‘Hear me out for once,’ he argued. ‘This arrangement has gone on for so long, almost ten years. I think we should see a solicitor and get advice. If anything happened to me, I want to know you are provided for.’
‘I am provided for . . . well, sort of,’ she replied. ‘No, you’re not . you live in your brother’s home, living off your father’s legacy, which
must have shrunk to nothing by now. I want you to live with me, share my name.’ ‘Aren’t you happy here?’ she asked, seeing the determination on his craggy face. What on
earth had brought this on?
‘Of course, anywhere you are, I’m happy, but what about you, living with all these stresses? It’s not easy bringing up another woman’s child. Ella’s not exactly been easy to live with these past few months.’
‘She’s just young and confused. I think of Ella as my own. I know she’s at that awkward stage but she needs a woman to guide her.’
‘That young lady is quite capable of earning her own living. Before long a fellow will whisk her away from here, but not, I hope, before you tell her what she should know.’
‘I can’t, not yet. You’ve seen the state of her. I could shoot that Keir Walsh, playing with her feelings like that. He picks her up and drops her like a glove. We have to wait. You can see Ella’s upset.’
‘I can’t wait, Celeste. I feel I’ve been patient long enough. It’s time you made a life your-self. Selwyn’s quite capable of living here on his own and Ella should know how things lie too.’
‘So you’ve got it all sorted then, just like that. I won’t have my life mapped out for me, not by you, not by anyone. Why is all this Ella business so urgent? She can wait.’ Celeste felt herself flaming up with frustration. This was not a conversation to have at Christmas.
‘I just want you to think about what I’m saying. I’m not a door mat. I have feelings too.’ ‘I know, it’s just . . .’ she sighed loudly.
‘It’s always just . . . with you, you put everyone before yourself. Why can’t you take charge of your own decisions? Ella must know what we know. It doesn’t feel fair for us to hold out on her.’
‘What difference will it make to her to know?’ she snapped back. ‘Some secrets are best left undisturbed, like a wreck at the bottom of the sea. All women learn to keep secrets deep inside themselves. This one is best left buried.’ Why was Archie being so stubborn?
‘Because it’s the honest thing to do. It’s just as dishonest to keep May’s secret as it is to pretend that I am just a lodger here. It’s insulting to our friends’ intelligence.’
‘Don’t keep going on about it.’
‘Don’t go on about what?’ Ella had been standing in the doorway, watching them ar-guing. ‘What have I done wrong now?’
‘Nothing dear, just a difference of opinion.’
‘I heard you keep mentioning my name. What’s all the arguing about?’ ‘Archie wants me to ask for a divorce from Grover, so we can marry.’ Celeste blushed at
her cover-up.
‘What’s that got to do with me then?’ Ella was standing with her arms folded defiantly ‘You were talking about me. I heard you.’
There was silence and Celeste looked for support from Archie, who just shrugged. ‘I think Celeste has something to say to you.’
‘Not now, dear, we’re all a bit tired and fractious.’ Still Ella did not budge. ‘What have I done wrong? I know you didn’t like Keir, but I
did.’
‘Oh, it’s not that.’ Celeste felt herself shaking. ‘It’s got nothing to do with him. It’s just . .’ she paused. ‘Come here. Archie, can you fetch the sherry? Make yourself useful for once.’
He nodded and left the room, leaving her alone with Ella, cornered now into trying to deliver her news in the least upsetting fashion.
‘Come upstairs with me,’ she said, rising quickly before she lost her courage. She went to the linen cupboard on the landing and opened the door to pull out an old bag stuffed at the back. ‘You remember this? We brought it from Lombard Gardens.’
Ella shrugged, disinterested. ‘It’s just a pile of baby clothes.’ ‘I told you then they were yours. Look at the pretty lace.’ ‘So? I haven’t touched them, they smell,’ Ella replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘What’s this
got to do with anything?’
‘Your mother never told you they came from the Titanic , did she?’ ‘No, why should she? I know you were on the ship. Roddy told me once.’ ‘And so were you and your mother . . .’ Celeste paused hoping for a reaction. ‘Really? The famous ship that sunk? Is that where my father drowned? Why didn’t she
tell me? I don’t u
nderstand.’ She was fingering the clothes now, frowning. ‘It’s not quite as simple as that, you see . . .’
‘Wait till I tell Hazel. I was on the Titanic , in a lifeboat, saved from the sea. So that’s how you met, then? Mum never said. I often wondered how you and her . . . Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘There’s no easy way to say this, Ella, but when your mother died, she told me something else, a secret concerning you. She said that the night she was rescued, the night her hus-band, Joe, was washed into the water clutching their baby, Ellen, she was rescued and put in my lifeboat. Then a baby was rescued, saved by Captain Smith, and the baby was given to her. You were that infant. Only when it was daylight did she realize you weren’t Ellen but another baby. And by then she couldn’t let you go.’
Ella stood staring at her, trying to take in this shocking news, shaking her head in disbe-lief.
‘And you’ve known all this for months?’ she said. ‘She never told anyone but you? Don’t believe her. She was mad . She said I wasn’t her daughter once before. It can’t be true. She couldn’t steal a baby.’ Ella was running down the stairs now. ‘I don’t believe any of it. Why are you telling me this now?’
‘Because Archie said I should have told you straight away, as soon as I knew. I’m sorry.’ ‘You’re sorry? It’s that woman who should be sorry. How could she steal a baby?’ ‘Don’t say that! May always loved you as her own. You were her baby from the moment
she had you in her arms. No one claimed you on the Carpathia , the rescue ship, so she felt that she had been saved to give you a proper mother.’
‘So who am I then?’ There was a hardness in Ella’s voice and a fierce anger. ‘You tell me who am I. You’ve taken away one identity. So where do I find my real parents?’
‘I don’t know, somewhere within the Titanic ’s passenger list perhaps. There has to be an answer. We could try to find out.’
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