“What happened here?” Woody said, pointing to the dining room.
“Rossella made spaghetti and they have to dry,” Beulah said, keeping her opinion on the matter to herself.
“No spaghetti,” Rossella wiggled her index finger at Beulah. “Eez tagliatelle, no spaghetti. Tomorrow night, I cook,” she said. “Come at eight.”
Beulah bristled. Who does Rossella think she is hosting dinner in my house? It’s my place to do the inviting.
Evelyn glanced at Beulah, waiting for her to respond before she accepted. Beulah recovered.
“Yes, please come. But Rossella, eight is a little late for us. Country people go to bed early. Can we make it earlier?”
“Okay, seven,” Rossella threw up her hands as if time were of no consequence. Beulah turned her attention back to the frying chicken and tried to compose herself.
“Sounds good to me. Can I bring my dad if there’s enough?” Lindy said.
“Of course,” said Beulah, feeling a bit more in control. “He’s more than welcome.”
“Rossella, would you like me to bring a dish?” Evelyn asked.
“No, no, eets fine. I have all,” Rossella said with another wave of her hand.
You have it all because you are using my groceries, Beulah thought, feeling very uncharitable. The brazen nerve of that woman rubbed her raw.
“Really, let me bring a dessert,” Evelyn said.
“No, no, I do,” Rossella said.
After frying the chicken, Beulah made cream gravy while Evelyn got the biscuits out of the oven. With Evelyn’s help, they brought coleslaw, green beans and macaroni and cheese to the table.
After being seated at the table, Jake said grace and then the food was passed around the table in family style. Beulah noticed Rossella was picking at the macaroni and cheese and she looked at her.
“It is okay?” she asked, knowing her macaroni and cheese was a crowd pleaser.
“Okay, but no garlic,” she said.
“I can’t eat garlic, so I don’t cook with it,” Beulah said as firmly as she could.
“No garlic for you?” Rossella’s face lit up as if someone had turned on a light. “Okay, I see problem with you.”
Beulah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She was just about to respond when Jake said, “I got an e-mail from Annie.”
This got Beulah’s attention and she let Rossella’s comment go.
“How is she? Any word?” Beulah asked.
“They went to the address on the letter, but it was a boarded up building. She could tell where a storefront had been by the stone work, but it was abandoned.”
Beulah was disappointed.
“I suppose it is to be expected,” she said. “It was a long time ago.”
“They do have some leads. She said she would call as soon as she knew anything. And she said to give you her love,” Jake said.
Beulah was a little miffed Annie communicated with Jake instead of her. She was feeling a little sideways in general right now. The sooner Annie and Janice could get the mystery solved, the better for all of them. Then Rossella could go back to New York City where she belonged and Beulah could get her house, and her kitchen, back.
“Rossella, how long have you been widowed?” Lindy asked.
“Too many years now. I no like being alone. But men no want my age, they want young woman,” she laughed. “Even though young woman can’t cook.”
“Beulah ought to have been snapped up, as good as she cooks,” Woody said. “And Evelyn, too.”
“I don’t want a man,” Beulah said, feeling a little irritated this issue had come up again so soon. “One was enough for me.”
“Maybe that’s my problem,” Lindy said. “I don’t know how to cook.”
“You don’t have a problem,” Jake said. “You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
“Have you talked to Stella lately?” Evelyn directed the question to Woody, who seemed embarrassed.
“Well, yeah, I have. I invited her down for Scott and Mary Beth’s wedding, truth be told. In fact … I was wondering, Beulah, if maybe she could stay with you since Evelyn’s got her house full.”
Beulah swallowed a piece of chicken whole. Good grief. Another houseguest.
Chapter Twenty-Five?
IN THE 1500s, ANNIE learned from the pizzeria menu, pizza was a crusty flatbread sold in the streets of Naples for poor people. Later, toppings such as oil, tomatoes and fish were added. From her travels to Rome as a flight attendant, she knew the authentic Italian version of pizza was very different from the jazzed up American version loaded with cheese and piled on a thick crust.
When the classic pizza margherita arrived at their table, it was a light smattering of tomato sauce on a thin crust with a sprinkling of cheese and fresh basil leaves.
“Are we counting carbs?” Janice asked.
“How can you in Italy?” Annie said, taking a big slice. They ate in silence, enjoying the view overlooking the bay. After lunch, Annie took her cell phone out on the terrace and called home.
“Hey you,” Jake said, “How’s it going?”
“It’s awfully romantic here; it’s a little wasted with Janice and me.”
“I hope there aren’t any handsome Italian men around,” he said, teasing. They were both trying hard to sound normal, she realized, avoiding the tension thick as sorghum between them.
“I do wish you were here,” she said.
“I don’t think farming is conducive to much travel. Any news on the Caivanos?”
“Nothing yet. I’m beginning to think the trip is a waste of time and money. It will be a miracle if we find the right Caivanos. Although we are meeting with a World War II expert tomorrow who happens to have the same last name.”
Annie told Jake about the Ferrari and getting it impounded.
“Be careful,” he said. “You might be better off taking a taxi, at least inside the historic centers.”
“How’s it going with Mrs. DeVechio?”
“Have you talked to Beulah?”
“No, I was waiting to call when I actually had news one way or the other. Everything okay?”
“Mom said they went to the Country Diner last night and Mrs. DeVechio charmed her way into the kitchen and made spaghetti, which they promptly added as the nightly special.”
“Charmed?”
“Maybe elbowed is a better word. Anyway, I think Beulah was pretty embarrassed about it, according to Mom. I don’t think anyone else minded. In fact, Mom says they’re all quite taken with her and the spaghetti was delicious.”
“How is Evelyn?”
“Yesterday, she asked for help finding her car keys. They were in the silverware drawer.”
“Nothing’s in the open yet,” she said.
“Nope. It appears to be another secret.”
There was an uncharacteristic note of sarcasm in Jake’s voice. What did she expect, she had hurt him, despite all her intentions.
“I miss you,” she said.
“Same here.” Annie hung up and stared silently out at the Gulf of Naples and the long distance between them.
***
For dinner, they decided to take Jake’s suggestion and hire a taxi to a restaurant recommended by Janice’s cousin. They sat on the osteria’s patio surrounded by greenery and enjoyed spaghetti alla puttanesca prepared al dente. Afterward, Janice took out a pack of cigarettes.
“I thought you quit?”
“I never smoke unless I’m in Italy. Something about these Italian cigarettes,” she said.
“Janice, they’re Marlboros.”
“Well, maybe it’s something about Italy.”
Janice put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled, then leaned back in her chair, exhaling the smoke slowly.
“So when are you and Jake getting married?” Janice asked, leveling her gaze at Annie.
“I don’t know; it seems early still to me. We’ve only officially been dating for a few weeks.”
&n
bsp; “What’s this official business? You’ve known him forever. The point of dating is to get to know each other. You two are way past that.”
Annie took a sip of red wine. “I just want to be sure.”
Janice squinted at her through the smoke of the cigarette and Annie braced herself.
“What are you afraid of?” she said.
Annie shrugged and then to her dismay, her eyes welled with tears. Janice’s face softened and she held the cigarette back as she leaned forward.
“It’s okay, Annie. It’s normal to be afraid to trust after all you’ve lost.”
“Janice, you don’t understand. That’s what’s so awful about this. I’m afraid he can’t trust me.”
“What?”
“My father left my mother within a year of being married. He couldn’t stand being tied down, staying in one place. According to half the town, I am just like him. I feel so bad inside, like I am headed for some destiny and I can’t stop it. I’m frozen with fear. I can’t bear to be without Jake, but I am scared to death to take a step forward. It’s not that I don’t want to, I can’t. I would never want to hurt him.”
Annie’s chest tightened and she dabbed her eyes with the cloth napkin.
“Have you talked to Jake about all this?”
“No. I’m afraid it will make it worse. Then he really won’t trust me. How’d you feel if you wanted to marry someone who told you they might have to leave you?” Annie asked.
“You have a point,” Janice said.
“Jake knows something is wrong; he knows I’m not trusting him with it. But how can I?” Annie said. “It’s eating me up inside.”
“Annie, you are not your father. Do you think your father agonized over your mother like this? Do you think he cared so much about her he was bound and determined to protect her like you are with Jake?”
Annie couldn’t imagine her father agonizing over a relationship at all. His narcissism overshadowed any concern for others.
“No, I guess not, when you put it like that.”
“Believe me, you’re not like him. You’ve let this thing get too big. Let me tell you a story,” Janice said, leaning back in her chair.
“My uncle Tony said when he was in elementary school, there was a bully who cornered him every day for his lunch money. The guy was twice his size and Tony gave it up as soon as the bully came his way. Then one day, he got tired of being hungry at lunch, and when the bully came to him for his money, he jumped on his foot as hard as he could. The bully screamed and ran off howling and never bothered him again.”
Annie blew her nose. “Who’s the bully here?”
“Fear. It gets so big and ugly it controls your life. But there’s nothing to it if you confront it,” Janice said. “Do you think I wanted to trust Jimmy again after he had an affair? No way. I was ready to leave him. But I realized what I was feeling and even the reason Jimmy had the affair in the first place was because of fear. Our priest counseled us and I remember he said, ‘Perfect love casts out fear.’ It’s in the Bible.”
Janice stubbed out her cigarette.
Annie nodded. Perfect love, she thought. The very thing she was incapable of giving.
***
Janice asked for Elisabetta Caivano at the museum’s information desk and they waited until a middle-aged woman greeted them and introduced herself as Betta. Janice asked her in Italian if she was comfortable speaking English or if she would rather have Janice interpret.
“No, English eez okay,” she said and led them to a small office behind a door with a sign that read Privato.
Annie explained the story; beginning with finding the letters and then the realization her great-uncle had fathered a child during the war.
Betta’s eyebrows rose when the Caivano name was mentioned, but she listened without interrupting. Annie handed her the letter from Lilliana Caivano and the picture of Elena. Betta took them. Annie watched her face, hoping for some sense of recognition.
“Ah,” she said, after finishing the letter. “I understand. First, let me say the name Caivano eez,” she hesitated. “How you say, common? My family eez not this one. I tell you because you must have been surprised at my last name.”
“Yes, actually we wondered if you might be related,” Janice said.
Betta nodded. “Yes, I am sure. My married name is Caivano, but my husband’s family eez not originally from Naples. They come from Basilicata, which eez another region in southern Italy.”
“We were wondering what happened to Naples after the war? Did the people leave for another place? We thought possibly there might be certain villages people went to escape the cities that had been bombed so badly?” Annie asked.
Betta made a clicking sound with her tongue and shook her head.
“Eet’s very difficult and might require a long time of much research. There eez not one place where people went. In fact, most people stayed to rebuild the city. But for theez particular family, I cannot speak.”
Her optimism sank like a torpedoed ship. They had embarked on an impossible task.
“The most likely possibility would be to ask the older Neapolitans who would have lived in this area, but the ones who are left are elderly now. I can make some inquiries if there is some with thees last name and send information by e-mail if I find anything. Could I photocopy this letter?” Betta asked.
“Certainly,” Annie said. It was a private, family matter, but if it could help reunite them with Ephraim’s descendants, she knew her grandmother would approve.
Betta stood with the letter and then stopped suddenly.
“Oh, I just thought of something we might try. Come with me,” she said. Annie and Janice followed her to a computer on the opposite wall.
“You know there were many occupation babies born here during and after the war,” Betta said. “Many, many, here and in other parts of Europe and in the Pacific. After the Internet existed, resources were developed to reunite the soldiers and their children. Many times they did not know of their existence. There are several, but we will try the most popular one for Americans. Maybe someone has reached out. It’s just a chance, but we must try,” she said.
The computer was up now and she typed American World War II GI babies.
Annie never even thought about the possibility of all the babies left behind along with the mothers. It must have been a common scenario despite the military’s provision of contraception to the soldiers during the war.
“Ah, okay. Here we are,” Betta said. Annie and Janice looked over her shoulder.
“Thees eez one of the databases. There are several resources based on where soldiers were stationed. Thees eez the one for Italy.”
Betta leaned into the screen and frowned. “No good.”
“What’s wrong?” Janice said.
“Eets not possible to search by name, you must go through all postings. There are many, going back many years.” Betta scooted her chair back from the computer. “I will get you both an espresso while you search.”
“Thank you,” Annie said, scooting into the seat. “Janice, why don’t you read through it, too, so I don’t miss anything.”
Janice pulled another chair up next to the screen.
An hour and two espressos later, they were several pages down and into the late 1990s.
“My eyes are starting to hurt,” Annie said, rubbing them with the palms of her hands.
“I know. I need a break after this page,” Janice said.
“A break sounds good,” Annie said, scooting back her chair and stretching her arms.
“Wait, look,” Janice said, and pointed to a post at the bottom.
“What?” Annie asked, pulling her chair back toward the screen and squinting to see where Janice pointed.
“Ephraim May, Kentucky,” Annie said, hardly believing the words she read aloud.
“Read it,” Janice said.
Seeking information on Ephraim May, stationed in Naples, Italy during 1943.
“There’s a
name, and a city. Here’s an email.”
Betta joined them. “Did you find something?”
“Yes, can we send an email from here?” Janice said.
“Certainly,” Betta said.
“But it will come back here,” Annie said.
“I know, but just make sure it still works, then we can send it from your phone,” Janice said.
Betta traded places with Annie at the computer screen.
“What would you like me to say?”
Janice looked at Annie. “You have some information and could we please have a phone number and an address,” she said.
Betta nodded, typed the e-mail in Italian, and hit send.
“I call you with the information as soon as they respond,” she said, and then looked back at the screen.
“Oh, thees eez not good. The e-mail eez back.”
“We do have a name, and a place,” Janice said.
Annie read it aloud, “Benito Gianelli. Montefollonico.”
“The information eez very old,” Betta said. “Let’s try and search this name in Montefollonico.”
They waited while the search engine pulled up information.
“Ah, yes, here is Benito Gianelli, Via dei Colli. It’s outside the village, maybe a farm.”
“Where is Montefollonico?” Janice asked.
“North. In Tuscany.”
Annie looked at Janice and they made a silent decision.
“We’ll go to Montefollonico,” Janice said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
BEFORE THEY LEFT the museum, Betta searched the Internet for a phone number to go with the street name, but nothing more was listed. Excited to help, she had printed out directions to Montefollonico and had even booked the only hotel in the village.
“Less than four hours drive,” she had said.
They checked out of the Grand Vesuvio, loaded their luggage, and were driving north back to Rome and beyond to Tuscany. Annie debated calling her grandmother, but it would only be around five in the morning. She decided to wait until there was something concrete to tell later.
“I hope this is not a wild goose chase,” she said to Janice, shifting gears, and finally getting the hang of the stick shift. “What if we get to Montefollonico and find out they moved back to the south? To Sicily, for instance?”
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