Читать книгу Catarina's Ring - Lisa McGuinness - Страница 12

Chapter 7

CATARINA, THE ANGUISH OF SAYING GOODBYE, AND A STEAM SHIP DEPARTURE

Catarina looked into the rickety wooden chest and then up at her sister.

“How am I supposed to fit everything I want to bring with me in this one trunk plus a suitcase?” she asked. “Babbo said he reinforced it, but it looks like this chest is going to fall to pieces.”

“How practical you are, Catarina. Who cares about what you bring or whether this trunk becomes kindling wood. I’m more worried about what it’s going to be like to kiss a stranger than how you’re going to fit your things into this old trunk. And what about trying to make a baby with him? You don’t even know him.”

“Aurulia, don’t talk of such things!” Catarina focused on the empty trunk, so she didn’t have to look at her sister’s face. She was shocked that her sister would bring up such a subject. But in truth, it was something she, too, had thought about many times. She could put it aside during the day, while she kept herself busy, but at night when she lay in bed trying to sleep, she couldn’t put it out of her mind. She was terrified about it all. She was marrying a man who might as well be a stranger to her and leaving her home for an unfamiliar country. What if she couldn’t stand him once she met him again? What if he had oozing sores on his face and bad breath all the time? There had to be some terrible reason he had to ask for a bride who couldn’t remember what he looked like. She felt desperate, but she wasn’t sure what she was desperate for. Desperate to know exactly what she was getting herself into? Desperate to stay? Desperate to get out of a promise she had made out of fear?

It had seemed unreal at first. They had written a letter to send to the Brunellis accepting the proposal. And then they waited. They decided to tell no one about it until it became official with the return post—which would take weeks. And then, as those weeks of waiting passed, Catarina was almost able to forget that it was happening at all. She labored in the garden, helped her father with the vines, and worked in the house alongside her mother, all the while staying far from the Carlucci house. She had no idea what lie her mother told her father about why she hadn’t gone back to her job, but he never brought it up with her, so she let the subject alone. The only people who knew the whole story were her mother and her two best friends, who would never tell a soul. But, looking back, the moment of terror with Signor Carlucci had sealed her fate. She knew she would move to America and marry Franco.

The one noticeable difference in her routine was the sewing they did at night. Catarina and her mother began sewing things she would need for the marriage. Her mother put Catarina to work on a simple, white linen nightgown that was to be covered in white embroidery, while her sisters began to stitch a quilt for the marriage bed. Celestina set to work on Catarina’s undergarments. No daughter of hers would be sent off for marriage in old, faded underthings.

Several weeks after they posted the letter, they began wondering when they would receive the awaited response. The daily trip to the post office became agony, and because she was no longer working for the Carluccis, the task had been given to Catarina. The pimple-faced boy who delivered the mail to the general store trudged to the village each day around three o’clock in the afternoon, a beat-up leather satchel over his shoulder. He was surly and rude—filled with self-importance—but at least he was punctual.

Catarina didn’t want to appear to be waiting for something important, so she made sure to arrive just before the store closed each day—as if it were an unwanted burden to collect any letters that arrived for the family. When she stepped up to the counter, she made sure to put a bored expression on her face. The last thing she wanted was talk from the village. And then, when there was no letter, she made sure to hide her disappointment. It took six weeks of daily agony from the day they mailed the letter to the Brunellis until the response was finally placed in her hand. Remaining calm was almost impossible, but Catarina forced herself to reply with a simple “Grazie” when she saw the Brunelli name on the thick envelope. She walked at a restrained pace through the square, the letter gripped in her suddenly clammy hand.

“Mama, it’s here!” she yelled as she opened the front door.

Celestina came bustling from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. When they tore open the envelope, they found two missives: one letter for Catarina’s parents and another for herself.

Catarina wanted to take the letter upstairs to her room to read in private but she knew her mother would never allow it. She felt her heart beating nervously. She watched until Celestina became engrossed in the first letter before she began reading the one to her alone. The writing was small and gently sloped. It was written in blue ink. The vague vision she had of Franco came to her mind. She could almost see him sitting at a desk, composing the words. She wished she could remember his voice and his face more clearly.

Cara Catarina,

May I call you Cara? It’s presumptuous, I know, but I feel that it follows the presumption of asking you to marry me based on my memory of a girl. How shall I begin this letter? By telling you first of all how pleased I am that you said “yes.” Are you wondering why I chose you to ask? I can easily tell you. It’s because of a certain memory I have of you and your brother, Mateo. You two were sitting at the table in your kitchen when my family was there for a visit. You were working on learning your sums. Mateo couldn’t remember how to work one of the sums and you not only reminded him how to do it, but looked over at me with a fierce expression while you did so—daring me to say something that would slight your older brother. I wouldn’t have, but I admired your nerve, as I was much older than you. That image stuck with me. Your intelligent blue eyes and the fierce expression on your face. When I decided it was time to marry, I didn’t want to marry a girl from America. I wanted to marry a girl who would remind me of Italy. Who would speak my language and understand what it means to be Italian. My father said he would ask your babbo if there was a suitable girl in the village. While we were talking about it, your face flashed through my mind. I asked my father how old you would be now, and once I knew you were of marrying age, I asked him to talk to your father about it. I know it’s strange that we don’t know each other well—that we haven’t seen each other for years. But then again, my parents met only days before they were due to be married, and it has worked well for them.

My family has booked passage for you on a ship. The letter to your parents contains the details of your departure. I want to assure you of some things myself, though. The first is that I promise to take good care of you. My family has a successful jewelry business and soon we will have an apartment of our own. Until then, we will live at my family home.

I will come to New York to meet your ship and travel with you by train to San Francisco. We will be married there in a cathedral near our home. It has a beautiful glass window made of different colors, so when the sun shines through, it’s like looking at a rainbow. I know it sounds like make-believe, but wait until you see it.

I will write more later, but for now, please know that I look forward to our marriage.

Yours,

Franco

That had been more than a month ago. Now Catarina had a small bundle of letters from Franco tied up with a ribbon. It was the first thing she placed in the wooden chest.

She was due to leave in a matter of days. The plan was to travel with Babbo by cart to Salerno, where she would board a ship to cross the Atlantic Ocean. The most important thing, Franco had said, was to stay healthy on the ship if she could, because they were very strict about whom they let into the United States. She would have to go through a place he called Ellis Island, where those who wanted to immigrate had to be checked over and cleared before they could enter the country. He wrote that even when she arrived in the United States, there would still be a risk that she could be sent back, even with a fiancé waiting for her. She hoped that wouldn’t happen. It would be humiliating to be found unfit and have to return home after telling everyone that she was going to America to be married.

He had booked her into a berth she would share with one other girl. She hoped she liked her, because they would be spending a long time together aboard the ship.

The next item Catarina placed in the wooden trunk was the quilt her sisters had made for her. It was the color of the old bricks that made up the oven where they baked their bread. A deep, rich brownish red that they trimmed in cream-colored crochet. The fabric was heavy and the feathers they filled it with were thick and fluffy. Franco told her that the evenings were cold and foggy in San Francisco, and her sisters wanted her to stay warm. She couldn’t imagine living somewhere where the evenings, even in the summer, were cool. Summer evenings at home were the best part of the day—after the heat had receded to sultry warmth. Would she have to wear a coat in the summer there? She couldn’t imagine that. She looked over at her thin, old coat. It had been tight on her last winter and she knew she had grown more since then. She decided to leave it at home for her sisters. Even if that meant she was cold during the voyage, at least her coat would be something she could leave behind to help. Even though Catarina was petite, they were even shorter, so she knew it would go to good use.

She couldn’t bring herself to pack any more yet. Instead, she walked outside and sat on the stone wall that surrounded la cucina giardino, the kitchen garden, which faced out to the olive orchard. The air was warm and still and it felt good to be out of her stuffy attic room. The leaves were grays and verdant greens. The lavender stood sentry at the entrance to the orchard, with its spiky, purple flowers. How would she leave it? But the decision was made. She would see it through. She would exchange the sights and sounds of the countryside for the noise and bustle of an unfamiliar city.

Babbo called her stubborn, but Catarina knew it wasn’t that. She had the inner strength to forge ahead in spite of the pain she felt. She had gotten that trait from her mother. È inutile piangere sul latte versato, no crying over spilt milk, she said. Lift your head high, and walk forward. And Catarina would do that. But she would miss home. And she would miss her family.

Although she could bend her will, she couldn’t control the tears that silently slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her apron, swinging her feet as she had since she was a little girl, and tried to memorize every detail of what was before her.

As the last few days passed before her departure, she and her mother performed an intricate dance—never mentioning the diminishing time they had left together. Celestina asked her questions about what she had packed and what was left to do, as if she was simply going to visit her aunt in the next village. She didn’t mention marriage or Franco, but instead gently chastised her for not filling the water jug enough for the day, or doing a bad job of sweeping.

But on the morning of her departure, they could no longer ignore the facts. When Catarina came downstairs dressed in her simple gray traveling dress with red-rimmed eyes, Celestina handed her a caffè latte and then immediately took it back, setting it down on the table, and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Catarina could feel her mother’s shoulders shaking as she silently wept. She held her mother tightly and for the first time allowed herself to cry unchecked.

“I’m scared, Mama,” she whispered, so only Celestina could hear.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, mia cara.”

“What if I never see you and Babbo again? How will I live in this world without you? I can’t bear the thought of it.”

“Shhh. Don’t talk like that. I will still be in this world, and you will see me again. That was part of the marriage contract Babbo insisted upon. Franco will bring you home to visit us. And until then, look out at the moon each night, and know that I am looking at the same moon. We won’t be so far apart.”

Catarina let go of her mother and wiped her face. Celestina handed the coffee back to her daughter and sent her back upstairs to drink it and splash water on her tear-stained face.

When she came back down the rest of the family was waiting for her and the tears began again. She hugged each of her sisters and brothers-in-law goodbye. They insisted they would all write constantly, but Catarina knew letters would be a poor substitute for seeing them every day as she had her entire life.

It was a relief that Mateo and her father were both taking her to the ship, so she could postpone those farewells at least for a while.

When Catarina climbed into the cart and sat down on her trunk, it was almost a relief to be underway at last. Mateo jumped onto the cart as well, tucked her suitcase under the bench seat, then sat facing his sister. Catarina’s father stepped up to the driver’s seat and took the reins of the Pensebene’s workhorse before taking a seat on the wooden wagon bench. Celestina handed a basket of food up to Catarina so they could eat breakfast and lunch during the journey to the port. Catarina gave her mother one last hug and then her father clicked his tongue and the horse started off.

She watched her mother’s form recede as the cart and horse picked up speed on the road out of the village, then she yelled one last time, “Ti amo, Mama!” I love you. She stood up and waved both her arms and blew kisses to her mother.

“Finiranno mai queste lacrime?” asked Mateo theatrically, leaning over to their father. Will these tears never cease? This is what it must be like at an opera.”

Then he turned back to his sister and said, “I, for one, am happy to be rid of you.” He smiled at her mischievously. “I intend to take over your room as soon as Babbo and I return. I don’t know how you ended up with the best room in the house, but it will be mine soon enough.”

Catarina burst into laughter through her tears, thankful for her brother’s sense of humor.

“My husband and I will kick you out when we come to visit,” Catarina retorted, as she blew her nose into a handkerchief. But she was happy to think of Mateo in her room.

“When I get married, my wife and I will live in your room and make a baby right in your bed.”

“Mateo!” Babbo cuffed his son on the ear. “There will be no talking like that in front of your sister.”

But Mateo just laughed harder and winked at Catarina, who shook her head at him.

They were hungry, so they ate while they passed the time in the cart. The day was glorious. Sunny, but not too hot because it was early. Mateo and Babbo would be sweltering on the return journey, but for now it was as if Italy were giving Catarina a perfect farewell.

When they arrived at the harbor, it was like nothing Catarina had imagined. There were people everywhere. Carts and horses clogged the streets. The port was crowded with people loading supplies onto the ship, shouting to one another. The whole spectacle overwhelmed her, but the main focus for Catarina was the ship. It took her breath away. It was bigger than the orchard at their house. It was bigger than the town square in their village. It was huge and hulking, but what shocked her even more than the size was that she had expected a wooden ship like she’d seen in paintings. Instead, it was made of steel.

“Babbo, how will it stay afloat?” Catarina asked. “It must weigh so much it will sink to the bottom of the sea.”

Babbo laughed. “Don’t worry, child. It will stay afloat and get you all the way to America. It’s much safer than wood. It’s a steamship. Now, let’s get you aboard and find where you’ll be sleeping.”

Mateo quickly tied up the horse and cart and helped his father with the trunk. He was eager to explore the ship. He, too, was in awe of its enormity and could hardly believe it would only take Catarina nine days to reach New York. She and Mateo looked at each other with matching expressions of wonder etched across their similar features.

They walked up the gangway, Catarina holding the suitcase in the lead and Mateo and her father behind, hefting the trunk between them. When they reached the entrance, they were stopped by a young, uniformed man who asked for their tickets.

Catarina opened the first purse she had ever owned, extracted her ticket, and handed it to him.

“My daughter’s traveling to America to get married,” Babbo told him.

The man looked up and met her eyes.

“Lucky man,” he winked at Catarina and punched a hole in her ticket, then handed it back to her. His accent was from northern Italy and his hair was golden and curly, which made his dark eyes almost confusing. Catarina felt heat rise to her face and looked away.

“Can you tell me where she will be sleeping?” asked Catarina’s father.

“Si, Signore, on level two you’ll find a door with the same number as the ticket. And if you would like, I will keep a special eye on your daughter while she is aboard ship. My name is Gregorio Villa, and I have a sister who must be the same age,” he smiled.

“Grazie mille. I would appreciate it,” said Babbo, and handed him a coin which he casually pocketed.

As they walked away from him, Catarina glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Gregorio was watching her, too, an amused expression on his face. Her sharp intake of breath startled her father. She quickly turned back and acted as if she were simply looking around.

“What is it, Catarina? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, Babbo. I’m only looking at the ship. What an amazing thing it is!” she said, but in truth, the face of Gregorio Villa was immediately fixed in her mind.

When they got downstairs, they easily located the berth Catarina was to share. Inside was the girl whom Franco had written to her about.

“Buon giorno,” they said in unison and then smiled at each other.

“Il mio nome è Catarina Pensebene.”

“Nice to meet you, Catarina. My name is Maria Crostina.”

Catarina introduced her brother and father as well, stored her suitcase and trunk, and then told her that they were going to look around the ship.

“Would you like to join us?” she asked.

“No, grazie,” said Maria. “I’m going to unpack, but I’ll see you later.”

So they left her to explore the different levels of the ship. They found the dining area, the outside decks, and even snuck a peek into the first class accommodations, until they were asked to see their tickets, then shooed out when they couldn’t produce them. They stood against the rail looking out at the dock below. Mateo stepped away to look off the bow and Catarina’s father took his daughter in his arms.

“I will miss you,” he said, “but this will be best for you.”

“I know, Babbo.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her.

“This is for you. Keep it safe. I didn’t want you traveling with no money, should anything happen.”

Catarina had never been given money for herself before, and the thought of it alarmed her.

“What would happen? Why would I need this?” she asked.

“I’m sure nothing, but this way if Franco’s train is late or you need anything, you have some money.”

“Grazie, Babbo. I will keep it safe,” she said, and tucked it into her purse without looking at the amount. She peeked discretely around to make sure no one was watching. She felt conspicuous having money. She felt a sense of pride, too. She was a grown woman. Her father trusted her with money.

Suddenly, the horn sounded and they both jumped. Catarina almost dropped her purse but caught it just in time, averting embarrassment.

“We have to go now, Catarina. That’s the signal.”

“Ok,” she said, this time determined not to shed more tears. She smiled bravely at her father, who hugged her and then held her at arms length to study her face. Mateo appeared at their sides and quickly hugged his sister as well.

“Ti amo,” she said to each of them in turn, and forced her face to keep smiling. “I’ll stand here and wave to you. You find me from shore, ok? Look, we’re near this big cable. Look for that and you’ll find me.”

“Si Catarina, we’ll find you from shore,” said Babbo, his voice strained with the effort of keeping composure. And then they stepped away and left her staring from the deck.

She bit her cheek and breathed deeply. She reminded herself of everything she was excited about. She would have adventures in America. She would ride a train from New York to San Francisco, so she would have time to get to know Franco before they married. She would be the wife of a jeweler instead of the daughter of a farmer. She went through the list in her mind until she spotted her father and brother ashore waving madly at her. She waved back until her arm got tired. Finally the ship sounded two more times, and then she felt a lurch under her feet as they pulled away from the dock and headed out to sea.