The Queen of the Big Time (19 page)

Mr. Jenkins takes me on a tour of the new home of Roseto Manufacturing Company. We have moved to the end of Garibaldi Avenue, in an old box factory. Jenkins brought in a team of men from Jersey who
salvaged some of the machines, bins, and supplies from the fire. Whatever was lost will be replaced with equipment from his other factories. The workers need not have worried that they would lose their jobs; Mr. Jenkins had the new mill up and running within a week.

A few of the girls did go to the competition (in the past couple years three more blouse mills have opened in our town), but for the most part, our roster will return intact. Only Mr. Albanese, who was a year from retirement, will not return. He told me his close brush with death helped him realize that time waits for no one, and while he still feels good, he wants to take it easy.

“How’s Renato doing?” Chettie asks as she helps me set up the workstations.

“Not so good,” I admit. Renato has been distant in the weeks since his father died. I’ve tried repeatedly to draw him out, but he sinks more deeply into some dark place inside. When I hold him now, it’s not because I want to make love, I only want to help him heal. He rejects me, though, and then later apologizes. I don’t know how to handle him. “Chet …” I say, breaking down. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I’ve tried everything. Even leaving him alone. When I try to reach out to him, he pushes me away.”

“It’s like he’s blaming you because his father died,” she says. “I know something about that. When my father died I hated anyone who still had a father. It’s hard to understand why, out of all the people in the world, your father has to die.”

“And it’s even worse for him. His mother is gone too. He’s all alone in the world, except for me.”

“Just be present for him. That’s all you can do. Sit there. And when he’s ready, he’ll talk.”

After work, I walk home on Garibaldi Avenue. I’m going to stop in and see if Renato wants to come over to Alessandro’s for dinner. As I climb the steps, I notice that the shades are drawn and the curtains
are closed in the front parlor. I go to the front door and knock. There’s no response. I try the door, but it’s locked. Then my eye catches something. I see an envelope wedged in the door. I pull it out. My hands begin to shake when I see the familiar writing on the outside of the envelope. It is addressed to me. I breathe deeply and sit down on the milk box.

Dear Nella
,

I hesitate to leave you this letter, because it is my hope that you will remember me and think of me at my best. I’m sorry, but I have to leave you and my home that I love because it is the only way for me to find my purpose. I know you will blame yourself, but I write this letter so you will not. I treasure what we had but it was not right. I took advantage of you when I was afraid, and that is not fair to you. I want you to be happy and to find peace. I am not the man who can give it to you. I will think of you always with affection
.

Your Renato

I inhale, realizing that I have held my breath the entire time I was reading. I stand up and hold the wall to steady myself. I don’t know how I will make the hill home to Dewey Street, but I have to, so I will. I stuff the letter into my pocket, and later, when I find a match, I will burn it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

E
very Christmas Eve, Papa would go out to the woods on the outskirts of Delabole farm and cut down a tree. Mama baked gingerbread cookies, which we iced, then hung on the tree with satin ribbons. There was a cookie with each of our names on it, which we ate on Christmas morning. Tiny candles were nestled in foil cups, attached to the branches, and we’d light them as soon as the sun went down. There was caroling, and midnight Mass, and presents that we made for one another. The holiday was always the happiest time for our family, but not anymore.

This year, it seems everyone in the Castelluca family is sad for a different reason. Mama and Papa miss Assunta, I’m sad without Renato, and my younger sisters can see that the farm life they loved is not going to last forever. Alessandro wants to focus on importing and open a shop in town, and without his help Papa won’t be able to keep the farm going. Alessandro has asked Mama and Papa to move into town, and they are considering it.

Elena has put up a tree in the front window on Dewey Street.
She has invited the family for Christmas dinner. I place cloth napkins next to the dishes on the table. “Nella?” Elena gives me a pair of candlesticks to place on the table. “I want to talk to you about Alessandro.”

“About how he feels about you?”

Elena inhales quickly. I look at her.

“How did you know? You couldn’t tell, could you?” Elena puts her hand to her face, embarrassed.

“No, of course not. He told me about his feelings months ago.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him to wait until a year had passed. And now it’s been a year.”

“He has asked me to marry him. What do you think?”

“I think … he’s a very good man. Do you love him?”

“Very much. It’s only when I think about our sister that I hesitate.”

“Elena,” I say, taking her hand into mine. “She would want her daughter raised by a good woman.”

“Thank you, Nella.”

“And she would want her daughter to have a proper upbringing.”

“You know, people talk. I hear things. There have been comments about me.”

“Who cares what people think?”

“I do. I’m raising a baby, and I care how she will be treated. I don’t want her to be ashamed of my choices.”

“Have you talked to Mama and Papa?” I ask.

“Not yet. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid they’ll think it’s disrespectful to Assunta.”

“I think you’ll be surprised. Mama and Papa want you to be happy. And they love Alessandro. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Elena’s voice breaks. “I know. But I wish …”

“What do you wish?”

“That I would have met him first. That he would have loved me
first. That the baby was ours. I know it’s not a perfect world, but why did it happen this way? When Assunta was alive, I was always in her shadow. And I have this terrible feeling that it’s my fate to stay there.”

“It’s not your fate to be second. You didn’t plan this. It happened. And as for the petty gossips, I have a little experience with that myself. Ignore it. There will soon be another story burning up and down Garibaldi Avenue, long after your wedding corsage has wilted. There’s always something new to talk about.”

“Will you be my maid of honor?” she asks, clearly relieved to know that I don’t judge her or Alessandro for their decision to marry.

“I would love to.”

Father Impeciato marries Alessandro Pagano to Elena Teresa Castelluca on December 31, 1926. Assunta Pagano chatters through the entire service. Even on Elena’s wedding day, her niece hogs the spotlight. Mama is happy for Elena, but Papa has not said a word. It’s not that he disapproves, it’s that this marriage will always remind him of the daughter he lost, and a year later, he still cannot accept it.

Roma and Dianna move in with Elena and Alessandro for the winter. It is much easier for them to walk to school, and they are a great help with the baby. But the quarters are getting tight here; with three bedrooms, there is no extra room. I decide to move back out to the farm. I don’t mind taking the trolley in the morning, and with my salary, I can afford to do it. And Mama is glad to have me back home.

“It’s so lonely here when you’re all in town,” she says. “I love having you back home.”

“I like it too.” I give her a hug. “I’m going to bed. It’s supposed to snow tonight.” I look out the window at the pasture. The full moon casts a hazy silver glow on the field, which looks like a lake blue in the darkness. I can see the white flakes begin their tangled descent to the cold ground. Dizzy snowflakes usually mean a blizzard.

“More snow?” Mama complains. She misses the warmth of Italy. She has never liked these cold Pennsylvania winters, and she longs for the warm beaches of her Adriatic Sea.

I climb the stairs to the room I used to share with my sisters. Mama has left it intact. As I get undressed, I think about how my life is going backward. I am becoming the maiden aunt, even though I never planned to be. I hang my dress on the same hook I hung my pantalets and apron on when I was small. It’s so odd to be in this old farmhouse without my sisters. Now I know what it would have been like to be an only child, and I don’t think I would have liked it.

Every night before I go to sleep, I reread the letter Renato left me, hoping to find some new meaning in the words. It’s been months, and I hate myself for reading it over and over again. Each time I read it, I promise myself that tomorrow will be the day that I throw it in the fire once and for all, but something always holds me back.

I pray to Saint Anthony to help me find myself. He’s the saint of lost items, and though my self-confidence is slightly more valuable than a set of keys, he seems to be the right saint for my troubles. There has been no word of Renato’s whereabouts. I guess he went back to Italy; he always said it was the place he felt most comfortable and inspired. He sold his family home to his cousins, and when Chettie inquired, they said they had no idea where he had gone.

I’m sure Renato is happily in the arms of another girl now. She is educated and beautiful and has no responsibilities except to please him. Chettie thinks I should find a new beau. But I don’t want one. No one will ever compare with Renato.

News of a movie house opening in Roseto has everyone excited. Nestled among the houses on Chestnut Street, it can only seat a hundred people per show, but it doesn’t matter. We no longer have to go all the way to Easton to see the serials.

The first showing will be
The Scarlet Letter
, starring Lillian Gish. She is my favorite actress, because her troubles on-screen seem so real. There are two shorts with Buster Keaton, and I can’t wait to see them. I need to laugh.

With the opening of the new mill, Mr. Jenkins has more work for us than ever. And I like the new mill better than the old one. When we open the windows, there are trees right outside, not like the open field we were in before. And the cross-ventilation keeps the gray haze from the fabric to a minimum. During the winter, the girls take lunch at their machines. This isn’t ideal, but it’s too cold outside, and the shipping area in the new building can’t accommodate everyone. When the girls take lunch, I don’t. This is when I go through the bin and count the tickets on the bundles. One day, when I reach the pressing department, there’s a small cardboard bakery box on a shelf where I place the finished tickets. It has my name on it. I open the box, and there’s a single cream puff inside.

“Thanks, Chettie,” I tell her as I pass her station a few minutes later.

“For what?” she asks.

“The cream puff.”

“What cream puff?” She looks baffled.

“This one.” I hold up the box. “It’s sweet of you.”

“I didn’t leave it for you.”

“Well, then, who did?”

“I don’t know.” Chettie smiles. “You must have a secret admirer.”

I take the box by the string and go into the office. I pour a cup of coffee out of my thermos and sit down to enjoy the cream puff. No matter who it’s from, I love a pastry from Marcella’s.

“Mama, I am not going.”

“Please, Nella. Beatrice Zollerano is expecting the entire family for dinner.”

“I know what you’re up to. You’re trying to make a match with me and Franco. I don’t want any part of it.”

“I am not trying to make a match!” Mama puts her hands on her hips. “It is very important for Elena to socialize with the other families in Roseto now that she’s married to Alessandro.”

“So let them go to dinner.”

“Franco wants you to come.”

“Ma, I know he wants me to come to family dinner. He’s invited me out several times. I always say no.”

“But why? He’s so handsome.”

“Because, Mama, I … that is …”

“Ay. He’s gone! Renato is gone. He’s not coming back. Beatrice has invited the entire family. It will look terrible if you don’t come.”

I give in, not only because Mama is persistent, but because I think she’s right. If Elena and Alessandro befriend the families on Garibaldi, they will be a part of things. I would hate to see little Assunta ostracized because her father and aunt married. So, Mama, Papa, and I take the trolley into town, stopping at Elena’s so the whole family can walk to the Zolleranos’ together.

Mama looks us over before our walk to Garibaldi. Roma looks sweet in her velvet jumper, Dianna has on a wool skirt and a crisp white blouse; even baby Assunta has a bow in her hair. Alessandro and Papa wear their suits, while Elena and I have put on our best dresses.

When we arrive, Mama knocks on the Zolleranos’ door. Mrs. Zollerano, in a plain black shift and a pearl brooch, answers the door. “Come in, please. Welcome.” She’s around Mama’s age, but her black hair has more white in it. She’s very tiny, with a trim waist and small hands and feet. Mr. Zollerano—who Papa knows from the Marconi Club, where they play cards—takes our coats, while Papa makes all the introductions.