The Queen of the Big Time (6 page)

“My sister is betrothed to an Italian.”

“From the other side?” Chettie shakes her head. “That never works. My mama’s sister married a man from the other side and he spent all of the family’s savings on a roofing business. Then they had to move in with us, and then he and my pop got in a fight and they ended up going to Philly, where, guess what, he started another business, and now they’re making the
sòldi
hand over fist, Mama says. Can you believe it? You gotta watch the ones from over there.”

“They can’t all be bad. We were all from the other side at some point.”

“I just don’t trust them. I’m sorry.” Chettie shrugs. “How about you? Do you like a certain boy?”

“I only met one I liked.”

“Only one? Is he in our class?”

“No. He’s older.”

“How much?” Chettie’s eyes narrow.

“Seven years,” I say quietly, afraid of her reaction.

“Seven years? He’s twenty-one! That’s old.”

“I know. It’s hopeless.”

“What’s his name?”

“Renato Lanzara.”

“You love Renato Lanzara?” Chettie grins. I notice she likes to say his name aloud as much as I do.

“Why? Do you know him?”

“Every girl in Roseto is in love with him. Probably every girl in Bangor, West Bangor, Pen Argyl, and Martins Creek too. I might as well warn you now, the Martins Creek girls are very determined.
Marcajohn
, you know Roman Italians. They are tough. You picked a real popular boy.”

“Of course I did. It makes an impossible situation worse, which is something I’m very good at.”

“Now you have to come to church with me.”

“To pray that these impure thoughts leave me?”

“No, because you’ll see him there. Sometimes Renato sings with the choir. He sounds like an angel,” Chettie promises.

I wish I had money for the trolley today, because I can’t get home fast enough. Miss Ciliberti posted our marks, and mine were the best in the class. She gave the students a big speech about how I come from a farm and had no access to books and learning and yet somehow figured out how to learn anyway. She said, “If Nella Castelluca can do it, anyone can.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud. Finally, something I am good at. Finally, something I can have that is all my own.

By the time Assunta and I reach the farm, it is dark outside. Mama has lit the lamp on the porch, and we can hear laughter from the kitchen as we climb the steps.

Elena meets us at the door. “Hurry! Papa has good news!”

Assunta and I follow her to the kitchen.

“What is it, Pop?” Assunta puts her satchel down and sits on the bench. In this light, Assunta is looking older; she has dark circles from the long hours at the factory. I hope Alessandro gets here quickly, before Assunta’s beauty hits the rocks.

“I got a contract with Hellertown markets. They have four stores, and I am going to provide their eggs and milk. They came out to see me, and took one look at our Holstein cows and said, ‘Mr. Castelluca, you got the job.’ There are lots of farmers around, and they give out many contracts, but after years of trying, I finally got one.”

“Congratulations, Papa!” I throw my arms around him. No more hitching the wagon and taking his milk and eggs around to beg vendors to buy his supply. And no more disappointment when he returns with most of what he was trying to sell.

“They are coming in with modern machinery and will set me up,” Papa continues. Mama stands back and smiles. “It will be a lot of work, but at least we will reap the benefits of it. I may even have to hire some help.” Mama claps her hands together when she hears this. I am sure she would like to sleep late for once in her life and not worry about milking the cows before they start their mooing at dawn.

“Well, Papa, you’re not the only one with good news. I got my marks,” I tell my parents proudly.

“How did you do?” Mama asks.

“I’m first in my class.”

“Good. Good.” Mama looks down the report card. “Look, Papa.”

“Maybe someday we can afford the trolley for my girls.” Papa smiles.

“Just on Sundays, Pop,” I tell him.

“Why Sundays?”

“I want to go to Mass.”

“Mass?” Papa is surprised.

“You heard her.” Mama smacks Papa gently with my report card. “Mass. She wants to go to church. We should all go to church. And we’ll have no excuse if you hire some help around here.” Mama looks at me. “Good for you.”

Mama is a good Catholic; she prays the rosary every night, baptized us all, and makes us say grace before meals. She is reverent, but has never made Papa feel bad that chores take precedence over Sunday Mass. Mama thinks God understands the workingman and his duties. In the spirit of helping the family, I promise Papa that I will walk to Mass on Sundays. “Save the money,” I tell him.

“Well, I’m not going to church with you,” Assunta says wearily, rubbing her knuckles. “You’ll have to bribe one of the others to go with you. Five days a week walking to and from town is enough for me. Of course, when I move to Roseto, that will be different. I’ll be the holiest, most devout woman you’ve ever seen. I’ll be so religious I’ll grow wings. But not until I live in town.” Assunta takes her coat and hat and goes up the stairs.

“I’ll walk with you,” Elena promises.

“What about dinner?” Mama calls after Assunta.

“I’m too tired to eat,” she calls back.

“You may go to Mass as soon as the machines are installed, but I still need your help this Sunday,” Papa tells me. “The next two weeks I am going into the quarry. They have a rush job and posted signs in town. Carlo Ricci came to see me, and we’re both going to take the work.”

“I don’t want you to do it.” Mama puts her hand on Papa’s shoulder. He takes her hand and smiles.

“Alessandro is arriving at Eastertime. We’ll have a wedding to pay for. You want to have guests? A fancy dress? I need the work.” Papa goes to the cupboard and brings out the wine and a few glasses. “Now, we toast our good fortune. Roma, go get your sister.”

Roma runs up the stairs while Papa pours the wine. Elena passes the full glasses around. Dianna smiles because this means someday there may be enough money to send her to school. And for Mama, dear Mama, it means that she won’t have to work from morning until night. Papa gives each of us a glass; for the little ones, he adds water to the wine. Assunta and Roma join us around the table.
“Salute!”
he says and takes a drink. We all follow suit.

“We should thank God,” Mama says, looking at me.

“Yes, we should.” Suddenly, I am the religious center of our family. If only Mama knew that the only reason I want to be in church is to be closer to Renato Lanzara. I’m sure people believe in God for less reason than that.

“I’ll tell you what. If God gives us good weather and a nice profit this year, even I will go to church,” Papa announces.

Mama rolls her eyes. “Such a good Catholic.”

The spring of 1925 is the most beautiful we have ever seen. As the snow melts, the muddy ground beneath turns the palest green, and when you look far away to the Blue Mountains, the silvery-gray coat they have worn all winter melts away to reveal a soft blue that in time will become as dark as a night sky.

Everyone in our house is on edge, because Assunta received a letter that Alessandro Pagano will arrive in Philadelphia on March 15. Mama has scrubbed the house from top to bottom three times this week. She goes to the smokehouse every morning to select the best prosciutto to serve her future son-in-law. Papa chides her for her perfectionism, but Assunta is grateful. Alessandro has seen her picture, but if he doesn’t like the rest of us, he doesn’t have to marry her. This is why Elena and I are ironing every tablecoth, napkin, and curtain; in fact, anything made of fabric, including the
moppeens
we use to wash the dishes, has been pressed. Mama has been baking cookies, cakes, and pies for three days. She says every corner must sparkle, and every hem must be starched. Alessandro must see that he is marrying
into a family of quality or he can turn around and go right back to Italy.

We know that Alessandro comes from a good family. He is the third son of eight children. He is from Mama’s hometown, Rimini, on the Adriatic Sea. Papa is also from the Bari region, farther south than Mama’s people.

Papa and Mama married in Italy, then came to America, following some cousins who settled in Pen Argyl. Their marriage was not arranged, which was unusual. A mother and father usually choose a spouse for their child, striking a deal with a good family. This way, everyone knows what they are getting. A good match means two nice people can come together and the union will make both families stronger. Even Chettie’s parents were arranged. Mama and Papa fell in love on their own, but Papa soon won Mama’s family over. Mama never wanted the farm life, but she took it on because she loves Papa.

Yesterday, Papa took the train to Philadelphia to pick up Alessandro. Assunta has stayed behind with us, to make sure all final details are tended to. Mama has been working so hard she fell asleep at the kitchen table right after she finished putting lace on the nightgown for Assunta’s wedding trousseau.

“Mama?” I gently shake her. “Mama, you fell asleep. Go to bed,” I tell her.

“Did you sweep the walk?” she asks groggily.

“Everything is done,” I promise her.

Mama gets up slowly and climbs the stairs to her room. I put out the lights and follow her. When I get to my room, I change into my nightgown in the dark, so as not to wake the girls. They are as exhausted as Mama, and soon it will be morning and there will be more chores. Assunta’s room will become Alessandro’s, so she is bunking with us. All five of us in one room. It reminds me of the cold winters when we would huddle together to stay warm, only now we come together for a different reason.

I climb into my bed next to Roma, whom I nudge closer to the wall
to make room for me. I lie on my back and feel every muscle and bone in my body ache. Besides making the house ready, we did all of Papa’s chores this morning. I marvel at how hard he works. I don’t know how he does it, day in and day out, and then has the ambition to work in the quarry. I guess he loves us so much he would do anything to give us what we need. I wonder if I’ll ever love anyone that much.

I turn to go to sleep and hear Assunta sniffling. Soon the sniffles give way to quiet weeping. At first I lie in the dark and listen, not saying anything.

“Assunta?” I finally whisper. “Are you all right?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Assunta?” I get up out of the bed and kneel next to her. “Are you sick?”

She shakes her head.

“What is it then?”

Assunta twists the sleeve of her nightgown over her fist and wipes her eyes. “I’m scared.”

“Scared? Of what?” But somehow I already know the answer. She’s afraid to leave home, Mama and Papa and even us, though we irritate her. She’s afraid that when she sees Alessandro for the first time, she won’t like him and then everyone in both families will be sorely disappointed.

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

I didn’t even think of that! She’s worried he won’t like her? I’ve known my sister all my life, but oh, how she surprises me. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s seen your picture and written to you.”

“But a picture isn’t real.”

“Sure it is. You can tell a lot by a picture.” Of course, I won’t tell her that Elena and I have examined Alessandro’s picture a million times and we can’t tell if he’s tall or short. You never know if the photographers put a large vase or a small vase on the table next to the chair where they take the picture. His stature could be an optical illusion.

“Don’t worry. He’ll like you,” I promise her.

“Why?”

“Well, you are very determined,” I begin. It takes me a moment to compliment her, as I am so used to complaining about her. But I think very hard. “And you have lovely long hair. It’s as black as night, Mama always says. And you have pretty eyes and your feet aren’t too big for your height.”

“Thanks,” she says softly. “It’s just … I thought I’d be happy when he came. But now I wish he’d turn around and go home.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, really I do. I don’t know him.” Assunta begins to weep again.

“If you don’t like him, you don’t have to marry him. Mama said so.”

“She doesn’t mean it.” Assunta sobs.

“She means it. And I’ll tell you what, if you don’t like him, you tell me and I’ll tell Mama and Papa and I’ll lock you in this room and I won’t let you out until he’s gone.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Yes, I would. No woman should marry a man she doesn’t love. Not ever.” I give her a hug, which I haven’t done since I was small. I go to my bed and get in it, giving Roma another nudge. She rolls over close to the wall.

Assunta’s tears soon give way to the gentle breathing of sleep. I lie on my back, surveying the ceiling of this room as I have for so many nights when sleep won’t come. Even though Assunta is bossy and mean, deep down I know I will miss her when she marries Alessandro Pagano. After all, we’ve been a family all these years, and she was a big part of us. Often she was the big heaving angry part of us, but part of us nonetheless. I hope Alessandro is a good man. And I hope she’ll have the strength to create a new family for herself, one where she’ll be happy, if happiness is even in the cards for Assunta Castelluca. I make the sign of the cross and turn my plea into a quick prayer. Chettie would be pleased.