That afternoon, Betsy had cheerleading practice. Her cartwheels were so strong that the team captain told her she’d definitely be moved up to the varsity team during basketball season. On the way home, Betsy walked as slowly as she possibly could, forming arguments to convince her mother she had to stay in school. But when she walked into the house, instead of the angry atmosphere she was expecting to find, her mother jumped up and kissed her on both cheeks.
“Look,” she told her, “look who’s come to rescue you.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and anisette, was Father Leone. And grinning beside him was her little sister Clara.
“Rescue me?” Betsy said.
“I told him that you were supposed to be a scientist but Papa left us broke—” Clara began.
“Shh, Chiara,” her mother scolded. “Let Father explain.”
“He’s going to help you get a scholarship!” Clara blurted.
“What?” Betsy said. She dropped onto the floor at the priest’s feet.
His strong hands grasped her forearms and lifted her so that they were eye to eye.
“After your sister here explained what was happening, I called the school. They told me you maintain a straight A average,” Father Leone said in his smooth voice.
“I do!” Betsy said, in case he needed more evidence.
“I offered to tutor you, in Latin and mathematics, two nights a week. If you continue getting straight A’s, it can be arranged for you to get a scholarship to study at Salve Regina College.”
“College?” Betsy said. She needed to be certain she understood what she was hearing.
“Of course,” the priest said, “in addition to your studies I’ll expect you to do some work at the church. Filing, typing. That sort of thing. Nothing is free, child. You must earn what you get.”
Betsy was nodding.
Her mother said sharply, “But surely I could do the church work for her, Father?”
“I’ll do it, Mama!” Betsy said. It would be just like her mother to ruin this one opportunity for her.
The priest glanced up at her mother, almost dismissively. “You won’t have to take care of anything, Mrs. Rimaldi,” he said.
“But I will,” her mother said evenly. “So she can work on her studies.”
Silently, Betsy willed her mother to shut up.
Father Leone rose. He was such a tall man; Betsy had never noticed this when he stood at the pulpit in his flowing purple robes.
“You have enough to do holding a family together alone,” he said, patting her mother’s hand. Then he helped Betsy to her feet. “We will begin studying Latin next week then, Elisabetta?”
“Betsy,” she said, deciding right then that she was going to marry Father Leone.
“Betsy?” he said, laughing. “So you are American through and through,” he continued in English.
Later, in bed with her sister, she whispered her plans to Clara.
“You can’t marry a priest,” Clara said. “It’s against the law.”
“No, it’s not,” Betsy said.
“It’s against God’s law,” Clara said.
Betsy closed her eyes but she couldn’t sleep. She felt as if her life was finally beginning.
THE THIRD THING THAT HAPPENED, and Betsy believed this was the thing that really changed her life, was that her brother, Carmine, came home from the war. His best friend, Angelo Mazzonni, had been killed in action; Carmine, the Army notified them, was shell-shocked. He had been in an Army hospital for months and months, but there was no more they could do for him. None of them knew what to expect, although Belle said someone at the mill said it only meant he would be afraid of loud noises, and maybe he would tremble a little. This did not seem so bad.
But although those problems may have existed, clearly something very bad had happened to Carmine. He looked confused and said crazy things. It was like his brain had been injured, even though the Army assured them he had not suffered any wounds at all. In fact, he had medals, lots of them, for trying to save Angelo and others during battle. When they asked him about his bravery, he looked even more confused.
“Battle?” he said. “France?”
In bed that night they whispered together. How could they tell Carmine that while he was fighting the war, getting shell-shocked, being brave, his girlfriend, Anna Zito, married Nicola Padua and they had a baby on the way.
“Honestly,” Belle said, sitting on the windowsill so she could blow the smoke from her cigarette out the window, “I don’t think he’s going to care about Anna Zito.”
“But he loves her!” Julie said.
“I don’t think he’s shell-shocked,” Betsy said, promising herself to look the symptoms up in the big science dictionary at school. “I think he’s brain damaged.”
“The Army said ‘shell-shocked,’” Julie said. “He just needs some rest.”
But the next morning, when their mother carefully brought up Anna Zito’s name, Carmine laughed.
“You remember Anna?” their mother said gently.
“That puttana,” Carmine spat. “Of course I know her. I put my thing in her all the time.”
“Carmine!” their mother said.
He shook his head. “Anna Zito is a whore.”