She watched them slip back into the crowd.
“It’s time for us to go upstairs now,” he said.
Josephine chewed her bottom lip and said finally, “But the party.”
He laughed at this, and led her into the house, still holding on to her elbow. To her surprise, a group of men followed them inside and up the stairs. Even though Vincenzo closed the bedroom door firmly behind them, the men stayed in the hall, shouting instructions and making jokes.
“Would you like me to light a candle?” Vincenzo asked her politely. “Or would you prefer the dark?”
Josephine shrugged, but he couldn’t see her of course. Out the window, she saw the same moon that just last night had made her smile so dreamily. Now it shed the only light in the room, making Vincenzo shadowy and sinister. Sometimes, when Josephine sipped too much wine, the room spun when she lay down. She liked that giddy feeling, and wished for it tonight. But everything stayed firmly rooted.
As quick as the wedding itself, Vincenzo had unbuttoned his pants, pulled down her bloomers, climbed on top of her, and stuck his thing inside her. For a brief moment it hurt, but then it just felt strange. Before Josephine could decide how she felt, Vincenzo moved quickly, three or four times, quivered, and collapsed on her.
“Maybe when I send for you to come to America,” he said, “you will bring me a son.”
He rolled off her and shouted to the men waiting outside the door, “Go home now, you pigs. It’s done.”
The men shouted back, “Good luck! Congratulations!” and then noisily ran down the stairs and back to the party.
Vincenzo started to snore immediately while Josephine tried to find a spot away from him in the narrow bed. Finally, she got up and took off the wedding dress, slipping on her white nightgown. She combed her hair, thinking that if that was all there was to it, she didn’t mind so much. She hadn’t liked his hot breath on her neck, but otherwise it was fast, boring.
Climbing onto the edge of the bed, Josephine gazed out the window. That star next to the moon, she thought, was the symbol of love. It broke her heart to look at it, so she closed her eyes tight, and waited for sleep.
THE NEXT MORNING, Josephine was woken up by the sight of her mother-in-law, Concetta Rimaldi, bursting into her bedroom.
Vincenzo was gone and Josephine was alone in the bed, still clinging to the very edge.
“Up!” Concetta ordered. She had the same pushed-in face as her son, and the same unruly hair, except hers was already silver.
“Up!” she said again, this time slapping Josephine on the thigh.
Josephine jumped off the bed, wondering what strange thing was going to happen now. Had it really been only twenty-four hours ago that she’d been happy?
Concetta yanked the sheet off the bed and held it up to the sunlight. Embarrassed, Josephine saw a rust stain of blood right where she had lain while Vincenzo poked at her. Concetta lowered the sheet and smiled. “Good girl,” she said, patting Josephine’s arm. “Good girl.”
Then Josephine watched as Concetta took that sheet and hung it out the window for everyone to see.
“Signora,” Josephine said, “this makes me ashamed.” She pointed to the window.
“Foolish girl,” Concetta said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Josephine began to follow her mother-in-law out the door. But Concetta stopped her.
“No, no, no,” she said. “You stay here and wait for your husband. Now that I’ve checked your virginity, the marriage is good.” She kissed Josephine once on each cheek, her breath citrusy, like she’d just eaten oranges. “Put a fresh sheet on the bed, and then wait for him there.”
She didn’t have to wait long. Vincenzo came bounding up the stairs with two bowls of coffee and a plate of warm bread.
“Good girl,” he told her.
Was this what everyone was going to be saying to her as long as that bloody sheet hung out the window? Josephine watched him slurp his coffee and tear the bread with his teeth. She thought again of Jacko, and turned away from the sight of her husband eating.
“Eat up,” Vincenzo told her. “I don’t leave for three more days. You’ll need your energy.”
That was when she understood what was in store for her. The two of them would be locked in this room for three whole days. But then, Josephine reasoned, he would leave for America and she would be free again. Slowly, she chewed a small piece of bread. Anything could happen in the meantime. His boat could sink in the ocean. He could fall in love with a rich American and never send for her. He could be trampled by a horse, fall sick with consumption, or simply disappear.
“Finally,” Vincenzo said, “you’re smiling.”
“Yes,” Josephine said.