“Be careful.” She embraced her old friend.
She watched them drive away and wondered how long it would be before the four young men would be called into military service. She said a prayer and kissed the medal of Santa Lucia around her neck for their safety. Domenica wished she had remembered to show the medal to the boy who had given it to her so long ago. There hadn’t been enough time.
* * *
Domenica walked home from Carnevale barefoot, carrying her dancing shoes, one in each hand, swinging them like the two pails of water she used to fetch for her mother when she was a girl. It was almost hard to remember what life was like before the pipes brought the fresh water down the mountain and into their home. She did not mind the feeling of the smooth, cold cobblestones beneath her aching feet. Her feet must have been hurting all night, but she didn’t feel them in the company of Silvio Birtolini.
The stairwell of Villa Cabrelli was dense with the scents of cinnamon and anise. She joined her parents and the Speranzas in the kitchen.
Speranza was in the middle of a story as her mother stirred the pot with chestnuts on the stove. The kitchen table was covered with pristine muslin. A mound of sugar sparkled in the center of the table. Agnese dredged the chestnuts in sugar and arranged them on the pan to cool. Close by, a tray of the blanched, tender chestnuts rolled in the sugar were being stacked in a tin by her father. They looked like they had been dusted in snow.
“That’s plenty,” Agnese said to Cabrelli.
“When you work, you eat,” Cabrelli said.
“See how useless I am,” Speranza said to Domenica. “I let your papa and mama do all the work.”
“That’s all right, Romeo. You’re doing the driving tonight.”
“You’re going back to Venezia?” Domenica asked.
“Romeo has a lot of work,” Agnese explained. “He is creating a monstrance for the cathedral at Castel Gandolfo.”
Cabrelli snapped the lid on the tin of chestnuts. Domenica went up the stairs to the guest room and picked up their suitcase. She brought it down to the kitchen where the Cabrellis and the Speranzas were saying their goodbyes. Cabrelli took the suitcase from Domenica and followed the Speranzas down the stairs.
“Try one,” Netta offered.
“I had a bombolone.”
“One chestnut won’t hurt you.”
“All you do is feed me.” Domenica tasted the buttery, sugar-glazed candy. “Mama, why so many tins of chestnuts?”
“We will need them. Have you noticed? I’m filling the pantry. There’s a lot of talk in the village. Did you know the old Stampone palazzo is full of Blackshirts? That’s half a mile up the beach. They get closer and closer.”
“Maybe it will all blow over.”
“I pray about it. You should pray too.” Netta dredged the chestnuts in sugar. “You were out late.”
“I caught up with a few old friends. Do you remember Silvio Birtolini?”
Her mother had to think. “That awful boy. Let me guess. Someone murdered him.”
“Mama!”
“That’s the fate of petty thieves. They start young, and over time they get worse and eventually they have a horrible end.”
One of Domenica’s favorite things about her mother was that she never forgot anything, but it was also one of her worst attributes, as she held grudges until they became mythical. “He’s grown up to be quite handsome.”
“A good-looking thief. Big deal. You can find cell after cell of them in the prison at Lucca.”
“I danced with him tonight.”
“Ugh! He’s in Viareggio?”
“Just tonight.”
“Did he behave himself?”
“He’s betrothed to a nice girl. A schoolteacher.”
“What does he do?”
“Diamond cutter apprentice.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Another one. Diamonds and pearls for the pope, while the wife gets pasta e fagioli and a thimble of homemade wine if she’s lucky.”
“Shh, Mama. Papa will hear you.”
“He’s heard it all for thirty years. And if God is kind, he’ll hear it for thirty more. The jewelry business is only good for the people that buy the jewelry. Never for the one that makes it. The artisan is always chiseled in the end. Commission! They can keep it.”
“Silvio is proud of his trade.”
“He’s done better than anyone thought he would, I will give him that.”
“I never believed the gossip.”
Mama sat down at the table across from her daughter. “Domenica, whatever he stirred up in you, leave it on the boardwalk. You’ve gone to school. You’re educated. You’re a nurse. I want you to marry a doctor, not a troublemaker.”
“Pretucci is already married.”
“Not him. A young doctor. From Milano. Or Firenze. Roma is fine too. Wherever there are doctors in great supply.”
“I may never find a nice fellow. I don’t want you to be disappointed if I don’t have luck. I’m happy the way I am.”
“You say that, but I don’t believe you. You work too hard. Sometimes seven days a week.”
“People get sick on weekends too.”
“Let them wait until Monday.”
“Maybe I love my work too much. It fills me up. But I wouldn’t mind a nice man to court. I’d like that.”
“You deserve the cream. Don’t settle for il bastardo or his type. Better to be a woman alone with a profession than marry beneath your standing.”
“Mama, who are you talking about?”
“Carnival snakes. You know, they hang around the stands at the festa looking for pretty girls. Don’t forget the story of Giovanna Bellanca. Lovely girl. Sang like a bird! A life of good behavior and high morals shattered like glass one night after one spin on the carousel. Carnevale ended and she took off with a juggler. Her parents were bereft! That beautiful family ruined by a circus actor. You make me worry. You have the eyes of a fish when it comes to Birtolini. Wide open, seeing nothing but him!”