Josephine shot Stephanie a look. “You’ll make it home. But you should enjoy your life now. Stephanie and I are worried about you. You should have fun. Don’t use that silly punishment from your priest as an excuse to stay cooped up in the dorm. Sister Marie Bernard said you were free to come and go as you please. The Italian rules don’t apply in France,” Josephine said kindly.
“You could use some fresh air. And that doesn’t mean sitting in the window staring at the sea.” Stephanie pulled the sheers across the open window.
“She’s right. Take a walk. Go see the passengers on the promenade. And let us know what the fancy girls are wearing.”
Domenica waved them off cheerfully. “Va bene, girls.”
“Save me a Vanderbilt,” Stephanie joked.
The ladies left a languid trail of My Sin and Joy perfume in the air. Someday, long after she left it, the scent of gardenias and roses would remind Domenica of France. The Italian nurse had made true friends in Marseille. Maybe their mutual love of nursing bonded them, or the experience of living and working together encouraged them to rely on one another, but whatever the reason, Domenica had found friends she could trust. She kept their secrets and they kept hers. Only Sister Marie Bernard and her roommates knew why she had come to Saint Joseph’s, and they didn’t care. Domenica Cabrelli was far from home, but she was not alone.
21 March 1939
Dear Mama,
I am not homesick any longer. The Sisters keep us so busy. We have to attend Mass—the girls from Africa give Sister Marie Bernard a hard time about it. They are not Catholic, so they don’t see the point. I tell them, go to Mass, put your head down, and think about whatever makes you happy. They’ve come up with some funny scenes! One of the girls spends Vespers making coconut milk in her imagination. You remember Josephine? She almost has enough money saved to go to New York City. She plans on working at Saint Vincent’s Hospital there. The Sisters write letters to place us. Whenever they ask me if I need a letter, I say, Send me home to Viareggio! Stephanie is so funny. She is a good nurse, but when the shift ends, she has to go dancing or else. I am training for emergencies now. Sister Marie Bernard is teaching us about how to care for injuries inflicted in battle, though there is little talk of war in Marseille. She said war or no war, we need to know how to handle emergencies. How is Papa? Please write. Aldo is still training in Calabria. Mama, he sent me a letter. He sounded so grown up! Hope!
Ti voglio bene,
Domenica
The guard was asleep in his chair at his post at the entrance of the dormitory when Domenica dropped the letter to her mother in the out-box on his desk. She tied the ribbons on her straw hat under her chin before going outside.
The music coming from the pier was underscored by the moan of an occasional foghorn and the shimmy of the boats as they rubbed against the pilings. The weather-beaten pier creaked as she walked over it. The railing was crumbling, and planks were missing. Domenica could see through the holes as shallow seawater sloshed over the rocks underneath it. One sure sign of eventual war was obvious: Repairs on public property had ceased. Manpower was officially needed elsewhere; besides, there was no point in fixing the structures that might be destroyed. Better to let the weak fall and shore up where the infrastructure was strong.
Domenica joined the crowd that had gathered on the long pier to welcome the Arandora docked in the harbor. The great ship was so massive, she blocked the night sky with the curves of her hull. The shell of the Arandora was bright white; she was trimmed in lipstick red and navy blue. Two bright blue stars on her smokestacks marked the ship as one of the five most exclusive ocean liners to ever sail the seas. Domenica stepped back and went up on her toes to take in the grandeur. The polished brass bindings twinkled as they caught the light of the flames from the torches that lit the pier. The upper decks began to fill with passengers dressed in their finery as they formed an orderly line to disembark. The gangplank was lowered on clanking chains that hit the ground with a thud.
“Here they come!” a young French girl shouted. A woodwind quartet began to play an airy tune. The parade of stylish ladies floated down the gangway one by one wearing satin drop-waist dresses in ice cream colors with matching wide-brimmed hats embellished with mounds of tulle that resembled tufts of cotton candy.
A group of photographers from the French newspapers gathered around a particular young woman wearing a white lace chemise with flutter-cut sleeves. She must be a famous performer, Domenica thought as the flashbulbs popped, turning everything bright white. Domenica stood on her toes to catch a glimpse of the young woman as she sashayed past. Domenica was disappointed when it was revealed that she was not Janet Gaynor or Myrna Loy but just another pretty girl who had sailed around the world on a luxury yacht. There had not been a movie star or a Vanderbilt or a Russian ballerina from the Ballet Russe disembark the Arandora Star.
Domenica decided to walk the length of the pier before returning to Fatima House. A crowd had gathered outside a popular club where the band had moved outdoors to play. Soon the patrons spilled out onto the pier from inside and began to dance. Domenica was lost in the music when she felt hands clamp around her waist, only to be scooped up off her feet and lifted into the air. She ordered the stranger to place her safely back on the ground.
“Next time ask me before you throw me in the air,” Domenica snapped.
“Forgive me. I saw you moving to the music.”