She couldn’t face what lay ahead without her sister.
She kissed her medallion, offering up a Hail Mary. She had to be strong, for both of them. She’d always had to be. She looked across the room at the rows of beds, filled with the sick. Nurses flitted around the infirmary, clearing bedpans, adjusting pillows, and administering medicines. One nurse pushed a trolley cart with covered dishes from the cafeteria. Coughing and moaning mixed with the rumble of lowered voices. Francesca would give anything to leave this place. Anything at all.
A doctor who had been tending another patient headed in her direction, Alma Brauer at his side. Their paths kept crossing. The young matron was reserved, but Francesca was grateful to her both for translating when she needed it and for showing concern when she’d realized how sick Maria was. She could see Alma was new to her job and didn’t like it much. Francesca hoped she might take advantage of that fact somehow, if she needed to.
“Buongiorno, Francesca,” Alma said.
She nodded.
“Good morning,” the doctor said, sitting beside the bed. “Let’s see how our patient is doing.”
As he checked Maria’s pulse and temperature, and listened to her heart and lungs, Francesca watched his expression change from concern to certainty to pity. She crossed her arms to brace herself and moved quickly away to the window. The Statue of Liberty was the only dot of color in a scene washed entirely gray. She felt as if she were sinking into it, as if she might disappear inside of the gloom. She watched a flock of gulls as they alighted on the narrow lawn. Some pecked at the cold ground while others waddled across the walk in search of scraps of food left behind. Her gaze wandered to the harbor waters swishing insistently against a shore she had longed for more than anything in her entire life, until now.
Cara Maria. Santa Maria, she whispered. Per favore, save her. Save my sister.
The doctor murmured something behind her about no improvements and the high fever, and she receded into her mind to escape, falling back in time to three years ago. At home, the summer days stretched out before her like a languorous cat in a shaft of sunlight. Papa was out at sea for long hours during the summer season, and she and Maria had all the time in the world to do as they pleased. A particular afternoon arose in her memory, one full of laughter and a sun hotter than a frying pan. They’d stolen blood oranges from an orchard down the lane and run barefoot all the way to the rocky beach near the boat docks. They hadn’t eaten much more than fish in days, so the sweet fruit tasted like heaven.
Maria combed the beach, searching for crabs and sea creatures unfortunate enough to wash ashore. Francesca trailed behind, staring out to sea. Somewhere amid the waves, their father cast his nets and smoked cigarettes, cursing his wretched life. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, willing it to burn away every thought of him. One day, she would find a way to leave, and she would bring Maria with her. They’d say goodbye to the fearful nights they spent locked in their bedroom once and for all.
“There’s a fish!” Maria cried, her dark head bent over a bowl of rock with a tidal pool inside it. “We need to move him or he’ll die. Come see!”
She looked at the fish to humor Maria. “There’s seaweed in there, too,” she pointed out. “He won’t die.” She sat down on the edge of the rock and swirled her feet in the pool, using her toe to nudge the trapped creature.
“A gull will swallow him up by morning. I’m going to find something to scoop him out.” Maria scrambled to her feet and headed toward the docks.
Francesca gathered her skirt and bunched it into her arms, walked across the sand, then waded out into the surf. The salt water stung the cuts on her feet from running barefoot, but she didn’t care. She felt alive in the water. One day, the water would be her escape, take her far from this island that held nothing for her but a small life of poverty and pain. She deserved more—they both did—after all they’d endured.
Moments later, Maria raced past her into the sea, carrying an old piece of netting, the rescued fish flapping inside it in agony. She splashed as she ran, her skirts twisting between her legs, and stumbled, falling face-first into the surf. The fish flew from her hands and disappeared into the water. Maria surfaced a moment later, sputtering in the waves.
Francesca laughed at the spectacle. “That’s some rescuing.”
“He’s free now, isn’t he?” Her sister giggled, water streaming down her face in rivulets.
Francesca waded over to help her to her feet.
“Why can’t we stay like this forever?” Maria slung her arm around Francesca’s shoulder as they fought the surf.
She had stared into her sister’s laughing dark eyes, the identical shade of their mother’s. “Happy, you mean?”
“Happy,” Maria had replied, smiling.
When they’d reached the shore, she’d shouted, “I’ll race you to Sister Alberta’s!”
Maria had squealed as Francesca bolted, running as fast as she could across the mounds of sand that burned the soles of their feet.
The memory faded, and Francesca blinked rapidly, focusing on a blurred view of New York Harbor. Pain battered her insides until she felt bruised. She didn’t know how she would do this without her sister. How she would survive the pain. Without Maria, every promise of the new life before her felt hollow. Francesca’s knees buckled, and she reached for the back of the chair to steady herself.
“Sono qui. I’m here,” Alma said softly. “If you need anything.”
She glanced at the young woman, whose blue eyes were contrite. “Grazie. I…” She choked on her emotion.
“Miss Ricci?” The doctor cleared his throat.
“Yes,” she rasped, forcing herself to meet his eye.
“You should make your goodbyes as soon as possible. I’m afraid there’s not much time left. I’m sorry.”
“No.” Francesca shook her head vehemently. “I can’t. There must be something we can do. No, no, no.” She sank to her knees beside the bed, buried her face in the blanket. Maria stirred and slipped her hand onto Francesca’s head, sparking a flood of tears. Francesca didn’t bother to hide them this time. Her beloved sister was dying and very soon would be gone.
Though the doctor gave the nurse a paper from his notebook, as if it was just another transaction to write up and dismiss, his eyes were apologetic, his tone soft. “I’m sorry, miss. There’s nothing else we can do.” Without delay, he crossed the room to tend to another patient.
Francesca stared at Alma, looking for a sign that this wasn’t real, that it was all some horrible mistake.
But the young woman paled at the spectacle of Francesca’s grief. “If there’s any way I can help you…”
Francesca stared at the matron, unable to speak. She had no words, couldn’t conjure a coherent thought. Make her lips form sentences. Maria. Her Maria. Ave Maria.