At first, Ciro didn’t tell Enza about the letter. He kept it in his pocket, and in stolen moments would reread it as though there was a line in it that would help change his mind. He was relieved that his mother was alive, and soon after the relief subsided like the waves on Longyear Lake, the pain came through anew, and his broken heart filled him with a deeper and more profound regret. He wished to be angry at Caterina and abandon her, the way she had abandoned them. But his heart, having grown in the tender care of Enza, would have none of it. He loved Caterina and wanted to see her again. He needed his mother now more than ever.
Ciro agreed, at long last, to go home to the mountain. He wanted to see his family before he died.
When Ciro told Enza he had made the decision, she leaped out of her chair and threw her arms around him. “How will we pay for the trip?” Ciro asked her.
“Remember the Burt-Sellers stock money? You wanted no part of it. But I’ve saved it. Your father is paying for your passage home.” Enza beamed.
Ciro had been stalwart in the face of every decision regarding his health. The idea, that his father, who had died so young and failed to provide for his family, would in fact, with his death benefit, pay to reunite his wife and sons was almost too much for Ciro to bear. He collapsed in Enza’s arms.
“All those years ago, you told me to spend the money on hats. And I’m so glad I’m not vain about hats.”
That afternoon, Enza stood in the telegraph office and dictated a telegram to Laura H. Chapin of 256 Park Avenue, New York City:
BOOKED ROUND-TRIP PASSAGE TO ITALY FOR CIRO. LETTER FOLLOWS TO EXPLAIN. I WILL BRING HIM TO NEW YORK TO SEE HIM OFF. MAY WE STAY WITH YOU BEFORE DEPARTURE? E.R.L.
The train from Minneapolis to New York City sped through the night as Enza and Ciro sat in the reading car. She read The Sheik by Edith M. Hull as Ciro smoked a cigarette and watched her as her eyes scanned over the words.
Enza pulled the blue wool wrap she wore over her suit tightly, without taking her eyes off the page. Ciro took delight in watching Enza when she read; it was as if she were consumed by the words, and the world outside the one on the pages ceased to exist.
“You’re staring at me,” Enza said without looking up.
“Are you imagining Rudolph Valentino as you’re reading?”
“No.”
“John Gilbert?”
“No.”
“Who, then?”
She put down the book. “If you must know, whenever I read a character described as a handsome man, I think of you.”
“Then why don’t you stop reading and join me in the sleeping car?”
Ciro closed the door softly and joined Enza in the berth. The reverence of their wedding night was long gone, and had been replaced with the glorious familiarity that came from years of marriage. They knew everything about one another, and each surprise revealed along the way had only served to make them closer.
Pappina and Luigi had taken Antonio until Enza could return home. This gave her peace of mind, as she knew that her son would be happy with his friends, who were nearly brothers to him.
As Ciro kissed his wife, he remembered the train ride from New York after they were married, and the memory of it gave him a feeling of peace, the first he’d had since he went to the Mayo Clinic. He was enthralled by Enza all over again when he thought back to the night they first made love. But soon the dull ache in his stomach returned, and the feeling of doom that accompanied the knowledge of his fate. He put those thoughts out of his mind, though, and kissed his wife, and made love to her as he had so many years before, when they were young and everything was new.