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JACK HAD GIVEN strict orders to everybody—sisters-in-laws included—about how to greet Anna.
“You make her sound like a timid rabbit,” said his aunt Philomena. “I know your Anna, there is nothing timid about her. She is a strong woman and can hold her own.”
“That is true,” his mother said. “But we still don’t want to overwhelm her on her first visit.” And his mother’s word was final. There would be no mob to greet them. Anna’s aunt Quinlan and the Lees had been welcomed with all the good cheer and respect Jack expected, and would serve as a bit of a buffer between his wife and his female relatives.
From ahead came the sound of children caught up in some game, and the cousins had gotten out their instruments. Fiddles, a clarinet, a trumpet, an accordion in comfortable harmony. Women called to each other in Italian and English about bowls and dishes and children who needed attention, dogs in the way, the need to wipe a table. Jack only heard this in some corner of his mind. The bulk of his attention was focused on Anna and the children sitting behind them.
Rosa and Lia were talking to Tonino in a galloping whisper. If they never heard Tonino’s voice again, Jack thought, it might be a simple matter of never having the opportunity to get a word in edgewise. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the boy wasn’t overwhelmed, and saw with some relief that he looked content, if a little glassy-eyed. As anyone would be, with such a sudden change in fortune.
As Jack brought the Rockaway to a halt everyone turned toward them.
Anna’s aunt Quinlan laughed out loud at the sight of them.
“Tonino?”
Rosa jumped up and threw out her arms. “Yes, this is our brother Tonino. Aunt Anna and Uncle Jack found him for us.”
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FOR SOMEONE WHO could name every bone and muscle, every gland and nerve in the human body, Anna told herself, it shouldn’t be difficult to attach the names she had already memorized to the faces around her. Especially as the women were all sitting together, and she could look from face to face without apology.
Chiara’s mother, Mariangela, was very tall, while Carmela, married to the second oldest son, was very slight and hardly taller than her nine-year-old son. Susanna, daughter of the famous band director, had lost an eyetooth, but her smile was wide and genuine. The two youngest of the sisters-in-law—Benedetta and Lucetta—were more of a challenge; they looked so much alike that they might have been sisters. For the moment Anna would have to depend on the color of their skirts to distinguish them. How that would work at the dinner table she had no idea, but that was a problem for another time.
They sat in the fragrant shade of a grape arbor with the low buzz of honeybees not very far off, and together they made a study of Anna. They weren’t mean spirited about it; they spoke English, asked straightforward questions, and listened to her answers. And still Anna was reminded of the way a group of women passed a newborn back and forth to admire it. They saw everything, she knew very well: her posture, her features, the way she held her head, the tone of her voice, the dimples that she used to such good advantage. They watched her talking to the older women and to their children, and judged each for herself how well Anna met the challenges.
She didn’t have to pretend to like children. She didn’t even have to pretend to admire these particular children; they were all healthy, well mannered—at least under the watchful gazes of mothers and aunts—and curious. Like children everywhere they ran the full gamut, from the painfully shy to the very bold.
As her aunt was leaving to rest before dinner Mrs. Lee leaned down to talk into Anna’s ear. “And not one of them asked could they see my tail. Good, hardworking people. Kind at heart.”
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THE CHILDREN TOOK her on as a project. The little ones climbed into her lap to show her their battle scars. She examined and exclaimed over skinned knees and scabby knuckles, admired the muscles the boys put on display, and declared herself very much interested in a tour of the best trees for climbing, the wild blueberry bushes, the rabbit hutches, the prize sow, the two foals in the pasture, a collection of pennies, a map of Italy, or their grandfather’s photograph of Garibaldi, signed by the man himself.
Before they got very far with this long list of chores, it was time to get dinner on the table. Anna offered to help, but was refused quite firmly. Instead while the sisters-in-law went off Jack appeared and spirited her away.
“Intermission,” she said in a mock whisper.
“That bad? You need rescuing?”
“Oh, no. It was very pleasant. And informative. Where are we going?”
“Grand tour.”
As soon as they were out of earshot she asked, “How am I doing, do you think?”