Holy Trinity Catholic Church
The church is empty except for Aria, Carly, Mary, and Tom’s witness and best man, Talbot. It isn’t a wedding like the one I’d hoped for since I was a little girl with a big white dress and my mamma crying tears of joy as papà handed me off to my fiancé’s loving embrace. Papà doesn’t even know he’s giving his daughter away, and the only one crying is little Aria who’s sure I’m abandoning her forever. But Tom ships out next week, and he made it clear—he doesn’t want to leave unmarried. Marriage is the only way.
When I went to Father Theodore for confession and told him of what transpired between me and Tom in the back seat of his borrowed car, he agreed that a marriage needed to happen, that it was the only path to my redemption. He arranged for the ceremony to take place before Tom’s departure and agreed to keep the elopement confidential until my soldier returns.
I’m wearing Mary’s blue dangling sapphire earrings and Carly’s wedding gown, a lovely ivory color with long embroidered tulle sleeves and a train. It’s loose around my waist and tight around my bust, but with a few inconspicuous stitches and a veil that hides any evidence, I fit the role of bride well enough. I still can’t believe I’ll be Mrs. Tom Highward by the end of the night.
I’m honestly surprised Carly showed up with the dress, after she threw a small fit when I told her I was engaged to Tom.
“I never took you as one of those girls who’s pinned her future on ‘getting a man,’” she said, her hands on her hips, the only person I’d confided in about my audition next month.
“It’s not like that,” I insisted, wanting her approval. “I love Tom. He loves me. And it’s not like I’m giving up on performing. Tom said he doesn’t care if I keep singing with the band and go to the MCA audition.”
“He doesn’t care. How generous of him,” she said, her tone heavy with contempt, none of her dreamy memories of her long-deceased husband softening her reaction. “From what I’ve seen of that boy, he’s just another man who’ll tell you what you can and can’t do in your life.”
I wish Carly could remember what it was like to be in my shoes. She’s been a widow for six years, making choices as a single woman but with the rights of a married one. She could live the rest of her life without the threat of sacrificing all her other dreams and ambitions on the matrimonial altar. I guess when she saw I wasn’t going to be deterred by strong words of warning, she chose to be by my side anyway. I’m glad—I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Carly’s support.
Mary, on the other hand, squealed like a little girl, in love with the idea of our whirlwind romance and marriage. I’m not fool enough to believe in Mary’s imagined version of marriage. Sure, there will be sacrifices. But the more I envision my life as a married woman, the more I understand that marriage for a girl like me isn’t only about romance. It’s stability. It’s freedom. And it opens doors that a single girl living at home would never have, especially in the culture I’ve been raised in.
Besides, Tom supports my dreams. He said, “You just watch—I’ll come back from Europe, and my girl will be a movie star!”
His girl—that’s what he calls me now. It thrills me every time. I know he’s mercurial. But he apologized for his outburst in front of the compound and explained that he loves me so much that it causes this sort of explosive episode.
Of course, I forgave him. But it’s impossible to explain his apology to my Italian crewmen. When I showed up at the work site last Monday, they greeted me with a cold silence that was out of character.
“So much progress!” I said animatedly, overcorrecting in response to their chilly reception. The foundation is still bare, but the grounds are groomed. A gravel drive trails down from the hill where the chapel will stand, the road a little over a hundred yards away. The trees have been cleared, the grass cut, and the iron fence put in place. All that’s left is the actual construction. Which is why I knew the piece of paper I found on my desk that morning was of utmost importance. The long-awaited concrete had arrived.
“I have good news!” I said to Trombello loud enough for the nearby committee members to hear. Trombello didn’t look up from the plans, and Puccini continued distributing tools and shoveling gravel.
“Hey, did you hear me? I have good news.”
“We already saw,” Cresci said, handing Trombello a shovel and then walking away with a disappointed scowl.
“What the heck is wrong with everyone today?” I asked.
Trombello shook his head while staring at the pages in front of him longer than could possibly be necessary. Sighing heavily, he finally raised his eyes to me, with a look of care and a touch of frustration.
“We saw you with that man again. The one from the mess hall.”
“I saw you watching,” I said, choosing not to play dumb.
“He’s no good for you, mia figlia.”
My daughter, he said, as though he were my priest. Even though my arms still ache where Tom gripped me, I feel defensive. What right do these prisoners have to judge me and my life? I’ve always been friendly toward them, and though they’re my country’s declared enemies, I’ve never treated them as such.
“You don’t know him,” I said, picking up the paper with the good news, hoping to change the subject, but Trombello continued.
“I know this, and that’s enough.” He very lightly traced a finger over the red lines peeking out under my sleeve. I flinched away and yanked the fabric down, not liking his insinuations or how his touch gave me goose bumps.
“We got the concrete.” I tossed the paper in his direction. He read the page and put it aside with a rock on top to keep it from blowing away. No reaction. “We can pour the foundation now.”
“Yes,” he said with little emotion, lining up his writing utensils.
“And the dance? Saturday night? Will you all be there?”
“I don’t know.”
His noncommittal attitude felt like a rejection. I’d been through a rough moment with Tom in front of my place of employment, and now Trombello treated me indifferently—the one truly kind man I’ve met in a long time.
“What should we call you?” Trombello asked as I started to step away, ready to go back to the safety of my desk.
“Huh?”
He pointed to my tin ring. I was about to explain the whole thing, how Tom loved me and I loved him and how he was transferring for Ranger training. How we were going to get married even though his family wouldn’t like it, and he promised to take care of me and my family, and he supported my dreams. But Tom was right—no one would understand. It’s a secret—our secret. For now, at least.