Her ’20s bob contained by the latest fashion, a head-hugging soft felt she had made to match the shade of dark plum of her perfectly tailored traveling suit, Jane positioned herself by the window of the First Class railway carriage. For this her first adventure solely dependent on herself, she had permitted herself the luxurious affectation of a small velvet muff for added courage. That John trusted her to accomplish this mission contributed much to her determination to succeed. That it also scared her gave her the incentive not to let it show.
Elbow resting on the windowsill, gloved hand cupping her chin, a remembered pose observed so long ago, Jane gazed at the passing countryside as though genteel nonchalance was not new to her.
A twilight arrival to a great city begets its own magic—that spectacular shimmering of lights before real darkness requires them, so different from any other times of the day or place. Caught by the wonder of having actually managed to arrive in the city of New York, Jane longed to explore its magic but as her explicit instructions made no mention of such wayward excitement, she lifted a gloved hand to hail a taxicab, handed the driver the piece of paper on which John had written her destination. Having given the cabbie sufficient time to familiarize himself with it, she inquired, “Do you know where it is?”
He hesitated.
“You sure that’s where you gotta go, Lady?”
“Oh, yes—my husband wrote it.”
“Yeah—sure!” He smirked—making Jane wonder if this somewhat sinister man might finally be one of those white slavers she had feared so very long ago.
Thinking it a wise precaution, Jane ventured a soft, “On the way, I may wish to stop at the nearest police station—but I will let you know.”
Still reeling from the shock of stormy seas and endless travel, Celestina close to tears in headscarf and rumpled coat, sat dejected on her battered case, when suddenly an elegant stranger advanced towards her, and she cringed.
“Celestina! Don’t you know me? It’s me, Giovanna! I am Giovanna, your brother’s wife!”
“Oh, dear …” gulped Celestina all flushed and trembling, “can we go home now? Please! All these people! And the noise and when I stand up—the ground moves and I have to sit down again.” This time the tears gushed. Jane held her close.
“I know, I know. I felt just the same—everything wobbled. Don’t cry, in a few days it will be gone, but the many people and the noise, that won’t go away—you just get used to it.” Jane steered her sister-in-law through the crowds to the tram that would carry them to the station. Celestina recovered enough to be very impressed by Giovanna’s command of American plus her astounding expertise when choosing the proper coins to pay for their fare not to mention knowing where and when to alight from the strange but rather attractive wagon tinkling its bells with its shovel-like grate in front that Giovanna informed her was called a Cow Catcher—but though she looked, as she saw not a single cow, this confused Celestina even more.
“Look!” Jane pointed, “look there—that’s a Ford motorcar—a Model T. It is the most famous motorcar in the whole world—the one Giovanni builds.”
Celestina trying to take it all in—awed by so many wonders knew that if she lived to be a hundred she would never be able to do so.
In their girlhood Italian they chatted—enjoying each other as though no time had passed to turn them into women. When changing trains and other such serious maneuvers, Jane was in charge—when on their way again it was Celestina’s turn to bring news from home.
Flirty Antonia, betrothed to a successful elderly merchant from Milan, a splendid match that the whole village approved of without reservation, had run off with a common soldier, disappeared—no one knew where. “She chose a common foot soldier! Not even an officer with a horse! Imagine!” is how Celestina put it, after months still shaking her head in disbelief.
“Broke her father’s heart. Since then it’s rumored that the accuracy of his treatments has waned alarmingly, some even suspect that our good doctor drinks.” Camilla had born twins, girls, now expecting once more was so big it would surely be twins again. “Remember the Rossini twins? Well, she married Mario the one with the big hands so it’s no wonder she keeps having two of everything! Giovanna, if you saw Camilla now you’d never recognize her. She already looks worn out, old and behaves just like her mother—always cooking, washing and having babies.” Taking a quick respite, Celestina nibbled on the tangerine Jane had peeled for her. “Last winter after spitting blood for goodness knows how long, Sister Bertine finally died of consumption. Her funeral was splendid! Everyone stopped work to attend, dressed in black. Even the horses had crepe ribbons tied on their harnesses. Father Tomasso was at his most inspired—listening to him everyone had the distinct impression they could hear angels singing the Requiem.” Removing her headscarf, Celestina used it to wipe her fingers.
Jane thought, I must remind myself to tell Celestina that in America ladies wear hats.
“Oh, even your father attended, which shocked quite a few of our village as you can well imagine. He has a peasant girl from the South—a Calabrese keeping house for him now. Have you ever heard from him?”
Busy stowing their suitcases, Jane answered, “No.”
“Oh well.” Celestina yawned.
“Oh, please don’t go to sleep yet. Tell me, how is Teresa? Has anyone heard from her?”
“We certainly haven’t—and I don’t think anyone else has either. Most of her brothers were killed in the war—the one who became a Franciscan—and her mother they died of the influenza—but no, no—nothing else.” The train wailed into the night as Jane’s heart echoed its lament.
On a grim October evening, arctic winds whipping across the Great Lakes, teeth chattering like castanets, a very miserable, travel-worn Celestina was finally enveloped in Hannah’s welcoming embrace, given that instant loving safety that Jane remembered so well.
Everyone came to meet and welcome the new immigrant come to stay. Confused, yet delighted by their generous acceptance of her, Celestina beaming kept repeating, “Gracia, molto pecharie, molte gentile,” asking her brother to please translate, assure his friends that she had made up her mind that she would speak good American by Christmas.
Ebbely liked Celestina immediately. He called her his “Raphaelasian cherub” and delighted in her old world charm, her unabridged enthusiasm for every new discovery, every new experience.
The children had great fun introducing their new aunt to the rituals of their country. There were so many things to learn, decipher, absorb that at times Celestina felt quite undone.
Though this year young John refused to dress up, Michael ever loyal to his black felt went as his model T, and allowed Billy to borrow his ghostly sheet to spook in. Not one to be left behind, Celestina went as Bo Peep. Of all the new things she came to know, Celestina always liked Halloween the very best.