My comprehension of American is quite excellent. Though this may sound vain, it is the truth. I can also speak German now, but writing it gives me terrible problems. The pleasure it is to be writing this in Italian, you cannot imagine. Forgive me. I have strayed. The House. It has two bedrooms. Yes, two! Small, of course, but ample. Also a full bathroom, complete and inside the house on the same level as the sleeping quarters! So now you will understand my previous use of the word luxury. The downstairs contains the parlor, a room for dining and a kitchen. There is also another porch which leads to a small plot of land in back, that I hope someday to make into a garden—not simply a place for hanging wash out on the line—as it is done here. It already has a tree that now, being summer, has burst into flower. John says it’s an apple but Hannah insists July is too late, so it must be something else. It looks pretty, no matter what it is. In a place so bitterly cold in winter, summer is welcomed here with great enthusiasm. At this time, they play a special game here that stirs men to frenzy. The participants in plus fours wear strangely shaped mittens of leather, catch and throw balls at each other—and run! When I have learned more of this, I shall write and explain it to you in more detail.
The alarming news of the assassination has reached us. Many are worried that this may lead to some conflict in the Balkans. The sanctuary of your Convent, as well as being in France, you of course are perfectly safe. So are those in Cirié, for John says no matter what may happen, Italy will never become involved. Still, many seem worried for their families’ safety. John’s company employs mostly immigrant laborers, so you can imagine the volume of concern. But surely, nothing will come of all this. After all, the assassination of one Archduke by an insane Serb cannot plunge the whole of Europe into a war! Remember the saying ‘He that lies with dogs, comes up with fleas’? John says that’s the Balkans, so let them scratch themselves and good riddance!
I must close, the baby cries and there is much that must be done before suppertime. So, dearest friend, good-bye. I will await your reply with longing and impatience. As we probably will be moving from here by the end of the month, I enclosed our new address.
Please write to me soon—oh, I wish I had a photograph of you in your habit, devout and perfect as you are.
Affectionately your friend,
Giovanna
The Great War would delay Teresa’s answer by four horrendous years.
Having kept an eye out for a letter addressed to Zoltan bearing a Bulgarian postmark, the morning it arrived, Mr. Henry ran over, caught him just as he was leaving for work.
“Your letter! It’s come!” panted the mailman excited he had made it in time. Zoltan ripped open the envelope, scanned the closely written lines, then sighed with relief.
“This is not from my mother, it is from her brother, my uncle. He says he will personally accompany her on the journey by train, then see her safely onto the ship that is scheduled to dock in New York City on the tenth of August. Mr. Henry, thank you.” Zoltan shook the mailman’s hand. “This was exceptionally thoughtful of you.” Blushing, Mr. Henry touched the visor of his cap and, waving good-bye, hurried away. Zoltan turned back to Hannah in the doorway. “Of course, this was written before the assassination—still, with such an early date, no matter what trouble may develop, my mother will have gotten away in time. Hannah, I’m off! See you tonight!” Zoltan rushed down the street, hoping he hadn’t missed his trolley.
Stan and Serafina’s wedding day became a summer festival. In the small tented garden of her father’s house, an Italian immigrant of affluence, more than forty close friends and family celebrated. Wine flowed, the pungent aroma of rosemary, sweet basil, oregano mingled with that of sun-dried tomatoes, garlic and cheese—re-creating Sicily in Detroit.
Only Jane and Hannah missed the fun. Baby Michael had colic and Hannah woke that very morning with a touch of lumbago. But, when the men came home, they were told all about it. The bride, the train of her white satin gown carried by her twin sister, Morgana, a mirror image of cascading jet curls and regal carriage. The groom, so nervous that the tips of his heavily waxed moustache seemed to quiver when he repeated the vows as though he might be having second thoughts. There had been a slight disturbance, when one of the stations of the cross fell off the Church wall—but … aside from that, all had been splendid abandon.
Later when they were alone in the kitchen, Hannah, who had been bursting to talk since hearing about the wedding, gave vent to her assessment of the incident in the church.
“Ninnie, you see? What did I tell you? A sign! Dat holy picture falling in de middle of de wedding? DAT was a sign! De saints were knowing what dat girl Serafina really is. All over dat Sicily dey got witches living. I know! Once I had a boarder from dere, burnt chicken feathers right in de room! When I caught him, said he was only curing a cold in his head, but I know dat was not de real reason. When he moved in, he nailed a big black crucifix over his bed—dat got loose, used to slip, turn upside down, so dat poor Jesus Christ stood on his head. Bad enough you get nailed up without being turned topsy-turvy by a Sicilian witch man!”
Jane laughed.
Hannah looked surprised, “Boy, dat wasn’t funny. First he got a Mamma all special, mit a halo she walks around, den nobody believes what he tells dem, den at last, he gets some friends dat do; makes mit de fishes and de wine, walks around in sandals doing good and kind … and what he gets for it? Nutting but troubles and meanness! And den, one of dose ‘goodie-good, we love you forever friends’—what’s he do? He sells him to de bad peoples for silver—and not much even. In de end, he even forgives everybody for what dey do to him … can you believe it? Such a good boy!” And Hannah switched her attention from theology to concentrate on her perfectly risen bread.
Running dangerously low on cinnamon and pickling spices for watermelon rind and summer piccalilli, Hannah announced the time had come to once again journey into the city, not only to visit Mr. Hirt’s Emporium but to make good on her promise to introduce Jane to the sublimity of another Detroit invention, the ice cream soda!
In her best summer muslin, wearing her mother’s straw hat freshened up by a stylish length of new navy blue ribbon courtesy of Mr. Montgomery Wards Notions and Trimmings Department, Jane waited in the hall for Hannah to make her appearance. Looking every inch the regal matron in summer white, her winter bluebird concoction replaced by a stylish tricornered felt edged in black, Hanna strode down the hall, calling to Fritz. “As soon as Henrietta comes to get baby, we go. You hear me, Fritz?”
Her husband called down to her from the landing, “I hear you! I hear you! And before you start telling me again, I know what to do! John knows what to do! Zoltan knows what to do and, if Ebberhardt shows up—he knows!”
“Don’t tink Ebbely coming today, yet. So better not count on him.”
John joined Fritz on the landing. “Haven’t got your sixth sense working today, Hannah?”
“Oh, I got it working honky-dory alright, Mr. Know-It-All-New-Papa. Our Ebbely is somewhere near, but not yet all de way. Maybe tomorrow he show or latest next day after.” She pulled on her crocheted gloves. “Where is dat China Dolly?” Just then, Johann’s wife and children arrived to pick up Jane’s baby to look after him until she returned from her special outing.