cabinets, and the doors are thick. There are many windows. The root cellar is filled with sweet potatoes and chestnuts. Mama put up peppers and cherries for the winter.”
“Enza, did you know that Battista made a deal with the Ardingos? He bartered free carriage rides down the mountain for all the prosciutto and sausage our family could eat.”
“Battista was always a schemer.” Enza laughed.
“And he always will be. I can’t wait to see my children. But mostly, I can’t wait to see your mother again,” Marco said. “Do you want to brave the ocean with me now that you’re not getting married?”
“I wish I could, Papa.”
“The old mountain can’t compete with Caruso’s opera house.”
“It’s not that.” Enza looked down at her hands, unsure of what to say.
“Are you going to give Signor Blazek another chance?”
“No. It’s done.”
“Then you’ll come home with me,” Marco said quietly.
“Papa, you know it’s not possible.”
Marco took his daughter’s hand. “ I know you got very ill on the way over,” he began.
“Papa, I almost died,” she said softly. The only person on earth who understood what had happened to her on the crossing would also understand why she could never make that trip again.
“We’ll go right to the doctor and make sure he can help before the ship ever leaves the harbor,” Marco said.
“And what if he can’t help, Papa? What if I get so sick I don’t make it across? I want you to go home and be with Mama and our family and revel in every corner of that house. I want you to throw open the windows and light the fire, and plant the garden and fill it with love. That will make me happy.”
“But that house belongs to you too. You worked harder than I did to build it. I don’t want to believe you won’t ever live in it.”
“But it’s my choice, Papa. I’m going to stay here. And it’s more than my job. Do you remember a boy named Lazzari? He was sent from Vilminore to dig Stella’s grave. I brought him home to meet you?”
“I don’t remember much about that time, Enza.”
“And you met him again at Saint Vincent’s Hospital in the chapel when I was ill. Ciro is from a good family. His brother has become a priest. They lived at San Nicola when they were boys.”
“The Lazzaris of Vilminore.” Marco pondered the name. “I once drove a widow Lazzari down to Bergamo. I remember it was snowing. She had sons, and she had taken them to the convent. I remember that. And the nuns paid me three lire. It was a fortune then.”
Enza took in a breath. The threads that connected her to Ciro were so strong, it seemed inevitable that they would have found one another again and after so long. “Another sign that we are meant to be together.”
“What makes you think that this young man knows how to treat you? Just because he’s from the mountain doesn’t mean he’s good enough for you. He was raised in a convent. That’s not his doing, but how would he know how to take care of a family if he’s never been a part of one? How can you be sure that he won’t leave you, as his mother left him?”
“I’m very sure of him, Papa.”
“But can he be a good husband?”
Marco knew his daughter. She’d had a mind of her own since she was a girl, and she had always honored her own heart. Marco stood and went to the window. He surveyed the street below, buying time to find the right words to say to his daughter. She was at a turning point in her life, and needed her mother’s wisdom, but she was not there to provide it. Marco would have to do his best.
Ciro, polished and neat, wearing a suit, was bounding up the front stairs to the entrance door of the boardinghouse. “Is this Lazzari coming to meet me?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“You have chosen a tall one, haven’t you?”
Miss DeCoursey brought Ciro into the beau parlor. He wore a navy blue suit, white shirt, vest, and tie. His oxblood shoes were laced in navy. Marco turned to meet his future son-in-law, and they shook hands. “It’s good to see you again, Signore.”
“Enza, I’d like to speak privately with Signor Lazzari,” Marco said.
Enza deferred to her father and left the room, closing the door behind her.