why he loved Enza because he hadn’t questioned it. Ciro knew that there was a correct answer. He knew that men learned how to love; they weren’t born with that capacity. He knew the qualities of a good man included all the aspects that concerned Marco: loyalty, fidelity, ambition, and gentleness. As a man, Ciro had been shaped by the loss of his father, the absence of his mother, the ordination of his brother, and his decision to volunteer to fight in the Great War. Each of Ciro’s choices had changed the landscape of his heart and his ability to love. In many ways, he felt lucky he still could.
As a boy, Ciro had learned how to give of himself generously in the convent. He knew how to be loyal because he had grown up with Eduardo, who taught him the nuances of what it meant to be a loving brother. Ciro had given up searching for love, hoping it would fill that deep well of regret that he still carried at having been abandoned by his mother, but he was wise enough to know that you can’t always blame your parents for your sadness. After so much rejection, and periods of emotional drift and loneliness, Ciro had finally found what was missing. He didn’t want Marco to think that he’d chosen Enza to save himself, but deep down, he believed it was true. Ciro loved Enza, but was that enough for Marco, who had put everything he was into his family? There was no building, bridge, ocean liner, or shoe with Marco Ravanelli’s name on it, just the quiet and exemplary life of a good man who lived in service to the family he created. Ciro hesitated to tell Marco what was in his heart, because he knew more than Ciro ever would about what it takes to love one woman and build a life with her.
So Ciro said, “I traveled far, Signor Ravanelli. I have never met a woman like Enza. She’s intelligent without being condescending. She’s beautiful without vanity. And she’s funny when she isn’t trying to be. I love her and will give her a good life. Your daughter encourages the best in me. When I’m with her, I’m in the presence of grace, and she makes me aspire to it.”
Marco took a moment to think about Ciro’s words. He saw that an honest young man sat before him. If Marco were completely honest, he would admit that he saw also a sadness in Ciro, one that he could not name. Marco didn’t know if that meant Ciro hadn’t made peace with the past, or if it might portend something grave in the future. He knew there was a certain seriousness about Ciro, born of a life experience that Marco himself had not endured. On the surface of things, it appeared to Marco that this was a solid match, and one that Giacomina would endorse. Ciro was from the mountain, and he knew Enza’s dialect and way of life. That accounted for something on this unexpected morning. He would find comfort in the knowledge that his daughter would marry a man who understood what she came from, and for Marco Ravanelli, this tipped his decision in Ciro’s favor.
Ciro still sat on the edge of the chair. His future and the fulfillment of all his dreams were at the mercy of another.
Marco slowly reached into his pocket and removed an envelope. He placed the envelope on the table and rested his hand upon it. He looked at Ciro. “For Enza.”
“This is not necessary,” Ciro said.
“It is to me. I am giving you permission to marry my firstborn daughter. Men hope for sons, but I will tell you that there was never a son who brought a father more joy than my Enza did for me. There are daughters and daughters, but there is only one Enza. I entrust you with my own flesh and blood. I expect you to honor that trust.”
“I will, sir.”
“Our home on the mountain was completed nearly one year ago. I could have gone home then. Instead, I stayed on to make this purse for my daughter’s dowry. It brings me contentment to know that this small sacrifice will make it easier for my daughter as she starts her new life. One year of my forty-six on this earth is a pittance compared to what she means to me.”
“I thank you, Signore. And I won’t forget how hard you worked to provide this