“I used to dream of building a home on the mountain like the one you helped your family build. I wanted a garden.”
“Where was I in this picture?”
“You were always there. I just didn’t know it yet. I didn’t know the woman I would love all of my life was you.”
“If you love me, you’ll go back to the mountain and let it heal you.”
In the days that followed their conversation, Pappina and Luigi met with Ciro and Enza, and they agreed to consolidate the business. The Latinis would move to Chisholm that summer and rent a home on Willow Street. The men would pull together and build an inventory, making work boots and fur-trimmed winter boots for snowshoeing.
Enza took in alterations from the Blomquist’s and Raatamas department stores, and Pappina helped in the shop when she could. Enza expanded the dance shoe business to provide the shoes year-round, not just by special order.
Ciro and Enza began to argue frequently about her desire to send him home to Italy. When Enza moved the tin money box from the kitchen to the dresser in the bedroom, Ciro would put it back in the cabinet. When she brought it down to the shop to leave it on the worktable, he would gently put it aside. When she left it on the kitchen table at breakfast, he ignored it.
Ciro told Enza that he would never go home, until one day, in the heat of the last day of August, a letter came from Eduardo.
My Dear Brother,
I said a mass for you this morning.
After a long search, more prayers have been answered on our behalf.
I have found our mother. She is safe, but I fear she is beaten down from years in a convent with terrible conditions. She would like to see you, and so would I. Perhaps a trip could be arranged?
My love to you, E.
At first, Ciro didn’t tell Enza about the letter. He kept it in his pocket, and in stolen moments would reread it as though there was a line in it that would help change his mind. He was relieved that his mother was alive, and soon after the relief subsided like the waves on Longyear Lake, the pain came through anew, and his broken heart filled him with a deeper and more profound regret. He wished to be angry at Caterina and abandon her, the way she had abandoned them. But his heart, having grown in the tender care of Enza, would have none of it. He loved Caterina and wanted to see her again. He needed his mother now more than ever.
Ciro agreed, at long last, to go home to the mountain. He wanted to see his family before he died.
When Ciro told Enza he had made the decision, she leaped out of her chair and threw her arms around him. “How will we pay for the trip?” Ciro asked her.
“Remember the Burt-Sellers stock money? You wanted no part of it. But I’ve saved it. Your father is paying for your passage home.” Enza beamed.
Ciro had been stalwart in the face of every decision regarding his health. The idea, that his father, who had died so young and failed to provide for his family, would in fact, with his death benefit, pay to reunite his wife and sons was almost too much for Ciro to bear. He collapsed in Enza’s arms.
“All those years ago, you told me to spend the money on hats. And I’m so glad I’m not vain about hats.”
That afternoon, Enza stood in the telegraph office and dictated a telegram to Laura H. Chapin of 256 Park Avenue, New York City:
BOOKED ROUND-TRIP PASSAGE TO ITALY FOR CIRO. LETTER FOLLOWS TO EXPLAIN. I WILL BRING HIM TO NEW YORK TO SEE HIM OFF. MAY WE STAY WITH YOU BEFORE DEPARTURE? E.R.L.
The train from Minneapolis to New York City sped through the night as Enza and Ciro sat in the reading car. She read The Sheik by Edith M. Hull as Ciro smoked a cigarette and watched her as her eyes scanned over the words.
Enza pulled the blue wool wrap she wore over her suit tightly, without taking her eyes off the page. Ciro took delight in watching Enza when she read; it was as if she were consumed by the words, and the world outside the one on the pages ceased to exist.
“You’re staring at me,” Enza said without looking up.
“Are you imagining Rudolph Valentino as you’re reading?”