Papa lived. He wanted us to go, and we should. Please don’t cry yourself to sleep. I am safe and with a good regiment, very smart fellows. There are recruits from the University of Minnesota, a few from Texas, others from Mississippi, and one fellow from North Dakota who we call No Dak. He tells long-winded stories about the history of the moose in middle America. Sometimes we tell him we can’t take it, and other times, we just let him talk. It’s almost like the radio.
I love you Mama, you have my heart, and I will be home soon,
Antonio
P.S. Give Angela a hug for me.
Enza put aside her alterations, neatly folding a coat from Blomquist’s.
She checked the mailbox each morning, hoping for word from her son. When no letter came, she pulled on her coat and took the long walk up the street to the post office building to check the rosters of the war dead. She was not alone in this habit; every mother in Chisholm with a son or daughter in the war did the same, though they would pretend to be running an errand, or dropping off a package. But when one mother looked into the eyes of another, she knew.
In the spring of 1944, Laura Heery Chapin returned to Chisholm, Minnesota. Her son Henry was in boarding school, and Laura was free to accompany Colin around the country, as he was now in charge of production for the Metropolitan Opera’s road companies.
As soon as Angela was accepted to the Institute of Musical Art, Enza had called her old friend, who was going to be in Chicago for the opening of La Traviata. Laura had agreed to visit and take Angela safely back with her to New York City, because that’s what friends were for.
Laura was still tall, slim, and grand, though her red hair had faded to a shiny auburn. Her suit was Mainbocher, and even her suitcases had style, French made and Italian trimmed.
“I wish Colin’s mother could see you now. She would say you were to the manor born.”
“Probably not. She’d think that I should’ve chosen white gloves instead of blue.”
“Hasn’t Chisholm grown since your last visit?”
“I think it’s not Hoboken.”
Enza and Laura laughed. Through the years, whenever they liked something, they would say, “At least it’s not Hoboken.”
“But you know, this is where Colin came to claim me. It will always be a special place to me.”
Enza smiled and remembered the exact place she had stood on Carmine Street when Ciro came for her on the sidewalk in front of Our Lady of Pompeii. It’s funny how a woman remembers exactly where she stood when she was chosen.
“Miss Homonoff sent quite a letter to the Institute. She believes your goddaughter is a talented soprano.”
“We brought her down to the Twin Cities, and the professors at the University of Minnesota agreed. Laura, she would never be able to go to New York if you weren’t there.”
“I’m lonely with Henry away at school. You’re giving me a gift.”
“Oh, Laura, she’s so shy sometimes. She misses her mother, and there’s nothing I can do to comfort her. It brings up all my feelings about home and how much I miss my family. Her father and brothers are in Italy, and she’s afraid for them. They’re unfounded fears, but they’re real to her.”
“Angela needs to focus on her work. You and I made it because we stayed busy and we had goals. Look, she can live with me and walk across the park to her classes at the Institute. Colin is close to the dean. We’ll make her feel at home.”
“Is it all too easy?” Enza said worriedly.
“You just said the kid has had a terrible childhood. I didn’t say she could come to New York and nap. She’ll have to work hard, but why can’t we give her that little bit of security we know she needs? Didn’t Miss DeCoursey give it to us at the Milbank? How many times did we fret about the rent, and she’d give us a few extra days to go and wash dishes? I won’t pamper Angela, but I can encourage her—and she can learn. I’ll be her Emma Fogarty. I’ll make the connections for her like Emma did for us.”
Enza took a deep breath. Every fear she had for her ward was now assuaged. The truth was, she trusted Laura with her life, and with anyone that she loved. “What would my life have been, had we never