beauty and sartorial elegance. Far more effort went into her pursuit of glamour than into developing her intellect, character, or common sense.
“I thought she was . . . everything.”
“I’m sorry. Even those we love can disappoint us.”
“I know that now,” Ciro said.
“Priests aren’t perfect . . . ,” Sister Teresa began. “Ciro, Don Gregorio already knows his shortcomings, far better than you ever will.”
“He doesn’t think he has any! He runs the church like he’s king.”
Sister Teresa took a deep breath. “Don Raphael Gregorio was neither distinguished academically nor admired for his spiritual acumen in the seminary. From all reports, he glided through on his good manners and pleasant personality. After he took his final vows, he wasn’t assigned to the cathedral in Milan. He was not chosen to write for the Vatican newspaper. He was not selected to be the bishop’s envoy or the cardinal’s secretary. He was sent to the poorest village on the highest peak in the most northern Alps of Italy. He’s a good-looking sap, and he knows it. He’s just exactly smart enough to know that he can only be important in a place where he has no competition. He says mass like I read a recipe aloud as I’m cooking.”
“He’s a consecrated man! He’s supposed to be better!”
“Ciro, you can’t go by the costume.”
“Then why does Sister take pains ironing his vestments? Why do I have to carry the altar linens on a dowel? We make the man look good.”
“A cassock does not make a man a priest, any more than a fine dress makes a woman truly beautiful—or good or generous or intelligent. Don’t confuse the way someone looks with the way they are. Grace is a rare thing. I wear the habit not because I am pious but because I’m trying to be. I left my mother and father when I was twelve years old to become a nun. I had a great desire to see the world, and now, I am doing penance for my selfishness. Who knew I’d see the world through the drain of an old sink and across the surface of a wooden chopping board? But here it is, and here I am. In my zeal to be a part of a grand adventure, I traded my mother’s kitchen for this one.”
Sister Teresa cooked three meals a day for the nuns, and also prepared the meals for Don Gregorio. She was up at 3:00 a.m. baking bread, which Ciro knew because he was up milking the cows. It seemed that Sister Teresa had the workload of a wife and mother, without the love and respect that went with it.
“Why do you stay?” Ciro asked.
Sister Teresa smiled. She really was beautiful when she smiled; her pink cheeks glowed, and her brown eyes twinkled. She placed her hands on Ciro’s. “I’m hoping that God will find me.”
Sister Teresa stood and threw a moppeen over her shoulder. She handed Ciro the platter to carry to the dining room and loaded the bowls of chestnut puree onto a large tray.
“It’s not so bad. We eat, don’t we?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“There’s never enough chicken, but we manage. God’s love fills us up, that’s what Sister Ercolina says. You have to find the thing that fills you up, Ciro. What fills you up? Do you know?”
Ciro Lazzari thought he knew what filled him up, but the last person he would tell was a nun. If Ciro understood anything about himself, it was his desire to woo and win a girl’s heart. “I thought it was Concetta,” he said.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes we get our hearts broken, only to have the right person come along to mend them,” Sister said.
Ciro wasn’t ready to let go of Concetta Martocci. He couldn’t say why he loved her, he only knew that he did. The goal of winning her heart inspired him to work harder, longer, and more diligently so he might make enough money to take her places and buy her pretty things. Now what would he work for?
Ciro imagined Concetta in full, filling in the details of her life outside of what he observed in fleeting glimpses of her on the piazza, in school, or in church. He wondered how she spent her time away from San Nicola. He imagined her bedroom, with a round window, a white rocking chair, and a soft feather bed surrounded by a wallpaper of tiny pink roses. He wondered what she wished for—an elegant gold chain, a small emerald ring, or a fur