He knew that she hoped above all he would be brave; courage would keep him from harm.
Spruzzo looked up at Sister Teresa. She sat down on the work stool, lifted her apron to her face, and cried into it. She had vowed to be true only to God, and then to her community, but she hadn’t counted on raising a hungry little boy who had walked into the convent kitchen and won her heart. No mother had ever loved a son more.
The bells in the tower above the convent chapel rang out over the valley as the rectory carriage made the turn on the ridge above Valle di Scalve. Iggy pulled the reins tightly as Eduardo and Ciro looked up the mountain at Vilminore for the last time.
Ciro’s eyes did not linger on the landscape, as he vowed to return quickly. Eduardo knew differently, taking a few moments to commit the green cliffs to memory. He was certain the antiquities of Rome could never be this beautiful.
“Those bells are for you boys,” Ignazio said. “If I didn’t have to drive you down the mountain, it would have been me working the ropes in the tower to say good-bye to you. I’m deaf in one ear from ringing those chimes.”
“I’m sorry you have to scrub the church from now on,” Ciro said.
“You left it so clean, I think I can get to next Easter without a major scouring,” Iggy said. “Now, Ciro, when you get to America, remember that every other person you meet is trying to trick you out of what’s in your pocket. Only drink wine with your spaghetti and never alone at a bar. When a woman seems interested in you quickly, she is looking to take advantage of you. Ask for your wages in cash, and if they pay by paper, don’t let them take a cut for cashing your check. Open a bank account as soon as you get there, with ten lire. Leave it there, but never add to the sum. Every man needs a bank, but the bank doesn’t need your money.”
“I’ll only have two lire after I pay my passage,” Ciro reminded him.
Ignazio reached into his pocket and gave Ciro eight lire. “Now you have ten.”
“I can’t take this.”
“Trust me, Mother Church will never miss it.” Iggy winked as Eduardo rolled his eyes and made the sign of the cross.
“Thanks, Iggy.” Ciro put the money in his pocket.
“I always felt for you boys. I remember your father, and I know he would be very proud of you.”
Eduardo and Ciro looked at one another. Whenever they asked Iggy about their father, he made a joke or told a funny story.
“What do you remember about him?” Eduardo asked.
Iggy took his eyes off the road and looked at the boys. He believed dwelling on the past and revisiting the pain would make their loss worse, so he had kept quiet all these years. Today, though, Iggy wanted to share all he knew. “He never set foot in church. You must get your devotion from the Montini side. Anyway, his people were from Sestri Levante originally, down in the Gulf of Genoa. He came up to Bergamo to find work. At that time, they were building the train station, and there were many jobs. Your mother’s people had a printing shop, and he would walk by on his way to work and see your mother in the window. He fell in love with her and that was that.”
“Why did they come to Vilminore?”
“Your father got a job in the mines. But then he was told he could get twice the wages for the same job in America. And your mother came from some means, and he felt that he had to provide her with a life like the one she knew as a girl. So he set off to make his fortune.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“He went to a place in America called the Iron Range, in Minnesota.”
“Do you know how he died?”
“I know only what you boys have been told, that he died in a mining accident.”
“But they never found his body,” Ciro said, a phrase repeated whenever he spoke of his father.
“Ciro,” Iggy said solemnly, “you’re a man now. It’s not good for you to believe that he’ll return. Put your hopes in something real, something that will bring you happiness.”
Ciro stared ahead, wondering what, if anything, would ever bring him happiness. Eduardo nudged Ciro to say something.