whom he had held on the day she was born in the same blanket that had held him, might already have died in the long hours he had been away from her side. He wanted to pray for his daughter’s life, but he couldn’t find the will or the words to do so.
Marco gave in to the emotions of the long day and cried.
The sight of this newly arrived immigrant, obviously a proud man with troubles, standing alone next to his cloth duffels in boiled wool clothing and a dingy shirt, filled a driver on the carriage line with compassion. He jumped off his perch and headed toward the man.
“Hey, Bud, you all right?”
Marco looked up at a burly American man, around his age. He wore a plaid cap, vest, and work pants. He had the flat nose of a prizefighter, and a plain gold tooth in the front of his mouth shimmered like a window. Marco was taken aback by the man’s gregarious manner, but welcomed the sound of his friendly voice. “You look like you lost your best friend. You speak English?”
Marco shook his head.
“I speak a little Italian. Spaghetti. Ravioli. Radio. Bingo.” The stranger threw his head back and laughed. “Where are you going?”
Marco looked at him blankly.
“Do you mind?” The stranger took the piece of paper from Marco. “You have to go to the hospital?”
Marco heard the word hospital and nodded vigorously.
“Joe, this hospital is about two miles from here. If you didn’t have the bags, you could walk. You Catholic?” The stranger made the sign of the cross.
Marco nodded, dug into his shirt, and pulled out a devotional medal on a chain he wore around his neck.
“You’re Catholic, all right. You gonna work for them?” he asked. “They got a lot of jobs at the hospital. And them nuns will find you a place to stay too. They’re good about that. Something about those habits makes ’em want to help people. They wear veils with wings, makes you think they’re fairies, flying around doing good works. Now, just nuns I’m talking about. Not women in general, if you know what I’m saying. They don’t wear the wings, and they don’t fly. They got other pluses. And the first plus: they ain’t nuns.” The driver threw his head back again and laughed.
Marco smiled. He may not have understood the words, but the animated delivery by this stranger was entertaining.
“Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna do a good deed for the hell of it. I’m gonna give you a lift to Saint Vincent’s.” The stranger pointed to his horse and carriage. Marco understood the man and nodded appreciatively.
“My treat.” The driver snapped his fingers. “Regalo.”
Marco formed his hands in the prayer position. “Grazie, grazie.”
“Not that I’m a good Catholic or nothin’,” the man said as he picked up Marco’s bags. Marco followed him to the carriage. “I’m planning on repenting at the very end of my life, when I’m takin’ that last gasp. I’m the kind of guy who eats a rib eye rare on Good Friday. I know, I know, it’s a mortal sin. Or maybe it’s venial. See that? I don’t even know the difference. The point is, I wouldn’t mind seeing the face of God once I’m on the other side, but I got a hard time with rules on this one. Ya know what I mean?”
Marco shrugged.
“Hey, what am I doin’, unloading on you when you got your own problems. Ya look like a sad sack, my friend, like ya just heard the most miserable opera they ever wrote.”
Marco nodded.
“Ya like the opera? All them Italian guys, Puccini, Verdi . . . I know about ’em. How about the Great Caruso? He’s one of youse guys too. I seen him for twenty-five cents at the Met. Standing room. Ya gotta go to the Met sometime.”
As Marco climbed into the carriage, the driver hoisted the bags on to the bench next to him. The driver with the gold tooth climbed up to his perch and took the reins.
For the first time since he’d left Schilpario, Marco had caught a lucky break. He sank into the leather seat and held hope in his heart like a hundred stars.
Ciro practically filled up the tiny examination room on the second floor of Saint Vincent’s Hospital. He was so tall, his head nearly touched the ceiling before he sat down on the table. A young nun in blue, who had introduced herself as Sister Mary Frances,