The Queen of the Big Time (7 page)

“They’re laughing and talking!” Dianna runs into the parlor the next morning. “He’s taller than Papa!” I look out the window and see Papa walking down the lane with Alessandro Pagano, who looks exactly like his picture. Assunta, wearing a simple white linen sheath and Mama’s sapphire locket, looks lovely standing in the kitchen doorway. Her shiny black hair hangs straight to her waist. She exhales a sigh of relief.

“Assunta, go upstairs,” Mama directs.

“But Mama …”

“Go.” Assunta goes upstairs. “There is a proper way to be introduced. It’s not right for a lady to wait for a man. He waits for her.”

Dianna and I look at each other. Is Mama kidding? Alessandro has waited all these years, and now we’re going to make him wait even longer?

Papa opens the door and shows Alessandro into our house.

“Mr. Pagano, this is my wife, Mrs. Castelluca.”

“I am pleased to meet you,” he says slowly, then gives Mama a package out of his satchel. “This is from your sister Elena.” Tears spring to Mama’s eyes as she sits and opens the package, a stack of small lace doilies.

“Now, now, Celeste, stop the tears. Mr. Pagano has come a far distance and he’s hungry,” Papa says softly to Mama. Papa knows better than anyone how much Mama misses her family in Italy, so he is extra kind to her whenever they are mentioned.

“Shall I go and get Assunta?” I ask Mama.

“Not yet.” Mama shoots me a look like she’d take a switch to me if she could.

“Come, Alessandro, first we have supper, and then you’ll meet our beautiful Assunta.”

In what seems like the longest midday supper in history, Mama offers Alessandro every delicacy she knows how to make. Elena and I serve him as though he is a duke. He has fine table manners, and after the long journey he has quite an appetite. He eats orange slices dressed
in olive oil and pepper, shavings of Parmesan cheese with prosciutto, a salad of black olives and dandelion, a soup of tortellini in a chicken broth, sliced ham in fresh bread with butter, and all the wine he can drink.

I think he’s handsome. His face is angular, with a large nose and full lips. He has jet-black hair combed with a neat side part. His ears are big but close to his head. His neck and shoulders are strong. His hands, big and calloused, are like Papa’s; the nails are trimmed and neat, though. Evidently Assunta wasn’t the only one gussying up to impress her intended.

Elena motions for me to fetch water from the well with her, while Mama laughs with Alessandro at news he shares from Italy.

“What do you think?” I ask Elena.

“He’s good-looking enough. She’ll like him,” Elena says practically.

“He seems quiet.”

“That’s fine. You know she’ll do all the talking anyway.” Elena pumps water into a bucket. “I think they’ll be a good match. She’ll be able to boss him around and he won’t even notice it. I hope he makes enough money for her. He’ll be importing nuts and candy from Italy. Is that a good business?”

“It doesn’t matter. Papa needs help here on the farm.”

“But Assunta wants to live in town.”

“First get them married. Then all the details can be worked out.”

“I hope they never arrange me.” Elena hands me the first pail.

“Me either.”

“It’s too upsetting. I’d rather stay home with Mama and Papa all my life.”

“Me too,” I lie. Really, I would rather live in town and marry Renato Lanzara. But I can’t tell Elena that. I can’t tell anyone but Chettie, because my Renato is as elusive as her Anthony Marucci.

As we carry the water back to the house, I imagine the day when we won’t have to haul water, milk the cows, stack the hay, and kill the
hogs. Maybe one day when I’m a teacher, Papa will sell the farm and move into town, where we can join the other fine families who stroll up and down Garibaldi Avenue after supper stretching their legs. Maybe Delabole farm is just the beginning of our story and not our destiny.

“Girls, come inside!” Mama motions to us from the porch. As we approach, she says quietly, “We’re going to introduce Assunta to Alessandro.”

Elena and I almost drop the pails, but the thought of having to haul more from the springhouse makes us extra careful. We put the buckets by the door on the porch and follow Mama inside. Roma and Dianna sit on the settee with their hands folded as Papa pours wine into the small silver goblets Mama keeps in a velvet case.

“Elena, please go and get your sister,” Mama says.

I look at Alessandro, who inhales deeply through his nose. The sound of Elena’s footsteps going up the stairs is loud, like the ticking of a great clock. Soon Assunta appears in the doorway.

“Alessandro, I would like you to meet my daughter Assunta,” Papa says in a voice that booms and then falters. Mama begins to cry. Alessandro turns and looks at the girl who has been promised to him, and we all can see that he is well pleased. Assunta, who never smiles, beams at him as though he is the most handsome man she has ever seen, and in doing so, she becomes so beautiful that even those of us who know her well cannot believe the transformation. Love changes people. It has taken a stranger coming from Italy to show us exactly how.

CHAPTER THREE

F
ather Impeciato is a stern priest with a long face and thin lips that form a single straight line. Under his vestments he wears a silver pocketwatch on a long link chain that he routinely fishes out of his pocket and checks as the organ plays the processional. His Masses begin precisely at eight o’clock in the morning. He has been known to throw out parishioners who arrive one minute after he has made it to the altar. Chettie believes he has eyes in the back of his head, as he spends most of the service with his back to the congregation yet seems to know if we move, whisper, or yawn, because suddenly he will pivot around and glare directly at the sinner who has offended him.

I find priests and the nuns who tend them strangely otherworldly. Perhaps it’s the black habits, the veils and vestments that obscure the person underneath, but whatever it is, it separates us from them. Maybe it is the design of the church itself, the great distance between the pews and the altar, or the forbidding marble Communion railing that makes the priest seem miles away. It is all so grand: the high ceilings, the crouching angels, the glass-eyed statues lurking in dark alcoves,
the stations of the cross detailing Christ’s suffering at the end of His life, and especially the lifelike crucifix that hangs over the altar. It seems designed to frighten us into good behavior. It must be working, because Our Lady of Mount Carmel is filled to capacity for every Mass.

All of the rituals seem eerie to me too, from the smoking urns Father Impeciato waves around on a chain to the icy-cold holy water in the font that we bless ourselves with coming and going. The stained-glass window over the altar shows souls in torment, reaching up to the Blessed Lady, who looks down on the sinners in the fiery pit from a safe spot on a cloud. She holds the baby Jesus, who looks out at us, not down at the sinners. I don’t know what kind of savior looks away from those who are suffering, but this Jesus does.

This morning on the farm, we all got up early to have a final breakfast with Assunta before her wedding. It was very calm, even though Mama was pressing our new dresses, which I helped her sew until the last moment. Assunta was surprisingly serene. She packed, dressed, and ate her breakfast without saying much. It’s as though she had already moved on to her new home in town.

As we stand in the back of the church awaiting the organ music, Papa gives Father Impeciato an envelope. Father Impeciato understands that as a farmer, Papa cannot attend Sunday Mass on a regular basis because of his chores, but the Holy Roman Church is happy to take Papa’s donations, his eldest daughter’s wedding service included.

Assunta Maria Castelluca and Alessandro Agnello Pagano chose April 12, 1925, as their wedding day. April 12 is also Mama and Papa’s wedding anniversary, so they chose it to honor our parents. All of Assunta’s life she bragged that she would have twelve bridesmaids, but alas she only has Elena. Alessandro asked a cousin from Philadelphia to stand up for him. He is an oily fellow, with his wavy brown hair parted in the center and slicked down with pomade, and a wolfish grin. When he smiles, there’s a gap between his front teeth. Papa told us to stay away from him. Papa must know something about him that we don’t.

Assunta looks pretty in her drop-waist satin gown of shimmering ivory with a train that can be bloused into a bustle and bow for the reception. She wears a headband of tiny white roses, made by Mama in the early hours of the morning. Assunta carries three calla lilies, though she asked Papa if she could have a dozen. Assunta never gets exactly what she wants, but today she makes do without complaining.

As Assunta and Alessandro kneel before the priest, I think back to the moment they first met. Assunta was on her best behavior. Alessandro still has no idea of the Mount Vesuvius within her, the red-hot rages, or her violent tantrums. When she blows, it will come as a terrible shock to him. Elena said she wishes he had shown up ten years ago because we would have been spared years of torment. Clearly, when the prize is worth it, when she is getting something she truly wants, Assunta is capable of complete transformation.

I am wearing a pink satin dress Mama made for me. It’s a straight sheath with a wide band across the hips; the skirt falls straight over the knee. Mama covered small buttons and sewed them up the band to give the dress some interest. Now that I’m fifteen, I would have liked a split tunic like the older girls wear, especially one with full dolman sleeves (cap sleeves are too girlish for me), but Mama would not hear my argument. I wear short white kid gloves, which Chettie thinks gives the whole ensemble some sophistication. I hope so.

There’s a nice crowd in church, since Papa knows so many people from the days when he would deliver milk and eggs to town. Chettie’s family takes up a whole row. On the way in she told me that she spent the entire morning ironing her brothers’ shirts.

After the vows, Assunta crosses to an alcove with a smaller marble version of the main altar and a statue of the Blessed Mother on a gold pedestal behind it. Assunta places her bouquet at the foot of the statue. She stands for a moment as the organ plays “Ave Maria.” Upon the first notes, a man’s voice rings out over the congregation from the choir loft. The voice is so clear and beautiful, I turn to see who is singing. It is Renato Lanzara, whom I have not seen since last November.
It’s not that I haven’t tried. Chettie and I walk by his father’s barbershop on Garibaldi in hopes of running into him. And since I started coming to church regularly with Elena, I’ve looked for him every Sunday, but I’ve never seen him. Maybe God is punishing me for not having a true spiritual reason for coming to Mass. After all, the priest says God knows everything we’re thinking, not just what we do, and coming to Mass with the sole desire of seeing Renato would probably not sit well with the Creator.

Renato is as I remembered him, but as he sings, he takes on a grand stature. Maybe it’s the golden midmorning light that pours through the belfry and fills the choir loft, or maybe it’s the timbre of his voice as he sings, but I cannot take my eyes off him. Elena nudges me, reminding me to turn back around. Before I do, Chettie winks at me from her pew.

It seems like hours later that Assunta and Alessandro recess down the aisle to the back of the church. When they reach the top of the steps, they turn to each other and kiss. The most exciting part of weddings at Our Lady of Mount Carmel is the parade led by the bride and groom to Pinto’s Hall. It’s spectacular to see the Rosetans in their finery, the women in their pastel dresses and plumed hats, and the men in their elegant suits, as they process to the reception.

Chettie, dressed in a white eyelet shift with a smart straw hat, meets up with me as I follow the wedding party down the street. “That was a beautiful wedding. One of the best I’ve seen.”

“Think so?” I am hoping everyone in town agrees since we worked so hard on the details.

“The flowers, Assunta’s dress, everything was perfect,” Chettie says. “Now the fun begins. Have you ever been to Pinto’s Hall for a football reception?”

I shake my head that I haven’t.

“When you walk in, you tell them if you want ham or roast beef at the door, and they throw you a wrapped sandwich. It’s tradition. Watch.”

There are two boys with baskets by the door. Chettie says, “Ham, please.” A boy tosses her the ham sandwich.

“I’ll have ham too,” I tell the boy. He tosses me a sandwich wrapped in waxy white paper.

Alessandro leads his new bride onto the dance floor as the band plays “Oh Marie,” and they begin to dance. There is a keg of beer for the grown-ups at the end of a long table on the far side of the room, and a keg of soda for the kids on another. The church sodality ladies have crisscrossed white streamers over the low ceiling and hung silver bells in the center. Round tables with white tablecloths anchor either side of the dance floor. The centerpiece for each table is a pyramid of Mama’s wedding cookies. Delicate
crustelli
dusted with powdered sugar, coconut balls, and fig squares are piled high on silver trays. Mama snapped the stems off fresh daisies and dotted them among the cookies.