Aprons of Stone: A Novel Based on True Events

CHAPTER 1

THE LETTER CAME FROM her husband on the last day in May.

Nola,

Your crazy sister Sabina arrived in New York, and I curse her coming. Better she had died at sea and been fed to sharks than have brought such grief and humiliation to my brother. On the day that Mario arrived in New York to marry her, after a week on a damn train from Colorado, he found that Sabina ran off with a strange man. You caused this. You had that trollop write to my brother, knowing that I never liked her. Now, that puttana is somewhere in America at Mario's expense. He sent her a great deal of money for the voyage and her trousseau. It turns out the shameless slut is also a cunning thief. She should be hanged. I'm disgusted with both of you.

Luca

The next morning, Nola stepped from her doorway to join her sister Marianna in the line of village women on their monthly trek to the river with their laundry.

Nola, whispered Marianna under her breath. How could you come out looking like that? Your hair looks like a rat's nest. You know these women gloat when they think you're unhappy.

Nola did not answer her sister as she balanced a large, heavy basket of linens on her head with the aid of her hands. This forced her and the other women to parade with regal carriage down the steep, stone street steps of the mountain village to the river below. More women joined the procession as they emerged from both sides of the parallel rows of attached, two-story stone dwellings. The wide street steps between the houses created passageways for the women as steps and homes sloped down the mountain. The closeness of the shadowed buildings did not allow for much privacy, and inhabitants knew their neighbors' business. Gossip flourished and became entertainment for the secluded locals whose strict moral codes, severe class system, earthy lusts, and hard lives occasionally provided sequels to the village's tragic history.

Nola remained silent as she trudged down the stone steps, her face showing the weight of her burden. However, it was not from the laundry but from the wrath of her husband and betrayal of her sister.

Nola, speak to me, Marianna whispered again. Your silence speaks your sorrow.

Marianna, you read the letter. How could Luca hurt me like that? Her choke-filled words vanished into the thunderous roar coming from the river.

I know that letter hurt you, but Luca's anger was toward our sister and what she did to his brother.

I always knew that girl was crazy.

Nola! Sabina is not crazy. Frivolous, perhaps. Spoiled.

What she did was criminal, and you know it.

The hundreds of steps ended when the women reached the valley and a dirt road led them to the shore of the Orfenta River. Padding their knees with their long, full skirts and aprons, the women knelt and lathered their clothes over huge rocks scattered at the edge of the riverbank. Although separated in space, the women sang together the love songs of their ancestors, and as one song ended, someone started another so that there was a continuous flow to the music.

These women dressed in dark-colored skirts and blouses, cooked alike, and even baked the same crusty bread, borrowing the starter dough from one another when a mishap destroyed a batch. Nola did not always conform to custom, especially in dress and hair. She preferred lighter-colored linens and a softer bun rather than the heavy hues and severe buns that seemed to be the village uniform. This day, clumps of auburn hair flew about in disarray while she lathered a linen sheet on the huge, smooth rock. Around her, the women continued to work and sing while Nola anguished over her husband's scorching letter. Oh, Luca, she whispered, not even a loving word from you. That's what I need in your letters to give me hope. There had been no joyful salutation. Only Nola and the heart-wrenching words that followed

True, Luca had written to her, requesting names for Mario, who wanted to marry someone from their village. Sabina had seen the letter and insisted on writing to Mario. He wrote back, and they fell in love through their letters.

That Sabina, Nola whispered as she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. She was born selfish. She looked up at the bright Mediterranean sky. Please, God, don't let Luca desert me over this. Don't let me be the next sport for the gossip mongers. She struggled to pull out the rest of the heavy, water-soaked sheet to lather, and she remembered the last night that she and Luca lay on the cloth---five years ago, when he came back from America for a month's visit.

He had said, as he gazed at her body with those dark, penetrating eyes, Nola, you rival those marble statues in Rome.

She had smiled and stroked his face. You think I'm like stone?

Oh, no! Your flesh is like the softest, cream-skinned beauties of Rome.

How do you know about ... Luca had kissed her. The question, like many others she had concerning his two-year service in Rome and then later, when he was away in America, went unanswered and unresolved.

Nola gripped the sheet, recalling how she clung to her husband five years ago when the schoolmaster woke them in the middle of the night and warned Luca of an imminent arrest. Luca, he had said, the Fascists will arrest you in the morning for talking against Mussolini. You must escape tonight or face prison. After only one week's stay, Luca was gone, unable to take his family back with him to America as planned.

Each time Luca left her, she was pregnant: Carlo, conceived during Luca's military service in Rome in 1920; Gino, before Luca went to America in 1921; and Alissa, that fateful week when he returned, and left again, in 1928.

Why must love bring such pain and suffering? she asked the relentless river.

Her unhappy state brought to mind Glorita, whose husband in America deserted her after two years. Deprived of funds, Glorita became the mistress of Cristoforo Costa, the village lawyer. And like the other villagers, Nola looked forward to the latest gossip about the lovers. Now, for the first time, Nola had compassion for Glorita. She felt in league with her and understood the despair the woman must have suffered when her husband abandoned her.

Mamma! You crying again?

The child's shrill voice broke Nola's trance. She swung around the bank to face her four-year-old daughter who had run ahead of her to the river with the other children.

Alissa! Why are you sitting there? Go play with your friends.

The child's mouth quivered. She sprang to her feet, glared at her mother, and ran toward the youngsters who played hide-and-seek near the power mill.

Oh, Alissa. When will your father meet you to see how pretty you are? In a fury, Nola pushed the sheet back into the river and plunged the large, heavy cloth in and out of the water with both hands until it was rinsed and she was spent. The women around her continued to sing, and as their song trailed to the end, someone started Campagnola Bella, the passionate love song to a country maiden, which was a favorite of Luca's.

Meshed with the children's lilting laughter, the symphonic sounds of river and chorus rose in waves from the valley to the village above, soothing the old people sitting at doorsteps, the men working on sloping fields, and the older children studying in school.

Gradually, the singing faded as each woman finished her wash and carried a heavy basket of wrung-out linens to the overgrown meadow. Nola went the short distance with Marianna, whose brown hair had premature gray streaks that clashed with a youthful, round face. Marianna frowned when she faced Nola and said, Oh, dear Jesus.

Nola pursed her lips. Folding a sheet in half lengthwise, she handed two corners to Marianna, avoiding her eyes. The sisters stepped backward until the linen was taut. Bending forward, they caved the sheet and snapped it back quickly, repeating the process a few times to smooth out the wrinkles. All around them, snapping sheets emitted the biting lye scent when they cracked like rifles fired in a battlefield. Then, only the continuous rumble of the river accompanied the chatting women as they spread their white wash over bushes, tall grass, tree branches, and rocky shore.

Marianna laid a fringed towel near the thorny jungle of a blackberry bush. Nola, don't you see the women looking at you? They know you received a letter from Luca yesterday. They can tell that something is wrong.

The words stung Nola. She fought back tears while she hung her small cloths on the thorns of the bush.

A far-off church bell tolled the noon hour for the eight thousand Catholics in the village. The women finished spreading their laundry and gathered in groups for their midday meal. Nola went with Marianna to a secluded spot, untied her napkin-satchel, drank a little wine from her bottle, and picked at her cheese and bread.

Marianna's brows furrowed as she let out an exasperated breath. You can't fool these women. Most of them are happy to see you miserable.

Tell me, are their beds empty? Do they wait months for a letter?

My God. They only see that Luca sends you money. Looking upward, she clenched her hands and sighed. Dear Jesus and Mary. Please. Answer her prayers.

I yearn to be with Luca, but I must settle for his letters---for some loving words to sustain me. Yesterday's letter was nothing but gall.

Luca made it clear in his letter that he was angry about Sabina. Do you blame him?

That Sabina. She's in America, and I'm still here. And look what she's done. What a scandal. Luca's right. That girl was always a little crazy.

Shh. Keep your voice down. These women will hear about our sister soon enough. I'm as upset as you about her, but stop saying she's crazy. Always full of mischief, I guess.

How could she do that? Nola looked around to see if anyone heard her, but the women paid no attention, immersed in their own conversations. Nola stared at the ground and shook her head. She took Mario's money and ran off with a stranger. I can't believe this.

I'm so worried about her. Alone, in America. What do we tell Mamma and Papa? Oh, dear Lord ... forgive Sabina and protect her. Marianna blew her nose in her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

How can you cry for her after what she did? Luca may never send for me now.

He wrote that letter in anger. Of course he'll send for you and the children.

When? It's 1933. He's been in America twelve years and in the army for two years before that. Your husband has never left you for one day. What do you know of waiting?

Oh, my God. I didn't mean to upset you more, Nola.

It's not you, Marianna. Why didn't he take us back with him five years ago when he came home?

How could he? The poor man had to escape at night from those dirty Fascists.

It's always something. The Fascists. The citizenship papers. Now, it's their cursed Depression that never seems to end.

Shh. Here comes Alissa. We'll talk later.

After lunch, the drone of the river lulled most of the tired women and children to sleep. Nola lay awake on the hard earth, her head resting on her outstretched arm. Overcome with a longing for Luca to hold her, to whisper in her ear, her shoulder moved upward, a reflex from the tickle his whispered breath made. I can't stand this, she whispered. I want you now. Please, Luca, send the letter that will call me to you. Please. I need you. Send me that letter.

For the past few years, Luca's letters, although coming at longer intervals, had usually contained the loving words that sustained her from one letter to the next. Yesterday's cruel message left her limp with pain. She remembered a passage from a past inscription and relived its happiness: I look at the sun and moon, and I send my love through their light when they shine over you. He must write those lovely words again, she thought. But ... what if he stops writing to me because of that stupid Sabina? What if he stops sending me money? What would become of me and the children?

Nola pushed herself up and sat on the ground, observing the scattered, sleeping women whose husbands were with them daily, year after year. In her fourteen years of marriage, a few months were all she had with Luca. They had married during his army duties in Rome, and shortly after his discharge, he left for America. Nola's thoughts went back to Glorita, who seemed her only ally in her despair. Villagers avoided Glorita like a leper since she became don Costa's mistress. Now, Nola felt empathy for the abandoned woman who was once married and respected. Oh, Glorita, how you must have suffered, she whispered, and then let out a deep sigh.

Nola, didn't you sleep? What are you doing?

Oh, Marianna, I'm sorry I woke you. I was thinking about Glorita.

Marianna stood and went to sit near her sister. You were thinking about Glorita? My God. Why?

After her husband abandoned her, we abandoned her.

But look what she did. She became our lawyer's mistress.

Because she had to support herself.

"Oh, Madonna! There are other ways to support oneself. What a scandal the way don Costa throws money from his balcony to hers at the square, and she catches the money in her skirt held up like a net. You're the one who told me that you saw her playing that game with her black-stockinged legs showing."

Well, you know his reputation, Marianna. The affair began when Glorita went to nurse his wife who had a high fever. He probably forced himself on her.

"Poor donna Costa. She hates Glorita so much that she keeps a supply of rocks on her balcony, and when she sees Glorita walking across the square, she bombards her with the flying weapons."

Good thing Glorita has avoided the rocks so far.

But she can't avoid the laughter and scorn of the spectators, Nola.

Today I have compassion for the woman.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Nola!

Nola clenched her teeth and crossed her arms I wish ... I never met Luca. I wish I entered the convent that July like I planned.

Dear Jesus. What brought this on? How can you say that? Then you would not have your wonderful children. Look at Carlo. Twelve, and in our renowned village band since he was nine. The only young boy with those musicians. And Gino. How well he also plays the clarinet. And Alissa, she added as Alissa woke up and ran to join her friends.

Nola's lips tightened. Yes, Alissa. Named after that actress Luca met on the ship coming back five years ago. He still hasn't accepted ...

Don't go through that again. What's done is done. Marianna followed Nola to pick up their dry linens. They helped each other fold their sheets and smooth out wrinkles.

I've never seen a man more in love with his wife than Luca. Nola, forget yesterday's letter. Look what it's doing to you. Luca was angry with Sabina when he wrote it.

I hurt too much, and Luca is years and oceans away from me. He is not here when I need him. It would have been better if I never met him.

"It was meant to be, Nola. Fate put him at the square on that Sunday in July when you were seventeen. Luca told me it was on that day, as he sat with his friends Amato and Roberto, that he first saw you. I remember exactly what he said: 'When Nola breezed past me on those piazza steps, she stunned me. I felt a magnetic force between us ...'"

CHAPTER 2

LUCA D'ANDREA SAT BETWEEN his friends Amato and Roberto on the piazza steps in Vittorio Emanuele II Square in July 1918. The clamorous piazza echoed with villagers haggling with merchants, singing with vendors, gossiping with neighbors, and socializing with friends while young girls promenaded around the flower-bedecked square.

Luca's eyes mirrored his disappointment. I could have flirted with those girls in Chieti today and got paid wages to boot if the Diseras didn't cancel.

Luca, you're with that buggy and horse's ass every day. Roberto wrinkled his boyish face and strained his weak voice to be heard. You shouldn't work on Sundays anyway.

I'll work whenever I want, Roberto. Don't tell me what to do.

The amicable Amato gave Luca a gentle nudge. I'm sure the Diseras will hire you again when the boy feels better.

But I paid for a haircut at the barber's for the trip. Luca's hand swept over his full head of dark hair, combed back without a part from his tanned face. What a waste.

Why wasted? We have pretty girls in our village. Roberto's tone became bitter. You always flirt with Elizabetta. You should leave her alone if you don't want her.

Yes, our girls are pretty. The sandy-haired Amato stood up and looked over the square, his hand shielding gray eyes from the noonday sun. The only thing lacking in our village is Luigi. I wonder how the army is treating him.

When is this damn war going to end? Luca kicked a pebble off the stone step with his polished, brown oxford shoe. I'm eighteen this week. I don't want to be drafted and sent to Fiumi or Austria.

No? Hell, I'm already eighteen. Do you think I want to go? Amato continued to stand and look over the square. I wonder why Tessa and Elizabetta aren't here yet.

I'm still safe from the draft, Roberto boasted. At least for eight months anyway. The war may be ...

On the other hand ... Luca paused as he rolled up the sleeves of his blue denim shirt. It might be good to be drafted. Nothing changes here. I'm tired of living in the Stone Age. All I see are stone buildings. Stone walkways. Stone steps. He pointed toward the booths. Look at these merchants. They come from Scafa for years like their ancestors.

Amato rubbed his forehead as he continued to scan the crowd. And we all come like our ancestors.

Not all, Roberto blurted. "You don't see the upper class here, do you? A few of the wealthy guests from our health resort come out of curiosity. Mostly, we middle class come, and the stinking caffone. Those illiterate peasants are so coarse. They should stay down in their area."

Luca bit his lip, squirmed, and put a hand in his pocket to jiggle some coins, angry that he still felt uncomfortable at any reference to money or status. The stigma of his father's cruel debt still plagued him, even though his brother Mario paid off the twenty-year-old debt from America. Luca worked toward his dream of going to America. In addition to chauffeuring for the Petrucci brothers, Luca made red clay tiles for them in their compound. The affable brothers also allowed Luca to rent their horse and wagon, or buggy, for his own customers, like the Diseras who had disappointed him this day by canceling their trip to Chieti.

When Roberto heaved a mournful sigh, Luca turned to him. Damn it, Roberto. What's the matter with you? You sound like an old woman.

Don't scoff, Luca. I had a terrible dream last night, and I can't get it out of my head. I dreamt it was a pitch-black night, and the square was full of mourners. Hundreds of black-hooded figures stood here and faced my house. He pointed to the far end of the square to his dwelling.

Mourners? Pitch black? Roberto, you always get things half-ass backward. It's daylight, and the square's full of revelers.

But, Luca, I'm scared. It was so real. I can't shake this feeling of doom.

The terror in Roberto's voice stopped Luca from more ridicule. Forget it. Dreams are never what they seem.

The words eased the worry on Roberto's gaunt face. But ... what can the dream mean?

I don't know. Do I look like a damn gypsy fortune-teller? Luca turned with interest as Elizabetta approached.

Walking on by with her friend Lia, the dark-tressed Elizabetta flashed a wide, toothy smile at him. Aren't you going to Chieti today, Luca?

I canceled the trip to come see you. He glanced down at her generous bosom and then back to her flirty brown eyes, and down again.

The girls put their heads together and tittered in some secret exchange as they scurried off.

Where's Tessa today? called Amato. Hell ... they didn't hear me.

When Elizabetta glanced back, Luca was still watching her. She increased the sway to her hips as she walked past the huge pots of geraniums, carnations, and oleander bushes that graced the arched doorways facing the square.

You should be careful what you say to Elizabetta, Luca. Amato tucked up his pants and sat down. You know how she feels about you.

That's why I said it. Maybe I'll get something in return for those silly words.

She's in love with you.

Amato, she's got teeth like a horse ... but I'd roll in the hay with her. Luca slapped his knee and laughed at his joke.

In the hay? Amato shook his head. I think she sees a wedding bed.

Well, she won't be in it with me.

Maybe with me, said Roberto, spraying driblets of saliva in his excitement.

Luca threw back his head and laughed again. Sometimes you make a pretty good joke, Roberto.

Who said it's a joke? If you don't want Elizabetta, I'll take her. You may have looks, but my family has money. In this village, that's what counts.

Luca flailed his arms. Quit spitting on me, you fool. If you say one more word, Roberto, I'll bash your face in.

Hey, stop arguing. You sound like two ten-year-olds. Amato stood again and surveyed the throng, his hands deep in his pockets. I wonder where Tessa could be.

Why are you so nervous? Do you think your mother got a hold of her? Luca twisted his hands as he made the crackling sound of a chicken's wrung neck.

Don't joke about that.

Damn it, Amato. Why so glum? I'm just trying to make you laugh.

Well, try something else.

Sit down, and I will. Luca bent close to Amato's ear and whispered, I think Elizabetta's ready for harvest. I'll have to feel those melons to see if they're ripe.

What? What did you say, Luca? squeaked Roberto. Hey, what's so funny? Tell me. When Luca ignored him, Roberto jabbed his arm. Luca, isn't watching the girls better than looking at a horse's ass all day?

Luca took the jest as another insult. I don't have to come here to see the girls. They parade past my door. He gave a swift elbow to Roberto's bony ribs.

Owww.

Stop fighting. Amato bent around and waved a clenched fist at them. Save your punches for the enemy. We may all be drafted.

You're stretching it, Amato. Maybe you and me, but skinny Roberto will be promenading here with the girls. Luca noticed his new neighbor across the way. There's Marianna. He nudged Amato and pointed ahead.

Ahhh. My cousin Oreste did all right marrying her, said Amato. She adds a lot to our village. Those girls from San Tommaso have a certain allure.

The men watched the regal Marianna stroll under the wrought iron balconies where women sat among their pots of geraniums, carnations, and violets to watch the spectacle before them. Beneath the balconies, Marianna passed by clay pots filled with basil that hung from kitchen windows. She stopped, snipped a sprig from a pot, and then rubbed the green leaves between her fingers, wafting the fragrance from her hand as she crossed the square toward the men, the gold chain over her dark blue blouse sparkling in the sun. The church bell tolled a short ring, signaling twelve fifteen, when the men greeted her.

"Buon giorno, Amato, Luca, Roberto. Marianna smiled when she spoke. Amato, I think my sisters are coming today. Have you seen them?"

No. We've been here about an hour. They didn't pass by us.

Luca, you're not working today?

"Not today, signora. These two loafers persuaded me to sit with them, but this isn't filling my pockets."

The comment made Marianna laugh. I've noticed you're very ambitious, Luca. And very popular with the ... She waved her arm upward. Here come my sisters.

The young men turned their heads to follow her gaze. A young woman and a little girl came down the stone steps. Luca focused on the young woman and her unusual appearance. A flared, ankle-length, golden-brown skirt flowed from a trim waist, and the same-hued blouse picked up the gold specks in her sunlit hair. As she stepped gracefully toward them, Luca noticed that her bodice was uncommonly trimmed in a white butterfly above her firm, delicate breasts. Her face was serene with large, hazel eyes and smiling lips. It was a lovely face, void of any pretense or presumption. When she passed by him, Luca was dumbstruck.

"Come stai, Marianna?" she asked in a laughing voice as she embraced her sister.

Fine. And you?

Very well.

Sabina, I'm so happy to see you. Marianna bent down to give her little sister a hug and kiss. The three sisters remained talking away from the young men.

What's with her outfit? said Luca, concealing his interest in the young woman with a sarcastic tone. I've never seen anything like that butterfly. Is she trying to outdo the upper class in style? What arrogance.

Oh, no, Luca, said Amato. She's very nice. Not like that at all. But ... she is different. She wore that outfit at Marianna and Oreste's wedding in May. I think she gets her ideas from the rich women who come to our health resort. Nola must study the women when she passes the resort on her way to market. Those foreigners bring style and sophistication to our village. That's why I like to talk to them on our evening stroll.

Luca continued to stare at the enchanting girl. What did you say her name was?

You mean Nola Bianca? Haven't you seen her before?

No, Amato, I haven't.

I've seen her at market before, said Roberto. That's what you get for always working on Sundays.

I'd rather work on Sundays than have empty hopes like you. Luca continued to stare at Nola, who stood with her side to him, framed by a bright orange oleander bush behind her. He tried to will her to turn and glance his way. Turn around, he mouthed three times. Look at me. When she did not, he became irritated and bent forward on the step to stare intensely and catch snatches of her conversation amid the buzz from the villagers and vendors. He crooked his head to try to catch every word.

Mamma is well. She sends her ... Papa is ...

All sounds became a hum, and everything disappeared for Luca except him and Nola, surrounded by an orange haze that extended far beyond their realm. Time and place were suspended. A poke on his back brought him back to reason.

Why don't you answer us? asked Amato. What's the matter?

I think Nola is what's the matter. Roberto laughed in a high-pitched squeak and blurted, Cupid's arrow has stunned him silent.

Stop laughing, you fool. She'll hear you. Luca ran both hands through his hair, embarrassed and surprised by his hypnotic concentration.

It looks like you want this girl. Come on. Don't lie.

No, Roberto, I don't. Why should I? I've never seen her before, and now that I do, she doesn't have much to look at beneath that butterfly, if you know what I mean.

What're you talking about? Amato shook his upturned hand in their faces. Nola's going to the convent. Her father's trying to sell some property for her dowry.

Her dowry? To become a nun? Roberto's squeal made Luca wince.

From what I heard at the wedding, it's different than a regular dowry. Nola's to bring linens for a lifetime and a good deal of money too. That's why her father is trying to sell his extra land. She'll study to become a nurse at the convent in Chieti. It's like going to a university.

I'm sure those nuns told her it would be a rosy life, said Roberto. Huh! She'll probably catch a horrible disease like leprosy from a patient and die.

Luca remained silent, deflated by a gloom he had never experienced before. He glanced at the lithesome girl as she walked toward the stalls with her sisters. That one goes to no convent, he swore to himself with fierce conviction.

As if reading Luca's thoughts, Amato said, She wants to go. I don't understand why. Such a gorgeous girl.

Well, it's probably better than the army, said Roberto. They don't shoot you there.

But they bury you there. Same thing, Roberto. Luca waited until Nola and her sisters were a distance away. Well, damn it, are we going to sit here all day? Let's look around.

The three men sauntered about the square, stopping occasionally to visit with friends, mostly young women who approached them. Luca kept track of Nola from a short distance and tried to maneuver his two friends to follow behind her without making them suspicious. The shocked glances from the somber-clothed village women as they examined Nola's outfit did not escape Luca. Bolder yet were the stares from the remaining old women who resisted change and still wore their black skirts and black-laced corselets with white-shawled collars, the remnants of a time gone by when all the village women dressed exactly alike.

A merchant called to the sisters. "Signora. Signorina. Piccolina. Golden chestnuts here. Smell that wonderful, woodsy aroma. Eat them while they're warm. Or, would you rather have lupine? Peanuts in the shell? Don't pass by. Come."

A vendor cranked his ice-cream machine and sang Mazzolini di Fiore with two local men in perfect harmony. The vendor paused to call, "gelato?" to the sisters when they reached his stand.

Luca and his friends were within hearing distance behind the sisters when they heard the women say, "No, grazia."

"I want a gelato!" Sabina pulled roughly on Nola's arm and stopped her.

No, Sabina. We just got here. Let's wait awhile. I promised Mamma I'd buy her some white thread. Let's get it now so I won't forget.

Sabina stamped her foot. "No. Last time we didn't get any gelato. They ran out. You can wait, but I want mine now."

Luca and his friends stopped a few feet behind them to enjoy Sabina's antics.

I know you, said Nola. You'll eat yours now and half of mine later.

They won't run out, said Marianna. Uncle Oreste said the mules brought extra blocks of ice from the mountain this morning.

Ha! It's prob'ly all melted by now. Sabina crossed her arms high on her chest and stood firm, her face scrunched in anger.

"No, the ice is wrapped with straw in don Costa's wine cellar. We'll get the thread, then come back." Marianna took Nola's arm and moved away, leaving Sabina to sulk and shuffle behind them.

That little girl's a real brat, said Amato. She carried on like that at Marianna's wedding.

When the sisters stopped at the notions and fabric booth, Luca suggested to his cohorts that they join their schoolmate Pepino who sat at the fountain wall. Luca made a comment to his friends now and then, but concentrated on Nola who picked up a bolt of forest green fabric from a booth about ten feet away from them. She ran her hand over the material and said to Marianna, Wouldn't this make a beautiful silk blouse?

You won't need such fabric now, even if you could afford it.

I know, but I love fabric.

"Yes. I worry that you'll decorate your habit at