’Til Life Us Do Part

Prologue

The door to the drawing room swung open; the matriarch of the Proto family entered. At 60 years of age, Raye Proto was still a pretty woman. The sea-blue of her eyes was vividly arresting, and silver-gray waves framed a delicate heart-shaped face. Her figure and skin tone could have belonged to someone twenty years her junior. While small in stature her bearing was regal. This impression was enhanced by the mahogany cane upon which she leaned heavily. Using it for support was Raye’s only obvious concession to the arthritis her doctor had diagnosed two years ago and which had progressively worsened.

The scent of pine wood burning in the fireplace drew her toward the far side of the room. Slowly, Raye made her way to her favorite armchair and lowered herself into it. She was restless as she awaited news from the hospital. Her fingers, for lack of any other occupation, beat a mindless tattoo on the wooden armrests of her chair. The ticking of the clock on the mantle and the crackling of the flames resounded conspicuously in the otherwise silent room.

Raye glared at the telephone, willing it to ring. The waiting was terrible. It had begun in the wee hours of the morning when her son-in-law Richard had poked his head into her room to announce that her daughter Angela was in labor. He’d promised to call her from the hospital as soon as any news was available.

Raye knew from experience that first babies never rushed to be born. Angela’s brother, Mario, had taken almost two days—and most of Raye’s strength—before he finally decided to come into the world. Even so, it seemed like a long time with no word. Raye, intent on her own thoughts, jumped when at last the telephone jangled its strident summons. With shaking hands and thumping heart, Raye lifted the receiver.

Richard didn’t even wait for Raye to say hello before announcing At 6:30 tonight, you became the proud grandmother of one Dawn Carmichael.

Before he could continue Raye rushed to say, Then the baby is alright. How’s Angela? It seemed like such a long labor.

There’s nothing to worry about, Raye. Angela is fine and the baby is perfect in every way. A moments, hesitation followed and Raye guessed he was searching for a way to tell her something more without upsetting her too much.

She waited impatiently for him to continue. When finally he did Raye realized her intuition had been right. There was a complication Raye.

Richard heard her sharp intake of breath and rushed on. "The baby was in a breech position and had to be rotated during the delivery. I don’t mind telling you I had a few harrowing moments, but now when I look upon my wife and daughter my love for them is so overwhelming I realize they were but a small price to pay.

Anyway, he continued seeming to realize he’d lost the thread of the original conversation, Angela and Dawn will be coming home by the end of the week. He stopped speaking, but before Raye could respond, she heard a baby crying in the background. It served to remind Richard of what he was missing talking to Raye. Well Raye, I’ve got to get back to my girls now. I’ll talk to you when I get home. He hung up. Any further questions would have to wait.

Raye placed the receiver back into its cradle. For several long minutes she sat gazing into the flames. This night she’d become a grandmother for the third time the fourth if she counted Zahur, Richard and Angela’s Ugandan son. She was, of course, ecstatic. Her daughter would recover and according to Richard the baby had ten fingers and ten toes. Even so Raye could recognize a touch of melancholy hidden beneath her surface joy.

In three months, her grandchild would be just old enough to begin recognizing voices, discovering the world around her and learning to deal with the challenges it presented. Raye wanted to be able to watch her change and grow. However, Richard and Angela would be returning to Uganda then, taking baby Dawn and Zahur with them.

Raye remembered the day Richard’s wire had arrived to ask if he and Angela could come and stay with her until Angela had her baby. The Peace Corps was granting them a six month leave of absence. Raye had been deliriously happy. She had at once replied in the affirmative. This big manse had long needed the patter of children’s feet and the echo of their laughter in its hallways. Now, however, six months didn’t seem long enough.

Raye mentally chided herself for her attitude. Many years and broken dreams ago, she’d accepted that life wasn’t fair. When her son Mario had married Caroline Parker and settled in Los Angeles, Raye had, in effect, lost him. Building his career as a renowned trial lawyer had taken all their energy and attention. When their son, Brian, had been born, Raye had hoped his birth would add a new dimension of openness and warmth to their relationship. Other than hiring a nanny, however, her son’s marriage hadn’t changed at all. Nor had the addition of Brooke to their family had any real affect on Mario and Caroline’s lives.

Each year, Mario would promise Raye that he’d take his family to visit her in Virginia. Year after year would pass and the trip never materialized, so Raye would fly out to visit them. Two weeks a year in the summer, a grandmother the children barely knew would appear. She’d buy presents, hug them close, listen to their accomplishments, and just as they began to feel at ease with her, she went home. No relationship could take root in that manner, and since Raye was now too infirm to go to them, she never saw Mario’s children. Every now and then she received a stilted note from one of them and at Christmas a family photo was in their card. That was all!

Raye sighed. When Mario had made it clear his future allegiance would be to Caroline’s family, Angela had still been a junior in High School. Raye was hopeful that at least her daughter would be content to settle in the Virginia area. Angela had dashed Raye’s hopes, however, when early in her senior year she’d come home from school one afternoon calling excitedly for her mother.

When Raye appeared, Angela had waved some pamphlets at her announcing, I’m going to be a nurse and join the Peace Corps, Mom. Representatives came to our class today to talk about it. They help so many unfortunate people all over the world. I’ve never wanted so much to be a part of any organization!

Raye’s heart had sunk at Angela’s declaration, but she tried to muster some enthusiasm. After all, graduation was almost a year away, and Angela would have to apply and be accepted to nursing school. Maybe by then, Angela would change her mind. Her daughter, however, with single-minded purpose, had done exactly what she’d set out to do. It was at her first duty station in Uganda that she had met, and later married, Dr. Richard Carmichael.

Suddenly Raye grew angry with herself. This was no time to allow yesterday’s sorrows to intrude on today’s joys. Right now Caitlin, her housekeeper-turned-friend, was upstairs with Zahur and they both wanted to hear about the baby. Using her cane for leverage, Raye lifted herself to her feet. She made her shuffling way to the bottom of the stairs. She could no longer climb the elegant circular staircase, so she stood at its foot. The laughter of adult and child floated down to her from above.

Caitlin, Raye called, her voice echoing up the stairwell, will you bring Zahur down to the hallway for a few minutes? Caitlin quickly appeared at the top of the stairs holding Zahur’s small hand in her own.

Is everything alright, Raye?

Raye didn’t answer until Zahur reached the bottom step. Standing on it, he was eye to eye with his grandmother. Raye smiled up at Caitlin, but directed her words to Zahur. You have a little sister now. Her name is Dawn. As a big brother, it will be your job to love and protect her always. Raye didn’t know how many of her words the boy actually understood, but a moment later he was hugging her tightly and smiling. The warmth of the child chased away the sting her earlier thoughts had left behind. Caitlin looked on, happy for Raye, but also conscious of what the future would inevitably bring.

As anticipated, by the end of the week the family was all together once more. Baby Dawn was beautiful. Her peaches-and-cream complexion set off her eyes, the shade of bluebells, to their best advantage. Her head was covered with downy-soft, wheat colored fuzz. Dawn was a quiet baby, sleeping off and on all day as well as most of the night. As weeks went by, a schedule of feeding times developed naturally.

After Angela fed and changed the baby, Raye would take Dawn and sit in her rocking chair. The motion, along with the lullabies Raye sang, relaxed the child until she slept once more.

In this manner days passed rapidly, as wonderfully joyous moments in life always do. Raye knew that Richard, Angela, Zahur and baby Dawn would be leaving the following Saturday. As usual, after Angela fed Dawn, she sat watching her mother croon to the baby. Dawn’s gaze held fixedly on her grandmother’s face, until the drooping of her eyelids heralded sleep. Angela began to rise in order to take the baby, but Raye’s voice stopped her.

Angela, her daughter froze, knowing in advance the subject on her mother’s mind. Am I correct in assuming you are leaving on Saturday? The question came out sounding stilted even to Raye’s ears, but the opportunity for this conversation to take place might not come again.

Mom, Angela whispered, dropping back into her seat, we’re almost all packed.

Raye replied, I’ve seen the evidence of your imminent departure all around me, but have not wanted to admit it to myself. She paused obviously choosing her words with care, then spoke once more. Angela, please don’t take offense to what I’m about to say. I know in my heart you aren’t like your brother, Mario. Like your father, he’s basically selfish. All he cares about is what’s in his best interest. The fact he’s made me a stranger to my grandchildren doesn’t disturb him, but it bothers me greatly.

Raye drew a deep breath, before continuing. "Darling, I only bring this up because over the course of these three months past I’ve held your little one in my arms, and learned, as you have, to love her. Then there is Zahur, who, though not born into our family, is a winning child who genuinely seems to see me as his grandmother. I know when you return to Uganda that you’ll intend to let me see them as often as you can. However, the distance is so great and your cause so all-consuming, that I can’t fool myself into believing it will work out. Angela, I don’t want you to be burdened with guilt when it doesn’t happen. Please realize that I understand.

The children will probably have little memory of these months you’ve stayed with me. The memories of this visit are yours and mine to cherish. Sadly, a day will come when your reminiscences of me will be all the knowledge they have of their grandmother unless I leave them something more. I’ve decided to write a chronicle of my life, beginning with my parents’ and grandparents’ immigration from Italy. That way, when I can no longer be a part of their lives, they’ll know me by my actions, my words and my thoughts.

Angela’s throat was too clogged with emotion for her to respond. Instead, she rose and walked to where her mother sat. Then kneeling she hugged Raye over Dawn’s sleeping body. When Angela finally controlled her emotions enough to speak, she sat back on her heels.

Thank you, Mom, she said. I know that this was a difficult subject for you to bring up. I knew our leaving would hurt you, and I hated knowing I’d be the cause of your pain. I love you so much. I really want you to write this story. One day I’ll read it and then pass it on to the children.

With those words, Angela took her daughter from her mother’s lap and walked to the door. Before passing through she turned back feeling she should say something more, but Raye now stood facing the window and her heaving shoulders told Angela she was crying. Angela knew in that moment nothing she could say would ease the pain of their going. Her mother would have to find her own way through this emotional time. So she quietly exited the room.

The mutual understanding forged between mother and daughter that afternoon eased the strain of the parting. Saturday came, and Raye and Caitlin drove Angela and her family to the airport. It was raining. There were people and umbrellas everywhere. The crush of people in the terminal made emotional goodbyes difficult. Raye embraced Angela, then Richard. She kissed Zahur and little Dawn on the forehead and then let them go.

As they entered the boarding gate, Raye turned and said in a curiously husky voice to Caitlin, Let’s go.

For two weeks after their departure, Raye mourned. Caitlin grieved for her friend’s pain but knowing there was nothing she could say or do to help, kept silent. Caitlin never knew what brought Raye out of her melancholy. All she knew was that one morning when she came downstairs, Raye was dressed and waiting for her.

Want to go into town today? Raye had asked. I need to go to the store. Caitlin, glad to see the change in Raye, readily agreed. Arriving at the store, Raye went directly to the stationary department. She emptied the shelves of every journal and promptly purchased them. On the drive home she said in explanation, It’s going to take a lot of paper for me to write the story of my life for my family.

When they got home, Caitlin helped Raye carry the heavy packages into the drawing room. Raye emptied one bag of journals, stacking them on her end table. She asked Caitlin to slide the other bag under the table, so it would be out of the way until she needed the rest. Caitlin did so, then sat in her chair across from Raye.

Seeing the perplexed look on her face, Raye said, "I don’t fool myself, Caitlin, into believing I’ll see any more of Angela’s children than I do of Mario’s—at least not for the next few years. By then, I may no longer be able to enjoy their presence in my life. Therefore, I want them to remember me as I am today, know what made me who I am, and at least read how much I love them.

I told Angela I would write this chronicle, and she loved the idea. Even said she’d read it herself before passing it on to the children. If she does, I think it will contain a few surprises for her. I seriously doubt Mario will ever read what I will write but hopefully his children will one day. So now, if you’ll forgive me, I think I’m as ready to begin as I’ll ever be.

Caitlin was glad that Raye had found something to occupy the time which had hung so heavy since Angela left.

She rose and, walking towards the door, said, I think it’s a wonderful gesture on your part, Raye. Then, with her hand on the doorknob, Even writers must stop for dinner. I’ll call you when it’s ready. Then, closing the door, she left Raye with her thoughts and memories.

Raye sat quietly, staring into the flames. Her family history was full of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, conflict and peace. The gossamer strand connecting all of them over the years was life’s greatest gift; love. The hardest part was figuring out how to introduce the chronicle to her family. Raye’s brow furrowed in concentration for a long moment then on the fly page of the very first journal, she simply wrote the following words:

To my beloved family, may these pages I’ve written reveal to you who I once was, who I now am, and my great love for you.

Chapter One

Genoa, Italy was a beautiful port city. Those who called it home welcomed in the year 1914 with a sense of wellbeing. Their country was at peace and its populous was living well and enjoying a gracious lifestyle. Most were aware of but chose to ignore the political changes slowly beginning to insinuate themselves into the fabric of their society.

Luigi Rossi, the Patriarch of the influential Rossi family, saw the threat clearly and spoke out in no uncertain terms against further changes being made, but not without personal cost. Lifelong friends were suddenly distancing themselves from both Luigi and his family, not wanting to be too closely associated with his radical ideas in case the other faction should conquer. It was a time of deceit, illusions, and tricky undercurrents.

Therefore, it required little inducement for steamship company representatives to lure Italian citizens to immigrate to America. Spurred on by illusions of a better life, they left by the thousands on the long voyage to their new country. Some immigrants had family or friends already settled and ready to help them when they arrived. Most didn’t and were grossly unprepared for the conditions which existed in the new land.

These events created a maelstrom whose winds drew Luigi Rossi inexorably toward its center. A thoughtful person by any standard, Luigi’s opinions were valued highly; his family, as well as those who traded in the fruit market that he owned, listened with great respect to his thoughts on the regime trying to gain a toehold in Italy’s soil. Luigi was a soft-spoken man of medium height, but possessed a muscular build which bespoke power. His nose was aquiline. His hair black as a raven’s wing. The few silvery strands showing in its darkness lent him a distinguished look. A natural born leader of men, Luigi rapidly rose to the position of unofficial spokesperson for the political resistance in Genoa. This made him a threat to those who espoused the tenets of the new order.

Signs of their disapproval began to appear at the market. Once a front window was broken; another time the door was torn from its hinges and the fruit stands overturned. One morning when Luigi went to open the market, he found vulgar words painted across the newly replaced front doors and windows. He and his sons spent almost the entire day attempting to erase this latest warning. Shoppers going in and out of the store looked, then shook their heads and whispered amongst themselves.

Toiling beside his sons, Luigi was a man torn in two by logic and emotion. His mind told him he must leave Italy, his family’s homeland, for no good could come from remaining a target here in Genoa. His heart ached with a yearning to remain, to fight—until his own death, if need be—against the petty tyrant who would not only usurp the rule of his country, but also destroy a way of life he cherished. Luigi was a family man, and this fact alone made him vulnerable. He couldn’t possibly protect his family twenty-four hours a day and this would leave them in constant danger of reprisal from his enemies.

Love won in the end. Luigi concluded that he couldn’t jeopardize the safety of his wife and sons for his own convictions. After Carlo and Emilio had gone home, Luigi locked the doors for the night. Then, weighed down with great sorrow, he sat at the desk in his office and penned a letter to Antonio Costa. Antonio, his best friend, had immigrated to the city of Chicago, Illinois, in America almost a year before.

As one of the first farsighted enough to recognize the beginning of the end of Italy’s peaceful existence, he had begged Luigi to accompany him. Stubborn as always, Luigi had refused. With time, everything will work itself out, he’d said then, but now evidence to the contrary showed him how wrong he had been.

At forty-two years of age, Luigi was a bit of a cynic. He found it difficult to accept the dreams offered up to him by those looking to make money. He had learned through hard experience that dreams and reality rarely, if ever, combine. Therefore, he didn’t yet tell his family of his letter to Antonio. There would be occasion enough to discuss it when Antonio’s reply arrived; answering his queries about living arrangements, job possibilities, and the quality of life in the country that all the brochures described as a paradise.

The day Antonio’s answer reached Luigi he went about disheartened. Contrary to popular belief, America was no promised land. Pay scales were low, and homes of any description were hard to find. Most of them were just wooden shanties in neighborhoods that were often crowded and dirty. But for a person unafraid to work hard, save and then take a few risks with his savings, opportunities for betterment of circumstances abounded. In closing, Antonio had said that if Luigi decided to leave Italy, he and his family could stay with he and his wife Anna until they could find housing elsewhere. Antonio even offered to find jobs for Luigi and his sons in the factory where he worked as a foreman. He and Anna would be overjoyed to see their old friends once more. They were not to consider their stay with the Costa’s to be inconvenient in any way.

So it was that, letter in hand, Luigi called his family to the dining room after the evening meal. Luigi watched as his wife Rosa appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and looking perplexed. Luigi was amazed by the emotions she could still engender in him, even after twenty years of marriage. Rosa was only five feet tall, but her stately bearing made her seem taller. Her silky, shoulder-length waves were the color of honey. She wore no makeup; her natural beauty needed no enhancement. Even after two pregnancies, her waist was as tiny as it had been when they were first married. He considered himself a very lucky man to have her for his wife, but those fooled by Rosa’s diminutive stature soon recognized their error. Not far beneath the surface lay an indomitable spirit and strength of character which had surprised even Luigi in their first years together.

Rosa sat, as always, to Luigi’s right, while their oldest son Emilio and his wife Gina were on his left. Carlo, their youngest son, and his new bride Maria, rounded out the table. Everyone waited anxiously to learn what Luigi had on his mind, since family meetings were only called when they would all be affected by the outcome.

Luigi told them about the letter he had sent to Antonio. A moment of shocked silence followed his statement. Then everyone began to talk at once.

Luigi realized no one could be heard over the excited gibberish and waited for several minutes before allowing his solemn gaze to settle on each one of them. It had the same effect as a demand for silence would have and soon they quieted. Once he had their undivided attention again, Luigi passed the reply from Antonio to Emilio who read it and then passed it on to his wife. As it made its way around the table Luigi waited silently.

When the letter lay before him once more, Luigi began to speak. This country, he said, has nurtured three generations of the Rossi family. Its soil has provided a good living. The villa in which we live is our own, and our friends and loved ones are here in Genoa. That having been said I feel that, in the not-so-distant future, there will be a war. I don’t wish my family to be touched by the horror, terror, and ugliness it will bring to our shores. I called you together tonight to speak my mind and to listen to what is in your hearts. After we have discussed the question, we’ll vote on whether to stay in Italy or go to America.

At first, Rosa was not in agreement with the others that leaving Italy would be in their best interest. In the early hours of the morning, after all argument had been exhausted, the vote was finally taken and even Rosa agreed that the move to America was the best alternative left to them. It was decided that Luigi and Rosa, along with Carlo and Maria, would leave shortly by steamship, while Emilio and Gina would remain in Genoa to liquidate the Rossi assets. Later, the family would reunite in their adopted country.

The following morning found a weary, heavy-hearted Luigi at the bank when it opened. He withdrew most of their savings, then stood in a long line at the pier to purchase their tickets. He was informed the next ship leaving for America wasn’t sailing for two months. He bought the tickets and returned home. There was a good deal to do before they left and little time to accomplish it.

When he showed Rosa the tickets he could see by the look in her eyes what had only been a discussion to her the night before was now real. Her commitment to the choice her husband and sons had made didn’t waiver though and she dedicated those final months to the myriad small tasks the closing of a villa required. She had little time to mourn the graciousness and tranquility of the life she would so soon leave behind. For all forty years of Rosa’s life, she had lived in Genoa. In first her parent’s home, then her husband’s, she had been comfortable and secure. Now it seemed that a war would shatter the way of life she had so carefully constructed for her family. As of yet no shot had been fired, but Rosa felt herself to be its first innocent victim.

When Luigi had initially suggested the move to America, Rosa had vehemently rejected any such notion. Why don’t we wait just a little longer and see what happens? But when her husband and both her sons voted against her, Rosa knew she couldn’t sway their beliefs. She gave in with grace, knowing that she must stand beside them no matter what country they called home.

So today, Rosa sat in the dining room window seat, enveloped by the pre-dawn blackness. In the room behind her, shrouded furniture took on ghostly forms as her tear-filled eyes strained to make out the shape of each familiar piece. This room had always been her favorite. Many times over the years of her marriage, when troubled, she had come in as she had this morning to watch the sun rise over the ocean. First the sky would lighten almost imperceptibly; then suddenly, as she watched, the sun would appear—a golden orb on the horizon. It seemed to rise from out of the ocean itself. Some of its streaming rays would penetrate the depths, creating a patchwork array of blue hues, while others gilded a path across the waves.

As Rosa once more became mute witness to nature’s incomparable beauty, she wondered if it would be the last time she would do so from their home in Genoa. Once she boarded the steamship, would she ever see her homeland again? Would she adapt to the strange customs of a new land, or feel displaced and ill-at-ease with no place to call home? These were the questions which plagued her this day, but it seemed that only a capricious fate held the answers.

Luigi half-woke from a troubled sleep. Caught in the shadowy state between dreams and reality, he reached out to gather Rosa to him. Slowly, Luigi came to the realization that Rosa’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets no longer even held her warmth. This scared him, although he couldn’t quite reason out why it should. So many times when he felt uncertainty about the course they must follow, Rosa had been his advisor, his anchor. Rosa had the ability to sense what he felt. She would know that he was feeling insecure and would become one with him, adding her strength to his own and standing with him against any adversity life sent their way. But lately her own anxiety was far too evident for Luigi to ignore.

On the night of the family meeting, Luigi knew Rosa had allowed her will to bend to the desires of her husband and sons. Her lips had agreed to their plan, but Luigi was aware it wasn’t truly what she wanted. These past months Rosa had refrained from speaking out against the move again, instead attending to the tasks necessary to accomplish it. Luigi needed no one to tell him that a part of her heart would remain in Genoa, in the villa where they had raised their family. Nothing he could do or say would change that fact, but the walls Rosa had thrown up around those feelings hurt him deeply. Now it seemed that any attempt he made to discuss their departure with her was politely rebuffed. Without the comfort and understanding Rosa had so freely given, Luigi found himself emotionally alienated and very alone.

Now more than ever he needed Rosa’s courage, love, and belief in him in order to face the trials soon to come. He had to break down the barriers she had erected between them somehow—and time was not on his side. This very day they would board the steamship which would bear them over the ocean to a distant, unknown land and a new life.

Luigi rose from the bed. He knew Rosa would be sitting in the dining room window seat. Ever since she first came as his bride to the villa, it had been her special place. Whenever they were in conflict he would find her there, staring with unseeing eyes into the distance. He had found the space left on the seat beside Rosa was just large enough for him to squeeze into and wrap his arms around her. With her head resting on his shoulder, Rosa felt safe in confiding what had made her unhappy. A solution to the problem usually presented itself soon after and both were at peace. Could the time-tested scenario work now, Luigi wondered, as it had so often before?

Luigi’s bare feet made little sound. He approached his distracted wife and sat beside her. Luigi tried to enfold her in his embrace, but Rosa just pulled away. He tried again desperate to reach her, but once more she rebuffed him. He didn’t know what else to do and her rejection hurt, causing anger to flare to life.

Luigi’s voice echoed as he raged at Rosa. "Do you think I don’t share your grief? Yes, you’ve lived all your life in Genoa, but not always in this villa. This is my home! I was raised here and know no other. We’ve brought up our sons here. This villa, its lands and my way of life, was the only heritage I had to pass down to them. Today, as I walk aboard that steamship, it is all gone. At forty-two, I have to begin again. It’s not an easy thing to give up everything I have. Our way of life in Italy is passing away, Rosa. Soon it will be just a memory.

"Regardless of our actions, change will happen and not for the better. War is coming! Within only a few years this country will go to battle for the whim of a madman. If we remain, our sons will be called upon to fight for what we do not believe in. I’m not prepared to mourn the death of one or perhaps both my sons for an unjust cause. Are you?

I, too, am a little uncertain of our decision to go to America. I’m not ashamed to admit my fears of the unknown. I’m only human, but it’s my strong belief that as long as our hearts beat as one and our love for each other remains, we will have a home wherever life may lead us. Love me, Rosa. Trust in my judgment one more time. Your faith in me gives my life meaning. If I were to lose it, I would become a lost man—hopeless, without aim. Please, Rosa! Don’t abandon me now.

His final impassioned plea broke through the wall Rosa had built around her emotions, allowing the floodgate holding back her tears to open. She turned, hiding her face in Luigi’s shoulder, sobbing as he held her. She was never quite sure if all the moisture which dampened the hair on his chest had fallen from her eyes alone.

Drained by the intensity of their shared release, they sat quietly. No sense of resolution was present in Luigi’s heart. It wasn’t until many long minutes had passed that Rosa’s voice, vibrating with passion, broke the stillness. I will never desert you, was all she said. Yet those few words meant more to Luigi than she could have ever imagined. The long months of tension between them dissolved and Luigi captured her hand in his. Together they toured the rooms of the villa and bid a silent farewell to the memories and dreams of the past.

Luigi and Rosa stood beneath the villa’s front portico, their baggage stacked beside the door. Soon Emilio would come, driving the wagon used to supply the villa and transport them to the pier. Rosa’s stomach felt full of fluttering butterflies. The time to make good on the promise she had made to Luigi earlier in the morning was at hand. She must go with him now.

Deep inside, Rosa wanted to run and hide as she had as a child, until they left without her. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the drive conveyed to Rosa the tardiness of the thought. The rhythmic tattoo became a clarion call and finally something deep within Rosa responded. At that moment, after months of emotional confusion, Rosa found peace.

The wagon appeared around the bend in the drive. Emilio, holding the reins, sat on the driver’s box while Gina, Carlo, and Maria rode in the wagon’s bed. Carlo and Maria at least looked ready to undertake the adventure on which they were about to embark. They didn’t seem to regret what they would leave behind.

From that point forward everything moved quickly. Emilio stopped the wagon by the door. Carlo jumped out to load their belongings. Luigi lifted Rosa, settling her on the seat next to Emilio, then climbed up beside her. With a flick of his wrist, Emilio started the team. Without glancing back, they turned out of the familiar drive and onto the road. During the half-hour ride to the steamboat landing, Luigi reminded Emilio of several details to attend to prior to his own departure from Italy.

Rosa was glad their discussion left no room for her to comment. Lost in her own thoughts, Rosa turned her head just enough to see her eldest son’s profile. Perhaps if she studied it long enough, it would etch itself into her brain. How else, during their long separation, could she remember him exactly as he was today? An attractive young man sat near her. He was more than capable and seemed so sure of his direction in life. She remembered a babe at her breast, seeking the security and comfort only a mother can give. How could she leave him now, in this country of political unrest and intrigue, while she sailed away to safety?

The wagon halted. The sudden stop brought Rosa abruptly back to the present. The sight which met her eyes did nothing to reassure her of the validity of their action. Luigi, at the same instant, was glad he had invested most of his available savings in a small second class cabin for the four of them to share.

The pier was a teeming mass of humanity. Women, children and men, both young and old, were in constant motion. A clamor of discontent arose from the crowd. Restive babies cried in their mother’s arms. Older children, tired of the wait to board, tried to run and play between the masses, causing pushing and shoving as people struggled to retain their footing on the weathered wood planking. Their parents called after them to come back, fearing they would be crushed should they fall. The shouts of families separated by the milling throng and searching for one another only added to the general melee. It was a waking nightmare of which they would shortly become a part.

The Rossi family remained seated in their wagon, a haven in the midst of utter chaos. It was a place apart from which they could watch, with disbelieving eyes, the human drama unfolding on the seaside quay. The Italian people were not known to be nomadic by nature. What then, Luigi pondered, drew so many to share an adventure with an unknown conclusion?

The answer was simply this—the opportunity to work hard and achieve what one wanted in life without governmental interference or suspicion. This ideal was the dream drawing rich and poor to this place. Liberty was the siren song. Its magnetic pull caused thousands of his countrymen to undertake a perilous journey, fraught with danger and uncertainty. Fatalistically, most recognized that some of them wouldn’t live to see the end of the voyage, but those who survived would reap great rewards so in their minds the risk was more than worthwhile.

Luigi’s reflections were interrupted as Emilio started to speak. Knowing his son would comment on the situation, the older man gave his head a quick, negative shake. This immediately silenced Emilio, and he watched Luigi gaze apprehensively at his already unsettled wife.

The ship had obviously been overbooked by zealous, greedy representatives. While laws existed forbidding such practices, they were largely ignored since there were no federal officials to enforce them. Luigi had inquired about the ship’s capacity when he purchased their tickets. He’d been told it was built to accommodate five hundred passengers safely. The number of steerage passengers already seemed close to that quota.

As near as Luigi could figure, the ship would be overloaded by some two hundred passengers, plus their belongings. He found himself wondering how the ship could even float under those conditions. If they encountered a storm of any size, it could spell disaster.

The announcement that steerage travelers were to begin boarding the ferry which would carry them to the steamship cut through the babble on the wharf. Silence fell abruptly, in stark contrast to the recently discordant noise. The disenchanted immigrants became suddenly docile, lining up of their own accord as they realized the time had arrived.

The ferry made three trips, filled to capacity, to the vessel rocking gently on its moorings. On each occasion, as the smaller vessel disgorged its human cargo, the steamship appeared to settle a little closer to the waterline. Luigi tried to keep at bay thoughts of the dire consequences such overloading could cause. Yet, watching from his seat on the wagon, he felt the first faint stirring of fear in his breast. His family had set their feet upon this path at Luigi’s suggestion. How could he ever forgive himself if some tragedy were to befall one of those he loved so dearly?

Such soul-searching was futile now, for the ferry had once again returned to its slip. The call went out for first and second class passengers to board. The point of no return had finally come and there was nothing left for the Rossi’s to do but move forward.

Emilio climbed down from the driver’s box. Luigi lifted Rosa from her seat beside him and passed her slight weight to Emilio, who lowered his mother gently to the ground. Knowing her son would not appreciate a tearful separation, Rosa refrained from giving voice to the emotions threatening to overpower her. Instead, she clung to him a bit longer than was necessary to gain her balance as he set her feet on the worn planking. The tightening of his hold on her waist let Rosa know he understood her feelings.

In the meantime, Luigi had joined Carlo. They helped Maria and Gina out of the wagon. The ferry’s horn blasted a warning of its imminent departure to those not yet aboard. The Rossi’s belatedly realized they were now the only ones still on the landing. Luigi and Rosa, Carlo and Maria hurried up the gangway. They made their way to the railing and waved to a forlorn-looking Emilio and Gina until they were no longer in sight.

As the ferry bearing his family receded from view, Emilio turned to Gina. Words were not necessary for the look in his eyes spoke clearly of the lost, lonely child inside. Understanding his need for comfort, Gina embraced him. His wife’s encircling arms became a conduit through which love and strength flowed, easing the ache within. They hugged one another as dusk settled about them. The late afternoon breeze became chill.

Emilio sensed the change and whispered in Gina’s ear, We should be leaving now. Gina nodded her agreement and they made their way back to the wagon, hand in hand.

Chapter Two

The ferry bumped gently against the stern of the ship. The gangplank was steep. Luigi and Carlo boarded behind their wives; this way, if they lost their footing, Rosa and Maria would not fall to the deck below. As the voyagers attained the deck they were greeted by a ship’s officer who wished them a pleasant crossing. Just beside him a group of stewards stood in readiness to direct passengers to their cabins. Luigi and Carlo presented their tickets and were shown the companionway leading to the deck above where their cabin was located.

While they were so engaged, Rosa and Maria made their way over to the rail. The light was fast-fading from the sky, so they could no longer see clearly their beloved Genoa. As they looked over the side they could see six burly seamen unloading valises from the deck of the ferry and transferring them into the ship’s hold. Luigi and Carlo joined their wives and guided them to the stairway closest to the cabin they had been assigned.

The couples soon acknowledged the need to walk single file not only on the stairs but also in the passageways. Both allowed only enough room for two people to pass each other going in opposite directions. Upon reaching their deck, a boy with a ring of keys approached them. He took their tickets and led them to their cabin. 3C, he announced, unlocking the door and removing two keys from the ring. He handed one to Luigi and the other to Carlo. You have second supper seating, he stated, referring to the list he held in the crook of his arm. Almost as an afterthought he added, My name is Arturo. I’m your cabin boy. Then he scurried off to attend the next set of travelers who had entered the corridor.

The Rossi’s stepped over the threshold. The candles in the sconces on the walls had already been lit. They cast a mellow glow over the mahogany walls and showed the room off to its best advantage. Their accommodations were not large, but they found every inch of space seemed to be utilized prudently, making it appear larger than it really was. There were two sets of bunk beds one on either side of the room. To their right was an oversized closet. The left rear quarter was partitioned off in order for passengers to privately attend to their personal needs. The right rear quarter had a table and two chairs bolted to the floor. It seemed that everything was either locked, tied or bolted into place.

Luigi hoped this was not an omen of treacherous seas ahead. His mind hadn’t quite let go of the chill he’d felt pass over him while watching the ship sinking almost to the waterline as the last of the emigrants boarded. Luigi and Carlo quickly grew bored of examining their surroundings. Rosa and Maria continued to investigate in minute detail. Rosa found a full length looking glass in the bathroom, hidden behind the door. Maria opened the doors of the closet to discover drawers built into it.

Almost simultaneously the women called to each other, Come and look at this! They started forward, and not yet being used to the confined area, collided midway. Rosa grabbed for the pole of one bunk bed, trying to keep her feet, while Maria sat down hard on the mattress of the other. Realizing they were not hurt, they burst into giggles. Rosa’s laughter had always been infectious and this time was no exception. Soon Luigi and Carlo joined in, unable to resist the absurdity of the scene.

A knock interrupted the gaiety. Carlo crossed to the door and inquired who was there. Once he received an answer, he allowed a harried-looking Arturo into the cabin. In the hallway behind him sat their traveling bags. Luigi and Carlo helped Arturo carry them in, for they were far too heavy for one man to move.

Arturo prepared to hurry away once more, but was halted by Luigi’s body blocking the portal. A question, young man, Luigi said. Arturo stayed his forward motion and cocked his head to one side, all the while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His stance such, he impatiently waited to hear what would follow. You mentioned earlier that we have the second supper seating. What time would that be and where is it being served?

Arturo answered quickly, 8 o’clock, Sir. The dining room is located one deck above. I’m sorry, but I really have other duties to perform before the ship sails. With that, Luigi moved aside, and Arturo made haste to leave. While in the process of emptying their baggage they heard the rattle of the anchor chain as it hoisted its iron burden. One sharp blast of the ship’s horn rent the air. Shortly thereafter, they felt the vibration of the engines through the floorboards and an increase in motion. The Star of Liberty was underway. From this point forward, they would be at the mercy of the ocean’s mercurial fancies.

The Star of Liberty was soon out of Genoa’s protected harbor. The movement of the waves on the open sea was much more noticeable. The Rossi’s had to learn how to walk all over again, so as not to end up on the floor. Somehow Luigi and Carlo found it easier to adapt to the new manner of movement than did Rosa and Maria, who both staggered along holding onto their husband’s arms for support. We haven’t even had a drink, and I look a bit tipsy, Maria whispered in Carlo’s ear as they made their way slowly to the deck above. Carlo said nothing, but flashed Maria the boyish grin which endeared him to her more each time he wore it.

They soon found the entryway to the dining room. The aroma of Italian cooking permeated the air, and Rosa thought she caught a whiff of marinara sauce. The scent made her hungry. A head waiter approached asking Luigi for their cabin number. 3C, Luigi answered. The smell of food was reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast and was ravenous.

Follow me, Sir. The head waiter led them to a table for four in the corner. This will be your table each evening for the rest of the voyage, he said. Your waiter’s name is Giovanni. As if on cue, Giovanni hurried to bring them menus.

The dishes were mostly Italian as Rosa had already suspected. She was amazed at the variety of the different entrees. If every meal was like this Rosa would have to watch her weight, or appear at Anna’s door looking like a butterball. This evening, though, she threw caution to the wind and ordered antipasto for an appetizer, shrimp scampi as the entrée, and lemon ice for dessert. Her order sounded good to everyone, so Luigi said to Giovanni, Bring us three more of the same. While waiting for the food to arrive, they spoke of the size of the dining room compared to the number of people who had boarded the ship.

Rosa murmured to Luigi, I wonder if they stay open all night? Luigi shrugged, not wanting to remember how many people were on the ship with them.

Giovanni negated the necessity for an answer as he served the most mouthwatering antipasto they could imagine under the circumstances. Then, as if by magic, the haunting strains of ‘Sorrento’ carried faintly into the room. As dinner progressed, Rosa became friendlier with their waiter. She asked him where all the people they had seen at the pier were eating. Giovanni explained that the Signora should not be bothered with any of them, wrinkling his nose at the thought. Those people will make their own meals below decks. Rosa also learned that this particular ship usually took about a month, barring bad weather to make the trip to the new land.

As Rosa and Giovanni conversed, soft music was still being borne into the room. The song playing was ‘O Sole Mio.’ Giovanni, Rosa asked, where does the music come from?

Oh Signora, there is a saloon right down this corridor. They play music until late in the evening. I think you would very much like it in there. Rosa agreed she probably would find it enjoyable. So after dessert was served and bowls filled with nuts and oranges were placed on the table, the Rossi’s found the saloon by following the music. The band played song after song while couples danced. The floor wasn’t large, but Luigi asked Rosa to dance anyway. No one he’d ever known loved music and dancing as much as his Rosa.

Placing aside the nuts and oranges she’d taken from the table, Rosa allowed her husband to lead her onto the dance floor. Soon Maria and Carlo joined them. The band struck up a waltz tune, and as Luigi held Rosa close she whispered, If this is how the rest of the voyage will be, I am not sorry I came. The love he felt for her as they danced was beyond words; it shone from his eyes as they met Rosa’s. She understood, without words, the depth of his regard. She wished they didn’t have two cabin-mates, for there had been no passion between them in months. The candle-light, the music, the very movement of the dance itself held a kind of enchantment for them. As the dance ended, Luigi affected a dramatic yawn.

Carlo, he called his son aside, your mother and I are tired now and are going back to the cabin. You young people, I’m sure, will want to stay a little while and dance. He winked at his son. Then he went to the doorway where Rosa was waiting, and taking her by the elbow led her from the saloon while explaining that Carlo and Maria wanted to stay a bit longer. Knowing his intent, Rosa made no protest even though she had been unable to say goodnight to Carlo and Maria. They made their way silently through the corridors, an urgency too long absent driving them.

No sooner did the door click shut behind them than Luigi caught Rosa in his arms, pressing her back against the wall of the small room. She tilted her face up to meet his and melted into his provocative kiss. Her arms encircled his neck and she made a soft murmur of objection as her hands met with fabric instead of warm skin. One small hand reached for the top button of his shirt, fumbling clumsily as the sensations of her husband’s lips against the delicate skin at her throat broke her concentration. After a few moments, she simply grasped the top of his shirt and pulled, heedless of the buttons that sprang free with the violence of her need; she could sew them back on in the morning.

Luigi shrugged out of the shirt, not once ceasing the attentions of his mouth on the tender patch of skin behind Rosa’s jaw. With practiced hands he unfastened the back of her dress and in moments the garment lay pooled at her feet. He growled softly into her ear as her nails raked lightly down his chest and she reached down to unbuckle his belt. With her eager cooperation, Luigi quickly shed his trousers. Rosa’s undergarments soon followed them to the floor. He bent his head, kissing her fiercely. Then he scooped her into his arms, carrying her to one of the cabin’s lower bunk beds.

Rosa lay on the crisp, clean sheets, feeling their cool smoothness in sharp contrast to the heated form that lay beside her. Luigi’s strong hand cupped her face for a moment, pulling her close for another long, sensuous kiss, and then began to travel down the length of a body he knew better than his own. Their years together had taught him exactly where she most liked to be touched, how best to rub his work-roughened thumb across her nipple, how to caress her inner thighs before moving in to pleasure her. A smile pulled at his lips as he watched her face while he touched her, as her head tipped back and she moaned into the darkness. She was always beautiful, but in these moments, when she gave herself over to the depths of passion within her that even now could still surprise him, she was radiant.

Her eyes, dilated with pleasure until they were almost black, met his. Luigi, please, she gasped, I want you—now! If he hadn’t already been aroused by the sight of Rosa’s enjoyment, the intensity of the desire in her voice would have brought him to readiness. Rosa let out a shuddering cry as he slid into her, and her hands moved across his back, clutching him to her. The two easily found their rhythm and even their breathing, quick and panting, soon become one. When the moment of completion came, it felt as if the previous months of tension and worry simply faded away, unable to stand up under the surge of sexual energy. As the overwhelming passion began to ebb, flowing into a warm and comfortable daze, Rosa knew that sleep would find them easily.

Rosa held Luigi until he slept in her arms. Then before sleep could claim her as well she rose carefully, pulling the blanket up over her husband’s sleeping form. In the bathroom she washed and donned a nightgown. Only then did she climb into the top bunk. A few moments afterwards the door opened to admit Carlo and Maria. They carried the forgotten nuts and oranges with them. Quietly they placed them in one of the cupboards. Then, they too, prepared for bed. Rosa pretended to sleep, glad that her son and his wife had no idea of the wanton coupling which had taken place between Luigi and herself only a short while ago.

The following morning the Rossi’s ate breakfast in the dining room. Giovanni served them again. Rosa asked him what there was to do during the daylight hours. Signora, he replied, most of the ladies on-board read or knit while sitting on the steamer chairs. Some of them stroll around the deck for exercise. Most wear hats or carry parasols to keep the sun from their skin.

Rosa thought the options presented by the waiter sounded insufferably boring. She and Maria decided to try the steamer chairs out anyway. They could play cards if the wind didn’t blow the cards around too much. Luigi and Carlo opted to walk around the deck and stretch their legs while discussing what might await them on their arrival in New York City. Rosa told Maria that she would get the cards from their cabin and meet her on deck. The steamer chairs turned out to be quite comfortable, and Rosa settled back and began to deal the cards. There was little wind, so their game was not imperiled. Suddenly, Rosa lost count of how many cards she had dealt; the sound of children’s voices coming from below had distracted her.

Rosa loved children of any age, as Maria well knew. On many occasions when she had been shopping with her mother-in-law, Maria had been startled to realize that she was talking to herself, while Rosa was absorbed in telling some young mother how beautiful her baby was. It was annoying to Maria, who felt she looked foolish speaking to thin air, but that was Rosa; you had to love her for her kind heart. Rosa had accepted her daughters-in-laws with the same open heart and embraced them as part of her family.

We can always play cards later, Rosa said to Maria. Let’s look to see what the children from steerage are doing to pass the time. So saying, Rosa went toward the rail; Maria was right beside her. Neither woman could believe the sight which met their eyes. Dirty, disheveled, hungry-looking children were squeezed into a space hardly larger than the inside of the Rossi’s’ cabin. They were trying to play, but there was barely room to move, so they did what children everywhere do when they become bored—they squabbled amongst themselves. Some of the older ones pushed and shoved each other, while the younger children cried or merely looked on in awed silence. Rosa’s heart immediately went out to these poor, bedraggled innocents. It was no way for children to be kept.

Rosa remembered the fruit and nuts Carlo and Maria had taken back to the cabin the evening before. Originally Rosa had taken them in case one of them happened to get hungry between scheduled meals. Now, however, she thought of what a treat they would be to the needy children in steerage class.

Rosa, being careful not to give away the fact she hadn’t been asleep when Maria and Carlo had come in the night before said, Now I’m sorry I was too tired to remember the nuts and oranges last night. I left them on the table in the saloon.

Maria grabbed her arm excitedly responding, Carlo and I brought them back with us. They are in the cupboard. Practically pulling Rosa along behind her, Maria made her way back to the cabin. Wrenching open the cupboard door Maria stepped aside allowing Rosa to take the lead. She did so handing Maria half of the oranges and some nuts, then she took what remained and they made their way back to the rail.

Maria was starting to think it would be fun to watch the faces of the children as the goodies dropped down from above. Indeed, startled faces turned upward as the first of the bounty hit the deck and rolled with the motion of the waves. Realizing the good fortune which had befallen them, there was a great deal of scrabbling as the children sought to reach one of the prizes before they were all gone. The lucky ones tried to crawl unnoticed between the legs of those