Ella tried to hide her sense of awkwardness with a smile. She didn’t like being singled out. All her sisters and nieces, even Mama, would feel hurt that Nonna Sofia didn’t want to include them in the telling of the shoe story. Why had Nonna Sofia brought up the topic in front of the entire family? She was acting very strange, even for Nonna Sofia.
“Nonna Sofia,” she asked gently, “wouldn’t it be nice if all the women in the family could listen to your shoe story?”
“No,” her grandmother said, her lower lip sticking out. “Only you. And if you tell it to anyone else, I will be very unhappy.”
It was final. That face meant Nonna Sofia refused to budge. And Ella was stuck.
She exchanged a glance with her mother. She’s being difficult, Mama’s gaze said. Just go along with her.
“Very well, Nonna Sofia,” Ella said softly.
“Not until after the tiramisu,” said Nonna Boo, “which Daisy and Nina made this morning with their grandmother.”
Mama smiled over at the cousins’ table. “The girls did an excellent job.”
“Thank you, Nonna Maria,” the two girls said in unison.
“I know this shoe story,” one of the Sicilian guests, Nonna Alberta, said in a voice that sounded as if it needed to be oiled, like a creaky hinge. It was the first time she’d spoken that night.
The tables went silent. Everyone had forgotten that Nonna Alberta spoke English. They rarely saw her, and whenever she talked, it was in Italian. But Ella remembered her mother telling her that Nonna Alberta was the only Sicilian relative who spoke fluent English.
Nonna Alberta was ninety-two. She’d spent three years in New York in her early twenties with her American soldier husband, who was killed in the Korean War. She’d then gone back to Sicily as a widow, remarried, and had three children. “I will tell everyone else this tale while Sofia tells Ella in private,” she said. “It is not her story only. It is a story for the entire family. May all who hear it embrace it as a piece of precious family history.”
Nonna Sofia turned bright red. But she said nothing. She couldn’t defy the matriarch of the Sicilian branch of the family, who was a good fifteen years older than she.
“Go ahead, Nonna Alberta,” Uncle Sal said. “Tell my mother’s shoe story.”
Nonna Alberta cleared her throat. “Once, back in the early seventies, a young lady named Sofia Brattorio arrived in Palermo from a nearby village, but her home was in Rome.”
Sofia Brattorio … that was Nonna Sofia’s name before she married, the children at the cousins’ table quickly learned from their whispering mothers.
“Sofia was no more than seventeen or eighteen,” said Nonna Alberta, “and wore beautiful leather sandals with a very high heel when she got off the bus. They showed off her legs to perfection. In Palermo, women in high heels were not a common sight. My two sisters and I, all of us married with grown children, were shopping in the nearby market and were enthralled with these shoes. We wanted to meet this young girl to get a closer look at her. But before we could walk the short distance to the bus stop, where she was struggling with a very fat suitcase, a young man came up to her and began talking rapidly, moving his hands with some urgency. He took her suitcase, and she went scurrying after him.”
Nonna Sofia sat stiffly while Nonna Alberta told the story. Ella felt for her. She could tell Hank did too, by the serious, concerned look in his eyes. They were very expressive, which was probably why, in addition to his good looks, the big screen loved him so much.
“And then what happened, Nonna Alberta?” Mama encouraged her to go on.
Nonna Sofia scowled at her daughter, and Ella remembered that she hadn’t wanted Mama to hear the story, in case she became ashamed of Nonna Sofia, if she thought her foolish.
Nonna Alberta looked down the table at Nonna Sofia. “We thought Sofia Brattorio would pull off her shoes to keep up with the young man. But she kept the gorgeous sandals on her feet. We went running after her, and then others began to follow. Especially the men.”
Everyone at the table chuckled. Except for Nonna Sofia.
“Sofia did not look back at the crowd,” Nonna Alberta said. “Neither did the young man carrying her suitcase, whom we knew to be the son of a powerful vineyard owner in Palermo, a high and mighty man above our touch. Many of us worked for him, but he wouldn’t attend any festivals with the townspeople. Nor would his son.”
Ella had no idea where this story was going. But she would be patient. Most of her family’s stories were long and circuitous.
“Eventually, we all got to the gates of the vineyard,” said Nonna Alberta. “The big house was at the other end of the drive. The son of the owner opened the gates and let the young woman through, and then shut the gates in our faces. I asked him, ‘What has happened?’ and he said that the young lady in the fancy city shoes was the nurse from Rome who would help deliver the baby of the owner’s favorite mistress, who had gone into labor a month early. The vineyard owner had kept her in a house in a nearby village to be prepared.”
Nonna Sofia’s face went redder than ever.
“And?” Uncle Sal asked Nonna Alberta.
“Sofia Brattorio told the son she would put one shoe outside the mistress’s cottage window if the baby was a girl, two if it was a boy. If it was a boy, the baby was to be adopted by the vineyard owner. If it was a girl, the mistress and the baby would be sent away.”
“To where?” asked a teenage niece of Ella’s.
“Oh, probably to a convent near Rome,” said Nonna Alberta. “Somewhere far away, never to be seen again in Palermo.”
“That’s not very nice,” said an eight-year-old nephew.
“What’s a mistress?” asked Margaret, her pudgy little hands folded on the cousins’ table.
Her mother looked back at her. “A fine lady,” she murmured.
Ella and her married sisters exchanged worried looks. Nonna Sofia had been right not to tell this story to the whole family. Mama, too, appeared nervous, her lips pinched thin. Hank, Ella saw, had a serious, calm expression on his face, but his eyes were alert. It was his protective mode. She remembered it from long ago. If he thought something was about to happen that could hurt Ella, he became guarded. She wished—inappropriately—that he were sitting next to, not across from, her.
Nonna Alberta went on. “Ten hours of not knowing passed. The sun was going down when one shoe finally appeared outside the cottage window.” She looked down the length of the adult tables. “The new mother, who had been the owner’s favored companion for twenty years, did not want to be sent away. Palermo was her home. So the nurse pleaded with the vineyard owner on the mother’s behalf, and he let her and the baby girl stay on. The nurse, he said, must also stay for three months to assist the new mother. During that time, the son of the owner fell deeply in love with Sofia Brattorio and asked her to marry him several times. But she always said no.”
Nonna Sofia’s eyes filled with tears that did not fall. Ella’s stomach tilted. This story was creating terrible tension in her grandmother. Ella was worried. So was Mama, who couldn’t stop looking across the table at her stricken mother.
“What then?” asked one of the aunts. “Did the nurse return to Rome?”
“No.” Nonna Alberta gave a crooked smile. “An eighteen-year-old young man in the crowd who followed Sofia Brattorio the first day she arrived in Palermo, a poor boy who tended the owner’s vines daily, was secretly courting her, leaving offerings of grapes and small bouquets of fresh marjoram and thyme outside her door behind those big gates. It was he whom she loved. And he whom she chose to marry. That young man was my son Giuseppe, your late father, Maria.”
Mama’s face lost a few of its anxious lines. “Papa,” she said, with a warm smile at Nonna Sofia.
But Nonna Sofia was looking at Ella. “He was your grandfather, which is why I wanted to tell you the story, as you are my only granddaughter to turn thirty and not yet be married.”
In this traditional family, that was unusual. Ella was secretly amused, but she maintained a respectful posture. It helped that Hank, too, had a gleam in his eye—that protective one, which bolstered Ella more than she liked.
“I chose the man of my heart,” said Nonna Sofia. “I want you, too, my dear Ella, to wait as long as it takes for your own Giuseppe. And if he never shows up, I want you to be a kickass single lady for everyone to admire.”
Kickass single lady? Maybe Nonna Sofia wasn’t so traditional, after all.
“I will, Nonna Sofia,” Ella said. “I’ll be one of those single ladies who goes out dancing and wears gorgeous shoes all the time.”
Everyone laughed.
“I stopped wearing sexy high heels when I married,” Nonna Sofia said. “Back in the old days, it was grape-stomping country in Palermo. Many dirt roads, stone walls, and high grasses too. Not a good place for heels, but you must keep wearing yours, whether you marry or not. Promise me, Ella.”
“I will,” Ella said with a smile. She was glad the story was over. Done. They could move on. It had been charming, very sweet. But she could only take so much singling out at the family table because she wasn’t married.
“Mama,” cried Ella’s mother, “why would you not want your own daughter to hear the love story of her parents?”
Oh, no. They were to go on, apparently. Hank caught Ella’s eye. He was worried about her, and it warmed her heart. She smiled at him. I’m fine, she tried to say without speaking.
Nonna Sofia lifted her chin. “Because you might think me foolish.”
“Why would I?” Mama asked.
“I turned down the rich man and married the poor.”
“Why would I think that foolish?” Mama asked. “I believe in love. And without you and Papa together, I would never have happened!”
“We will discuss this later,” Nonna Sofia said in a hard tone, her mouth thin, her brow drawn low.
Something shifted in that moment. A feeling passed between Ella and the feminine members of the dinner party silently and faster than the speed of light. It occurred to her immediately, and she could see the same thing happening to all the grown women in the room—her sisters, her mother, her aunts, and to Nonna Boo, whose eyes widened—that Nonna Sofia was suggesting Mama’s paternity was in question.
Nonna Sofia must have slept with the son of the vineyard owner before she married her Giuseppe!
Ella was rocked. To the core.
But imagine how poor Mama must feel!
Mama laughed, but it sounded almost like a cry, which broke Ella’s heart. “You’re not saying, Mama…”
Nonna Sofia looked at her. “Later.” Then she turned to Nonna Alberta. “See what happens when you take my story away from me and tell the whole family?”
“Why did you bring it up in front of the whole family?” asked Nonna Alberta. “Because deep inside, you wanted it to see the light!”
“No,” said Nonna Sofia.
“You were playing with fire,” said Nonna Alberta, “and you knew it, and you were tired of carrying this secret.” She frowned at Nonna Sofia. “It is why we are here, to prove that Maria is indeed Giuseppe’s daughter.”
Oh, my God, Ella thought, her heart racing. Every single adult in the room stiffened.
“Of course, I’m Giuseppe’s daughter!” Mama slapped her hand on the table, her bosom rising and falling rapidly. “How could you have kept this from me all these years, Mama?”
To Mama’s left, Uncle Sal wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Hush, Maria, no need to be upset. This changes nothing. We are family—you and I are brother and sister, united forever by blood and through love. As you are with the rest of the family.”
Mama blinked back a tear. “Thank you, Sal,” she croaked out.
Aw, Uncle Sal! Ella couldn’t cry, even though seeing Mama cry made her feel terrible. She was simply too stunned, and she wanted to stay strong for Mama.
Nonna Boo sat on Mama’s right. She reached over to Mama’s flattened palm on the table and wrapped her gnarled fingers around it. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “Don’t you worry, my daughter through marriage. Mine forever,” she added fervently, which touched Ella’s heart too.
She and Hank exchanged a look again. I’m here for you, his eyes seemed to say. And she was glad, so glad he’d come with her today. She lifted her half-full glass of red wine to her lips and downed the rest of it, thankful that he’d bought it, not only to honor her family but because he so obviously wanted to please her, however much he’d denied it earlier at Harris Teeter.
He’d brushed off his effort because of her, because he knew she would spurn his reaching out to her through thoughtful gestures. He’d been right too, and she wondered now why she’d been so willing to turn away a loving action. Of course, it was because she was afraid to get hurt by him again.
But look at her now. Alone, and hurting. No matter what, pain would come to her life. How much control did she have, really? How much should she try to exert to keep the hurt at bay, or was it part and parcel of loving? Of being in relationships?
“Thank you, Nonna Boo, for your sweet words,” said Mama, “but of course, I must worry.”
“No,” said Nonna Boo. “This changes nothing.”
Nonna Sofia sighed. “You were born five months after we married, daughter. We were never sure. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t.”
“I thought babies took nine months to bake,” said one of the nephews under age ten.
“Some babies take less,” said his mother.
“Then why were you going to tell Ella?” Mama asked her mother.
“To get it off my chest before I die,” said Nonna Sofia, “and not to burden you. Ella can take it. Especially if she never marries and has the additional worry of a family of her own.”
Ella’s heart hurt hearing herself spoken of that way. A quick glance around the table showed her that other people were taken aback by the bluntness of Nonna Sofia’s remark too. But Ella, chagrined as she was at being so casually written off as a possible singleton for life, was also oddly touched Nonna Sofia found her competent to handle her personal secret.
“But we can find out the truth,” said Nonna Alberta to Nonna Sofia, “and I want to before I die. The family of Giuseppe, my beloved son, deserves to know if all of his long, illustrious line carries his blood. We have brought strands of his hair I saved from his favorite comb. Sofia, you may also have artifacts that could aid us.” She shot a laser look at Mama. “If tests reveal new facts, we are still family, bonded at the heart, child. No need to be upset.”
A tear trickled from Mama’s eye and she pushed up from the table. “I am far from being a child,” she said. “I am much too old for this.”
No one knew what to say. Ella jumped up from her chair too. She went to her mother. “It’s all right,” she tried to soothe her, and put her arm around Mama’s waist.
But Mama ignored her. She was far too distressed to accept comfort. Even so, Ella squeezed her closer. She caught Hank’s eye. You’re doing the right thing, he said without speaking. Hang in there.
“This family doesn’t need this sort of upheaval,” Mama said. “Look at you, all in shock. And the children…”
“We’re fine, Nonna Maria!” cried one nephew. “We don’t know what’s going on. But we don’t like it if it makes you cry!”
“Nonna Maria!” Little Margaret said, her voice cracking.
Mama’s smile trembled. “Don’t cry, sweet Margaret, I am fine,” she said to her youngest grandchild and to everyone at the cousins’ table. She then seemed to notice Ella. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “You go sit down, preziosa.”
“All right, Mama,” Ella said, and kissed her cheek.
“We can have this resolved within the week,” said Nonna Alberta. “We simply need you to cooperate, Maria, with the testing. And Sofia must be supportive, as well.”
Mama squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “So be it,” she said.
Ella’s sisters, her aunts and uncles, everyone at the table, including Hank, felt for Mama. It was evident in their drawn brows, the deepening lines on either side of their mouths.
Poor Nonna Sofia. She was swallowing hard, trying to keep from crying herself. “All right,” she said to Nonna Alberta, “we will cooperate, but you could have told us what you were up to before you flew across the ocean to wreak havoc in our lives.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted us to come,” Nonna Alberta said stoutly. “And it was meant to be. You yourself brought up the shoe story, in front of the entire family. It was meant to be.”
And that was that. The proclamation from the Sicilian matriarch, age ninety-two.
“Let’s have dessert,” said Uncle Sal.
“Yay!” the children all shouted.
Hank met Ella’s gaze once more. He gave her a little nod, a discreet wink of encouragement. She was rattled to the core, but she had to be brave for Mama and the children. She had to carry on as if everything was the same—because it really was, if they wanted it to be. It really was.
Love didn’t care about paternity tests.