Chapter 16

Ottavia was shocked by the numbers of people in steerage’s small quarters. Antonia apologized for suggesting that she give up the comfort of first class, but Ottavia shook her head. She was not bothered by the masses of humanity, even though more people were crowded on the ship than lived in the entire village of Argiano. She was upset, however, by the discomfort that the tight quarters caused her fellow passengers. As was her nature, she helped minister to a child with fever, and wrapped the arm of a woman who broke it when she was knocked to the deck by a sudden roll of the ship. She sat with the elderly, listening as they shook their heads, bewildered over leaving their country and friends to travel with sons and daughters-in-law across the wild sea to an unknown land.

Federico Vittorio and Paolo played together constantly, and the women comforted each other as they crossed the capricious ocean. They laughed together in calm sunshine and licked their lips at the salty spray, and wrung out wet cloths for each other’s foreheads when an angry sea laid them low. Fortunately, the boys were impervious to seasickness and played quietly below deck when their mothers were too ill to move off their bunks.

Although the four grew closer each day as they shared bread, laughter, and dreams, Ottavia’s heart ached at the difference in their lives. After two years, Antonia and Paolo were going to be reunited with Tomasso, their husband and father. They grew impatient as the time grew closer, and Antonia spoke often of him.

Ottavia’s reluctance to speak of her son’s father made Antonia believe that he was dead, an impression confirmed when Ottavia told her of her marriage to Federico Gibelli and his accidental death on their wedding night. Out of sympathy for her friend’s loss, Antonia asked no more questions. She was impressed with Ottavia’s courage to leave Argiano to seek a better life for her fatherless son. She believed she understood her friend’s moments of sadness, when her eyes shadowed with a visible pain, a deep hurt that took her to a place where Antonia dared not intrude.

Antonia looked after Ottavia with motherly concern. She saw many of the single men on board stare at her friend, and a few attempted to start a conversation, but Ottavia was politely uninterested.

“You need a nice man to marry you, to take care of you and Federico Vittorio. Then you can live in a tenement near us and we will be family.”

Ottavia laughed and shook her head. “You are such a dreamer, Antonia.”

One evening when Antonia was up on deck, Ottavia stayed below, sitting on her bunk, watching the boys playing nearby. A swaggering young man approached her and, though she didn’t encourage it, began a conversation. When he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a flask, she became apprehensive. He took a long, gurgling swig, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and leered at her. She shrank away from him. Federico Vittorio abruptly stopped playing and stood by her side, his arm around her neck. He chattered away, and she gave him her full attention. The man tried to interrupt, but the two paid him no attention. Finally he struggled up, mumbling, and moved away.

“I don’t like that man,” Federico said.

She hugged her son. “My dear one,” she said, “you are growing up.”

The final three days of the voyage were marked by a driving rain that followed the ship’s westward course. Going on deck for only a few minutes meant being drenched to the skin. The soaked passengers crowded together in musty sleeping quarters that overpowered the senses.

Despite the rain, word spread that they were entering New York Harbor, and the passengers swarmed on deck. The torrents had softened to a drizzle, and the cool rain falling upon the warm September water brought mist that rose in eerie curls. Ottavia breathed the early autumn air, clean and sweetly salty. She held on to Federico Vittorio’s hand as the four of them stood at the rail.

In the morning mist, the immigrants caught sight of Lady Liberty, a graceful beacon through the veil of gray, her dimensions so perfect in relation to the harbor that her size was not apparent from afar. Excitement built as they came closer, and passengers gave a collective gasp as the ship passed its massive base.

Someone on the ship held a paper and read aloud the same inscription as on the base. A man read it aloud in English, and another translated it into Italian.

The words passed from group to group, a phrase at a time, to the wet, exhilarated mass of humanity that gaped at the mighty creation of freedom. Antonia hugged Paolo to her as they heard the words: “Give me your poor, your wretched, your huddled masses yearning to be free…” Ottavia, deeply moved, recited each phrase to her son, whose eyes were wide with excitement. Some of the crowd cheered as they passed, some blessed themselves, and others gazed reverently, their eyes drawn from the base up to the torch, believing the words they had not heard before but knew in their hearts.

Vittorio put his arms around his mother. “Mama, I think I am going to like this America.”