Chapter 31

Kitty awoke the next morning and looked in the mirror.

“Kitty,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Catherine Dwyer.” The knowledge of who she was raced to thoughts of Vittorio. She remembered how he had looked the first time she saw him, tanned and muscular, playing baseball with athletic grace. Remembering his kiss, an unquenchable hunger rose within her.

As she dressed, the silver pin Charles had given her, still on the collar of her dress, caught her eye. He has been so kind, and I can never repay him. Now I will only cause him pain. Then her love for Vittorio overtook her. Kitty’s hands shook as she buttoned her dress; she could hardly wait to see him. She would go to his house immediately. If he was at work, she would run to him. The months she was ill melted behind her; life ahead was expectant and shimmering. She gulped down a cup of tea, the most she could manage, and raced out of the house.

In a moment of panic, Kitty thought she had forgotten where he lived, but the memory returned. She rode the trolley to his house, looking around at the familiar sights, inhaling them as if they were the first breath of spring. She reveled in knowing each street name, in recognizing the tailor shop on Bleecker, the bakery that made oversized mince pies at Christmas, the empty lot where Vittorio played ball. With a pang, she looked for her brother at the lot and in the surrounding streets, but he was not there. Suddenly she was furious with her father for forcing her to choose.

She leapt off the trolley and stood for a moment gazing up at the building where Vittorio lived, her heart beating. She forced herself to walk to the stoop in dignified fashion, like a woman old enough to be married, then gave up and scrambled up the steps. She pounded on his door. After an eternity, a woman asked something in Italian.

“It’s Kitty, Mrs. Rossi. Kitty Dwyer.”

The door opened to reveal a woman holding a baby.

“I’m looking for the Rossis.”

“No, no.” The woman kept shaking her head.

Kitty’s voice rose. “Vittorio. Vittorio and his mama, Ottavia Rossi.”

The woman said something in Italian and pointed to the landlady’s door.

The landlady, an old Italian woman, recognized Kitty and immediately shook her head.

“The Rossis…” Kitty began, wondering how to communicate with her.

“No here,” the old woman said.

“Where are they?” She was anxious to share her happiness. “We’re going to be married.”

“Marry.” The old woman smiled and nodded her head.

“What?”

“Vittorio. He marry.”

“He got married? To someone else?”

The woman continued to grin and nod her head.

Kitty pressed her hand to her heart. “Who? Where is he?”

She shrugged her shoulders and began to close the door.

“Wait! Are you sure? Where does he live?”

The woman shook her head. The door snapped shut.

Kitty could not believe it. She refused to believe it. She would find another neighbor and ask them what happened. Paolo! She’d find Paolo. She raced to the Crespis’ tenement and pounded on the door. A woman answered, and in a heavy Polish accent, told her they had moved to Boston.

“Boston, of course. They talked about moving there. Did you know the Rossis, Vittorio and his mother, Ottavia?”

“Yes, I met them.”

She took a deep breath and plunged on, her heart on hold. “Do you know if Vittorio got married?”

“Yes. He came with his wife, Concetta, a pretty woman.”

Kitty shrank back, unable to speak. She turned and broke into a run, wanting to be away from there, far from the sight of a place and memories of a love that hurt like an open wound. She thought of the months of not knowing who she was, and of Charles’ wish that she remain that way. Now she fervently wished she had not regained her memory.

Without a past, she had no pain. She could have lived that way and been happy enough. Now her memories of Vittorio and of the bright future they had planned stood in dark contrast to the bleakness of the present.

Kitty ran from the tenement so fast she didn’t hear the woman call after her. The woman shook her head and returned to her parlor. “Vittorio?” she said aloud. “No, no, his name was Vincenzo.” Newly arrived from Poland, she was unused to Italian names. “Vincenzo, Vittorio.” She shrugged. “An honest mistake.”

Kitty walked the streets, heedless of those around her, brushing past them, rushing headlong to nowhere. She walked until her legs ached. She tried to think methodically about herself and her future. She could not go home. Even if her father accepted her, he was partly to blame for her losing Vittorio, and she did not even want to look at him.

Charles is too fine a person to be considered a last resort, but without him, I’m penniless and homeless. He loves me and I owe him my life. Charles was her only choice. She knew she would never be happy without Vittorio, but she vowed to make Charles happy.

Kitty returned to her room as darkness fell, and found Charles pacing in front of the house.

“Deirdre, I was worried. You’ve been gone so long.” He looked at her with his expressive blue eyes.

She managed to smile up at him. “I’m sorry to worry you, but I have some good news. Come in, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

She made him sit down on the sofa and stood in front of him. “You can’t call me Deirdre any more. My name is Kitty. Kitty Dwyer, and I remember everything from my past.”

Charles jumped up and threw his arms around her. “Wonderful!”

Seeing how thrilled Charles was for her, she had to smile. “Give me some time, and I’ll tell you all of it.”

“Kitty Dwyer.” He repeated her name, trying out the sound of it. “I like it. You are like a kitty, soft yet feisty. It suits you.”

He made a place for her on the sofa. “Please sit down, Kitty Dwyer, and tell me all about yourself.”

Kitty spoke about her childhood, of growing up upon the death of her mother, and her love for her brother. She spoke of everything but her deep love for Vittorio. A romance that didn’t work out was how she described it, and told him of her father’s objection to their courtship.

He listened, from time to time encouraging her quietly. When she finished, he sat back and said nothing.

“What are you thinking?” she said.

He looked down at his hands. “Selfishly, I’m wondering how this will change us. You seem different already. For someone who has just discovered who she is, the moment you’ve been praying for, for months, you don’t seem happy.”

“I’m just…overwhelmed by it,” she lied. “I hope you’ll be patient.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said quietly. “One day more than forever.”

“You won’t have to wait that long. Not if we’re to be married in a month.”

“My darling Kitty, do I understand that you’re saying you’ll marry me?” He looked at her, his eyes full of hope.

She could barely bring herself to look into those eyes, so kind, so giving. She was about to deceive the man who had lavished her with love and generosity, to whom she owed everything. She could give him gratitude, but not love.

“Yes, Charles,” she said, forcing a smile, “I’ll marry you.”

Charles’ smile was ecstatic as he swept her into his arms. “I love you, Kitty Dwyer. I want to spend my whole life making you happy.”

Kitty pressed her cheek against his shoulder, thankful that Charles could not see the pain on her face. The comfort that she had felt in his arms before was gone. He was not Vittorio; his touch was suddenly alien. She would spend her whole life with one man, yet love another, a man she could never have.

The day Kitty packed her bags for Boston was especially hard for her. As she methodically folded dresses and underwear, she was reminded over and over of the fateful day she had packed to meet Vittorio. This time she had two large suitcases to fill. As soon as Kitty had agreed to marry Charles, he delighted in buying her clothes and jewelry. She had dresses in every color, fine wools, with shawls to match. She had soft leather shoes, the best she had ever worn.

Charles had bought her a satin case in which to keep her jewelry, and she placed the pieces inside, gold and silver pins and necklaces, and a long gold chain holding a watch with pastel enamel flowers on its face. Looking down at the case, she couldn’t help noticing the engagement ring on her finger, a single large diamond that caught each ray of light in multifaceted splendor.

The magnificent ring, the beautiful clothes, and the jewelry were all silent reminders that her desire was not for adornment. She longed to fly back in time to the day she had packed one simple blue flowered dress.

She began to talk to herself. “No more wallowing in sentiment like Papa. What’s done is done; there’s no turning back. Be thankful to God for Charles. Where would you be without him?” Her monologue did not make her happier, but it spurred her to action. She had made her decision, the only one she could have under the circumstances, and she would get on with her life. She nodded her head and took the two bags, so laden with belongings that she had to drag them along to the front hall where Charles could load them into his automobile for the trip to Boston.

Charles arrived at her door promptly at ten a.m., anxious to begin the trip, his usual reserved self overwhelmed by high spirits at the thought of a new life with Kitty as his bride. He loaded the car with her bags and then, taking her hand, quickly settled her in the car. He raced to the other side, continually tipping his hat like a vaudeville dancer. Kitty couldn’t help laughing at his uncharacteristic silliness.

“Where to, milady? Would Boston suit your plans?”

“Charles, you’re in high spirits. Of course, Boston, but I’d like to ask a favor of you first.”

He became serious. “Kitty, anything.”

“Will you take me to say goodbye to my brother? I can’t move far away and not see his dear face one more time.”

“I’d be happy to. Let’s see your father, too, and tell him we’ll be married.”

Kitty put a cautionary hand on his arm. “I’ll try to see him myself, but I have to do it alone. He would never accept my marrying an Englishman.”

He looked as if he were going to object, but Kitty was adamant. “I have to do it my way.”

As the car turned onto the street where she lived, Kitty was surprised to see it looked the same: rows of beige brick houses, each with five steps up to a cement stoop; lace curtains at some windows, indicating wealth, plain white cotton curtains at others, a few with a lone plant in the window, leaning to catch what sun there was amid the density of the tenements in the dead of winter.

Nothing had changed. Only she was different. In a few months, she thought, I have lived a lifetime. “That’s mine.” As she pointed to the tenement in the middle of the row, the front door opened and a young man walked out, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it, sometimes missing and scrambling to catch it before it rolled down the steps.

“That’s Dermot,” Kitty said, overjoyed at the sight of her brother.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“No, please. Just let me off and drive around the park across the street. I’ll join you after I’ve seen him.”

Dermot didn’t notice Kitty approach until she called out his name. At the sight of her, his face lit up, and he ran to her. They hugged for a long time, Dermot showing no signs of letting go of his sister.

“Dermot,” she said breathlessly, “let go of me so I can have a look at you.” She held him at arm’s length. “You look so handsome.”

“I missed you,” he said simply.

Kitty touched his cheek. “And I’ve missed you too, every day.”

“Where’s Vittorio?”

The question shot an arrow through Kitty’s heart. We didn’t get married,” she said hastily.

“Why not?”

Spare me his honesty, she thought, remembrance flooding through her.

“It just didn’t work out, Dermot. And I’m marrying someone else, a very nice man named Charles.”

“Charles?” He said the name as though it were a foreign language. He hated the name being linked with his sister. “No, no!” Dermot clenched his fists in frustration. Though unable to express it, he knew who Kitty was meant to be with. Simple-hearted, not caught up in the distractions of the world, he saw right to the heart of things. “Vittorio!” he shouted. “Vittorio!”

“I can’t, Dermot.” She struggled for the courage to say the words. “He married someone else.”

“No! You!” He stamped his foot.

Kitty was desperate to divert his attention.

“How is Papa?”

“Dermot. Come in here right now!”

Kitty looked up to see her father leaning out the window.

“I have to go,” Dermot said reluctantly.

“I’ll come, too.” At the sight of her father, her anger began to melt, and she walked with Dermot toward the house.

“Papa!” She waved up to him. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Liam looked only at Dermot. “I want you inside, now!”

Dermot gripped Kitty’s hand.

“Papa, can’t we talk? I’m moving to Boston.”

Liam slammed the window so hard the glass rattled.

“You’d better do what Papa says,” Kitty whispered. “I’ll write to you, and I’ll come for you someday soon.” Kitty and Dermot clung to each other. “I love you,” she said as they parted.

“I love you,” Dermot replied. As he reached the front steps, she saw the sadness in his eyes. “I love you,” he repeated, “but not Vittorio.”

Unable to say any more, Kitty walked to the car. “Please, let’s leave.” She stared straight ahead as they sped off. She didn’t see her father barely part the curtains to watch her get into the car and drive away.