“She paused as though she was remembering events that happened hundreds of years before that time.”
~P. L. Travers
Wait a minute,” Hadley injected. She had snuck into the shop during her break from work. “Why did they throw a fit?”
“Well,” Flora explained, “during the time my mama and papá made their way to Lorry Landing, the Irish and Italian immigrants really didn’t get along. The Irish were here first, and many feared the Italians would take their jobs and homes. Just like the company built our neighborhood for the mill workers, they created hundreds of other towns around the many factories that dotted the local landscape. Even though we all believed in the religious faith, we had our own church buildings in the same towns.”
“Wow, I really didn’t realize it was that serious,” Hadley responded.
“Well, we’ve come a long way from those days. But, oh, Papá,” Flora’s eyes glazed over as she thought of her father. “He always believed that it was... what do you call it? A non-issue whom I would marry. As far as he was concerned, several good Italian boys were in our neighborhood.” Flora looked down at the pink rosebud in her hand. “Oh, my papá. I broke his heart.”
Reveena reached over and patted Flora’s hand. Flora shook the sad memories from her mind, looked up, and smiled at her friend.
“So, being the bullheaded and stubborn kids we were, Jonas and I took the train to the city two days after we graduated and got married at the courthouse. We came back to tell our families that we wanted our own home.”
“Is that when you moved to Trestle Cove?” Lilia asked
“Not quite,” Flora answered. “Nonna had a better idea.”
“It makes sense, John.” Nonna firmly stood by the idea she had presented at the dinner table.
“I will not have this… nonsense in my house!” Papà argued, slamming his fist down beside his dinner plate.
The newlyweds sat quietly at the table and listened as Flora’s family and Jonas’s parents planned to make the best of their situation. Neither one had interjected a word since Flora had made the awkward introductions at the door.
“She still has things to learn while I am here,” Nonna insisted.
Flora’s mother, too, sat by quietly. She knew what Nonna alluded to and understood this was the older woman’s mission.
“But they really should live with us….” Jonas’ mother said but stopped after feeling Nonna’s icy glare fall upon her from across the table.
Flora’s mother attempted to be the mediator.
“Maggie, Clark, we are so happy to meet you, finally,” Mamma tried to start the conversation over again.
“Mamma, you know that this is just unasciarada, nothing more than a charade,” Flora’s father said to Nonna, ignoring his wife’s attempt at polite dinner conversation.
“Why don’t we eat before it gets cold, eh? Mangiare!” Mamma tried to regain civility.
“Luciana, enough of this. I’ve had my say,” Papà told his wife.
Jonas and his parents pushed back their chairs to stand up from the table, but Nonna reached in front of her and grasped the spoon from the pasta bowl. She served herself a heaping helping of homemade pappardelle and polpette. Picking up her fork, she looked at the rest of the group.
“We’re eating. They’re staying here. Enough said. Stai zitto e Mangia.” Nonna declared before biting into a meatball.
Jonas looked over questioningly at his new wife.
“She said shut up and eat. So, push in your chair and grab a fork,” she directed.
“But Mamma,” Flora’s father began.
“I am your madre, ragazzo. Or have you forgotten?” Nonna asked without looking up from her plate.
Flora’s father huffed and puffed, but he picked up his fork and accepted his wife's full plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The motley group ate in silence, something quite rare in the Domenico home. But Nonna had the last word, and everyone at that table listened, even her grown son.
So Jonas and Flora soon moved into the attic bedroom, just as Nonna had suggested, and Jonas learned exactly why Nonna insisted on keeping Flora so close to her.
During the next few years, Jonas patiently watched as Flora learned from Nonna all she needed to know to run her own household with the ancient traditions of Italian magic firmly in place. She learned to season the cast-iron pots and pans like an expert and carefully wash the mortar and pestle after each herb was ground. She kept the wooden spoons within arms-length of the stovetop in an old darning basket. The small glass jars lined the cabinet shelves next to the oven. After the dried herbs were ground, Nonna painstakingly scooped them up and funneled them into the jars. Jonas read the labels—anise, basil, chamomile, cinnamon, oregano, parsley, rosemary, and sage. He learned how to can tomatoes, make sausage, and how to pick out the best freshly roasted coffee beans.
Their kitchen looked like any other well-stocked pantry to the untrained eye. However, they used herbs and ingredients in amulets and talismans. Flora became adept at braiding garlic to be hung on the wall to ward off evil spirits. She would add a pepperoncino to the garlic as a little good luck charm.
There were so many lessons that Jonas could not possibly remember them all, but Flora was becoming more knowledgeable as each day passed. She stuffed dried basil and oregano in handmade sachets or bits of fabric and gave them to a neighbor who came asking for help with lasting love and prosperity. She also tucked them into the corners of their own bookcases and shoved them into the backs of their closets. Jonas grew used to finding the broom outside the front door propped up against the siding on the wide front porch. It simply made sense to leave it there because it protected all those inside from the evil eye, or so Nonna warned him.
As Flora worked with Nonna and Mama daily, Jonas took the ferry across the river with her father and uncle to work at the mill. Each morning, he would stand on the wooden deck and watch in fascination at the slow construction of the pillars for the future steel bridge. He wondered how his fellow ferry riders could benefit from the addition of the bridge if they did not own a vehicle. He thought walking would wear out the fittest man but soon realized that bicycles could make the trek with half the effort. Thus was born the idea for The Squeaky Wheel.
After much planning and saving, Flora and Jonas bought an abandoned building in Trestle Cove and made their home in the large apartment above the storefront.
Of course, this was done with Papà and Mamma’s approval and Nonna’s blessing. Jonas showed them he was a hard worker and believed in his beautiful bride. The business soon became a rock in the community and helped boost the Castor economy. It also increased the transportation choices to all of Castor County. Even after the demise of the local steel industry decades later, resulting in the mills' closing and the surge of affordable cars, The Squeaky Wheel thrived. Jonas’s creative idea of rentals helped residents rediscover the county’s rivers in a much more leisurely way.
Flora loved her second-floor home along the Castor River. She could sit on her window seat bench in her back-bedroom window and barely make out where the smaller, gentler river emptied into the larger Oyo River. It reminded her she was never that far away from home and her old bedroom window’s view. And so, the next chapter of Flora’s story was about to begin.