Chapter 13

The deadly cold of winter increased as January moved into February. Nonna Barbato, however, was on the mend, and Chantel used every opportunity to take advantage of her presence. She loved talking with the older woman and often brought her sewing and tatting into the bedroom to do while keeping Nonna company. They spoke exclusively in Italian, and it reminded Chantel of her year in Italy.

“I’ve really enjoyed hearing your stories about my nonna,” Chantel said, taking up one of her brother’s shirts to mend. “I love knowing more about the family. I asked my nonna and nonno for stories, but they were less inclined to speak on certain subjects.”

“Such as the feud?” Nonna asked, seeming to understand.

Chantel nodded and gave the woman a smile. “As you know quite well.”

Nonna settled comfortably against the pillows propped behind her. Though she’d lost weight from her illness, her color had returned and she no longer struggled as much to breathe. “I suppose,” she began, “the important thing to know is that it was not always so.”

“I just can’t imagine how two families who were once friends came to such a parting over a mule,” Chantel said, paying close attention to the tiny stitches needed to repair the armhole of Marco’s shirt. “It makes the people involved seem petty, don’t you think?” She looked up rather abruptly. “Not that I mean any insult.”

“No, of course you don’t,” Nonna replied with a smile. “And you should know the truth, even though the few who know it will rarely speak of it. It was not only about the mule, as you have guessed. The mule was simply the final blow, you might say.”

Chantel shook her head. “Then what really happened?”

“The entire matter started between best friends—your great-grandfather Franco Panetta and Dante and Orlando’s great-grandfather, Paulo Calarco. It was a matter of too many roosters interested in the same hen.”

“This was about a woman?”

Nonna gazed toward the ceiling. “That should not surprise you. We have been causing problems for men since the beginning of time.”

“But to put two families at odds over that . . . well . . . it just seems uncalled for. There are so many other things that matter more.”

“Ah, but not when the heart is involved,” Nonna declared, looking back at Chantel. “Look no further than my Orlando and your sister. They are willing to risk everything to be together, and it was just that way with your great-grandfather Franco and his friend. He was in love with a beautiful young woman named Sophia. Paulo was also in love with her. Of course, this was before he married the boy’s great-grandmother. He wasn’t an improper man, you understand.”

Chantel nodded and continued her work. “So what happened?”

“Well, you cannot hope things will go well when two men love the same woman. Sophia, she rather liked the attention and let both men pay her court. She teased and flirted with both, accepting their gifts and attention. That was her mistake. It only served to cause bitterness and hatred. The men, they did not like that she would not choose just one. But Sophia, she told them that she wanted her heart to choose and that she could not do so until she got to know each man.”

“That seems perfectly reasonable to me,” Chantel replied.

“Ah, but in the old country, it was not done in such a fashion. The mama and the papa, they would choose a suitor for their daughter. And that is what happened. Seeing that their daughter was gaining a reputation as a tease, they demanded that Sophia court and marry your great-grandfather. But it was as if by doing so, they made Sophia only want more to marry Paulo.

“They ran away together . . . to marry, you understand . . . but the priest he would not perform the ceremony. So they were forced to return in shame to the village. Her reputation was ruined. They walked for a week in torrential rains, and when they finally made it back, Sophia had taken ill. She died less than a week later.”

“How awful and sad.” Chantel thought of her sister. The loss would be impossible to bear.

“The families, they blamed each other, and your great-grandfather’s family blamed the Calarcos most of all. The two men called each other out and would have murdered each other but for the priest. He came and told them that he would not allow either of them a proper church burial if they killed the other. That, you must understand, was a very strong threat. No one wanted to be without the church’s blessing, so they did not fight. Instead, they began to cause each other problems in ways that could not be traced back.” Nonna pointed her finger at Chantel. “But each one knew it was the other.”

“Of course,” Chantel replied. “There would be no reason to think otherwise. What did they do to each other?”

Nonna lowered her arm and clasped her hands together. “Well, as I am told, there were years and years of retribution. Paulo married and the children began to arrive, and your great-grandfather, he married and started his own family. And during all that time there were animals that went missing from each man’s land. There were crops that were destroyed and property damaged. Ill will was spread throughout the village and people began to choose sides. By the time the mule was killed, it was clear that you were either a supporter of the Calarcos or the Panettas. No one was allowed to be neutral.”

“How . . . well . . . childish,” Chantel said. She hesitated. “I’m sorry if that was disrespectful to my ancestors, but to cause such trouble that an entire town had to choose sides seems not only a childish act, but a very unchristian one, as well.”

“Sí. It wasn’t at all Christian. The priest tried to intercede, but to no avail.”

“How was it that you became friends with my nonna?”

Mrs. Barbato smiled. “We were quite young. We met one day when she had fallen and skinned her knee. I helped her to sit and used some water and a handkerchief to treat her knee.” She shrugged. “We became good friends and for years we were inseparable. After all, she had not yet married into the Panetta family.”

Chantel considered that for a moment. “So you became friends and had that friendship for many years, and then she married my nonno and it all ended?”

“When I heard she was to marry Carlo Panetta, I was already wed to Leonardo Calarco’s best friend, Daniel Barbato. We knew our families would never allow for our friendship to continue, but we weren’t of a mind to stop being friends. We met in secret sometimes and shared news and other things.”

“Like recipes?” Chantel asked, smiling.

“Recipes, books, gossip, secrets.” Nonna Barbato closed her eyes. “As the years passed, we saw each other less and less, and when my sweet Gia died and left Dante and Orlando without a mama, I came to America. It was the end for our friendship. We could not write to each other. Not without someone finding out. We met one last time before I left for America. We promised we would always be friends, and we always will be. I miss her more than words can say.” The pain of such a loss was evident in her expression.

Chantel felt a terrible sadness for the woman. Isabella had always been her best friend. She knew that when her sister left Ely with Orlando, she would bear a terrible emptiness.

“It’s not fair that they should keep you from writing to each other.” Chantel had a sudden thought. “What if you wrote to her through me? I could put your letter in with mine, and she could do likewise for you?”

Nonna Barbato considered this for a moment. “Do you really think it could work?”

“I do.” Chantel couldn’t see any obstacle to it. “If it should prove a problem, all Nonna would have to do is burn the letter or not write back. I think it’s worth a try.”

“I think so, too.” The woman’s entire face lit up. “I will send a letter right away.”

Chantel put aside her sewing. “I’ll go get you some paper and a pen.”

Marco had tried hard to stay away from the lure of the Fortune Hole, but his old ways were seemingly impossible to overcome. Entering the saloon, Marco reasoned with himself that a few drinks would be all right. It wasn’t like he was coming to Leo’s with the thought of getting drunk. He just wanted two or three beers and some time at the gaming tables. And, of course, seeing Bianca wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. He knew it would displease his parents, but he was a man full grown with a right to do as he wanted. After all, he contributed to the household in every way they asked and then some. It was only right that he spend the rest of his money as he saw fit.

“It’s good to see you here again, my friend,” Leo said, slapping Marco on the back. “I was beginning to think you’d joined the Finnish Temperance Society.” He motioned to the back door. “Come on back with me. We’re going to have quite the time tonight.”

Marco nodded. “Bianca around?”

Leo shook his head. “She up and left me. Owes me fifty dollars, too.”

“Where did she go?”

Shrugging, Leo handed Marco a tall mug of beer. “Who can say? If I knew, I would have one of my men go bring her back. She met someone who apparently had enough money to get them both on the train out of town. Someone saw her at the station, and after that she was gone.”

The idea that she’d left without so much as a good-bye caused Marco a moment of anger. He’d known she was a working girl—a woman just looking for her next best customer—but it irritated him nevertheless. He had thought they were friends . . . at least friends enough that she could have sent a note to say she was leaving.

“Well, if I ever find her again, I’ll fix her good for leaving me without paying up,” Leo said matter-of-factly. He led the way to the back hall door. “But it’s not important tonight. That we have a lot of money changing hands is what’s important—so some of it might as well belong to you.”

Marco followed Leo to the gaming room. The Snake Room was full to capacity, and thick cigar and cigarette smoke made it hard to even see who else was there. Smoking was one vice Marco hadn’t picked up, and the stench burned his throat. He took a long gulp of the amber ale in his glass, hoping it might reduce the smoke’s effect.

“Come on over here,” Leo said. “I’m just now relieving Clark.” He leaned closer to Marco. “I’ll see that you win a few hands.”

Leo tapped the man called Clark on the shoulder. The man nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll be taking a break now, gentlemen. Good luck.”

The four other men looked up from the table to where Leo and Marco stood. Leo lost no time. “Well, let’s see if we can make those stacks of chips get even higher.” He motioned Marco to the table. “Find a chair and join us.”

It wasn’t easy, but Marco finally located a vacated seat and brought it to Leo’s table. Leo had already dealt a hand of poker to the men and was awaiting their decision on additional cards. Two of the men folded and opted for more liquor, while the other two were battling it out with Leo. Marco knew Leo would string them along until they ended up losing everything they’d come with, but it didn’t matter. It was a game, and no one was forcing them to play.

The night wore on and the men came and went. Marco was rather intrigued by one of the players who stayed on at Leo’s table, however. The man had introduced himself, but Marco couldn’t remember his name. Leo just called him the Finn, because the man was one of the many Finnish immigrants who’d settled into Ely.

The Finn seemed quite adept at playing cards and had won a good amount from Leo. It wasn’t until he stood to leave, however, that Leo suggested they raise the stakes and play for some real money.

The Finn seemed torn. He’d already explained that he was saving up money to send for family in the homeland. His forehead wrinkled as he weighed his options. “I should go,” he said, his accent thick. It was obvious that the temptation was great.

“Just a few hands and you might double your money,” Leo said with a smile. “Unless of course, you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of playing cards,” the man protested. “I know my way around a deck. You can see that.” He sat back down. “I play.”

Marco won several hands himself—enough anyway that he felt safe to participate in a few rounds of Leo’s high-stake madness. The man sitting to the Finn’s right, however, was losing fast, and when he put his revolver on the table as part of his final bid, Leo took a moment to examine it. “I suppose I can give you two dollars for it,” he told the man. “But nothing more. I’ve already got quite a collection of pistols.”

“Two? You gotta be joking. That’s a Smith & Wesson barely three weeks outta the store. I paid twelve for it.”

“Then you were taken advantage of,” Leo said, shrugging.

The man stared hard at Leo for several seconds, then heaved a heavy sigh. “All right, two.”

Marco looked at the man. He could see he was intoxicated. “You sure you want to do that, mister? You’ve had quite a bit to drink and tomorrow you may regret this.”

Leo frowned. “You’re putting a damper on business. Why not let the man decide for himself. Looks to me he’s looking for a good time.”

“Yeah, but you and I both know he’s had too much to drink.”

The Finn exchanged a look with Marco that suggested he was in agreement with him, but said nothing. Leo, however, didn’t care. “That’s his problem, not mine. I’m running a business.”

“Gimme the two dollars in chips,” the man demanded. He looked at Marco with a snarled expression. “You mind your own business.”

Marco decided it was best to let the man have his way. He wasn’t the type who would usually say anything about another man’s desire to play, but for some reason it really bothered him that Leo would take advantage of him in this manner. In another two rounds of cards, the man had lost everything. Marco fully expected him to start a fight, but instead he wobbled to his feet and gave Leo a salute.

“I’ll be back on payday,” he declared. “You keep my gun for me.”

Leo nodded and the man staggered off across the room. “You two still in?”

The Finn checked the time. “Maybe one more.”

Marco nodded and leaned back in his chair. He thought about ordering another beer, but decided against it. He already felt guilty for the three he’d had; no sense in making matters worse.

The Finn won the next hand, which only served to egg him on to play another and then another. Leo kept the man too busy with the cards to consider leaving, and nearly an hour later, they were still playing. Only now, the Finn was down considerably more than when he’d first planned to leave. Marco had won just enough to keep the game interesting, but now he was done. He was about to close out and head home when the Finn protested Leo’s dealing.

“I saw you deal off the bottom,” he accused. “I’m not going to stand for that.”

“You callin’ me a cheater?” Leo asked, his dark eyes narrowing. “I don’t take that from any man.”

“Then you ought not deal from the bottom.”

Leo’s arm shot out so quickly that his fist made contact with the Finn’s nose before Marco even knew what was happening. The Finn was sober enough to protest his treatment by fighting back. He jumped to his feet and threw a punch at Leo.

Dodging the attack, Leo picked up the Smith & Wesson he’d acquired earlier. Marco feared he’d shoot the Finn, but instead he used the piece to hit him in the head. The blow sent the Finn backward, and Leo jumped around the table and was on him in a flash. Marco watched in horror as Leo pummeled the man’s head several times with the butt of the pistol. When the Finn finally fell unconscious to the ground, Leo further stunned Marco by squatting down to go through his pockets.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked.

“He owes me for drinks.”

Marco shook his head as Leo cleaned the man out. He looked around at the others in the room, but no one seemed to even care. Leo rose and stared down at the man on the floor. “He’s probably dead.” He gave the man’s body a kick. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

Leo glanced around the room, then signaled one of his men. “Fred, get rid of this for me. Throw him on the tracks and leave him for the marshal or the train.”

“You can’t do that, Leo,” Marco protested. “The man might not even be dead.”

“If not, he soon will be. Nobody, and I mean nobody, calls me a cheat, Marco. You know that.” He fixed Marco with a threatening look. “And you know better than to say anything about this to anyone.”

Fred had already hoisted the Finn over his shoulder. Leo gathered the rest of the man’s chips from the table. Marco could hardly believe that Leo had sunk to such lows.

“I’m going home,” Marco said, feeling sick. He had to figure out what to do, and he couldn’t do it here.

“Good to have you back, Marco,” Leo said. He motioned to Marco’s winnings. “Don’t forget these.”

Marco looked at the chips. There were spatters of blood on them and the table. He felt his stomach turn. “Keep it,” he told Leo. “I don’t want it.”

He left the Fortune Hole, barely taking the time to pull on his coat. Marco couldn’t stop thinking of the Finnish man. Was he dead? Had Leo killed another man?

Guilt ate at Marco as he thought of Lamb. How many others had been killed? Leo didn’t seem to mind having blood on his hands, and no one else seemed inclined to care. Sure, it was reported in the paper and talked about around town, but no one made too much fuss about it.

He pulled up the collar on his coat and trudged through the snow toward home. He wanted desperately to forget about everything he’d seen and heard, but the sight of the Finn on Leo’s floor was more than he could ignore.

At home Marco found his father sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee. Marco slumped into the chair opposite his father and put his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong with you, son? You drink too much? I’ve got some coffee on the stove.”

Marco shook his head, surprised at just how sober he was. “I’m not drunk.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He met his father’s gaze. “I . . . well . . .” He knew Leo had demanded his silence, but Marco found he couldn’t live with his conscience and remain quiet. “I saw a man get beat up and left for dead,” he finally said. He explained in brief, and by the time he got to the place where Fred was to dispose of the body on the tracks, his father was up and putting on his coat.

“We have to go find out if the man is dead,” his father declared. “If he is, he doesn’t deserve to be left on the tracks, and if he’s alive, he’ll freeze to death. We need to get him to the doctor.”

Marco nodded. “I don’t know exactly where they would have dumped him.”

“It’s no matter. We’ll wake up Alfredo and take the lanterns. If he’s on the tracks, one of us is bound to find him.”