Chapter 15

“I feel confident that you can safely return home,” Dr. Shipman told Mrs. Barbato. “I think the excellent care you’ve received these last few weeks saved your life. Perhaps that will give your son-in-law cause to forego the ill will between your families.” He put his stethoscope away and closed his medical bag.

Mrs. Barbato looked at Chantel, then spoke in her broken English. “I prayed to God . . . He would . . . make soft Vittorio’s heart. He no come here to see me, but did talk to me . . . ah . . . he talk with the boys.” She smiled. “I sorry, my English is no good.”

“I understand perfectly, Mrs. Barbato.” Dr. Shipman patted the old woman’s shoulder. “Now, I want you to take it easy. I don’t want you walking home in the cold. If need be, I’ll drive you in my carriage.”

Nonna seemed confused by the rapid-fire English, so Chantel quickly interpreted. She gave a nod and a smile. “Thank you, Doctor. I will be . . . good.”

Chantel assured the doctor that they would see to Mrs. Barbato’s safe delivery. “My mama has already arranged to borrow a cart,” she assured him. “We’ll wrap her up and keep her warm for the journey home.”

“Good. I’ll trust you to see to it,” the doctor replied. “In the meanwhile, please let your brother and father know that Mr. Gadd would like to see them.”

“Mr. Gadd? Is he the man they brought in—the one who was beaten up?”

The doctor nodded. “He would have died if your menfolk hadn’t found him. Mr. Gadd would like to express his thanks.” “When they return from work,” Chantel told him, “I’ll see to it that they get the message.”

Just then Mama appeared in the open doorway. “Dr. Shipman, can I offer you some coffee and pastry?”

The man smiled. “No. I’m afraid I must get back to the hospital. But thank you all the same.”

“Then let me get your coat,” Mama declared. She escorted the doctor out of the room while Chantel went to help Nonna Barbato with her heavy wool shawl.

“I’ll bet you’ll be glad to have your bed back,” Nonna said, moving to the small rocker Chantel had brought for her comfort.

“I have slept perfectly well. I’m just delighted that you have made a full recovery. I know your grandsons were quite worried . . . as were we.”

“God isn’t finished with me yet,” the older woman replied. “He wants me to help make peace between our families, I think. I must have a long talk with Vittorio. It’s time he better understood the truth about the past.”

“Do you think it will make a difference?”

The older woman shrugged. “Who can say? I pray that it might be so. You should pray, too. With the way you girls feel about my boys, you would benefit from the peace, no?”

Chantel was momentarily flustered. “I . . . ah . . . well . . . it would make it easier for Orlando and Isabella, if that’s what you mean.”

Nonna laughed and shook her finger at Chantel. “You cannot fool me. I know you like my Dante. He likes you, too, I think.”

Momentarily speechless, Chantel felt herself go hot from the tip of her head to the bottom of her feet. Good grief, have I been that obvious?

“You two are good together. You don’t allow my Dante to push you around. You are strong . . . like him. You would make him a good wife.”

“Oh, Nonna Barbato, I think you have the wrong idea,” Chantel said, going to the bed. She began to smooth out the bedding and plump the pillows. “Isabella is the one with marriage on her mind.”

“Sí, I know this. But I think you could love, as well.”

Chantel didn’t know what to say. It was true that Dante stirred up feelings in her that she didn’t really understand. However, the man could make her mad just as easily as he could make her weak-kneed.

“I think you must be mistaken, Nonna Barbato.”

Nonna’s expression, however, suggested she felt differently.

Dante glanced out the door of their small house and saw the reason for the knock on their door. Nonna had been brought home by the Panettas. Mr. Panetta and Marco pulled a small two-wheeled cart in which Nonna rode. She was bundled under many layers of blankets and waved at him from where she sat.

Looking over his shoulder with uncertainty, Dante stepped out to greet them. “You should have let us know she was ready to return home. Orlando and I could have come for her.”

As if on cue, Orlando appeared at the door to join his brother. “Nonna! You’ve finally come home.” He disappeared just as quickly.

“If you’ll give us just a minute,” Dante interjected. “We need to get our boots on. Then we can bring her into the house.”

“We can wait,” Mr. Panetta said, nodding. “We have to keep the cart balanced anyway.”

Dante headed to the back of the house for his boots and found Orlando had already grabbed them. “Here.” He handed the boots to Dante, then pulled on his own. Without bothering to tie them, he bounded out the door.

Dante, too, slipped his boots on and didn’t worry with the laces. He followed Orlando outside and found him already at the cart. “Nonna, are you really in there under all these covers?” Orlando asked.

She chuckled. “I am, but I cannot move. Mrs. Panetta didn’t want me to take a chill, so she made certain I would stay nice and toasty.”

Mr. Panetta spoke up. “You might want to lift her out while we continue to hold up the cart. Once we let go, the cart will tilt backwards and your nonna will spill out the back.”

Dante and Orlando quickly went to work removing some of the blankets. Dante lifted the old woman in his arms. She couldn’t have weighed even one hundred pounds. He carried her easily into the house, but not before overhearing Marco tell Orlando that his sister would like to see him.

He delivered Nonna to the front room, where a fire was already burning in the little cast-iron stove. “You sit right here while I take back the rest of these blankets,” he instructed. “I’ll fetch you a quilt in just a minute. Oh, and I’ll clean up the melted snow, too. Sorry about the boots.”

“Don’t worry about a quilt,” Nonna said. “The fire will keep me warm enough.” She smiled and looked around the room. “It’s so good to be home.”

Dante headed out to the cart with the blankets in arms. He hoped he could get the Panettas to leave before his father realized who had come calling.

“Thanks again for bringing her home. It hasn’t seemed right without her here.”

Mr. Panetta nodded. “Is your father home?”

Dante glanced over his shoulder. “He is, but . . . well . . . I don’t think it would be such a good idea to confront him just now.”

Panetta shook his head. “I wasn’t of a mind to confront him. I just wanted to make sure he knew how much we enjoyed caring for Mrs. Barbato.”

Orlando had taken up his grandmother’s suitcase, the one he and Dante had delivered right after her collapse at the church. “We enjoyed a reason to get out of the house and come visiting,” Orlando declared. “I don’t know about Dante, but I’m gonna miss all the nice treats and great coffee.” He motioned toward the house. “Nonna makes wonderful food, but her coffee is nowhere near as good as Mrs. Panetta’s.”

Mr. Panetta laughed. “I’ll tell my wife you said as much.”

Dante grimaced. His father would be outraged if he found Panettas on his property. “We don’t want to keep you out here in the cold,” he said. He motioned to the house with his head. “Come on, Orlando, we need to see to Nonna.”

Dante thought to thank Mr. Panetta again, but when he turned to meet the man’s gaze, he could tell they’d run out of time. Looking back over his shoulder, Dante found his father standing at the door.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” he asked, stepping out without his boots.

“Evening, Vittorio,” Mr. Panetta said, giving the bill of his cap a slight lift. “Dr. Shipman has allowed your mother-in-law to return home. We were just delivering her.”

Dante’s father narrowed his eyes. “Get off my property.”

Panetta frowned. “I kind of thought, given the fact that we took care of your mother-in-law, you would find it in your heart to see our goodwill. We mean to put the past aside and be your friend.”

Vittorio Calarco spit on the ground. “That is what I think of friendship with a Panetta. Now go, or I’ll get the marshal.”

It was an empty threat. All of the men knew there was little the marshal could do in this matter. Dante feared, however, if he didn’t get his father back inside, he might well start something more than an exchange of words.

“Nonna’s in the front room. I’m sure she wants to see you,” Dante told his father. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”

His father looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I know my way.” The older man turned and stormed into the house. Dante followed after him with Orlando bringing up the rear. He knew there would be a price to pay for his father’s anger. No doubt the man would rant and rave about the injustice of it all—of the disrespect they’d shown their ancestors and how disappointing they were to the Calarco name for having allowed an enemy to care for one of their own family members.

To Dante’s surprise, however, his father went into the kitchen without a word. Orlando delivered his grandmother’s suitcase to her bedroom, then rejoined Dante in the front room.

He knelt down to tie his boots. “Sorry about the boots, Nonna. I’m going to . . . town.”

“Do you think that wise?” Dante asked. “Nonna just returned and Papa . . . we . . .”

“Bah, you needn’t worry about me,” Nonna said. “Let the boy go.”

“Go where?” their father asked.

Dante looked to Orlando and shrugged. He wasn’t about to get in the middle of this battle.

Orlando didn’t seem to care. He stood and met his father’s fixed gaze. “I’m going to town.”

“To do what? You just got home, and now your nonna has returned. You should stay here.”

“I have something I want to do,” Orlando insisted. He headed for the door.

“You’re going to go see that Panetta girl, aren’t you?” his father countered.

The ire in his tone caused Orlando to stop and turn. “I am.”

“I forbid it!” His father crossed the room in two long strides. He took hold of Orlando’s shoulders. “Do you hear me? I forbid it.”

“Vittorio,” Nonna Barbato interrupted. “You should not be so angry. The Panettas took good care of me. They treated me as one of their own family. They blessed you by blessing me. They even offered up prayers for your safety and that of your sons. You should be ashamed that you refuse their friendship.”

Dante’s father let go of his son and looked hard at his mother-in-law. “You can go and live with them for all I care. If you want to betray this family in such a manner, then I say good riddance.”

“Papa!” Dante let the word slip without thinking. He’d never heard his father be so disrespectful toward an elder. To cover his own embarrassment at rebuking his father, Dante quickly added, “Nonna is still quite weak, I’m sure. We should probably see to getting her to bed rather than stand here arguing.”

“Your nonna is strong enough to chastise me,” his father replied. He narrowed his eyes. “None of you seem to understand.”

“It’s you who do not understand, Vittorio.” Nonna’s gentle tone did nothing to soothe her son-in-law’s anger. “God does not wish for this ugliness to continue.”

“I am the head of this household. I am the papa,” he declared, slapping the flats of his hands against his chest. “I am the man. You do not show me respect. You do not show me love.”

Dante could see Orlando was torn over what he should do. To his surprise, however, Orlando began to unbutton his coat. “Papa, if the only way I can prove my love and respect is to stay here and discuss this matter with you, then I am willing.”

Their father shook his head. “You will stay this time, but not another. You will go and see that woman. You do not care about this family, and I am ashamed to call you son.”

Orlando stopped undoing the buttons and met his father’s enraged expression. “I am ashamed, as well. Ashamed that we should be such a people. People who hold on to grudges and hatred. Jesus forgave our sins on the cross, but you cannot forgive the sins of a family who were once called friends by our ancestors. Father Buh taught last week that if you will not forgive man their sins, the heavenly Father will not forgive you yours. Is that what you want?”

Dante knew his father would never stand for being spoken to in such a manner. In a flash, the older man had doubled his fist and punched Orlando square in the jaw. To Dante’s surprise, his brother barely flinched. He stood silently, just staring at their father.

“You must not fight,” Nonna said. “This is not what God would have you do.”

“God is not the one in charge here,” Vittorio countered.

“That much is certain,” Nonna replied, looking at him and nodding. “You took God from His rightful place and replaced Him with yourself.”

Vittorio Calarco said nothing in response. Dante could not understand his father’s impassioned bitterness. All of his life, Dante had heard the stories of deceitful Panettas—of their wrongdoings and harm. But he’d only witnessed examples of their kindness and love. Now his father had shown yet another side of this longstanding feud. It was an ugly, hopeless side that left no room for God or mercy.

“You will make a choice,” their father finally said, turning back to Orlando. “Choose this family or theirs, but you cannot have both. In two weeks’ time, I am sending you to Italy. I planned it many weeks ago now.”

“I won’t go,” Orlando said, narrowing his eyes. “I won’t.”

Dante could see the swelling already starting to discolor his brother’s jawline, but if Orlando was in pain, he didn’t show it. He had to admire his brother’s willingness to stand up for what he believed.

“If you do not go as I have told you,” their father said, “I will never see you again. I will no longer call you son. I will put you from this family and you will be my enemy.” He turned to Dante and shook his fist. “And you . . . you keep him away from that Panetta woman or you’ll answer to me!”