Angela and Felicia were preparing lunch on a cold, sunny Sunday. The menu consisted of antipasto, gnocchi, pan-fried fish, and roasted vegetables. Angela did not invite the number of guests she would have invited when Franco was alive. This was her party, and she invited those who were closest to her—not people who were part of a certain segment of the Italian-American community. Marie, Andrea, and Frank, friends Sadie Malaci, and Lizzy Liamonte, would be there. In addition to the regular guests was guest of honor Captain Arthur Bonifice, veteran and colleague of Nunzio’s at Camp Smith who had remained in the reserves. His connections were rumored to extend to the top echelons of the military.
Sadie and Lizzie were good for a laugh, and the captain would see how Nunzio’s children had grown with ambitions to contribute to the world. The perfect storm for success in Angela’s mind.
Felicia and her three children settled in at the table as Angela situated herself at the table’s end.
“Captain Bonifice, sit next to me,” said Angela. “Our other guests will be here shortly.” She wanted to make sure that she could have an intimate conversation with the captain. Felicia sat on the other side of him.
“I’m between two lovely ladies,” said the captain.
“We thought we would catch up,” said Felicia.
“Yes,” said Angela, “it has been too long.”
“The children have grown,” said the captain. “How are you doing, Frank? You are in college?”
“Yeah, NYU. Electrical engineering program. I’m living at home until I graduate.”
“Have you thought about joining up once you graduate? I can get you what you want.”
The captain had had a distinguished military career. He had been awarded the Legion of Merit, Soldier’s Medal, and the Purple Heart. On this occasion, the captain was in plain clothes.
“Where is Robert?” asked the captain.
“He’s probably in Canada,” said Andrea.
“This is a lot of food,” said Marie. “Are you planning to put us in a coma?”
Felicia shot her a look that could split ice.
“Many so-called “conscientious objectors” run to Canada instead of facing up to their responsibilities,” said the captain.
“I don’t see why young men should take on the responsibility of the government and their greed,” Angela said. “Maybe Robert is visiting friends in Canada.”
“I imagine he’s been drafted,” the captain said.
The front door opened and shut. A mumbled conversation could be heard coming from the foyer.
“Hi, everybody, sorry we’re late. It was Lizzy’s fault,” said Sadie.
“What are you saying, it’s my fault,” said Lizzy. “You were late picking me up.”
“Sit down, sit down,” said Angela. “Lizzy, Sadie this is Captain Bonifice, a good friend of Nunzio’s. They worked at Camp Smith together.”
Angela and Felicia went into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re a captain,” said Sadie. “You’re not in your uniform today. Men always look so nice in a uniform.”
“I’m in the reserves.”
“The captain has a lot of medals,” said Marie.
“Frank, how are you doing in college?” asked Sadie.
“Well, I’m already looking at companies that would hire me once I graduate.”
“That is nice,” said Lizzie. “Good to look ahead.”
Sadie sat next to the captain.
“I believe Felicia is sitting here,” the captain said.
“Oh, what a shame,” said Sadie. “I thought we could get better acquainted.”
Captain Bonifice laughed but seemed unsure about Sadie’s subtle intent.
“Here we are,” said Angela as she entered the room. Felicia and Angela placed bowls and plates of pasta and chicken parmagiana.
“Pass the platters,” said Felicia.
Angela and Felicia were going to wait until after lunch to talk to the captain, but it seemed he suspected that something was amiss with Andrea’s remark about Canada.
“I think we should all eat,” said Lizzy. “As you can tell by my size, I love to eat.”
“You can say that again,” said Sadie, draining her wine glass. “See, kids, this is what happens when you’re Italian and eat too much pasta.”
Everyone laughed. This was exactly why Angela had invited Sadie and Lizzy. They could be counted on to derail a conversation that was going in an undesirable direction. Angela knew the cat was out of the bag, and now she would have to delicately navigate the captain into a conversation that would benefit Robert.
“I hope you like chicken parmigiana, Captain,” Felicia said. “I remembered you enjoyed it.”
“Yes,” said the captain, “I think you served it the last time I was here.”
“That’s right,” said Angela. “We always enjoyed your company. We have paid attention to the progression of your career.”
“I’m flattered,” the captain said.
After everyone ate, Angela decided that she needed to clear the dining room.
“Kids, I have cannoli in the kitchen,” said Angela. “Why don’t you grab one before you leave?”
“Sounds good,” said Andrea and left the dining room.
“We’re leaving?” asked Marie.
Frank and Marie sat and waited.
“Are you done?” asked Felicia.
“Aren’t you bringing them out?” Marie asked.
Angela tilted her head toward the kitchen. Frank and Marie looked at each other and Marie sighed. They got up and went into the kitchen.
“When you leave, go out the back door,” called Felicia.
“Oh sure, we have to leave by the service entrance,” shouted Marie.
Felicia gave the captain a slight smile while restraining herself from getting up and chastising Marie for her backtalk.
“Kids,” said Felicia, “they always have something to say.”
“Lizzy and I are on diets, so we need to leave. It’s just too tempting,” said Sadie as she winked at Angela.
“We are?” asked Lizzy.
“Yes, remember I told you that we weren’t having dessert today. Thank you, Angela and Felicia. Captain, it was nice to meet you.”
She assisted Lizzy on with her coat and escorted her out the front door.
“We were thinking, Arthur,” said Angela, using his first name, “you might be able to help us bring Robert home.”
“I cannot get involved with a draft dodger,” said Arthur, having surmised the truth. “It would stain my reputation.”
Angela paused and decided to push the conversation further before she presented him with her information about the funds he’d received for “helping” other parents keep their sons safe.
“I’m sure Nunzio would want you to help Robert, since you both fought in WWII and he worked with you at Camp Smith,” said Felicia.
“That may be so, but I hesitate to do that since so many young men are fighting and dying in Vietnam. I can’t give someone special treatment.”
Angela thought quickly about how to proceed.
“You know, Arthur, I have many wealthy dressmaking clients, and several had young sons of draft age. Felicia informed me that their sons somehow obtained deferments. They said that there was a captain in the reserves at Camp Smith who helped them. Maybe there is a captain that you know of that assisted these men?”
Angela and Felicia had worked together to find information about Captain Bonifice. They were of like mind. They respected the military, but when it came to family, military rules did not apply.
“I…I’m sure their deferments were warranted,” said Arthur, his face turning red. He had no idea how these two women could have knowledge of his dealings at Camp Smith.
“Do you know who that might be?” asked Felicia. “I could contact him.”
The captain adjusted himself in his seat, tilted his head and looked off in the distance. Angela knew Arthur would now cooperate.
“Is that seat uncomfortable?” asked Angela. “I can get you a pillow.”
“There is no need to call,” said Captain Bonifice. “I can take care of this.”
“That would be wonderful, Arthur,” said Angela.
“Yes, it would be,” said Felicia.
“I will bring out the dessert,” said Angela. “Something sweet always makes the day better—easier to swallow the difficulties in life.”
“You know, I am so full I don’t think I could eat another bite,” said Arthur.
“What a shame,” said Angela.
“Thank you, but I need to be going,” said Arthur. He stood up and asked for his jacket.
“Thank you for helping Robert,” said Angela.
“I will put that deferment in tomorrow. It may take a month.”
Both women walked the captain to the front door.
“Remember to come by anytime,” said Angela.
Angela closed the door behind him.
“Well Felicia, that will be the last time we’ll see him until he’s laid out in a casket.”
The front door burst open.
“I see that Captain Bonifice left,” said Marie. “He hurried to his car and mumbled goodbye. Did you ladies scare him? What did you say?”
“Nothing,” said Angela. “Everything will be all right now.”
Angela had encountered many barriers to her goals in the past, some of which she could not surmount. When Speranza’s daughter, Alicia, wanted to marry an abusive man, Angela was against the match and tried to steer her toward someone more appropriate. When she failed to prevent the marriage, she helped her niece as much as she could, but she felt thwarted at every turn. Though Alicia did leave her husband, she would eventually return to the abusive relationship.
Nunzio’s children had more direction in life. Not that there would no longer be obstacles, but it was possible to dissolve them. Captain Bonifice was a powerful man with even more powerful contacts, but with a little information applied strategically, any resistance melted.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next morning, Sadie Malaci climbed the porch stairs.
“Hi, Sadie,” said Felicia. “Angela is in the house.”
“Good to see you, Sadie,” said Marie.
“Good to see you too, kid.”
“Oh, I forgot you were coming,” said Angela as she opened the front door.
“I didn’t think I was that forgettable,” said Sadie.
“I see Felicia and Marie are going on an outing,” said Sadie. “Are they getting along any better? I hope none of them have sharp objects with them.”
“Felicia is going to work, and Marie is pretending to go to school. Come in the kitchen.”
“How is Marie doing?” asked Sadie.
“She is doing well,” said Angela. “All of Nunzio’s children are doing well.”
“Did Captain Bonifice react to your request? Did you have to pull out the big guns?”
“I just reminded him about a captain that was paid off by rich families so their sons did not have to go to war. I asked him to help Robert, but he said he was not comfortable doing that for a draft dodger—so I simply said some of my clients had used a captain’s services to release their sons from the draft and that I would ask them the captain’s name. He became accommodating after that.” She put the espresso pot on the stove.
“You’re a smooth operator, Angela. A woman after my own heart.”
“Captain Bonifice was good friends with Nunzio,” said Angela. “I just reminded him of that friendship.” They both laughed.
“I’m sure you reminded him,” said Sadie. “Brava.”
To Angela, that was the difference between mainstream America and European immigrant communities: immigrants were not naive about how things worked for people in power, and they knew how to turn things around to benefit those with less power. Angela thought of her dealings with Captain Bonifice like a recipe: she reminded the captain of his friendship with her nephew, and if that did not work then she would have had to add more pepper or oregano to obtain the desired result. You just lay on more information, highly effective in its simplicity.
“If I ever need to get out of anything, I’ll remember to call on you. You don’t fear powerful people. Do you have any whiskey to put in this coffee?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marie lay on her side, hand supporting her head, on her mother’s bed as Felicia got ready to go out.
“What do you want to do after high school?” asked Felicia. Felicia put on her black pumps and dress.
“I’m going to college,” said Marie. “What else would I do?”
“You could get a job. What will be your major?” asked Felicia.
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. I have time.”
“You need to major in something practical,” said Felicia.
Nunzio’s death had taught Felicia to be prepared for any unexpected occurrence, so a marketable skill was essential.
“I certainly will,” said Marie. “I just have to figure out which major will afford me the best results.”
Marie was as adept as her mother and aunt at navigating challenging situations and turning them in her favor.
“That’s more like it,” said Felicia. “I like to see a return on my investment.”
Marie smiled reassuringly at her mother. She never told Felicia about her experience with the mirror because her mother would scold her for being too flighty—or worse, committing blasphemy. Felicia attended Catholic mass every Sunday, and every Sunday she financially contributed to the church.
“Do you get a return on investment when you give money to the church? They did not even help you when dad died.”
“What do you mean? I give to the church for upkeep.”
“They said they would help you find a job after Dad died, and the best they came up with was a cleaning lady job. They did not consider that you had an education, which tells me they don’t know who you are.”
“You need to watch your mouth. It is none of your business who I give money to and for what reason.”
Marie knew that her mother did not take the cleaning job offered because she was confident enough to know she could do better. Marie sensed Felicia hid her true feelings about the church, but appearance was everything.
The energy surrounding Marie’s relationship with her mother was bumpy, while her relationship with Angela flowed. They understood one another, and it was Angela’s storytelling that would influence Marie’s academic and life choices.
“Where are you going?” asked Marie.
“One of the girls in the office is having a get-together.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Marie. “Have a good time.” Marie knew that her mother would be in an elevated mood for a few days after she had socialized.
Felicia turned toward a mirror and put on her pearl earrings.
“Mom, do you ever go on dates?” asked Marie.
Felicia met Marie’s eyes in the mirror.
“Is that any of your business?” asked Felicia.
“Well…I guess not,” said Marie, thinking it better to keep her in a good mood.
“That’s better,” said Felicia as she adjusted her dress.
Felicia sprayed her perfume in the air and walked into the aroma. The scent hung in the air. Marie breathed it in. It was the same with her Uncle Joe’s cologne. Every time he visited the house on Morning Glory Avenue, the scent lingered for a day or so.
“Don’t forget to do your homework,” called Felicia.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the spring of 1969, like a miracle, Robert quietly came home with a deferment, and everything had quieted down except that he was adrift in a sea of confusion. Angela came upstairs with folded laundry over her arm and saw that Robert was rolling tobacco. She interpreted that to mean he had no money for cigarettes.
“Marie, go to the store and buy your brother cigarettes,” said Angela. “He’s rolling his own. Here’s the money.”
“Aunt Angela, he’s not rolling tobacco; he’s rolling weed. You don’t have to buy him cigarettes.”
“Go get him cigarettes so he’ll have them. He has no money.”
“He’s selling weed. He has money,” said Marie.
Regardless of whether Angela knew what Robert was selling, her intent was from her heart—to make life easier for Robert.
“Okay, I’ll go. What brand do you want, Robert?” asked Marie.
“Get me some Marlboros, I guess,” said Robert. He drew in on his joint and his eyes relaxed, his dark curly hair framed his face.
“You’re a jerk,” said Marie. She smoked marijuana occasionally but did not find it particularly enlightening or satisfying. With her developed intuition and discernment, getting high did not serve a purpose, although it did make everything more amusing. She left on her mission to buy cigarettes.
“Robert, you have to get a job doing something,” said Angela.
“I’m doing okay selling tobacco,” said Robert.
In fact, Robert had started selling marijuana in high school and had expanded his reach to New York City. He had even expanded his business to Canada during his time there, and he’d brought business associates on board. Felicia and Nunzio’s children were nothing if not resourceful, regardless of their situation. Success was built into their future.
“My model is based on your service business, Aunt Angela,” said Robert. “Thank you. I owe it all to you.” He took a drag and settled back in his chair. “I like to test each shipment.”
“Well, as long as you are not smoking all the profits,” said Angela.
“No, I have pretty good profits.”
After breathing in the smoke, Angela felt a bit ungrounded. She left the laundry on top of Felicia’s bed and went downstairs. Angela made sure she helped Felicia with household chores so that when she came home from work there was nothing she had to do. Sometimes she made dinner for the entire family when her own client schedule allowed.
Angela sat at her sewing machine and threaded the needle. She pulled the thread through and began to hem a dress she had created. She glanced at the full-length mirror and thought about the stories and conversations trapped inside—remembrances preserved for someone to tap into and learn about the people who lived these memories. Maybe the image of herself standing in front of the full-length mirror at the convent in her wedding dress still existed inside the glass. Not everyone could tap into the mirror’s world; the seer needed to be fearless and open to unseen energies.
She shook herself out of her daydreaming and concentrated on the sewing. Pulling the garment through the sewing machine, she finished the hem. Years ago, it would have taken her over an hour to hem a dress by hand. She hung the garment on the edge of the mirror and caught her reflection in the glass.
“Hi, Aunt Angela,” said Marie, returning with Robert’s Marlboros. “Whose dress is that?”
“A new customer,” said Angela. “What are you doing today?”
“Since it’s Saturday, I thought I would go riding,” said Marie.
“Remember your posture when you are riding,” said Angela. “This way the horse will pay attention.”
“It’s a dude ranch, Aunt Angela. Nobody pays attention to posture; they just sit in the saddle.”
“I am saying that posture is important. People and animals trust you more. Never cower.”
Angela took any opportunity she could to teach and improve the lives of everyone around her. She sensed that Marie would lead a more unusual life than her contemporaries for which she needed to develop a strong spine. Whenever a memory was triggered, Angela would share the lesson, even if that person did not listen.
“Where do you get these ideas?” asked Marie.
“Things I have learned over the years. It is best to say them out loud.”
Angela had spent the first years in America keeping her opinions to herself, which in retrospect, she felt had been a mistake. She remembered when she and Franco bought the house on Morning Glory Avenue and they hosted their first dinner party. The guests were Italian immigrants who had worked diligently, endured many hardships in America, and built successful businesses. The ideas expressed at the dinner were politically conservative in nature. All the opinions were communicated by the men, while the women nodded.
Angela had remained silent for fear of angering her guests and Franco. She and Franco had not been married long, and she was unsure of her position.
“Woodrow Wilson has hit us with too many taxes,” said Gianni Galluci, the tailor.
“He sure has,” said Franco.
“I have built my business from the bottom up,” said Paolo Mancuso. “I am not giving my money to the government. We need a Republican in the presidency. Someone who understands business.”
At that time, Angela had started to do sewing work for St. Mary’s Episcopal School and was introducing herself to the community. The nuns paid her in cash, so there was no need to pay taxes. In fact, as she developed her clientele, they too paid her in cash. She did not see herself as a businesswoman, but as she built her customer base, she remained an undeclared business. She made her living through her creativity, and she could not imagine herself having a nine-to-five job.
“I agree,” said Franco. “People need to find jobs and take care of themselves. The government cannot do everything.”
Angela believed there could be a safety net for the unfortunate. She had been given a second chance through the generosity of The Sisters of Charity after the earthquake. Had she not had that safety net, she would have ended up begging on the street, or worse. The truth was that Angela and Franco ultimately helped many immigrants who arrived in America, regardless of political orientation or social situation. They were the most generous among the Italian community in Nelsonville.
Angela currently extended that generosity through sharing life lessons to those who would or would not listen. She simply shared her experience, seen or unseen.
“I wondered if you would come to St. Mary’s School with me before you ride,” said Angela.
“Don’t tell me Uncle Franco built a building for the Episcopal nuns,” joked Marie.
“No, I have some work to do there, and I think the Mother Superior would like to see you. Remember I used to bring you there when you were a little girl?”
“Yes, I remember. I loved going there.”
“I know you did. Now you may have a new perception,” Angela said. “We can leave now. It will not take long.”
“I suppose. I’m not meeting anyone; I just thought I would take a leisurely ride on the trails.”
They walked the hill up to St. Mary’s, pausing occasionally to talk about the different houses they passed.
“When I came here, these houses were rented by Italians,” said Angela. “Franco owned two of them and rented to new immigrants. They paid reduced rent for managing the houses, making sure the landscape was kept up and all appliances worked. It helped people get started in this country and brought us extra income.”
“I guess that was smart,” Marie said. “How did you get connected to an Episcopal school and convent?”
“Your uncle was doing jobs for the nuns when I came to this country, and they hired me, too.”
They made their way onto St. Mary’s School property. Marie remembered a small pond on the property where she had spent time sitting and taking in the foliage and wildlife, especially the tadpoles.
“I want to go by the pond,” said Marie.
“All right,” said Angela. “Meet me inside near the sewing room. You know where it is.”
Marie thought she must have been nine or ten years old when she last sat beside the pond and focused on her reflection in the water. Her image reflected a delicate creature with an ethereal presence, and it felt incongruous to her surroundings in Nelsonville. Angela always stressed that she should be herself, but with Marie’s sensibility that would be more challenging than Angela would have thought.
On this day, Marie sat and waited for the same feeling to overtake her, but it was not happening. Whatever happened to the magic? she wondered. I’m in the same place; why is it different? She leaned over and gazed at her reflection in the pond and saw that her face was clearly defined, even though the water was murky. She smiled into the water and waited. It was a bit like the mirror experience, as her vision started to morph and shift. Light figures came forward, and dark figures receded into the depths of the pond. The water was tranquil and still as glass, with the reflection of the trees, sky and birds like animated landscape painting. As the frogs croaked, Marie stared into the pond’s murky deepness beyond the reflected scene. The sound of a bullfrog came from across the pond, and Marie looked up. A family of frogs sat on a rock and observed her.
“What are you looking at?” asked Marie. “There’s not much privacy here anymore.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Marie turned around and saw a nun standing near a tree.
“Your aunt is waiting for you,” said the nun. “Mother Superior would like to see you.”
Marie walked toward the school and glanced back at the pond, feeling a lingering bit of peace.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Mother Superior and her aunt stood under a painting of the Blessed Virgin, dressed in a blue cape that swirled around her while her hands were in prayer position. She was looking down at her feet, where she stood on a serpent. The energy around the figure was dynamic, while Mary’s face was serene and confident.
Marie recalled seeing this painting when she visited the school as a child with her aunt. It had felt like the image jumped off the canvas, communicating a message, soft but forceful. Seeing it again made her feel calm and relevant. Angela proudly reintroduced Marie to the Mother Superior.
“Sister Anna Claire, you remember my niece, Marie,” said Angela. “She enjoyed it here as a child, and I wanted to show her St. Mary’s School today.”
Marie felt she was having a perfect day and one that she would draw on for much of her life.
“My, you have grown,” said the Mother Superior. “I remember you as a little girl.”
“Yes, Mother, and I remember you,” said Marie.
“Angela, you must be very proud,” said the nun.
Sister Anna Claire was the youngest Mother Superior in the history of St. Mary’s School. She was known to be progressive in her ideas and appreciated art and music. The members of her order admired her determination to bring her school into the twentieth century and remain current and relevant. Marie’s experience of nuns in the local Catholic school had been radically different. The nuns’ ideology was conservative and remained rooted in nineteenth century thought, with little critical thinking. Her Uncle Joe had gone to the same school and experienced the same limitations and closed-mindedness. Marie had felt that the entire focus of her Catholic education was to control people’s behavior and prevent them from being who they were. She did not get that feeling from St. Mary’s School.
“I am so proud. She is planning an early acceptance to City College in New York.”
“I think the city will suit you, Marie,” said the nun. “You seem to be adventurous.”
“Oh, I am. I want to travel someday and see Europe,” said Marie. This is my kind of nun, she thought.
“What is your major?” asked the Mother Superior.
“I’m not sure yet,” said Marie. “I’m hoping I can make a decision by the time I graduate in a few years.”
Everyone expected her to know what she wanted to do, but the truth was that she would have to take classes and see which ones most interested her.
“I have heard that Nelsonville High School is not a good place for thinking people and young people who are adventurous,” said the nun.
“It’s not a place that I like. I just want to get my diploma and go off to college.”
“And when you do, never look back,” said the nun.
“Mother, show me what you need done,” said Angela.
“First, let me show you something. Right this way.”
The Mother Superior reached into her habit and took out a chain of keys and unlocked a room off her office.
“Come in,” said the nun.
Angela and Marie inched their way into the nun’s private space.
“Mother, how beautiful,” said Angela.
The room was painted bright white and with an altar against the wall and a church kneeler in front for contemplation and prayer. Tall taper candles sat on pillars surrounding the statue of the Blessed Mother in her usual blue garb. Two gargoyles sat on each side of the altar. One was the image of a dragon crouching and gazing beyond the altar, as if looking out for enemies in the distance. The other was a monkey-like image with wings, resting his head in his hand as if contemplating the landscape before him.
“That is an unusual altar to our Blessed Mother,” said Angela.
“Are you referring to my gargoyles?” asked the Mother Superior, smiling.
“Yes, I have never seen anything like them on a holy altar,” said Angela. “Why are they on the altar, Mother, and what are they?” Angela remembered seeing similar creatures adorning the exterior of churches in Europe but did not know why they were there. To her they were grotesque.
“These gargoyles are modeled after the gargoyles on Notre Dame in Paris,” said the nun. “They are on my altar to scare off evil and to guide and protect all who kneel at this altar. They are here to protect all that is feminine.”
“They’re amazing,” said Marie. “I would like to see Notre Dame someday.”
“I am sure you will,” said the nun, smiling at Marie.
“They are so frightening,” said Angela. “They are ugly things.”
“During the Middle Ages, they were meant to inspire fear and express the horror of Hell to the masses and encourage people to come inside the church where salvation awaited them.”
“And they had a practical purpose as well. They were spouts for draining rainwater, and some say they act as guides and one can consult with them about everyday life struggles.”
“So, they had many meanings,” said Marie.
“We should get some for your altar, Aunt Angela,” said Marie.
“Angela, you have an altar?” asked the nun.
“Yes, like yours, it is an altar honoring the Blessed Mother. I have it because the Blessed Mother saved my life many years ago. But I do not have gargoyles.”
“Well, the Blessed Mother does perform miracles,” said the Mother Superior. “If you need protection, gargoyles are excellent to have. I have a sense that your altar is well protected and not in need of gargoyles.”
Angela tried to resonate with the essence of the gargoyles, but she still found them to be too eerie to be on such a delicate altar. Throughout the years, she had consulted with her unseen friends for guidance about her life, so it was not different from what the Mother Superior was experiencing with the gargoyles; it was a matter of connection to the divine.
“We thank you for sharing your altar,” said Angela. “I have mine in my bedroom, out of public view. I see that you are doing the same.”
“One’s private spiritual experience should be kept in solitude, away from prying eyes where an outsider may misconstrue the message,” the Mother Superior said. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I completely agree,” said Angela. Angela instinctively knew to hide her altar from view. It was a deeply personal experience to honor a connection to a divine entity. People usually prayed to deities, but the Blessed Mother was a woman chosen by God—a human with supernatural powers. Angela was comforted to know that she was acquainted with a like-minded practitioner. She felt her spiritual beliefs that were outside of church doctrine were not to be revealed or discussed. Her connection to her unseen friends was deep alchemy and should be practiced privately.
“Let’s go back into my office and I will show you what I need created,” said the nun.
“Of course,” said Angela. “Come, Marie.”
“Can’t I stay and look at the altar?”
“Certainly not. That is the Mother Superior’s,” said Angela.
“Of course, you can stay, Marie,” the nun said as she turned toward Angela. “She seems to be fascinated with the altar protectors. Here is a brochure on the gargoyles.”
“Do not touch anything,” said Angela. “We’ll keep the door to Mother’s office open.”
Angela followed the Mother Superior out of the room.
Marie moved closer to the altar. The dragon gargoyle leaning over the altar was solidly grounded on the table. His energy signaled to keep your distance but also that he was at your service. He was keeping a sharp eye on all activity. The gargoyle with the wings was more relaxed and contemplative; he stepped back and observed. She realized why the Mother Superior chose the two gargoyles. You need active and passive presences in life and in art. The Mother Superior took symbolism to the next level, she thought. The placement of the statues was not random. Maybe they were on the outside of churches to protect those who entered deep contemplation. The gargoyles seemed active to Marie, as active as her experiences inside the mirror.
Marie could hear the two women talking. She moved closer to the open door and leaned in.
“I will need to have several vestments made for Easter Service, along with an altar linen.”
“That will not be a problem, Mother.”
“How are things with you since Franco passed away?”
“I am managing. I have my family and we are busy. Franco would be proud of this new generation. Thank you for your concern.”
Marie had not thought about how Angela was doing since Franco passed. She benefited from Angela’s attention but hadn’t considered that she might still be grieving.
“Marie is quite the young lady now.”
“Yes, she will exceed my expectations, I am sure. She is interested in history.”
“I see that she has your spirit and determination.”
Marie was concerned about meeting her aunt’s expectations. She was going to college, but she wanted to have fun while doing it and to choose a major that interested her. Her dream was to live in Manhattan, and if she had to go to college to accomplish that, then so be it.
“Are you ready?” asked Angela. “We don’t want to keep the Mother Superior; she is a busy woman.”
“I am ready. Aunt Angela, we need to get you a few gargoyles for your altar. They’re useful to have around.”
“I do not need a gargoyle,” said Angela. “Hurry up, we need to get home. I have a client coming soon.”
Angela and Marie descended St. Mary’s steep hill.
“Aunt Angela, I am sorry if I have been self-absorbed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know it’s been a while since he passed, but you still must be sad about Uncle Franco. We should all be more supportive so you feel comfortable talking about him. You have done so much for us.”
“Marie, I have made great compromises in my life, and now I do not have to. Your uncle got me to America so I could have a better life and raise several generations. So, I feel lucky to have met him, but he was not the easiest man to live with. There were things I did not like about my life here, but you and your brothers and sister are not among them.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Angela readied her sewing space for her afternoon client. During the day, the house was quiet, but she was unable to focus all her energy on creating. Mother Superior’s choice of adornments for her altar had piqued Angela’s interest. Even though Sister Anna Claire was an Episcopal nun, the thought of such pagan symbols seemed more than out of place, but Angela thought maybe there was something to them. Most medieval churches had these creatures built into the outside of their churches, so they were not entirely pagan or evil.
Angela waited for Mrs. Henry Hubbard, who had called Angela weeks ago and made an appointment to see Angela upon her return from Paris. She sounded like a modern enthusiastic woman, well-traveled and educated.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” said Mrs. Hubbard, as she stepped forward and shook Angela’s hand. She had clear skin with the hint of lines around her eyes. Angela surmised she was a woman of about fifty.
“I have heard that you are a wizard when it comes to sewing,” said Mrs. Hubbard. “They even say that you transform people with your clothes.”
“I am sure that my clients are exaggerating,” said Angela. Accolades made Angela uncomfortable; after all, she had been sewing professionally for fifty years and it brought her so much satisfaction that compliments were unnecessary.
“I have seen your work, so I am sure I’m not.”
“Did you enjoy Paris?” asked Angela, changing the subject. “I was there many years ago with my husband.”
“Yes, my mother was French. She emigrated from Paris during the first World War. I was born here, but I visit my cousins in Paris every few years.”
Angela envied Mrs. Hubbard’s connection to her family in Europe, wishing that she had a cousin or aunt left in Sicily to connect her with her old life. I am an old woman now, Angela thought. They would all be dead anyway. Angela thought about possible alternative timelines of her life. If the earthquake had not happened, she would have stayed in Sicily and she would not have experienced America’s growth through the decades. In essence, she got to rewrite her family history.
“What do you do for work?” Angela asked.
“I am an interior decorator,” said Mrs. Hubbard. “I see that we are kindred spirits.” She looked around Angela’s hallway. “You have a flair.”
“Thank you,” said Angela. “Are you a native of Nelsonville?”
“I was raised in New York City. We have an apartment there and a home here in Nelsonville. We have been spending more time in Nelsonville lately. The city is getting so crowded.”
“My nephew lives in New York on East 57th Street, and he says the same thing. Is there something special you’d like me to make for you?”
“Well, I was hoping you could make a dress for me. I found this pattern in Paris.”
Angela looked at the pattern. The dress was a sleeveless silhouette, and the hemline flared out at the bottom just below the knee; simple and elegant. Delightfully French.
“This is a wonderful design,” said Angela.
“My feeling as well. I hope I am not offending you. I know you make your own patterns.”
“Not at all. I wish women would choose a look like this more often. You have more variety when it comes to jewelry and color. I think it would look beautiful on you in a shocking pink, with your slim figure and light skin, and you already move with confidence. This will make you appear even more confidant.”
“Then shocking pink it is. I would like a light cotton material.”
“I will take your measurements, then come by next week and I’ll have the material.”
Mrs. Hubbard noticed the brochure on the gargoyles that Mother Superior had given Marie. “Is that brochure about the gargoyles on Notre Dame?” she asked.
“Yes, my niece must have forgotten it. She is always leaving things around. They are grotesque images.”
“Funny, everyone has a different reaction to gargoyles. Some of my clients request them for their homes.”
“For their homes?”
“It is a matter of taste,” said Mrs. Hubbard. “Some people see them as purely decorative and others recognize their metaphysical meaning, such as protection and presenting a physical aspect of Hell. Like many symbols of the Old World, they have a multitude of meanings.”
“I suppose so,” said Angela. She had no idea that so many people knew about gargoyles. They seemed to be hidden until one was ready to see them.
“They do add a focal point to a room, and they certainly inspire conversation,” said Mrs. Hubbard. “Some say they remind humans of their connection to the cosmos; that there are other beings in the universe.”
“My niece was fascinated by them,” said Angela. “You seem to know a lot about them.”
“I like to research the pieces I purchase for my clients, and I like to inform my clients about the pieces. It adds meaning to a home design.”
“I know a bit about symbolism. I like to keep images of the Blessed Mother around because they have meaning.”
“It reminds us of our values and beliefs,” said Mrs. Hubbard. “They are extensions of ourselves.”
Angela had not thought about symbols or images as an extension of herself. She saw them as separate and to be revered and feared. The Catholic Church taught that one should fear God, but the truth was that Angela did not fear God—she feared losing people.
“I will see you next week,” said Angela. An interesting conversation, she mused.
After Mrs. Hubbard left, Angela perused the brochure. The idea of the gargoyles protecting spaces was intriguing. She turned off the light and went to prepare supper before Felicia and the children arrived home.