A Heart Most Worthy (25 page)

But Mama wasn’t done. “They told me that Annamaria was smiling.”

Smiling! “Were you smiling, Annamaria?”

She glanced up from her plate. Looked around the table. “Sì.”

She fixed her eyes back on her plate.

“Why were you smiling?”

“Because.”

They waited for whatever was to come next, but after Annamaria picked up her fork and began to eat, it quickly became apparent that she didn’t plan to say anything else at all.

But Papa couldn’t let this strange behavior go unquestioned.

“Because why?”

Annamaria finished chewing. Set her fork down. “Because I wanted to.”

“You wanted to.” Mama couldn’t credit it. “Have they bewitched you?”

Yes! “No.”

Papa couldn’t believe it either. “You
wanted
to smile. But why?”

“Because they’re nice people.”

Nice people? That provoked no little consternation among the Rossi clan. Nice people? What did Sicilians have to do with being nice? And if they were being nice, then what was in it for them?

“You’re going to have to go over there, Papa, and tell them to stop being nice to Annamaria.”

He glanced over at Annamaria as he listened to Mama’s tirade. How had things come to this? And why had he ever left Avellino if the consequence of his leaving was to expose his daughter to Sicilians?

36

Luciana had gone to the fish seller’s after Billy had escorted them home to the North End. Starry-eyed and enveloped in dreams of eternal love, she hadn’t dared to think past the wedding, which Billy had assured her would take place soon. And she kept her thoughts from the other – from the draft. Why mar such glorious thoughts as weddings when he might not even pass the physical?

She very nearly walked right into a man who was striding up the sidewalk, dancing out of his way just in time. She blinked and vowed to keep her mind fixed to the task at hand. She hadn’t attempted fish before, but how difficult could it be? As she walked along, she stepped across a newspaper that was being blown, end over end, down the sidewalk. Its headline was tall and boldfaced. It was, perhaps, information she might have wanted to know. But as it was, she was in a hurry. And even if it had blown beneath her, right side up, she still might not have been able to discern its meaning.

And so the pronouncement of an epidemic of the Spanish influenza blew past and continued on down the street. In truth, not so very many people in Boston that day paid any more attention to it than Luciana did. Only enough to note that there were some soldiers sick at Fort Devens – poor boys – just west of the city. The place was filled with soldiers returned from the trenches and those readying to go. If a Hun’s bullet didn’t get them, then the influenza just might. It didn’t quite seem fair.

At the fish seller’s she bought a fat, fresh cod. There was much to celebrate after all! The fish seller wrapped it up in newspaper and tied it with a string. Luciana, package pressed to her chest, nodded her thanks and pushed out into the quickly darkening night.

And it was then that she saw him.

There was joy at work in Billy’s heart, an elation that flowed through his veins. Luciana, daughter of the Count of Roma, had consented to be his wife.

She had said yes. Yes! The war might be raging in Europe, the grippe might be sweeping the city, but in his heart, the world was a bright and happy place.

He entered the Quinn mansion through the front door and came upon his mother in the hallway. She had just finished changing the menu for her birthday dinner. Again.

He took up her hand and waltzed her across the floor. “ ‘The bells are ringing for me and my gal; The birds are singing for me and my gal; Everybody’s been knowing, to a wedding they’re going . . . the parson’s waiting for me and my gal – ’ ”

“What on earth – ?”

“I’ve met the girl of my dreams, and I’m going to marry her.”

He dipped his mother as he said it and then swiftly brought her upright.

“Marry – what did you – ? Did you say marry?” Mrs. Quinn was not opposed to marriage in general. In fact, she was quite in favor of it. To the Putnam girl or the Cabot daughter in particular. It was expected that Billy would make his choice between them. She just hadn’t imagined it would happen so soon . . . although he had been drafted. And that changed everything. A surprise wedding wouldn’t be so terribly unconventional under such circumstances.

“And which one is it?”

“Her name is Luciana.”

“Luciana? Why, the name sounds Italian.”

“It is. She’s from Rome.
Roma
. That’s how she says it.”

“She’s Italian?”

He nodded.

“You want to marry an Italian?!”

We’ll forgive him for not reading his mother’s face more closely, for most men aren’t adept at such things. But we’ll cringe for him all the same. Poor lad! He didn’t understand her objection. He didn’t want to marry an Italian. He hadn’t set out to, in any case. He wanted to marry Luciana, and she turned out to be Italian, and that’s just how it happened to be.

“No son of mine is going to marry some rude, filthy Italian peasant.”

He dropped her hand. “She’s not rude or filthy. Or even a peasant, for that matter. She’s the daughter of – ”

“Is she pregnant? Is that why you think you have to marry her?”

He felt the blood drain from his face. “What?”

“Did you get her pregnant?”

His mother had done many things over the years to embarrass him, but this was the first time that he realized just how often she had embarrassed herself as well. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“You did, didn’t you? We’ll talk to your father about this. He’ll know just what to do.” She left him standing in the hall, sat down behind the desk in her sitting room, and went back to her work.

But she didn’t work for long. Before she had even completed one letter, there came an insistent knocking on the front door. She sighed. Put down her pen. Expected that the knocking would stop once the doorman answered it.

It did.

But then the shouting started.

Mrs. Quinn rose and stalked into the hall. “What is the meaning of this!”

The doorman was trying to shut the door on whoever it was that was yelling. Some woman, from the sounds of it.

“I can’t understand a word that’s being said!”

“Bee-lee!”

The doorman was trying to bat the woman’s arm away as he leaned against the door.

“Bee-lee!”

“Remove her from the premises. At once.” Mrs. Quinn went back into her sitting room and closed the door. Stopped her ears to the noise and got on with her work.

The doorman had almost succeeded in shutting the door when Billy, alerted by the clamor, came down the stairs. “What is it?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Bee-lee!”

Was that – ? Billy pushed the doorman out of the way and opened wide the door, causing Luciana to fall into his arms. “What is it?!”

“I saw him.”

There was no need to ask to whom she was referring. Her pallor and fear-filled eyes told him what he needed to know. He pulled her close, trying to stanch her trembling. “Where?”

“On the street. On my street.”

“Is your grandmother all right?”

“I don’t – I’m not sure. I just ran.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t – ” She lapsed into Italian.

If only he knew what she was saying! He motioned for the doorman to shut the door and then took Luciana into the kitchen. Had one of the servants bring her some tea, asked another to get a shawl from his mother’s wardrobe. Luciana’s hands felt like ice, and night was fast descending.

As he placed the shawl over her shoulders, she was still muttering in Italian, rocking back and forth, though some of the panic had gone out of her eyes.

“Luciana.” He placed his hand over hers.

She stopped speaking. Looked up at him.

“It’s not safe for you to go back to your building.” He spoke slowly and in German.

“Nein.”

“We’re going to drive back to get your grandmother, and then I’m going to take you to The Lenox.”

“What is this . . . Lenox?”

“A hotel.” The finest one in the city.

“What if he sees us?”

“You’ll stay in the car. I’ll go up and get your grandmother.”

“I’m afraid.”

He stood and pulled her into his arms. “And so am I. But if he’s here in the city, that means the police can catch him.”

It didn’t take long to reach the North End. And Billy didn’t have to say much to convince the contessa to come with him. He simply extended his hand.

She took it.

He looked for some clothes to take with him, but he only found a few gowns, and those didn’t seem worth taking. He’d get them what they needed in the morning. But his plan hit a snag when he tried to register Luciana and her grandmother for a room.

The clerk coughed. “I don’t believe there are any rooms available.”

“I don’t want a room. I want a suite.”

“Our suites aren’t available either.”

“You’ve no suites at all?”

“Our suites aren’t available to people like
them
.” He indicated Luciana and her grandmother with a nod and a sour expression.

“People like them. You mean the Contessa of Rome and her granddaughter?”

“They could be the Holy Father himself for all I care. We don’t take Italians.”

“You can send the bill to Congressman Quinn at the United Bank Building.”

“This is highly irregular, sir. I know the congressman wouldn’t take up with Italians. I voted for him myself.”

“And I know the congressman as well. I’m his son.”

Billy and Mrs. Quinn were waiting, the both of them, in Mr. Quinn’s study when he finally came home that night. He didn’t like the looks of the faces which greeted him. Not the rage in his wife’s eyes, nor the stubborn resolve in his son’s. So he pretended they were angry constituents that he had an obligation to appease.

He sat down behind his desk and folded his hands in front of him. It was his signature gesture, and it made him look both patient and wise. It also kept him from reaching out to strangle people’s necks. He tried charm first. And his brogue. He smiled. “It’s not every night a man comes home to the warm embrace of his closest kin.”

Mrs. Quinn had been fixed upon the thought of the debasement of her family’s reputation for the entire day. And she was not about to be persuaded from her position. She knew battles were often won by those who fired their weapons first. “You’ve let your son get drafted and now he wants to marry some Italian girl!”

He looked from his wife to his son. But the boy didn’t look away. He squared his shoulders and met his father’s gaze straight on. Patrick cleared his throat. “You’ve already spoken to your mother about this, then.”

“I have.”

“And you want to get married.”

“I do.”

If he’d given his heart away, then Patrick Quinn had to trust that it was to someone who loved him in return. “If Billy loves this girl, then he should marry her.”

Mrs. Quinn blinked. Raised her brow. Bellowed, “He’s only marrying her because she’s pregnant! He thinks he has to. Tell him he doesn’t have to.”

Billy rounded on his mother. “I will
not
have you speak about Luciana like that! She’s not some scheming, desperate – ” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word he knew his mother was thinking – “girl.”

“No. You’re right. She’s not. She’s a scheming, desperate Italian.”

“Do you love her, son? Truly?”

“I do.” There was no hesitation in his reply.

He looked back at his wife. “Then I see no reason why he shouldn’t marry her.”

No reason? No reason! What about appearances? What about the family name? What about position and politics? Everything they’d accomplished together as Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Quinn had always been about position and politics. It’s why he’d married her, wasn’t it? And it’s why they’d sent their son to Harvard. It made no sense. There was a legacy to be had here. A dynasty to be made. And Patrick was going to let them throw it all away for some Italian?

For an Italian!

And then, with a searing flash of insight, she knew. She understood. And suddenly it all made sense. “It’s because of
her
, isn’t it?” Her voice wasn’t filled with any of the rage or injustice or humiliation that she felt. It was devoid of all emotion. It was completely and utterly flat.

Billy might have been mystified, but there was no need for Mr. Quinn to ask to whom his wife was referring.

“You’re allowing this because of her. This isn’t about Billy and it isn’t about me. You don’t care what they’ll say. You don’t even care about your career. You don’t care about any of us at all.”

There was a searching exchange of looks between them, and then Mr. Quinn sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair.

“You can go to bed, son.”

Bed? At ten o’clock? Like some schoolboy? But Billy rose, shot a puzzled look at them both, and then left without comment. There was much for him to do. There were forms to be filled out for the wedding and the priest to contact. A physical to prepare for. His entire life was rapidly changing, and yet it couldn’t change quickly enough for his taste.

Mrs. Quinn waited to speak until the door had closed. “You’re letting him marry his Italian because you couldn’t marry yours.”

He pressed his hands flat against the desktop. “I don’t – I don’t know. Perhaps I am.”

“You would throw her in my face?”

“Her name was Rosa.”

“You would do that? To me?”

He looked away from his memories and into his wife’s eyes.

“I’ve never been unfaithful to you.”

He hadn’t.

“Have I ever embarrassed you? By flirtations with other women?”

More than politics required? “No.”

“Have I ever been anything but cordial?”

“No.” But neither had he been affectionate or adoring. She felt like a schoolgirl being called before a principal, caught for passing notes. “I love you.” Passionately. Desperately. And without any hope of redemption.

Ah, now this was familiar territory. Here, he knew just what to do. He smiled. Winked. “And I’ll take it all the way to the voting booths.”

That’s how he had always responded to her statements of love. And that’s what she’d always done. She’d allowed him to take her family’s name, all her earnest hopes – and her love – all the way to the voting booths.

She used to be thrilled, jubilant even, at the thought of being Mrs. Patrick Quinn. At the idea of opening to him the corridors of power, of ushering him into the arena of politics. She used to think of herself as the chief advisor behind the man. Used to dream of all the good that they could accomplish together. But that was when she thought that he had chosen her. Before she knew about the Italian girl. About . . .
Rosa
. Back before she realized what had really happened. Before she understood that she had chosen him.