The Miner's Lady (15 page)

Chantel nodded, but Isabella was the one to take the plates. “I'll help you. After all, it will give me an excuse to spend time with Orlando.” She lowered her voice. “We're trying so hard to keep our distance and not appear overly eager to be alone.” She moved to where the glass dish of stuffed peaches sat and began to dish up portions for each man.

“You can't really imagine that the Calarcos have just forgotten about Orlando's plans to marry you,” Chantel chided. She went to the cupboard and took down two cups and saucers.

“I don't know if they've forgotten or not, but Orlando said we should give them no reason to do anything rash. He said if his nonna hadn't gotten sick, his father might have insisted they move south. He's fearful of what his father might do if he perceives a real threat to his family.”

“But what about your elopement? Won't that cause problems anyway?” Chantel asked.

Isabella shrugged. “By the time he could confront us, we would be legally married. There would be nothing more he could say or do.”

“Except disown his son.” Chantel noted her mother's frown. “I would hate to think of such a joyous occasion separating a family.”

“It would only be separated at Mr. Calarco's choosing,” Isabella replied.

Chantel knew her sister was right. She had the feeling that
even Dante wouldn't protest overmuch should the young couple marry. He seemed more accepting of her family since they'd taken over care for his grandmother. It wouldn't be long, however, before Nonna Barbato could return to her home.

The sisters served the Calarco brothers their dessert and coffee in the bedroom. Nonna seemed delighted to have the foursome around her and insisted the girls remain. Sitting on the edge of Isabella's bed, Chantel and her sister did as she asked.

Sampling the dessert, Orlando threw them an ear-to-ear grin. “This is good. Nonna, it tastes just like yours.”

“It's not hard to make,” Isabella declared. “Chantel taught me just this morning. In fact, I ground the almonds and peach pulp. Chantel took care of crushing the lady fingers, and then we blended it with sugar and candied fruit. That makes the stuffing.”

“Well, it's delicious,” Dante said, his gaze traveling to Chantel's face.

She felt her cheeks grow hot under his scrutiny. Why should he have such an effect on her? Goodness, but the man made her feel most uncomfortable. She looked to Nonna, who had closed her eyes. “Do you need anything, Nonna Barbato? Some tea perhaps?”

“No,” the older woman said, shaking her head. She opened her eyes and looked up with an expression of contentment. “I'm just fine. I'm very happy.”

“What's got you so happy, Nonna?” Orlando asked. “You like watching Dante and me eat?”

Their grandmother nodded and gave a chuckle. “Sí. I very
much like that. It means all is well. It means you are healthy and safe. It means we live another day.”

When it was clear that Nonna Barbato was ready to sleep, the foursome exited the room. Chantel offered to take the plates and suggested Orlando and Dante warm up by the fire before heading home. When she returned to the front room, she was surprised to find Isabella and Orlando gone and Dante talking with her brother Marco. Chantel paused outside of the room to overhear what was being said.

“I think so long as my grandmother is under your roof,” Dante declared, “it is my business.”

“I suppose you're right,” Marco replied. “The truth is, the marshal was here because of something I saw. A man took a beating and was left for dead the other night. It happened at the Fortune Hole. I was there. My father and brother and I rescued the man from the railroad tracks and took him to Dr. Shipman.”

“I see. And who was responsible for leaving him to die?”

“Leo Fortino.”

Chantel put her hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp. She had never thought Leo a reputable man, but she'd never considered him to be a killer.

“I'm afraid he might become vindictive,” Marco added. “I know he's capable of most anything.”

“He wouldn't hurt the women, would he?” Dante asked. “I recall him being rather heavy-handed with your sister Chantel one evening not so long ago.”

“He fancies himself in love with her,” Marco said with a near snarl.

Chantel pressed closer to better hear the conversation. She
was surprised at the concern and interest that Dante seemed to have for their safety.

“Is there anything I can do to help you in this matter?” Dante asked.

“Why would you help?”

Chantel hadn't expected this bluntness from her brother. “I suppose you mean because of the feud,” Dante replied. “Even so, as I said before, my nonna is here. If Fortino means to do you or your family harm—it might involve her. And . . . well . . . I wouldn't want to see harm come to any of the ladies here.”

“Nor would I,” Marco replied. “It isn't their fight and not their fault. I put myself in a dishonorable place—they didn't.” He sounded so downcast that Chantel could no longer stand it.

“I hope I'm not interrupting,” she said, entering the room.

Marco got to his feet. “No. I was just headed to bed. Feeling kind of spent. Might be catching a cold.”

Chantel put her hand to his brow. It was cool. “I can make you some tea with herbs.”

“No, I'll just go to bed. Thanks anyway.” He turned back and nodded at Dante. “Evening.”

Chantel hadn't expected to be left alone with Dante. She wondered if she should try to start a conversation or if it would be best to remain silent. She didn't wonder long.

“Did you manage to hear everything?” he asked, looking amused.

She startled at the question and was unable to hide her surprise. “I . . . what do you . . . mean?”

He laughed. “I saw your shadow on the foyer floor. You were listening just outside the door to our conversation.”

Chantel let out a breath and tried to hide her embarrassment. “Guilty as charged. I suppose I was just surprised that you and Marco would have anything to talk about in a civil manner.”

Dante shrugged. “I know how to keep my temper and mind my manners. So what do you know about this problem with Fortino?”

“Very little until tonight. Though the marshal was here, he spoke privately with the men. Marco has been quiet. Papa and Alfredo aren't talking about it, either.”

“I can't say that I blame them. You should know about it, however, so that you can be more careful. If Fortino is of a mind to harm this family, any of you could be at risk.”

Dante's tone had grown very serious, and he'd moved a step closer to her. “I'll keep that in mind.” Not knowing what else to say, she remained quiet.

A silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words. At last Dante reached for his coat, then turned and looked intently at her face. “I couldn't bear to see you hurt,” he said quietly. Then he stepped out the door.

“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.”