Last Voyage of the Valentina(61)

The townspeople continued to watch transfixed as Thomas bent his head and planted a kiss on Valentina’s forehead. He rested his lips for a long moment, inhaling her unique scent and tasting the salt on her skin.

Suddenly a loud voice boomed out above the clapping and cheering of the townspeople. “Move on. This is not a show! It is a private moment. Come on, everyone, enough. Move on. Move on.” Lattarullo’s voice was unmistakable. Slowly the people began, reluctantly, to disperse. They had all watched Valentina’s growing belly and witnessed her longing and often her despair. As they returned to their afternoon naps, the fishermen to their sails and nets, the children to their games, Lattarullo appeared, hot and sweating and scratching his groin.

“Signor Arbuckle,” he said as Thomas reluctantly withdrew his lips from Valentina’s forehead. “Many doubted you would ever return. I am happy to say that I was not one of those. No, I never once doubted you. That is not solely to compliment your character but the signorina’s beauty. Helen of Troy was not as fair, and look what effect she had on men! I would have been astounded, not to mention a good deal poorer, had you not returned for la signorina Fiorelli.” Thomas imagined them all sitting in the café placing their bets on whether or not he would come back for her.

They walked to the Trattoria Fiorelli. Inside the café, like a small and solemn bat, sat Immacolata. She was dressed in black, from the shawl on her head to the shoes on her feet, and was fanning herself with a wide black fan, embroidered with flowers.

When she saw Thomas she put the fan on the table and walked over to him with her hands outstretched, like a blind woman begging for alms. “I knew God would spare you for Valentina,” she said and her small eyes brimmed with tears. “Today is blessed.” He let her slap his cheeks affectionately, although when he withdrew they smarted and grew pink. “Sit down, Tommasino. You must be tired. Have a drink and tell me everything. Three of my four sons have returned to my bosom. God saw fit to take my Ernesto. May his soul rest in peace. Now you have made my happiness complete.”

Thomas sat down. It was impossible not to do as Immacolata said. She was a formidable woman used to being obeyed. Besides, Thomas was in no position to disobey. She was a deeply religious woman and he had impregnated her daughter out of wedlock. He shuddered to think what she would say about that. To his surprise, she had welcomed him warmly. However, her first question revealed her true intention.

“So,” she said, watching the waiter pour two glasses of wine. “You have returned to marry my daughter?”

Thomas looked shamefaced. “I was going to ask your permission formally,” he replied.

Immacolata’s face contorted with sympathy. “When it is God’s will, you don’t have to ask permission of anybody.” Her voice was soft, the voice of a young girl.

He took Valentina’s hand in his. “I knew we were destined to marry from the first moment I laid eyes on her.”

“I know,” she said, nodding gravely. “My daughter is very beautiful and she has given you a daughter. Alba.”

“Alba? That’s a lovely name,” he said, not wishing to dwell on the reactions of his parents. Perhaps she could have Lavender as a second name.

“Alba Immacolata,” Valentina added. Perhaps not, thought Thomas. He was relieved Jack was not there to witness their conversation.

“This child is very special to me,” said Immacolata, gripping her bosom. “She holds a very special place in my heart.”

“She looks like her mother,” said Thomas.

“But her eyes are her father’s. There is no doubt to whom she belongs.” Immacolata ran her fingers over the baby’s face. “See, her eyes are the palest blue-gray. Like the sea when it is shallow and calm. You must hold her,” she added, nodding at her daughter. Valentina held the baby out to him. He had never held such a small baby before and wasn’t exactly sure how to do it. To his surprise it wasn’t so difficult and little Alba did not cry. “You see,” said Immacolata. “She knows you are her father.”

Thomas stared into the features of his child, scarcely able to believe that she carried his genes and those of his entire family, including Freddie. She looked nothing like him. Certainly nothing like an Arbuckle, except for the eyes which were indeed just like his. She was so vulnerable. So defenseless. But what made him love her was the fact that she so resembled her mother. She was a part of Valentina and therefore more precious than anything else in the world.

“You will marry in the chapel of San Pasquale,” continued Immacolata. “I will invite Padre Dino to lunch tomorrow so you can meet him. You are not Catholic?” Thomas shook his head. “That is not a problem. When it is God’s will, nothing is a problem. You are joined together by love and that is all that matters. You will stay here at the trattoria until the marriage. I have a comfortable room upstairs.” Thomas shifted his gaze from little Alba to Valentina and her soft, mossy brown eyes smiled back at him tenderly. In that moment of silent communication they said all they needed to say.