Queen of Secrets, page 8
Day after day, I returned from school to check the mailbox—and nothing. I worried he’d already forgotten me. I didn’t hear from him until right before Thanksgiving.
I opened the mailbox and there it was—a white envelope with black writing I’d seen many times before. My heart quickened in my chest as I pressed the paper to my lips. I ran for the bathroom and ripped it open.
November 1939
Dear Violetta,
I hope you doing well. I miss you. We have secured a piece of land that should produce a nice crop. It’s about one hundred acres. My father hired people to help with the soil. We can’t start planting until spring, but we have much to do between now and then.
The land already has many established vines which makes it easier to start. The man who used to own the land had no children of his own. Since he was old, he decided to sell.
It’s hard work. Some days my back ache from the hours of digging and carrying heavy things but I know in time it will be good. We hope to have crop ready for la prossima season.
La proprietà has a big house. I have my own room now. My bedroom window looks out over the hills. I practice to read and write English every day. The letters help so I get better.
I love you,
-G
Sitting on the bathroom floor, I held the letter to my chest. His letter answered all my questions. I tried to imagine how beautiful the land looked with the rolling hills and rows of vines that lined the property. I was excited to hear that he had his own room and that he was happy. However, his words exposed my fears. From what he wrote, it would be a long time until I saw him again.
Since he’d finally written me and I knew his address, I went to my father’s office and took a few envelopes and stamps to continue what was our love story’s only lifeline. Instead of doing my dreadful homework, I wrote to Gaetano with newfound excitement, knowing these sentiments would convey my love for him.
My reply expressed how his letter made me feel alive again. I detailed everything about my life in school and on the farm. I told him I couldn’t wait to graduate so that we could be together. I explained how hard it had been to concentrate in math class when all I thought about was him and his new life. I ended the letter by saying how happy I was for him, that I missed him, and how wonderful it would be when we saw each other again.
With shaky hands, I placed a stamp on the envelope. I didn’t want anyone to notice the letter. When no one was looking, I slipped it into the mailbox.
One eyebrow cocked, my father asked, “Violetta, a card coma for you from da Napa Valley. Who you know in da Napa Valley?”
“Oh, Papa, it’s the Sanna boy. I told him before he left to write to keep up his English. We’re pen pals.” Butterflies danced inside me.
“Wassa pin pals?”
“It’s like writing to a friend back and forth. We’re catching up on each other’s lives.”
With a troubled face, he walked away. “Minchia . . . Pin pals,” he said under his breath and huffed past me. I hoped he would accept my story and not pry. Letters were the only way to communicate with Guy. His handwriting softened the sting of his absence. Once alone, I went to the bathroom and opened the second letter.
December 1939
Dear Violetta,
Buon Natale e Felice Anno Nuovo ~
I am sorry I no write for a long time. I been a busy. I sorry that school is hard, but you a smart girl.
My father and I have been buying big equipment to make lots of bottles of vino. He asked me to a draw a picture to make a label on the bottles. So, when I am not digging for the water, irrigazione for the grapes, I draw at night. We have problems with the water filtration, but we are gonna get it fix. We also met with a distributore to sell the vino. In spring, we gonna start things. We gonna plant new vines.
For Natale, la mia famiglia, we are planning a big dinner with a few of our new friends. We invite some families of the workers. My mother, she gonna make lots of food.
I miss you Violetta. I want to show you everything when you come visit me in summer. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again.
-G
After Christmas, the letters slowed. I was busy at school. With spring around the corner, I expected he’d be getting things ready and working the land. To dull the loss in my heart, I kept busy with friends. Some days, I went to my friend Julia’s house. She always tried to get me to talk to boys, but I was never interested in any of them. When she pushed too hard, I’d always find an excuse to go home. My heart was set on one boy—a boy who was many miles away. The only certainty I had was that the sun would set tomorrow, and another long day would be behind me.
Spring made its way to the foothills, and the sun warmed the ranch. I picked flowers along the fence line. As I walked past the chicken coup, I heard a familiar, gruesome sound. Covering my ears, I ran past my father and brother slaughtering a pig. Out of the corner of my eye, Tony grabbed the metal hooks, ready to hoist the pig’s body up onto the big metal rack to drain the blood into the pit beneath. The splash of the liquid hitting the dirt below made my stomach clench. I ran to my bedroom to block out the noise when I came upon Carmela placing a white envelope on my pillowcase.
“Hey, Vi, this is addressed to you. Is this that Sanna boy? You still talking to him? Does Pop know?”
“Yes. It’s fine. Thanks,” I said, rubbing my queasy stomach.
“You better be careful, Vi.” Carmela’s words trailed off as she walked back to the kitchen.
I scooped up the letter and shut the bedroom door. With shaky hands and the need for a release, I ripped open the seal.
April 1940
Dear Violetta,
Life has been hard. We have problems. My father say it get better soon. I plan to go with my father to buy machine to crush the grapes and other equipment. There is a man in Southern California that my father know. They were in the Italian army together. His name is Bustamante. He has a big wine business there for a long time. He’s will sell to my father for cheap so we are gonna go for a trip. He tell my father that there are many workers from Mexico there that want work. So we gonna go and meet with him.
My family we never see the rest of California. I am excited. I will write when we return.
Ti amo,
-G
I was happy to hear he would travel to different places. Santa Cruz was the only place I’d ever visited because my father liked to fish off the pier. I waited to hear of Gaetano’s adventures upon his return.
As graduation approached, I invited him to my ceremony. I’d just turned eighteen. If he showed up, I’d tell my father that I planned on leaving for Napa and that we would marry.
Maybe his letter got lost in the mail. A few days before my graduation, I received his reply.
June 1940
Dear Violetta,
I hope you are well. I’m sorry I no write in a long time. Southern California is beautiful. We see mountains and go swimming at the beach. My father make connections with people who helped him sell his wine. I won’t be back until July, so I cannot make your graduation party. I so sorry.
I have much to tell you. We make friends with the Bustamante family. They know a lot about the wine business. Their daughter, Angelina, she know how to sell the wine. She introduce me to lots of people to help distribute.
We hire many people from Mexico. Lots of paperwork, but we need the help in the fields. They are nice people. When I get back, I want to show you the winery and everything I have been doing all this time. I will be with you soon, tesoro mio.
Love,
-G
My heart stammered in my chest. He wouldn’t be here at my graduation. I wrestled with feelings of selfishness and disappointment. I’d waited so long to reunite with him, and he felt more distant than ever. As much as I wanted to deny it, he had a new life with new people. New people, like a woman named Angelina, who absorbed all his time and energy. Maybe it was innocent, but how did I know? I felt cheated and lost.
Diploma in hand, I met my family in the cafeteria. My father beamed with pride. Smiling from ear to ear, he handed out cigars to the other proud fathers.
“You see my daughter, Violetta? She isa da first Giordano to graduate,” he said to a few of the other men in the room. “Congratulazioni,” my father said as he kissed my cheek and hugged me tight. “I so prouda you, Violetta.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I pulled away and wiped the smoke-smelling spit off my cheek.
“Good job, kid.” Tony yanked on my braid and smiled.
“Letsa go home,” my mother said. “I make a lot of food, and you know you fater. He invite everbadi for dinna. Carmela, she busy keeping tings warm.”
On the drive home, I played with my red tassel as it dangled from my cap. I secretly hoped Gaetano would surprise me today and that I’d find his dreamy eyes peering out at me with open arms so my life could begin.
My father parked the truck, and I ran into the house. Smiling faces greeted me, but there was no sign of Gaetano. Everyone clapped and grinned, all except one man who sat alone in the corner of the living room. A cigarette hung from his bottom lip as he combed his shiny black hair back over his ears. He couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties.
Out of respect, I went around the room to say hello to everyone. When I reached the mysterious man, he shook my hand. His palms were warm and greasy, and he held my hand too tight.
“Congratulations, gorgeous. I’m Frank. Frank Di Natale.”
I wiped my hand on my graduation gown. “Um, thanks. You a friend of Tony’s?”
A small laugh escaped his lips. “Let’s just say I’m a friend from back east.” His gaze scanned my body like a lion ready to pounce.
“I have to change. Excuse me,” I said dismissively.
“Sure, doll. Don’t want to keep you from your guests. Besides, I’m sure we’ll get to know each other a lot better in the next few weeks.” He shot me a wry smile. His greasy hair hung over his bushy black eyebrows.
I knew right away why Frank was here. Like many others, he came to get away from the consequences that existed in this life. When a member of the Molanano family approached Pop for a favor, we had to do what was asked.
Something about this stranger made me uneasy. Of all the guys Pop hid, this one felt wrong, like a snake in the grass. I’d watch myself around him. I wasn’t sure if it was the way his eyes looked at me like I was a piece of meat or the way he sat in the room like some big shot Mafioso, but Frank Di Natale felt dangerous.
Eyewitness
East San Jose Foothills, Giordano Estate
November 2002
Barbara
I took a deep breath and put down the envelope, yellowed with time, and filled with Gaetano’s letters. I connected to the faces in the pictures that covered the wall behind Ms. G. She sat quietly in her tattered brown recliner. Her eyes hadn’t moved up from her crochet needle. When she placed the paper relics in my hands, it was as if we’d pulled out a time capsule. With Gaetano’s handwriting staring back at me now, this woman and her love story intrigued me.
She sat with a wrinkled face and a broken mind. I imagined her wearing a yellow dress in the arms of the man she loved. Part of me was jealous. I’d always wanted a man to love me like that. I wished things were better between Marcus and me and that he’d sweep me up in his arms and spend time with me instead of chasing his dreams at the craps tables. Most of all, I wanted my kids to be proud of us. No more disappointed faces.
I gulped. “What a story. So, what happened next?”
She turned to look at me, her eyes wide, like marbles ready to fall out of her head.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” she demanded.
“It’s me, Barbara. Your nurse.”
“Barbara who?” she asked, with confused eyes and a taut face.
The effects of her disease were clear. I shook my head and handed the letters back to her. She held them in her hands and examined the penmanship. Her eyelids fluttered and then she smiled.
“Oh yeah, I remember you now. You’re the one who always likes to poke me with your pointy needles,” she said, then rubbed at her arm.
“That’s me. Trying to keep you healthy,” I muttered. “Okay, since we’ve already been outside once today for exercise, why don’t we do something that will stimulate our minds?” I grabbed a deck of cards from a side table and shook them out of the box.
“My mind works just fine, thank you,” she said and continued her needlework.
“It’ll be fun. You’re so good. You beat me last time.”
“I did?” she asked, with her head cocked to one side.
“Why don’t we sit at the kitchen table, so we’ll have more room?”
“If it’ll get you to stop talkin’ so damn much,” she said sharply, then set the twisted knots of yarn on the recliner.
I followed behind her as she tottered across the black-and-white tiled kitchen floor and plopped down in a chair.
“You shuffle those cards like you play a lot.”
“My boyfriend, Marcus, likes to play cards. I’ve learned a lot from him over the years.”
“Card player, huh? What happened to your nails? They’re broken.”
Heat washed over me, and my cheeks stung. “I fell on my son’s bike, remember?” I curled my fingers inward so she couldn’t see as I manipulated the cards further. “What should we play? Blackjack? Poker?” I suggested, hoping to change the subject.
“Poker. Played it all my life.”
“Really?”
“Sure. You don’t marry one of the biggest Mafia men in the country and not witness a few poker games. Hell, sometimes the games went on for days. One time, Frank almost shot a guy in my kitchen for welching,” she said, unaffected. “Besides, me and the girls, we used to play all the time when the guys were out doing who knows what.”
“Shot a guy in your kitchen?”
“Yes. Frank had a temper. We had lots of parties. When your husband’s in the mob, you stay in tight circles. Better to stick close to people who live the same kind of life. At least that way, you know they aren’t rats. So, we made a kind of friendship, the girls and me. I learned a lot from them.”
“So Frank was a big gambler too?”
“You could say that. That was another reason he wanted to marry me. As part of the plan, Don Molanano gave the order that Frank be sent here under the protection of my father to hide out for murder. But I learned later it was more than just that. Frank was also sent here to scout out the casino business so Don Molanano could wet his beak. What better way to get his hands dirty with Tahoe only a few hours away? In those days, the Tahoe Bay Club lodge was booming. Everything was fresh and new—ripe for the taking. So, there were lots of wise guys out there like Frank, trying to make their way.”
“Marcus goes to Tahoe all too often, but I didn’t realize there was organized crime up there.”
“See, out here, a made guy got away with more than in New York, and the families knew it. Things were quieter, with fewer people and cops, so it was much easier to conduct business. Frank came to get away from the cops but ended up laying the groundwork to buy a casino. Then he’d report back how business was run out here.”
She pulled up her reading glasses that hung from her neck, shoved the cards up to her fingerprint-dusted glasses, and fanned them out in her hands.
“All right, kid, what’s the wager?” she asked, her eyes blazed with excitement.
“If I win, you have to tell me more about your time with Gaetano. I’m a sucker for a good love story.”
“You are, are you?”
“Yes. And if you win, I’ll let you cook. Anything you want. Best out of ten?”
“You’re on,” she said confidently.
At the tenth poker hand, I spread out my cards.
“Read ’em and weep. Royal flush,” I gushed with pride.
“Damn it, you won. I only had three of a kind.” Violetta smacked the cards on the table.
“This time I won. But you’ve beaten me plenty of times.” I gathered the cards.
“I have?” she asked, confused again.
“Yes, you have. See right here?” I slid the long-running score sheet in front of her.
“How long we been playing?” She dragged the paper up to her thick lenses. Her mouth dropped, and her eyes grew empty.
I put my hand on hers. “What’s wrong? You all right?”
“I hate having this crap.” Tears welled in her eyes. “My brain doesn’t work right anymore. One minute, I see everything so clear. Next, everything goes dark. You show me this paper with my name on it and games we’ve played, and I don’t remember them.”
“Honey, you’re not alone. I’ve cared for lots of patients in your condition. That’s why I’m here, to take care of you and be your friend.”
“I got a lot of friends already. I don’t need new ones.” She pushed away from the table.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I still need to be here to help you. We might as well be friends.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I suppose. But you need to get out more with people your own age, sweetheart. I’m close to death, so don’t count on me for much longer.”
“You’re in good health,” I said to perk her up.
“No, I’m not. I can’t remember things.”
“You’ve told me so much about your life. Antonelli farms, Gaetano, and even Frank. You have a great memory.”
“Then why can’t I remember what happened yesterday?”
“Just like older folks get things like heart problems or arthritis, for you, it’s Alzheimer’s. Everyone has something broken about them—some are seen, and some aren’t. There’s not one of us who doesn’t know how broken feels.” I blinked back tears. “But you’re in good hands, and you have the benefit of new medications that a lot of my other clients didn’t have. I’ll be here every step of the way.”
