A/N: Welcome! I can't tell you how excited I am for this story, readers, or how privileged I am to be able to work with the spectacular JJ on another lengthy project. I hope you enjoy! (If you would prefer to read this story as an original work and not Brittana, you can do so at my FictionPress account, username LilyRMason.) Cover art by sheep-in-clouds on Tumblr.
Chapter 1 - Bella Libertà
The ocean wanted me dead.
It had no desire to swallow my body or fill my lungs, but it wanted me dead.
Mamma and Luca and I were blown halfway across the earth in the belly of a ship. I can't say whom the journey was worse for; me, with my stiff legs and crooked feet and weak stomach, or Mamma, with a child growing in her belly, who was often green with an illness other than what the sea drew out in even the heartiest sailors. Sometimes I was scarcely able to call out for Luca, I was so ill. Luca was our saving grace, bringing us cool rags and water and stale biscuits. At fifteen, he sat haphazardly between boy and man, but he was strong and kind like Papà, quiet and hardworking like Mamma, and I knew soon he would make a fine husband for a lucky American girl. When I was plagued with doubts and wondered if I'd ever see the shores of America, Luca would hold my hand and tell me of the streets as clean and smooth as the Lago d'Averno, the buildings more gilded than the Cathedrals of Roma, and of the milk and honey we would eat with every meal.
Somewhere between Napoli and New York, having sold most of our possessions, we belonged to nothing but the sea. We bobbed like corks for weeks, turning in our bunks like the contents of our stomachs. I lost track of days and nights, and my head was muddled by the smell of the gas lamps and the sweat and bile of our shipmates. There were but a few placid days where the sun shone and the sea was benevolent. On these days, Luca would help me to a chair on the deck and the three of us would stare across the endless, sparkling silver of the water.
"When we get to America, all our days will be like this," Mamma would murmur, hand on her belly.
I wondered if, like the sea, our days would stretch on forever, though I knew she meant to say our days would be kind and beautiful.
"Papà found work right away," she would say for the hundredth time, reminding me of the letter we'd received. "We'll never have empty cupboards again." Then she'd pat my thigh and say, "And the doctors there will have answers."
I would smile, letting the cool sea breeze wrap me in its comfort. She'd cup my cheek and smile back, and somehow, we found strength for the rest of the journey.
At night, as the sea tossed us in our cramped bunks, I would imagine my father on the dock of the new land, arms open to greet us, lifting me up as he had when I was small, welcoming us to our new home. When he took in the sight of Mamma's belly, his mouth would fall open and then tears would come, one by one, as he kissed Mamma's cheeks, hands flitting between her waist and her hair, joyous that the child they'd been praying for was at last descending from heaven after so many disappointments. When he had given Mamma's cheeks enough kisses to account for six months apart, he would declare that we were going to the shops, and that Mamma and I were to never wear our peasant frocks again. Then we'd walk through the grand streets of New York City, Papà pointing out each building, telling us when it had been built and what materials it was made of; cast iron, steel, limestone, and cement. His favorites would be the ones that scraped the sky. I'd tried to remember their names to make him smile: the Flatiron Building, Singer Tower, and the tallest of all, the Woolworth Building.
Papà had yearned for adventure since he was a boy. Countless nights over supper, he'd propped up his body, weary from a day's labor, with stories of faraway lands. On his Saint's Day every year, Mamma would give him a small card with a picture of some faraway city. Papà always said he had wanted to take Mamma on a proper bridal tour like the wealthy ladies and gentlemen in Britain were said to do. But Papà had only a few lira to his name when he wed Mamma, and their bridal tour took them no further than a humble room on the fringe of Napoli, two stories above the shop where Papà had worked since he was eight years old.
I'm certain that Papà's wish to see the world is what drew Mamma to him. Papà could paint such pictures with his words that when he took out his postcards and maps and drawings to show me, they paled in comparison. He wove stories not only of places, but of people and adventures so real I felt I had been there and met them and lived them.
That's how I came to be Brittany instead of my given name, Gianna; when I was a little girl and Papa would come home from a day's labor and scoop me up, he would ask me where we were going in our stories tonight, and I would declare Brittany, a region in France that he had once described with such color and excitement, it never occurred to me he hadn't been there. Since then, he'd called me Princess of Brittany, or simply Brittany, and the name never ceased to bring a smile to my face.
When Papà declared we were to journey to America, I had wanted to jump with joy; at last, Papà and I were going to see the world! Though I was nearing eighteen, I hadn't lost my wonder at his stories. I had no prospects to wed, given my condition, and truth be told, I was content to work from home, making dresses and mending frocks for our neighbors and ladies who lived further into the city. Every day I said thankful prayers for my swift, steady fingers and keen eyes. As long as I could bring my sewing kit with me, I would board ships and trains and perhaps - if I were ever so wealthy - carriages with Papà. My eyes were eager to match the pictures he painted with wonders I could reach out and touch.
I was saddened when I realized we wouldn't be journeying together. I begged Papà to let me come with him on his voyage and together we could send for Mamma and Luca. But he cupped my cheek and bid me stay and keep watch over Mamma and Luca until he could procure a house and the beginnings of a fortune for us. When I pouted still, he winked and promised me my own sewing room, and perhaps - someday - my own shop. I sighed and told him how sorely I would miss him in the coming weeks. He told me that surely the Princess of Brittany would be strong enough to withstand his temporary absence, and that I should rest and prepare my legs for the voyage. Determined to live up to my namesake, I swallowed my sadness and nodded.
I couldn't help but think that I was more of a burden than a help in those months without Papà. When Mamma learned of the baby coming, she grew heartsick, wishing she could tell Papà and pray with him that they wouldn't lose it like the others. She was weary and often ill, some days unable to rise from the bed in the small room we inhabited while we waited for word from Papà. When at last the word came, months later than we expected, I smoothed the page over and over, grateful to have proof that Papà was alive and well in America. The note was brief, written in his uncertain hand; Francesca, sell everything but your wedding ring and join me in America! Money will arrive next week. Meet me at the kissing post.
The note was short, but I could feel the joy as I read his words. As a child, Papà had only gone to school a few years. All children of Napoli were expected to go to school, but his family had been so impoverished, he had had to lie about his age and begin work shortly after he'd learned his letters. When Mamma had me, he cried and held me to his heart, promising that he would make sure I could attend scuola media and learn mathematics and history and the sciences. And though it was likely the reason Mamma and Papà had to stay in that same little room outside Napoli, Luca and I went to school every day no matter the weather, and when we got home, Papà expected us to tell him what we'd learned.
Mamma and Luca and I boarded the Giuseppe Verdi in June 1914. It was a new steamship, Luca told us, but it had made a few voyages from Napoli to New York, so we were not to worry. As we carried our few belongings aboard in canvas rucksacks, I saw a few fancy ladies and gentlemen with large suitcases and trunks full of fine garments being shown their accommodations at the top of the vessel, while we were led down to steerage with thousands of other poor. Sensing my dismay, Luca whispered to me, Some day we'll have money for our own room, Brittany. His voice was dropping, and he sounded almost like Papà. Sinking onto the slatted wood of the bunk I would inhabit for the coming weeks, I smiled at him and echoed Some day.
On the day the Giuseppe Verdi was to finally land in America, I heard shouts from the deck before I even opened up my eyes. Lamerica, Lamerica! they cried. The other passengers leapt from their bunks and scrambled to the stairs, save for Mamma and me. Luca was halfway to the door when he stopped and turned back, knowing he couldn't leave us to go above with everyone else. He helped Mamma up first, then crouched down beside my bunk while I wiped the sleep from my eyes and leaned forward, clinging to him as he settled my weight against his back, then stood with a faint grunt and carried me up to the deck.
It seemed everyone on the boat was already up, gathered toward the helm of the ship, craning their necks to see the new land as they dabbed sweat off their necks and foreheads. Though it was sweltering hot, my feverishness suddenly turned to excitement. I had never heard the passengers so joyous; over the weeks of our voyage, we had settled into somber quiet, tales and hopes of America hushed over humble, dim suppers in the bowels of the vessel. But at last we were approaching shore, and though I couldn't see it over the crowd, my heart swelled with happiness as Luca steadied me against the starboard rail. I held it steadfast as the cheers and merriment grew louder. Luca darted into the throng of passengers, eager to see America. I imagined Papà, waiting for us on the dock, arms outstretched, whooping and twirling his hat with as much joy as Luca.
I saw other passengers pointing toward the port side of the ship and looked past the mast.
And there, watching proudly over the harbor, was Lady Liberty.
She stood on a great stone pedestal, sturdier and more stately than the pictures Papà had shown me. She didn't smile, but her face promised fierce protection. I imagined Papà putting his fingers to his lips as he took her in for the first time, then raising his hand to the sky to send the kiss to her feet. If I had been there with him, he would have told me that Liberty was the second most beautiful woman in America, and that I would be the first until Mamma arrived.
As I looked at Liberty's stoic face, eyes fierce and blank at the same time, I thought she was indeed beautiful, despite her manly stance and her formless robes. I wished I could stand as strong and tall as she did, raising a torch to the sky with the might of the thousands who sought shelter and promise in her harbor. Mamma put her arm around me, and I tore my eyes away from Liberty to look at her. Her eyes were shining, her hand holding her belly, the joy of knowing her next son or daughter would be born into a better life lighting up her whole face, bringing back the pink in her cheeks.
Papà was right. Mamma was already the most beautiful woman in America.
My happiness was interrupted as a great noise came bellowing from somewhere above us. It startled me and rattled the ship, and if anyone hadn't been woken by the happy cries of the passengers, they were awake now. The fog horn sounded again, and it felt as though the ship itself was celebrating reaching its port.
And then, slowly, the boat turned, and Manhattan came into my view for the first time.
I had never seen such a beautiful sight. The water before us stretched in a silver-blue path toward a port where towers yearned heavenward, their steel and brick clean and new. The city was steady and clean, patches of trees coming into view as we drew nearer. I squinted, trying to spot Papà waving his cap, though I knew I wouldn't be able to see him until we drew closer to shore. I clutched at the rail tighter, hoping my excitement wouldn't cause me to topple over into the water, giving the sea what it had wanted all along. But with Mamma's arm around me and the promise of Papà's embrace near, my legs were as sturdy as ever.
The boat continued turning and we started drifting parallel to the port. Perhaps we were making a joyous circle around the Statue of Liberty; with the whole boat in celebration, it seemed apt. I turned my gaze back to her, admiring her jaw and her strong arms and firmly planted feet, her crown like spearheads radiating joy. It was only when the ship turned halfway around I realized that we had docked in America! I was so full of joy, I felt I could have run to down to the gangplanks and skipped my way to solid land, casting off the stiffness of my legs. But as it was, I had to wait for Luca to come find me, assisting me to the ship's door.
But by the time Luca had come back to collect me, a commotion had started near the stairs. As I looked down at the docks, I saw that only the fine ladies and gentlemen of the first class were being allowed off the ship. I squinted at the fine seams, the shiny buttons, the trim on their hats and waists. If I was to find work in America, I would need to know what the society ladies were wearing.
The first class passengers strolled down the gangplank, some gentlemen carrying parasols to shield the ladies from the sun. I thought that I should like to get Mamma a parasol soon.
But my daydreams of grandeur were interrupted when I saw the gangplank being drawn back up into the ship. Confused murmurings started to swarm at the helm of the ship. Women's hands flew to their husbands and children, perplexed expressions paired with their questions. I heard them ask, in their various dialects, if something was amiss, or if we'd be asked to pay tariffs most of them surely couldn't afford.
When I looked at Mamma with uncertainty, she kept her hand steadfast on my waist and said, "Non ti preoccupare, Gianna. Papà would have told us."
Swallowing, I nodded. Then, deciding right then and there, I said, "It's Brittany now, Mamma."
Mamma smiled, though the smile was dampened by thoughts of my father, whom she missed so much. "Non ti preoccupare, Brittany," she murmured. "We've but to pass through another inspection, and then we'll see Papà."
I swallowed again and nodded, feeling the worn paper of my return ticket to Napoli stuck to my breast. We hadn't been allowed to board with one-way tickets in case we were turned away upon arrival. The ticket had stuck to my skin for weeks, absorbing my sweat and fueling my nerves, reminding me that the Golden Door wasn't open to everyone. But Luca, who was smart and had made friends with some of the ship's boys, told us that only those with disease and infection would be turned away. He glanced down at my legs, then looked away, ashamed, as he reiterated that we had no reason to worry.
Through the doors on the other side of the ship, we were herded onto a barge. When Luca retrieved our rucksacks from steerage, he murmured something into Mamma's ear. Mamma turned to me, hand falling from her belly as she looked me earnestly in the eye. "Luca cannot help you, Brittany." Her eyes darted down to the plank that led to the barge. "They are watching," she whispered.
I nodded, clutching at the railing for a moment longer, summoning strength to send into my legs.
My legs weren't like everyone else's legs. They were sometimes stiff and twisted like a foal's. I could walk in my funny little way, but when I was five years old, I was still falling like the bambini next door. When Luca began running before I could, Mamma and Papà took me to a doctor who stretched my legs until I was wailing in pain. When we had a little extra money, Mamma took me to see other doctors, hoping to find a remedy or procedure that would keep me from falling or alleviate some of the stiffness that caused me to stumble. But doctors had found nothing, and after years of searching and thousands of lira spent on doctors who did nothing but stretch my legs, Mamma took to rubbing my legs at every daybreak and every nightfall. Though her hands didn't draw the stiffness out of me, they assured me she would always try to catch me when I fell.
And so, as carefully as I could, I followed Mamma and Luca to the stairs. I tried not to look like I was walking under the weight of a heavy bag on one shoulder, as I often did. I willed my knees not to knock together and my feet to be sure without plodding or dragging the worn soles of my shoes across the deck. I kept my arms pinned to my sides so they didn't wobble with the unevenness of my gait. Each step took focus. Hopefully, with enough care and concentration, I would look like I had just a slight limp.
We waited as the crowds were loaded into barges, and then, because I saw most of the passengers doing so, I gripped the rail for support as I walked the slope down to the barge. Once aboard, Mamma looked relieved, patting me on the back.
When the barge was packed full of passengers from steerage, it groaned and began barreling away from Manhattan. My heart dropped; we were being taken farther away from Papà when he was so close. Moments earlier I could almost feel the scratch of his cheek against mine as he kissed my cheeks. I tried not to cry. I was tired and addled from so many weeks in the belly of the ship.
After only a few minutes of surging back towards Napoli, I saw we'd docked at a small island with a large building. It was as big as the Roman courthouses Papà described, its bricks red and sturdy, its limestone crisp, as though it weren't frightened of the limitless sea that stretched behind us back towards Napoli. I was afraid of the sea, but with land so close, I felt my fear start to dwindle.
Suddenly we were surrounded by uniformed men barking orders at us in words I didn't understand. Even the few Italian words they used sounded strange, as though they were stretched into shapes that weren't beautiful anymore. The murmuring around us escalated, and I heard people saying health inspection, health inspection as their heads turned nervously and their hands worried their bags and shawls.
At this, Mamma seemed to pale. She turned to me, and in words for colder than I'd ever heard her, she said, "Brittany, ascoltami. You are not to fall."
Startled by the fear in her eyes, I nodded. Mamma had never been harsh with me about my legs. She knew that I never meant to fall, and that if I'd been able, I would have been a dancer. I felt my shoulders and arms grow rigid like my legs, and I held onto the railing of the barge for as long as I could. I was grateful that Luca carried our bags as we made our way off the barge, holding the railing as long as I could.
And at last, my feet touched American soil.
I wanted to crouch and kiss the ground, I was so happy to be out of the sea's clutches. But knowing I might not be able to get back up if I were to bend low enough to press my lips to the earth, I stood as strong and tall as I could, head held high like Lady Liberty as I willed my legs forward with as much grace as I had.
In a single line, we made our way toward the great building before us. Mamma looked back at me nervously a few times, giving me a thin smile when she saw how carefully I was walking. I avoided looking at the guardsmen that surrounded us, hoping they would notice nothing peculiar about me as I ambled forward.
When we got into the building, we saw other passengers setting down their bags. Luca didn't want to put down the precious few belongings we'd brought with us, but the guards barked at us, even forcibly taking my rucksack from Luca's hands. We were given a tag with a number on it and ushered down a corridor that led to a narrow flight of stairs. I prepared to journey up, willing my legs not to betray me. Luca stood behind me, and it felt almost as comforting as Mamma's hands on my legs at the end of the day.
Mamma went up the stairs first, strong and quiet like she always is. At the top of the stairs, the man in the white coat gestured with his hand for her to turn around. When she did, he gave a stiff nod, then marked the back of her dress with the letters "Pg" drawn in white chalk. Mamma didn't look down at us, but I could see fear in her eyes.
I ascended the stairs with only minor difficulty. I saw a man in a long white coat watching me, but didn't make eye contact. I wanted only to blend in with the other travelers. When I reached the top of the stairs, the man stopped me, his arm firm on mine.
My heart stopped. Why had he stopped me and Mamma, but no one else? Could he tell my legs were stiff?
To my humiliation, he lifted my skirt to my knees and leaned over to examine me. I flinched and pulled my skirt away from his grasp, horrified that a strange man would be so forward as to expose my legs. How dare he! My legs were not for anyone to see but doctors and Mamma and Papà and Luca and perhaps someday a husband.
Frowning at me, the man spoke garbled words, then lifted his eyebrows. He had asked me a question, but I didn't know what he wanted to know.
Figuring it was something about my legs, I leaned down and pointed to my toes, then to the base of the wall, then knocked my fists together and made an exaggerated wince. The man frowned at me, then said, "Ah, yoostubt yortoe?"
Too nervous to figure out what he meant, I nodded quickly. He sighed, his hand swift across my back as he gestured me forward down the long corridor with the other passengers. I took a deep breath, hoping I had passed the inspection.
At the end of the hall, we approached the door of the great hall. I peered in at the vaulted ceiling. It was the largest room I'd ever seen! Bigger even than our Church in Napoli! But instead of a cross behind an altar, the American flag with its forty-eight stars hung from a balcony over hundreds of people who had been on our ship. Once I stood under that flag, I would be one step closer to being American. I could hardly wait.
We were shepherded toward an area sectioned off by metal railings. Beside the pen were other pens just like it, and as I looked around, I realized the whole hall was full of pens, as though the travelers were being organized like cattle or chickens. Were the pens divided for a reason? Seeing that many of the people in other pens were sitting, we settled onto the ground. I tried not to look odd as I lowered myself and folded my foal legs beneath me.
And then we waited. Had we come so far to America only to wait? The hall was so crowded and hot and noisy, and I found nothing familiar other than the faces I knew from steerage, anxious hands clutching bags and babies and shawls. A few people shared the hard biscuits we'd eaten on the boat. I was so tired of biscuits. All I wanted was some of Mamma's soup and fresh bread.
After hours of sitting in sweaty uncertainty, our pen was collected by a guardsman. Upon seeing me struggle to get up, Mamma reached down to help me, glancing around her nervously to see if any of the guards noticed. They hadn't. We walked forward to an inspection point. I tried to get my heart to stop hammering inside my chest, but it was no use.
Another man in a white coat stepped forward, looking me up and down through his spectacles. He turned me about, lifting my skirt as the other man had done. I didn't try to stop him this time. Then he took a great hook and held it to my eye, tugging down on the skin, then up to lift my eyelid away from my eye.
It stung, and my instinct was to blink and leap away. The metal felt as though it could slice through my flesh, and tears started forming. But it was over quickly, and though my eyes blurred for a few moments, I felt relief as I was ushered forward with Mamma and Luca.
But no sooner had I reached the end of the corridor, a man's arm came down in front of me. He looked me in the eye and shook his head as he spoke words I didn't understand.
Heart racing, I was ushered into a different room than Mamma and Luca.
Mamma and Luca turned back to see me stopped at the door. Horrified, Mamma tried to rush back to me, but guards directed her forward. I reached for her, looking up at the guard, pleading to be allowed to at least say goodbye if I was to be sent back to Napoli. I thought of the few lira I had with me and decided to offer them to the guard in exchange for a few words with Mamma, but I knew the money was in Luca's coat. Luca strained his head back to me over the crowds and then disappeared from my sight.
Fearing I was being separated for good, I pointed back toward Mamma and Luca, saying over and over, "Mia madre, mio fratello! Mia madre, mio fratello!" hoping the guards would understand that I wanted to be with my family. A guardsman held up a gentle hand and spoke, though I didn't understand what he was saying.
My pleas went unanswered, and I was pushed into a small white room full of women I didn't know. The door to the room was closed, separating me from everything I knew. Behind a screen I saw a woman being inspected by a doctor, and by leaning slightly to the side, I realized she was stark naked! I averted my eyes, embarrassed. Aside from Mamma, I had never seen a naked woman before. I could only imagine the shame she felt, surrounded by strangers, exposed like that. A man inspected her spine, then tapped on her knees. After looking in her mouth and checking that she had no rashes, she was handed back her clothes.
And then I realized that I would be asked to disrobe too.
I felt shame surge into my cheeks. What would Mamma and Papà say if they knew I'd been seen by so many people without my clothes on? Or worse, what would our bishop say? Surely I would be forever a disgrace if I were to let strange men and women see me in all my nakedness.
But I knew that if I didn't disrobe, I would be denied entrance to America. I couldn't go back to Napoli. Everyone I loved was in America.
I started to cry, but I tried to hide it with the corner of my shawl. As I did, an old woman who I'd seen in steerage put her hand on my arm. She spoke with a strange dialect that told me she was not from Napoli, perhaps farther North or East. But having her hand on my arm trying to sooth me was comforting like the banister of the building I'd left in Napoli.
The old woman said quietly, "You help me, and I will help you, no?"
Not knowing what she meant but grateful for her assistance, I nodded.
Closing my eyes, trying to pretend I was bathing alone, I took off my clothes when the doctor told me to do so. Face burning, I felt a strange man's hands on my legs, asking questions in strangely shaped words. I didn't answer, only stood strong and tall and wished to be a mare instead of a foal. The old woman behind me mirrored the man's strange words, her sentences ending down instead of up like his, giving him answers. I tried to call on a Saint to guide me through this trial of humiliation, but I could think of none. The only image that came to my head was the Statue of Liberty, with her striking countenance, her promise of fierce protection. Though I knew our bishop would disapprove, I prayed to the Statue of Liberty that my trial would be over and I would be reunited with Mamma and Luca soon.
And then, miraculously, it was done. I was handed back my dress and told to step to the side. As I dressed, the old woman behind me disrobed and was inspected by the man. When he asked questions, she pointed to me, and I heard her say that I was her granddaughter. If the man had spoken a word of my language, he would have known that this woman and I couldn't possibly be related; our dialects were too different, and we looked nothing alike. But I had promised to help the old woman, just as she had helped me, so I looked back at the man and nodded, assuring him I was her granddaughter. I waited until she was dressed to exit the room.
We were shown out into the same hallway I'd last seen Mamma and Luca. As we crossed the threshold, the old woman leaned into me and whispered, in her odd dialect, "Go to Doyers street. There is a doctor there who can fix any ailment of the limbs."
Grateful, I nodded as she moved past me and disappeared at the end of the hall.
At the end of the hallway, I was overjoyed to see Mamma and Luca. I had never been so glad to see them. Mamma reached out for me, asking what had happened. I said nothing of disrobing, only that a man had looked at my legs, and that an old woman had been kind to me and told me of a doctor who could help with my condition. Mamma kept her hand on my back, protective and warmer than before.
We were led to a desk where a fatigued man with a pen and a huge book was waiting for us. He asked if we were Italiano, and Mamma nodded. Then, using an interpreter who spoke with a Roman accent rather than Neapolitan, he asked our names. Mamma glanced at me without smiling before she said, "Francesca Passerini, Brittany Passerini, and Luca Passerini."
My heart glowed. She had told the man my name was Brittany, and since it was written down in his big book now, no one could argue.
The man asked a few more questions. When asked how much money we had, Luca blurted, "Twenty-five dollars." I saw Mamma go stiff and knew that Luca had lied, though she was too afraid to correct him. Then we were asked who was meeting us. Mamma said, "Mio marito, Giovanni Passerini. Si, è impiegato," assuring the man that we had someone to come collect us and that he was employed. The man nodded and pointed toward a great staircase leading down from the noisy hall, instructing us to keep to the left.
The staircase was broken into three by two sturdy railings. I was glad to have something to hold as we descended. Mamma walked behind me, shielding my lameness from anyone who might ask me to come back for further inspection. I would be content never to be inspected again in my life, after having to disrobe so publicly. When we reached the floor below, Luca pointed to a row of desks behind metal bars, reaching into his pocket to take out what little money we had.
"We can exchange our lira for dollars here," he said, smiling. The idea excited him so. We'd never seen dollars, but for a few shabby pictures Papà had shown us. Luca rushed forward, handing our money eagerly to the clerk. After a moment, Luca came bounding back to us, five dollar bills in his hand.
Now Mamma couldn't keep her smile in. She leaned forward, examining the strange paper with its gray ink. Then, remembering we were surrounded by people, she whispered, "Keep it safe, Luca. That's all the money we have."
Luca's face grew somber, and he tucked the money inside his jacket. Then, looking around, we weren't sure what to do next.
Since he'd been acting as the man of the house for months now, Luca went back to the clerk and asked where we were to go now. The clerk pointed to the door, and Luca nodded. We followed, Mamma and I still wary of my legs, until we came into another room where people were rejoicing and kissing. One little boy was shouting, "We're free! We made it to America!"
Luca turned back to us, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed his cap and leapt in the air, whooping with joy before he ran back to hug first Mamma and then me.
I was so happy, so relieved that my legs hadn't betrayed me like I'd feared, I started to weep. I saw Mamma weeping too, and she drew me into her arms, hand behind my head, thanking the Holy Father and all the Saints she could think of for our fortune and safe passage.
We had been granted passage into the new land.
Our journey was finally over.
Translations:
"Non ti preoccupare" = Don't you worry
"Bambini"= babies or small children
"Ascoltami" = Listen to me
"Mia madre, mio fratello!" = My mother, my brother!
"Mio marito, Giovanni Passerini. Si, è impiegato." = My husband, Giovanni Passerini. Yes, he is employed.
Don't worry, Santana will make her appearance soon!