Page 28 of The Girl from Sicily

28

LUCIA, APRIL 1969

Lucia pulled in a deep breath as she sat in the front pew of St Peter’s, New York’s oldest Roman Catholic church. Today was Carula’s wedding day, and Lucia couldn’t have been prouder.

She gave a sigh of pure happiness. Finally, Carula had settled down. She’d gone through boyfriends like a dose of salts while at Cornell University. After majoring in Biological Sciences, she’d begged to be allowed to undertake postgraduate research at Oxford University in England. Lucia had agreed, hoping it would broaden her horizons even more than they’d been broadened already. It was there she’d fallen in love with Iain Turner, a fellow researcher. Lucia had been over the moon when they’d both found jobs in the veterinary pharmaceuticals industry in New Jersey. They would rent their own apartment and start work as soon as they’d returned from their honeymoon.

Lucia gazed at Iain, who was standing by the altar with his best man, a fellow Brit. She’d first met Iain nine months ago, when her daughter had brought him home for the summer vacation. It had been clear that Carula and Iain were deeply in love – they listened to each other, accepted each other’s differences, and respected each other. The attraction between them was palpable, and Lucia could see that they’d formed a deep connection. She had every confidence their bond would be long lasting.

Lucia turned her attention to Filomena, dressed in lavender and sitting on her right. Alberto would walk Carula down the aisle. It was hard to believe almost twenty-two years had gone by since Lucia and Carula had travelled to America with them. Lucia closed her eyes, remembering her first sight of the Statue of Liberty after being away for so long. It hadn’t taken her any time at all to slip back into her American ways – regular visits to the movie theatres, eating out at diners, lazy summer days at Coney Island. And Carula had adapted quicky; she’d soon begun speaking English, making friends at kindergarten, and watching TV like it was going out of style.

But Lucia missed her family. She thought about them constantly and wrote long letters every week, describing her life in the States and begging them to come and visit. She, herself, couldn’t spare the time. Her job with her in-laws was all-consuming as she’d taken over the organisation of film festivals in conjunction with Italian consulates throughout the USA. Besides, she’d decided it would be too unsettling for Carula to travel with her back to Sicily.

Thankfully, she made enough money to afford airline tickets for Ma, Pa and Annita to come over every other year or so. When Annita married a local villaurorese, she no longer visited as often, given that she was too busy with her husband – a post office employee – and, eventually, her son and daughter. It was she who would welcome Carula and Iain to the village, where they would be accommodated in the baglio for some of their honeymoon. Ma and Pa would stay on in New York to give them some privacy. They still lived on the property and Lucia’s father had carried on working on the land, despite his advancing years.

Lucia nudged her mother, sitting on her left with Pa next to her.

‘I’m so glad you are here, Ma,’ she said. ‘And that you’ll be staying with me while Carula and Iain are away.’

‘Just wish your brother could have torn himself away from his businesses,’ Ma muttered.

Lucia sighed – she hadn’t seen her brother since she’d left Sicily. As time had passed, her reluctance to return to Villaurora had increased, and she’d used the excuse of being too busy. There were simply too many memories at the baglio, and that was that.

Oh, Gero, how I miss you still.

There would never be anyone else for her, she’d realised not long after she’d come back to America. Men asked her out on dates, but she always declined. No one could match up to Gero – he’d been unique, a one-off, and she didn’t want to even think about being with any other man.

As for her brother, it had become clear they were no longer as close as they were when young. She and Dinu wrote to each other from time to time, but whereas she recounted everything about her life in New York, his letters were brief. The partnership between him and Francu was stronger than ever, apparently. The two of them had left Villaurora after don Nofriu had passed away fifteen years ago as they’d always wanted to make it big in Palermo, and Dinu wrote that they were now in the world of finance. Ma and Pa saw little of him, they said. When Lucia had asked them if her twin was still involved with Cosa Nostra, they’d related he’d told them his enterprises were totally legitimate.

‘Carula and Iain will get in touch with Dinu, I’m sure,’ Lucia whispered to her mother. ‘Maybe that will encourage him to visit you more often?—’

He could at least have made the effort to attend his niece’s wedding, she thought. She wouldn’t let sadness about Dinu spoil her day, though. Her daughter was getting married, and she was determined not to let thoughts of her twin brother ruin her happiness.

The organist launched into ‘The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ and Carula and Alberto started their procession down the aisle. The congregation stood and turned to gaze at the bride. Wearing a high-waisted, empire-silhouetted long white silk dress, with a short train and an antique lace veil which covered her face, Carula looked absolutely stunning and Lucia’s eyes welled with emotion.

* * *

Later, after myriad toasts and enough food to feed an army in the Dolce Vita restaurant in Coney Island, Lucia smiled as Iain guided Carula onto the floor for their first dance.

Lucia couldn’t help being reminded of her own wedding, how she and Gero had danced under the stars in the courtyard of the baglio while Uncle Carlo had played his accordion. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Gero’s strong arms, whirling her around, hear his deep voice, and feel his gentle kisses. Such wonderful memories…

Carula and Iain had kept things simple, only inviting close friends and relations. Iain’s parents had flown over from the UK. Blond and fair-skinned like their son, they contrasted with the swarthy Sicilians in the party.

Before too long, it was time for Carula and Iain to leave for their honeymoon, and Lucia pulled her daughter in for a hug.

‘Have a great time in Sicily, sweetie,’ Lucia said. ‘And say ciao to that brother of mine, if you track him down.’

‘Will do.’ Carula hugged her tight. ‘I’ll ask Aunt Annita to get hold of him when we’re there.’