An Italian Wife by Ann Hood Read Free Book Online Page B

servant.
    She was surprised when Father Leone himself answered her knock. Usually, one of the parish nuns was in there cleaning or cooking for him. Right then, as the heavy door swung open and Father Leone appeared with dramatic light pouring in from the window behind him, Chiara decided that not only did she want to be a nun, but she wanted to be the nun who took care of Father Leone. What an honor that would be. To wash the floors he walked on and to simmer a rich ragu for him to eat. Even Elisabetta would never have such pleasure.
    Father Leone was smiling down at her, waiting. “Yes?” he said finally. “Have you come to stand on my doorstep? Or do you have a problem?”
    Chiara spoke in a rush of Italian. “Forgive me for the disturbance,” she said, “I’m God’s servant Chiara Rimaldi—”
    â€œI know who you are,” he said. “Your mother is a selfless woman who gives everything to God.”
    This shut Chiara up. She never thought of her mother this way. To Chiara, her mother was a woman in a faded cotton dress, always working. She never seemed to be at rest. Even when she sat, she sewed or knit or kneaded. She was not like Magdalena down the hill, who brought her children onto her lap and sang them silly songs. Or like Catalina next door who baked her children their own loaves of bread in animal shapes: cats and horses and rabbits.
    She felt Father Leone waiting.
    â€œI want to be a nun,” Chiara blurted.
    The priest studied her face carefully, and nodded. “How old are you, Chiara?”
    â€œEleven,” she said. Then she added quickly, “And I’m ready to leave my family and become a bride of Jesus.”
    â€œYou must be twelve to become an initiate,” he said. “But I can arrange it for you if you are still serious about this next year.”
    â€œOh, I will be!” Chiara said. “Even more serious.”
    He smiled down at her. She thought he must be the tallest man she’d ever seen.
    â€œYou will make a good nun,” he said, turning serious. “You are homely, although in God’s eyes everyone is beautiful. So taking Our Lord Jesus Christ as your husband is very wise.”
    Chiara thought she might cry from joy. She fingered the rosary around her neck, praying in gratitude. She didn’t even care that the priest had told her how ugly she was; she knew this about herself. Her face was flat, as if God had punched her just before she was born, and her nose was like a pig’s snout. Even her hair was not silky like her sisters’. Instead, it grew in tight, kinky curls all over her head.
    Father Leone kneeled at her side so that he could look in her eyes. “What are you praying for, child?” he asked her gently.
    â€œFor my brother, Carmine, who is fighting in France, and for all the American boys there, and for the people dying of the Spanish Influenza, and for my sister Elisabetta to somehow go to college, and for my sister Giulia to be famous, and for my sister Isabella to not be retarded, and for gratitude that next year you will send me to the convent.”
    â€œThose are a lot of prayers.”
    She nodded solemnly, crossing her fingers behind her back because there were more things she was praying for and leaving them out was a lie of omission.
    â€œWhy don’t you come here after school on Fridays and help Sister Alma clean my house?”
    â€œMe?” Chiara said.
    The priest touched her forehead and said a blessing before closing the door.
    But Chiara did not move for a long time. She stood on the priest’s doorstep, praying and letting this new blessing fill her: she was special after all.
    IN ONE SHOR T MONTH, Betsy’s life changed. Her mother had always claimed things came in threes. When someone in the neighborhood died, she would warn that two more deaths were coming. When good news arrived, she would watch for two more pieces of luck. Betsy wanted