in their cribs when they were born, a layette of soft cotton gowns with pearl buttons. Wooden toys. Picture books. Her sons had long outgrown the clothes, and there was no replacing them.
Eduardo had one pair of wool pants and a coat given to him by a neighbor. Ciro wore the clean but ill-fitting clothes of his father, the hems on the work pants three inches deep, tacked with ragged stitches because sewing was not one of Caterina’s talents. Ciro’s belt was tightened on the last grommet, but still too loose to function properly.
“Where are we going, Mama?” Ciro asked as he followed his mother.
“She told you a hundred times. You don’t listen.” Eduardo lifted his brother’s duffel and carried it.
“You must listen for him,” Caterina reminded Eduardo.
“We’re going to stay at the convent of San Nicola.”
“Why do we have to live with nuns?” Ciro complained.
Caterina turned and faced her sons. They looked up at her, hoping for an explanation that would make sense of all the mysterious goings-on of the past few days. They weren’t even sure what questions to ask, or what information they needed to know, but they were certain there must have been some reason behind Mama’s strange behavior. She had been anxious. She wept through the night when she thought her sons were asleep. She had written lots of letters, more in the last week than they could ever remember her writing.
Caterina knew that if she shared the truth, she would have failed them. A good mother should never knowingly fail her children, not when she is all they have left in the world. Besides, in the years to come, Ciro would remember only the facts, while Eduardo would paint them with a soft brush. Neither version would be true, so what did it matter?
Caterina could not bear the responsibility of making every decision alone. In the fog of grief, she had to be sensible, and think of every possible alternative for her boys. In her mental state, she could not take care of her sons, and she knew it. She made lists of names, recalling every contact in her family’s past and her husband’s, any name that might be helpful. She scanned the list, knowing many of them probably needed as much help as she did. Years of poverty had depleted the region, and forced many to move down to Bergamo and Milan in search of work.
After much thought, she remembered that her father had printed missals for every parish in the Lombardy region, and as far south as Milan. He had donated his services as an indulgence to the Holy Roman Church, expecting no payment in return. Caterina used the old favor to secure a place for her sons with the sisters of San Nicola.
Caterina placed a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Listen to me. This is the most important thing I will ever tell you. Do as you’re told. Do whatever the nuns ask you to do. Do it well. You must also do more than they ask of you. Anticipate. Look around. Do chores before the sisters ask.
“When Sister asks you to gather wood, do it immediately. No complaining! Help one another—make yourselves indispensable.
“Chop the wood, carry it inside, and build the fire without asking. Check the damper before lighting the kindling. And when the fire is out, clean the ash pit and close the flue. Sweep up so it looks like a picture. Prepare the hearth for the next fire with dry logs and kindling. Put the broom and the dustpan and the poker away. Don’t wait for Sister to remind you.
“Make yourselves useful and stay out of trouble. Be pious and pray. Sit in the front pew during mass and sit at the farthest end of the bench during dinner. Take your portions last, and never seconds. You are there because of their kindness, not because I could pay them to keep you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” Eduardo said.
Caterina placed her hand on Eduardo’s face and smiled. He put his arm around his mother’s waist and held on tight. Then she pulled Ciro close. Her soft coat felt good against his face. “I know you can be good.”
“I can’t,” Ciro sputtered, as he pulled away from his mother’s embrace, “and I won’t.”
“Ciro.”
“This is a bad idea, Mama. We don’t belong there,” Ciro pleaded.
“We have no place to stay,” Eduardo said practically. “We belong wherever Mama puts us.”
“Listen to your brother. This is the best I can do right now.