Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 21)
Chapter 9 Part I
Cindy Bradford
Italy, 1975
Two days after graduation, Patrick boarded the plane. When he took his seat he found himself next to an attractive well-dressed, middle aged woman, with upswept black hair, who immediately introduced herself and began talking.
“Hello, my name is Carmella Mordini.” Before the plane left the ground he learned she lived about half-way between Rome and Florence in Tuscany. “We are close to the cusp of the Lazio, Umbria and Tuscany regions.” Her English was flawless but her Italian accent beautiful. “And you?” she asked.
He had wanted to introduce himself earlier, if nothing else to be polite, but she had not given him the chance in her enthusiasm. “O’Brien, Patrick O’Brien. I am from Boston, or just outside of Boston, really,” as he reached to connect his seat belt.
“What brings you to Rome? Or is this just a layover?”
“Well, both I guess. I’m going to study in Rome beginning in three months, but first I’m going to travel around, just go wherever the rails or my feet take me. For once in my life I’m going to be impulsive, unencumbered,” Patrick stated, hoping his nervousness of flying internationally did not show.
“That is wonderful. So where will you go first?”
“I think Florence, or maybe Assisi.”
“Then it is settled. You will come with me. I will call my husband from the airport and tell him I am bringing another man home,” she said laughing.
Stunned by the swiftness of her offer, Patrick countered, “We have a ten hour flight. You should perhaps wait until the ninth hour and see if you still like me before you invite me. And, what if your husband asks why you are dragging this American stranger home?”
She laughed again, “He is accustomed to my eccentricities and my big heart. You should see how many homeless cats and dogs I have taken in,” she teased Patrick.
“Tell me about your home?”
“It is fabulous, or it is to me. We have a 260 hectare estate and country manor, 16 kilometers outside the little town of Farina. I think that is about 640 acres as you figure it in the States. We grow olives and sell olive oil to many markets throughout Italy. We also have a small vineyard, but we make and keep the wine for ourselves or give it to friends. And Stefano, my husband, grows just enough tobacco to make his nasty cigars.”
Patrick was intrigued, “It must be beautiful.”
“So very beautiful, it is like an oil painting in progress. Some days my view from the villa is a vast emerald panorama; other days it has an amber cast, but when the rains have come it almost has a tinge of turquoise. The landscape changes, depending on the direction of the sun or the thickness of the dew. Tuscany is a kaleidoscope, one of the most beautiful places in the world, a jewel no less!” she said, sounding like a young woman in love.
Thinking he might read or even sleep a few hours, Patrick had brought a book, but it looked as though neither would be possible. However, he found himself enjoying listening to this interesting, unconventional, exuberant woman. He began to relax, listening as she continued talking about Italy. At last I am going to a real foreign land. Sue would have smiled at that.
Carmella finally took a breath and a break, “So, tall Irishman, tell me who you are?”
Smiling, Patrick began explaining his background, his basketball scholarships, life at Notre Dame and more about his study plans. He didn’t remember talking this much at one sitting in his entire life, but Carmella, who herself was intriguing, seemed sincerely interested. She, he knew, was old enough to be his mother so when she patted his knee as she talked, which she often did, he didn’t take offense or think she was being flirtatious. She was absolutely one of the most endearing persons he had met. Generally anyone this forceful or pushy would have been a total turnoff to Patrick causing him to turn inward, but he found himself laughing at her stories and answering her array of questions.
“Let’s have a cocktail, Patrico,” she said as the flight attendant approached them. “At home, it is vino, vino, vino. Let’s be naughty and have a Scotch and water. The Scots–they were your neighbors, right?”
Patrick smiled, although he had not been to Ireland or Scotland, he understood and said, “Why not? When going to Rome, do as the Romans do!”
“Just bring us each two please and you will not have to check on us so often,” she told the attendant.
“Tell me about Stefano.”
“Patrico, I am the luckiest woman in the world, and he is the most handsome, generous man anywhere in Italy.
Patrick was a bit amused because no one in his twenty-two years had ever changed his name, but surprisingly he liked the way it sounded.
“Stefano was a friend of my uncle Gianni whom I came to visit as a young girl.”
“What do you mean; are you not from Italy?”
“I was born there, but my father left Italy when I was two, thinking he would find his fortune in America. He and my mother moved to the San Francisco area where he shifted from job to job. But he would not give up, or he wanted to save face and not go back to Italy broke and jobless, so he just stayed.
“My mother was very unhappy; when I was fourteen she brought me back for a visit, and we stayed with her baby brother Gianni. We lived with him for awhile and my mother finally wrote a letter to my father telling him she was not leaving; that she loved him very much but America held no hopes for her, and she begged him to come home to Italy. About six months later he did come back, but he was a defeated man. He had failed in America and missed his chances in Italy. He had a heart attack and died at thirty-five.”
Stopping just long enough to sip her drink, Carmella continued, “My mother’s family took care of us after that. Her parents had a great deal of land and my uncles worked very hard. I think that is why they never understood my father. He was too much the dreamer for them.”
“Anyway, Uncle Gianni was ten years younger than my mother, but they were very close. My mother was a wonderful cook so always he had his sidekick Stefano coming to dinner. I fell madly in love with him and as they say, the rest is history. At eighteen, I married him. He was twenty-four and already beginning to acquire land and grow anything he could think to plant.”
“Do you have children?” Patrick asked in a quieter tone, noticing than many of the other passengers had placed their eyeshades on in preparation to nap.
“In eight years I miscarried six times and then finally I had the most beautiful baby girl, Elisabette. She is a fashion designer in Milan, the apple of her father’s eye and the darling of her mother’s heart. We tried many times, but she was the only one God gave us. She is very special,” Carmella said finishing her second scotch and water.
“Were you in the States for vacation or business?” Patrick asked, astonished at himself that he was asking so many questions.
“Business, my dear, we are expanding our line of olive oils to the States so I was in California for three days and then in New York. I have a wonderful friend who spends time at the Cape so we met in Boston. It seemed to make sense to fly out of there and I am so glad I did or I would have not met Mr. Patrico.”
Three hours had passed and as many Scotches had been consumed by both travelers. By the time dinner was served, Patrick felt a little dizzy. Never remembering drinking three Scotch and waters in such quick succession, he was glad to see food, even airline food.
After dinner, the captain lowered the cabin lights and Carmella dozed off. Patrick saw this as his one opportunity as well. They both woke to breakfast being served.
“I just ate dinner,” Carmella laughed. “How can this be?” They had each slept almost five hours and were only about two hours from Rome.
“I am more thirsty than hungry,” Patrick said, arranging his napkin for a bite of breakfast.
“Do not eat too much, love. We will have lunch, and tonight Carmen will prepare the most glorious meal you will ever have eaten.”
“It sounds as though you really are taking me to your villa.”
“Patrico, you are young, you know no one. We will introduce you to Italy the right way. You are our guest as long as you like.”
“But why?” Patrick could not resist asking.
Carmella paused, one of the only pauses, he thought, since he boarded the plane. “When you sat down you just looked somewhere between lost and excited. Your mannerisms told me you are a good boy who is striving to be a good man, but you’re still a clean cut shaggy, red headed kid with the most gorgeous blue eyes. You look in search of discovery. I guess it is a mother’s instinct, but it appeared that you could use a little gentle prodding to find yourself. I am just the Italian mama to lead the way. And, you are going to love Stefano. He will show you his vineyard, his olive trees, his cattle and his nasty tobacco and give you a map that you can trust. When you have seen Italy, you must come back and tell us your thoughts.”
After the plane landed, they both picked up their luggage and sailed through customs. Like a small child, Patrick followed Carmella to the parking area that housed her Mercedes.