Your friend,
Picci
“She didn’t have to do this,” Nino said.
“She wanted to, Zio Nino.” Nicolina gave her uncle the Santa Lucia medal that Vera Vietro and Silvio gave to Domenica when they were children. “For you, Zia Patrizia—” Nicolina gave her aunt the ruby cluster ring.
Patrizia cried, “Look what she wrote to me.” She showed Nino the note, which read, For my long-suffering and most excellent sister-in-law.
“Kept her sense of humor to the end. Dry and droll.” Nino shrugged.
As the relatives opened their gifts, their sadness was replaced with giddy joy as they shared the notes Matelda had left behind.
The platinum brooch with sapphires went to her daughter-in-law, Rosa.
The gold earrings from Domenica’s childhood went to her granddaughter Serena.
“Help me with the clasp, Giusto.” Ida leaned over as Giusto snapped Matelda’s pearls around her neck.
The ruby cuff links made and worn by Silvio went to her grandson Giacomo.
The gold pocket watch that Pietro gave to Domenica when she was banished to Marseille went to Giusto Figliolo. The note read, Dear Giusto, I hope you live to be one hundred.
Matelda’s wedding band, which had belonged to her mother, Domenica, from John McVicars, the diamond from Olimpio, and the aquamarine bracelet and earrings went to Nicolina.
The Vatican medal bestowed upon Olimpio and Matelda by Pope John Paul II for their service went to Matteo.
Silvio’s San Antonio medal went to Arturo.
Silvio’s watch went to Giorgio—For my wonderful son-in-law.
Netta’s wedding band went to Nino’s daughter, Anna.
The aventurine watch fob that was given to Domenica on her engagement to the captain went to Anina.
The Speranza ruby went to Olimpio—Please, Olimpio, do something with this ruby. It’s time. When I see Speranza and Agnese in heaven, I am certain they will ask.
“Anina, this is also for you,” Nicolina said.
“But I already have Bisnonna’s watch fob.” Anina opened the second envelope and looked inside.
“What is it?” Ida said gently.
Anina read the note aloud.
When you marry someday, offer this wedding band to your husband. It belonged to my father Silvio, who you know now was my stepfather. I never knew my father, John McVicars, and Silvio Birtolini Cabrelli spent his life trying to make up for that loss. My papa Silvio kept his own counsel all his life when he had no reason to believe in himself. Born poor, without a father to claim him, he could have taken the wrong path. But his mother, Vera Vietro, taught her son to love no matter how poorly he was treated. I was not of his bloodline like my good brother, Nino, but Papa never made me feel that I wasn’t, nor did Nino, for that matter. When you choose a husband someday, choose wisely. This gold band was worn by the man who chose to be a Cabrelli.
* * *
Nicolina stood in her stocking feet in her mother’s kitchen, rinsing the final platter from Matelda’s funeral luncheon. “That was the longest day of my life.”
“It just feels like that, Mama”—Anina took the platter and dried it—“because you had to talk to so many people. You had to read Nonna’s letter. No one knew how hard it was for you to speak in public. You did a good job.”
“Grazie. When I die, please don’t tell anyone I still had social anxiety when I was fifty.”
“It will be the first line in your obituary.” Anina climbed the step stool. Nicolina handed her the stack of clean dishes. “I can’t believe how many people turned out for Nonna today.”
“Mama was loved in this village. Seventy-seven years is a long time to live in one place.”
“I wish you would’ve named me Matelda. It’s such a pretty name.”
“I gave you a family name. I named you for Uncle Nino. Sort of. We were close when I was little, and I always said I’d name a child after him. But Mama and her brother were feuding when Giacomo was born, so I named him after the Tizzi side. When you were born, I thought if I named you after Uncle Nino, it would heal the rift between my mother and uncle once and for all. That’s where I got the name Anina. But even that didn’t work. Mama and Uncle Nino put each other on the island through the years as though they bought a time-share on it.”
“The island?”
“That’s what we called the place Mama sent her brother when she wasn’t speaking to him. I never told you about it because I didn’t want you to pull that nonsense with your brother.”