June 15, 1940
While Mattiuzzi considered Scotland his country, Domenica remained loyal to Italy. Her intention had always been to return to Viareggio, but fate had led her far from home. She was married to the captain now, which made her a Scot. But in her heart, if she put politics and the hubris of powerful men to the side, she remained an Italian and would die one. Her brother would be fighting against her husband. Her parents were hiding in the hills, and if family was her life, it meant that part of her was hiding too.
Domenica had begun to fall in love with Scotland despite her occasional bouts of homesickness. At first, she couldn’t see its beauty. She had traded, against her will, the warm waves of the Italian coast for the cold, green waters of the River Clyde. Eventually, she began to make her peace with it. Love had changed her point of view, and reminded her of her upbringing and duties. In her tradition, she had learned that her husband came first, so she placed him there. Domenica took care of John. She cooked for him, kept the cottage, and worked in the school to save her salary so they might be able to buy a home of their own someday. She would do her part. That morning, she had packed John’s duffel. His uniform was laid out on the bed. She had one more task to perform before he departed.
“Let’s get to it, Domenica,” her husband said.
He followed Domenica to the garden wearing his undershirt and trousers. She tied a bedsheet around him up to his neck, like a barber’s apron. Domenica combed his hair. She lifted a lock of hair and snipped it short.
“Careful of the ear, darling,” he said to her. “I need it to hear the enemy.”
“It’s the curves that are difficult. Sit still.”
“I’m certain you’re doing a fine job,” he joked.
“My best.”
“That’s all I can ask for. Let’s agree to a game of pretend this morning. I don’t ship out and we stay in this cottage for the rest of our days.”
“They’d come for you.”
“I said this was a game of pretend. For once, don’t be practical.”
“I have to be. I’m a problem. An Italian in Scotland.”
“You married a Scot, which makes you a Scot. Besides, I don’t think the Germans could get past the nuns. They haven’t for centuries. Even in Germany.”
Domenica removed the bedsheet from John’s shoulders and shook it out in the bushes.
“I like it,” John said, looking in the hand mirror at the haircut Domenica had given him. “It will suffice. But you must retire the scissors. You have no skill for it. Our children will look like numpties when you’re finished with them.”
Domenica put her arms around her husband and held him close. She kissed his neck.
“Mrs. McVicars.” The captain wanted to make love to his wife. He kissed her. “There will be none of that.”
“Not for a long time.” She ruffled his freshly cropped hair.
He checked his watch. “We do have the morning.”
“Do we now?” Domenica laughed and ran into the lodge. John followed her inside, closed the door, and locked it.
* * *
Grizelle McVicars stood at the window and watched her son John open the gate for his wife at the house on Tulloch Street. She groaned at the sight of the couple. She could not believe her son had the temerity to bring his Tally bride to her home.
“What did she say when you called?” Domenica asked as he let her inside the gate.
“Not much. This was your idea. Too late to turn back now.”
The front yard of his mother’s house was overgrown with long-necked lilies poking through gnarls of boxwood. Yellow paint peeled off the old clapboard, and the porch sagged where the wood had buckled from the storms that winter.
“You should’ve painted your mother’s house.”
John shot his new bride a look as he knocked on the door.
Grizelle McVicars met her son at the door. She opened it and extended her cheek as a greeting. She wore a modest black dress and brown shoes. Her white hair was pulled back in a plait.
“Mother, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Domenica,” John said.
Domenica extended her hand. Grizelle did not extend her own in return. “Well, come inside then,” she said before looking both ways to see if her neighbors had observed them.
John looked at Domenica and rolled his eyes.
The couple followed her to the kitchen, where she had put out biscuits. The teakettle whistled on the stove. Domenica and John sat down at the table.
“Mother, I’ve received my orders.”