The Miner's Lady (12 page)

She thought of her sister and continued.
Isabella is young,
but, Father, I think she knows her heart. I think she truly loves Orlando, and that he, in turn, loves her. Please guide them, Father. Show me what I can do to help them.

Chantel had the table cleared and dishes washed before her mother reappeared. “Oh, Chantelly, what a blessing you are to me,” her mama declared, coming to give her a hug. “Thank you for seeing to this.”

“Is Isabella better now?”

Mama shrugged. “It's hard to love someone so dearly and have so many troubles follow.”

“Do you suppose Mr. Calarco will ever allow for their marriage?”

“Anything is possible with God.”

Chantel nodded. “I was just thinking that a minute ago. God can do anything, but it's hard to trust that He'll see things our way.”

“But our way is not what is important,” Mama chided. She picked up a clean bowl. “God has His plans and ways. We have to trust Him for guidance. He will not forget our needs.”

“I just want good things for Issy—for all of us,” Chantel replied. “I hate seeing her so heartbroken. I worry about her.”

Mama took a sack of almonds out from one of the lower cabinets. “Isabella is strong. She will survive this. And most likely they will soon be together.”

Chantel looked at her mother in confusion. “Did she say that? Are they going to elope right away?”

“I would not be surprised by such a thing. If they have enough money to buy train tickets, I believe they will go to Duluth soon. I told them they could no doubt stay with Marilla.”

Chantel's Aunt Marilla would be the perfect solution. She would enjoy the company of the young couple and could well afford to help them.

“I have some money from selling my tatting,” Chantel murmured. “I had already thought to give it to Isabella as a wedding gift for their new start. Maybe I could send some additional lace with them to sell in Duluth.” Her mind began to churn with thoughts. “Aunt Marilla said she could take all the lace we could send.”

“Do not be thinking that this is a problem for you to fix.” Mama waggled her finger at Chantel. “This is for them to figure out. You can help—but you cannot make their decisions for them.”

She was right, of course. Orlando and Isabella must choose what their next steps would be.

Her mother sat at the kitchen table and began shelling almonds. “I promised Marco I would make more Torrone.”

“I'm glad. I hardly got to have any,” Chantel said, pulling the last of the oranges from the back of the cabinet. “I've been saving this in case we needed more zest.”

“And you never found out who your secret admirer was?”

“I figure it was Leo Fortino,” Chantel replied. “He didn't say so, but he's the only one I know with enough money to send off and have a dozen large oranges delivered to Ely.”

“It's too bad he's . . .” Her mother fell silent.

Chantel took down the zester. “His affection is not something I desire, Mama, so it's not too bad as far as I'm concerned.”

“If only he owned a grocery store or a dry goods. Even a restaurant would be acceptable. But he has all that drinking and gambling.” Mama narrowed her eyes. “And then there
are the women.” She made a
tsk
ing sound and turned her attention back to the almonds.

“It is of no matter to me,” Chantel said, taking a seat beside her mother. “I'm not even sure God has someone for me. Maybe I'm supposed to just stay here and take care of you and Papa. That wouldn't be such a bad life.”

Her mother shook her head. “No. God has a husband for you. I know this.”

Chantel could see the confidence in her mother's expression. “And just how do you know this?”

“Because God, He tell me in the quiet of my heart.”

Chantel gave a sigh. “I wish He'd tell me. Did He by any chance mention who it might be?”

Her mother laughed. “No. So you will just have to wait for His time, Chantelly.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

An hour later Papa and the boys returned. They came in the back door, snow covering their hats and coats. Chantel jumped up to help them with their coats. She shook off the excess snow outside, then hung the coats close to the stove to dry.

“Where have you been so long?” Mama asked. “I thought you were just going to go chop wood for Mrs. Conti.”

“We did that, and then we went over to the Calarco house,” Papa replied. His stern expression and sober tone told Chantel the encounter had not been pleasant.

Mama couldn't contain her surprise. “I santi ci preservi!”

“I had hoped to talk again to Vittorio, but he wouldn't allow for it. Even his mother-in-law tried to reason with him to make the peace, but he said no. He said he would never be at peace with us.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Mama shook her head.

“Mrs. Barbato told him that God blessed the peacemakers and that because he refused my gesture, he risked making God angry. He said he didn't care.”

Mama grasped Papa's hand. “We must pray for his soul. That poor man—his anger and pride will destroy him.”

Papa nodded and pulled off his boots, setting them beside his sons' on a special set of posts situated near the stove.

“What about Orlando?”

Chantel looked up to find Isabella standing just inside the kitchen. She could see her sister's swollen eyes and reddened nose. She'd been crying again.

“I don't know where he is,” Papa admitted. “I didn't see him or his brother. Just Mrs. Barbato and Vittorio.” He went to his youngest and put his arm around her shoulders. “I am sorry, Issy. I tried.”

She burst into tears and buried her face against Papa's chest. Chantel also longed to offer her sister comfort, but the anger that stirred inside her wouldn't have been a comfort to anyone. Those Calarcos were causing her family more pain and grief than was fair. If only there was something she could do to put an end to it.

She remembered her mother's admonition. This wasn't something she could fix, and even if she could, it certainly wasn't her responsibility. But that didn't stop Chantel from trying to figure out how she might help her sister. After all, the Bible said they should help one another—bear one another's burdens. It seemed only right that she should find a way to help Isabella bear this one.

J
ANUARY
1891

For the next few weeks things seemed to calm down. Chantel figured the bitter cold had much to do with it. Orlando and Isabella weren't inclined to plan clandestine meetings in the sub-zero temperatures, and the single time Orlando had come to see Isabella at the house, the couple had made it clear to the Panettas that they were going to forego seeing each other to ease the vigilant watch of the Calarco men. Orlando felt confident that if they gave it a little time and pretense, his brother and father would assume he was giving up on the idea of marrying Isabella. Chantel's father hadn't encouraged Orlando to be deceptive, but rather had told him to continue praying that God would change his father's heart. Orlando had rightly countered that he supposed a man would have to want to change his heart before God could work on it. Chantel had to agree.

The one place Orlando and Isabella saw each other was at church on Sunday. Mrs. Barbato insisted on attending services, and Orlando had taken to accompanying her because the ground was too icy and temperatures too bitter for her
to go alone. Mrs. Barbato was also her grandson's advocate. She approved of his romance with Isabella Panetta, and even though the young lovers could hardly be seen together at church without word getting back to his father, they were at least able to slip notes to one another via their family members and exchange a glance or two.

It was through one of those notes that Chantel learned of Isabella's plans to leave with Orlando around the first of February.

“I don't understand why you're waiting,” Chantel said in a whisper. She handed her sister back the folded note.

The priest was concluding the service with prayers, but Isabella leaned over to speak nevertheless. “He needed to wait until he had enough money set aside.”

“But I already offered you money,” Chantel replied.

The service ended just then and the congregation rose. Isabella held fast to Chantel's arm. “I told that to Orlando, but he wanted to do this himself. I will take a little of the money just in case, but I don't want to shame him, so I don't want you to say anything about it.”

“Of course I won't,” Chantel promised.

Mama left the family and made her way through the congregation to where Orlando and his grandmother sat. Chantel looked to her father, who since nearly dying at the mine had become a regular churchgoer.

“What is Mama off to do?”

He glanced in the direction his wife had gone. “She was concerned about Mrs. Barbato. She didn't think the old woman looked well.”

Chantel frowned. “I think I'll go make sure everything is
all right.” She pressed past her father and slipped into the stream of people.

By the time she reached her mother and Mrs. Barbato, it was evident that something wasn't right. The old woman looked quite pale and didn't seem to be feeling at all well.

“Mama, what can I do to help?”

“I don't want to make a scene,” Mrs. Barbato whispered. “Orlando, help me to my feet, and we will go home.”

“Nonna, I don't think you're strong enough to walk that far,” he said, looking to Mrs. Panetta as if for instruction. “I think I should take you to Dr. Shipman's hospital.”

“No. I won't go there,” Mrs. Barbato said in a tone that made it clear the matter was not up for discussion. “Hospitals are where people go to die.”

“Our house is just a block away,” Mama reminded him. “We will take her there and send for the doctor.”

This seemed acceptable to the older woman, who by now was struggling to get to her feet. Orlando put his arm around her to offer his support. “I should carry you,” he whispered.

“No!” Mrs. Barbato declared. “Just help me, and I will walk. I don't want everyone knowing.” She gave a quiet cough into her handkerchief, then nodded that she was ready.

Chantel followed them from the church. “I'll go ahead and open the door,” she told Orlando. She glanced back to see her mother explaining the matter to Papa and Isabella.

Hurrying ahead, Chantel made it to the house well ahead of Orlando and his grandmother. Marco was sitting at the table drinking coffee when she burst into the house. He looked at her oddly for a moment.

“Something on fire?” He yawned, and she could tell he hadn't been awake all that long.

Just then Alfredo came in from the back door with an armful of cut wood. Chantel motioned to him. “Put the wood down and come assist Orlando. His nonna is sick, and Mama is having her come here.”

Alfredo stacked the wood and asked, “How do you want me to help?”

“Orlando may need you to help carry his nonna—she's quite weak. If not, Mama may want you to go for the doctor, since you already have your coat and boots on.”

He nodded and headed to the front door. “I see them coming.” He went to meet them while Chantel hurried to her bedroom. She pulled down the covers to her bed, deciding it would be best to let Mrs. Barbato rest here while awaiting the doctor's arrival.

She bustled back to the foyer just as Orlando and Alfredo came up the steps. They were on either side of Mrs. Barbato, who looked as if she'd fainted. Once they stepped into the house, however, she opened her eyes.

“Take her to my bed,” she instructed Alfredo. “I've already pulled down the covers.”

The men delivered the old woman to the room, and once she was seated on the bedside, Chantel dismissed them. Mama came into the room just as the boys were exiting.

“Someone needs to go for the doctor,” she told them.

“I'll go, Mama,” Alfredo replied.

Mama pulled off her gloves and coat. “Orlando, tell Isabella to put some hot water on to steam. We need to help your nonna breathe easier.” Next, she turned to Chantel. “Go
take off your things and go to the pantry for the vaporizing lamp. You'll find the eucalyptus oil in the medicine box.”

“Yes, Mama.” Chantel hurried to do as directed. Pulling off her coat, she tossed it and her woolen scarf and bonnet aside.

The pantry was hardly big enough to turn around in, but Papa had made shelves to the ceiling. Thankfully, the vaporizing lamp wasn't too high up. Chantel pulled it from the shelf, careful not to disturb the glass shade. Next she located the medicine box and rummaged through it to find the oil.

By the time she returned to her bedroom, Mama had Mrs. Barbato partly undressed and resting against a stack of pillows.

“Where should I put this, Mama?”

“On the dresser will be fine. Go ahead and leave it there. I can manage,” she told Chantel. “Why don't you keep watch for the doctor? Hopefully he'll be here soon,” she said, speaking more to Mrs. Barbato than to Chantel. “Is it any easier to breathe propped up like this?”

Mrs. Barbato gave a weak nod. Mama smoothed back the older woman's hair. “Good. You just rest.”

Chantel could see the look of worry that crossed her mother's face. Nonna Barbato's condition must be quite grave, she feared. She left the room and waited by the frosted front window for the doctor to arrive. Blowing hot breath onto the glass, Chantel cleared away a little circle from which to watch. After what seemed an eternity, a one-horse sleigh arrived with Alfredo and Dr. Shipman.

Chantel ushered the doctor into the house just as Orlando and Mama entered the foyer.

“Dr. Shipman, she's right this way,” Mama declared, not
worrying about any social greetings or formal proprieties. “She has a high fever and is struggling to breathe.” Chantel heard her continue down a list of what had already been done on the woman's behalf. She could see the worried look on Orlando's face.

Chantel gestured toward the front room. “We can wait in here for the doctor.”

Isabella came up from behind her fiancé and took his arm. “Will it take long for the doctor to tend her?” she asked her sister.

“I'm not certain.”

“I knew she shouldn't have gone to services this morning,” Orlando said, shaking his head. He went to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel. “She just didn't seem herself.”

Isabella joined him and touched his arm. “You aren't to blame. Like you told me earlier, she would have gone with or without you. Thankfully you were with her.”

“Father will wonder where we are. We always come right home after services. I suppose I should go and let him know what's happened, but . . .” His brow furrowed as his voice trailed off.

“Why don't you wait until you know what's wrong with her,” Chantel suggested. “After all, there's really nothing to tell him other than she got sick and we brought her here.”

Orlando's frown deepened. “And he's not going to like that one bit.”

“I would think it more important that she get proper care,” Isabella said softly.

He placed his hand atop Isabella's. “Most folks would, but
not my father, Issy. His desire to continue this feud between our families keeps him from rational thought.”

Chantel tried to think of comforting words she might offer, but in truth, she was equally frustrated. No doubt Orlando was right. His father would be livid when he learned the truth. A Calarco in the care of a Panetta was unthinkable to him.

The minutes ticked by in silence as the trio waited for news from the doctor. Chantel had no idea where her father or brothers had gone. She hoped they hadn't taken it upon themselves to inform the Calarco men of Nonna Barbato's situation. She doubted that Dante's father would even hear them out.

Finally Mama emerged. She came to where Orlando stood by the hearth. “Your nonna has pneumonia. She's quite ill.”

His jaw clenched. Chantel had seen Dante do the same when vexed with her. Orlando looked past the women toward the foyer. “I suppose I should go tell my father. He'll wonder why we haven't yet returned from church. Maybe I could get the doctor to drive Nonna home.”

Mama shook her head. “Dr. Shipman says she isn't to be moved. He doesn't even want to take her to the hospital. He fears such a disruption would end her life. We are perfectly happy to care for her here, however.”

“My father . . . my father will never allow for it,” Orlando said, meeting the woman's look of concern.

Chantel saw her mother give a slight nod. “He won't like it, but he will tolerate it. He must. Otherwise he would be responsible for her death. If you explain it to him that way, he'll have to accept the situation.”

“You don't know my father,” Orlando said, pulling away
from Isabella. “I want to see Nonna, and then I'll go. I don't know what else I can do.”

Mama patted his shoulder. “You can pray. We can always do that. Our Father in heaven hears our prayers. He will not forget such a faithful woman as your nonna.”

Orlando nodded and hurried from the room. Chantel got to her feet. “Will she recover, Mama?”

“Her fever is high and her breathing is very labored.” Mama shook her head. “I fear for her. I sent your papa for Father Buh.”

“Is it truly that bad?” Isabella said, taking hold of her mother's sleeve. “Oh, this is terrible. Poor Nonna Barbato. She's such a dear. She's the only one in Orlando's family who wants to see us married.”

“She is a dear woman,” Mama agreed, “but she's also quite old. A sickness such as this can easily take her life. Only time will tell. We will keep her here and do for her what we can.”

“We'll pray for her recovery,” Isabella said, casting a fearful glance at Chantel. “And that she doesn't pass away in our care . . . or it will no doubt go down in history as a Panetta killing a Calarco.”

“Yes,” Chantel said, nervous about that very thing. “We will pray.”

“Where have you been?” Father bellowed as a snow-covered Orlando burst through the door.

Dante knew his father presumed the worst, although he had suggested that perhaps Orlando and Nonna had taken lunch with friends after church. Father had spent much of the
afternoon pacing back and forth to stare out the window at the near-blizzard conditions, watching and grumbling about the duo's absence.