The Witch of Little Italy (17 page)

Just as she was about to cry and take the ring and scream, “
yes!
” into the universe, he snapped the box shut and put it back into the pocket of his heavy black leather jacket. Elly felt a different kind of tears prickle behind her eyes.

Anthony placed both hands on her stomach and pressed his ear there, too. “I’m sorry little one, I forgot to consult you first. Kick once if you give me permission to ask your mama to marry me.”

He waited.

Elly waited.

“Oh for God’s sake, Anthony! It’s a nice gesture and everything but just ask me!
I
give you permission.”

Anthony laughed and took the box out once again. “You
are
bossy!” He stood up and took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her finger. A perfect fit, of course. “Will you?”

She took his face into her hands. “Forever and ever.”

They kissed until the ferryman told them they’d arrived at the very destination where they’d married each other years ago.

As they made their way off the dock, Elly’s excitement turned to disconcertment. This wasn’t the Far Rockaway she remembered.

“Mimi told me it was gone—but I don’t think my heart believed her.”

“I know, it’s really a cryin’ shame. But the cottage is still there and the beaches, too. Let’s walk while I tell you what I know.”

As they strolled through empty parking lots and littered patches of green grass making their way to the cottage, Anthony told his version of the story.

“Well, the war was officially over in Europe, so I think your great-grandmother, the one who wasn’t Italian?” Elly nodded. “Right, well, I think she thought she’d avoided the whole mess. But actually, it all happened on the very day the army people came to the door and told her the news. I don’t know how everything happened from that moment on, but by the end of the day the parents, Margaret and Vincent, and the oldest daughter, Bunny, along with her own child Zelda Grace were all dead.”

“I can’t even imagine how horrible it must have been. Were Mimi, Itsy, and Fee all there when it happened?”

“I think Mimi was. I don’t know about Fee. Itsy wasn’t. Neither was George. I think they came to the building later on that day. Anyway, there’s more. See, Vincent—your great-grandfather, he didn’t believe in any sorts of magical ways. It was hard on them … hard on their love. A lot of stories come out of the walls of the buildings in the Bronx. So many people living so close together back then, it was hard to keep secrets. So, it was common knowledge that though they were in love, Margaret and Vincent had their problems. She was made of all things magic and chaotic, and he was made of straight lines and numbers. There are rumors that it was him, his plain ways, that blocked Margaret’s abilities to save them all from that tragic day.”

“People have so much influence over each other, don’t they?” said Elly.

“Yeah, I guess, especially when it’s all clouded with love.”

“I wonder why she married him? I mean, they were so different.”

Anthony simply winked at her. And in that instant she understood. Stability and constancy. It was part of the reason she was so in love with Anthony. But at least he understood the magic. Elly thought it would be maddening to be married to someone who couldn’t see past the nose on his face.

Elly and Anthony were standing at the corner of a long, narrow street lined with broken-down beach cottages. Relics from another era.

“I know where to go,” said Elly as if in a dream. She let go of his hand and walked down the middle of the deserted street. There was silence in the spring wind. The only sound was the soft “clink” coming from a sea glass mobile on the front porch. She walked up the creaking steps with Anthony behind and poked the mobile with her hands.

“We made this,” she said.

“Yes. We did.” Elly heard a hitch in his voice so she turned around. He was crying and trying to hide it. Craning his neck away from her.

“What’s the matter?”

“You’re back. You’re really back.”

Elly reached for him and held him tight. It occurred to her for the first time how lonesome it must have been. Waiting for her to come back. Waiting for her to remember. Always the one left waiting. “Let’s go find out everything I need to know so we can start out this life without anything hidden, okay?” she whispered into his thick hair.

“You bet,” he said roughly, regaining his composure.

Elly went to the door. “Crap! Anthony, we don’t have the key.”

Anthony went into his pocket and then dangled Georgie’s rabbit foot key chain out in front of her again, like he’d done her second morning in the Bronx. “Got ’em!”

They opened the door and walked into the cottage. Margaret Green’s summer home. The house on Far Rockaway that had once been filled with laughter and children dripping with magic summer honey sun.

It was perfect. Tidy. Not a thing out of place.

“She’s been here,” said Elly. “It’s Itsy’s cottage, isn’t it? I can tell. It’s hers and she’s been here.”

“Well, it’s clear someone has.”

“There’s something sweet in that. But why do you think the old ladies haven’t sold this cottage, Anthony?”

“Well, let me finish telling you what I know about your family. Rumor has it that Itsy had herself a man. And not just any man. A black kid. His name was Henry and he’d been George’s best friend since they were kids. Both outcasts and all. So maybe she keeps it because she can’t give it away?”

“Itsy in love. I can see it.” Elly moved around the cottage touching things, absorbing their stories. “She lost much more than just her family that day, didn’t she, Anthony? She lost her independence, her voice, her identity…”

Anthony nodded. “I know when we were kids and came back here, right after you got to the Bronx, Itsy and George were different.”

“How so?”

“Well, when I was growing up they were just … well, old. But when we came back
here?
It was like they’d had a pint from the fountain of youth. The old ladies made magic again and George was playing with us—and soon I didn’t even realize he was old anymore. And Itsy? Well, put it this way … she was running down the beach turning—”

“Cartwheels,” whispered Elly.

19

Itsy

Mama always went a little crazy near summer solstice. It was to be expected. It’s the most magical time of the year for us witches. The garden received her full attention and us, too. She’d make new summer dresses for all of us, and crisp white shirts for the boys. She’d make soda crackers to put in tins before the days got too hot to bake. She’d prune and plant and water. Cajoling, almost daring her garden to bloom louder than ever before.

She was a tidy woman, most times. But she had priorities, and cleaning was low on the list during the times when she felt her hands were full with other things. Piles of cotton and ribbon and spools of thread would pile up in the kitchen and living room. Mountains of flour covered the counters, muddy footprints to and from the back hallway marking her constant route.

Papa, though he knew she would be her old self soon, never seemed to have much patience for it. He’d yell and try to clean up after her. She’d yell back, telling him to leave her piles alone.

It was during this time of year that she told us the story of the “Mound Builders.” I think she told us so that she could discount Papa’s words without discounting Papa.

“The Mound Builders were people who lived here long before the earliest colonists arrived. They dug deep into the earth and created mounds to bury their dead. For them, the mounds were treasured. A way to remember, to memorialize. There isn’t anything wrong with building piles to remind us of things.”

But some years were worse than others. She’d whisper with Bunny and the boys would try to clean up after her as well. She’d swat at them with her dish towels and shoo them away.

*   *   *

The year Mama took us on a day trip to Fairview was a year when their fighting was particularly bad. We took the train from Penn Station. The older boys stayed home, of course. Georgie and I were eleven or so, still able to be mesmerized by the station and the swarms of people and the elaborate red velvet seats.

Mama was quiet. We behaved. We knew there was something amiss. We got off the train in Boston and onto a smaller, fancier train. I felt like I was going deeper and deeper into a storybook the more miles we traveled. The stop in Fairview was in front of what looked like a fancy fortress. I thought it looked very romantic and wanted to explore it right away. Bunny whispered to Mimi that it was a lunatic asylum. Georgie heard it and pulled on Mama’s skirt.

“What is it, love?” she asked, with an uncanny distance in her voice.

“Why are we at a lunatic asylum, Mama?”

Mama shot Bunny a look that could have been a poisoned dart.

“What? I’m sorry,” she said.

We walked around the building and entered the center of a bustling, pretty town. Mama guided us to a bench under a large willow tree.

“Listen close, my ducklings. Mama needs to go visit with your grandmother. One who you don’t know. And she’s ill. So you can’t come with me. But Bunny’s been here before, so she’ll take good care of you. There are lots of fun things to do.
And
there’s an ice-cream shop, and…”

“I have it under control, Mama. You go,” said Bunny.

“Okay,” said Mama, “But don’t take them near the water. Promise me? No matter how hot it gets. They can jump in the fountain over here, just not the sea.” Mama pointed at the fountain in the center of the town square.

“I promise, Mama,” said Bunny.

“Swear a solemn vow,” said Mama.

“I swear a solemn vow,” said Bunny.

Mama kissed her cheek and disappeared into a crowd of people.

My sister was getting awfully grown up all of a sudden. I’d always known Bunny took after Mama more than the rest of us, but it was never so obvious.

The people in the town all looked the same, sort of. They all looked like Bunny and Mama. Lighter. Freckles. Light eyes. Yes, their appearance was similar. But it was other things as well. Posture and smiles and gait. They seemed to share an internal rhythm. Mimi, Fee, George, and me? It was as if we slunk behind like dark clouds in a sunny sky. I could tell we looked out of place, and Bunny knew.

“Oh Itsy! You’re so sensitive. Get over it. Hey, do you guys want to see the house where Mama grew up?”

“Yes, yes!” we cried.

Bunny led us through winding backstreets down toward the beaches. There were beautiful houses lined up with massive trees in front. The cobblestone streets ached with history.

“There it is!” said Bunny and I almost lost my bloomers.

Mama’s house. It was the largest house I’d ever seen, and certainly the fanciest. I’d learn later that it was a Victorian House. My eleven-year-old eyes only saw gingerbread and dolls. Lots of dolls.

“Does she still own it?” asked Fee.

“No, greedy,” said Bunny. “But there’s a private beach on the side. Do you want to see? I remember it looked like a mermaid cove.”

“Mama said not to go near the water, Bunny,” said Mimi, but Bunny was already running toward a small beach on the side of Mama’s old house.

When we rounded the corner, I knew exactly what Bunny was saying about mermaids. There was a bit of beach, yes, but mostly rocks. Huge rocks creating a smaller pool of ocean. Natural walls and small openings made it seem as if the lost city of Atlantis was found, and Bunny—perched high atop a rock mountain—was its queen.

“Get down!” Mimi yelled from the beach. But beautiful Bunny just stared out at the ocean. I started to get scared. “She swore a solemn vow,” I whispered.

George began to cry.
“You swore a solemn vow, Bunny!
” he yelled and his voice ricocheted off the rocks.

Bunny heard him. She shook her head and tapped at her ears as if someone or something was trying to convince her to dive in. To become a mermaid herself.

But, she quietly climbed down to join us and we walked slowly back into town. I slipped my hand inside of hers. “I’m glad you didn’t become a mermaid, Bunny.”

Bunny stopped to pick me up and held me tight, “You are lovely, Itsy!” she said swinging me around.

“Who wants ice cream?” she asked.

George cried, “Me! Me!” And we raced through Mama’s town with the wind at our backs and our feet knowing the way.

We waited for Mama, happy and sticky, eating dripping ice cream cones on the bench.

“Are you all ready for the journey back? Everyone fed? Anyone need to use the washroom?”

She rushed us onto a waiting train.

“Did you get what you came for, Mama?” asked Bunny.

“Yes I did, thank you,” smiled Mama.

“What did you need?” asked George.

“I needed to be reminded.”

“Reminded of what?” George persisted.

“I needed to be reminded of something so all the crooked angles in my mind could go straight again.”

“What did she remind you about?”

“She reminded me about the sun and moon and sky. You see, Papa is the sun in my sky. And you are all my twinkling stars. The stars, they never go out. They twinkle brightly all the time. In the day, the ocean catches them and they dance under the surface. But the sun? It moves around—the clouds block its light. It’s gone during the night. And the world gets so cold without its shine. I shiver. The shiver is the reason why I came back home.”

“If Papa is your sun, and we are your stars, who is your moon, Mama?” asked George.

Mama didn’t answer, she simply placed her hands on the window of the train car and looked back toward Fairview.

*   *   *

I think about that trip often. I wonder about Mama’s history. As much as we lost touch with the Amores, we never even had a grasp of the Green clan. And it rises, like the tide within us. Mama’s magic ways. The strange and wonderful things we are capable of that we never even questioned. We all took to them naturally and believed in them like we took to, and believed in the wide, blue sky.

But Elly? She bubbles with a mighty dose of Mama. Even if she can’t feel it or doesn’t yet know what it means. And if I don’t protect her, all that potential will be gone. Because as the days go by, her fate looms large. It casts shadows on everything I do.