Chapter 6
Chapter Six
C atherine stood in front of the New York Public Library with her heart in her throat. Two mighty stone lions guarded the entrance, and a strangely chilly breeze cut through the trees of Central Park and reminded her that autumn would soon sweep the summer air away and cleanse everything. Before she went inside, she watched a young mother walk hand in hand with two little girls with black hair. They might have been Ivy and Scarlet, deliriously happy with the books they’d selected and ready to read them again and again in the park.
I don’t understand time. Where does it go? Catherine thought.
Her grandfather must have felt the same when the war pushed him out of Europe. War was the most nonsensical thing. Yet it was as old as humankind.
Inside the library, Catherine made her way to the records office and asked to go through the numerous New York City newspapers. She wanted to look at Gionnocaro’s obituary first. She wanted to read about her grandfather, about the man she’d always known.
It didn’t take long for Catherine to find her grandfather’s obituary.
Gionnocaro Fellini (1921-1994) was born in Rome, Italy, to a royal family, yet lost everything when he came to America in 1942. Remembering his country’s remarkable baking traditions, he founded the first Italian bakery in the Upper East Side. Despite a difficult start, the bakery was always known for giving out free bread to the struggling families in the area and generally promoting goodwill during the city’s most difficult times. He went on to marry the beautiful Gwen in 1945, and they welcomed their first daughter, Vivian, in 1947, followed by two more daughters (Val and Nadine) and a son (Jack). By the sixties, the bakery was one of the most talked about sights in the Upper East Side, although Gionnocaro liked to joke that baking only ever lent a margin of the wealth he’d once enjoyed back in Italy. Gionnocaro never returned to Italy, but he adored his city, his family, and later, his grandchildren (Catherine, Sally, Patty, Jefferson, Matthew, Addison, Bert, and Walt).
The photo attached to the obituary was of the man Catherine had once adored and loved. Her heart ached to see him—just a little bit younger than he’d been when she was a girl, with Coke-bottle glasses and a mischievous grin.
Catherine had never known her grandma Gwen. But Gionnocaro had always spoken of Gwen with a look that told just how much he still adored her, even in death.
Catherine sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Across the room were other people, peering down through microscopes to read the fine print of ancient newspapers. The newspapers themselves were protected and archived. It felt as though they were Indiana Jones–types diving back through history.
Now, Catherine wanted to figure out who the other Gionnocaro Fellini was. Maybe it was a dead end. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her. But something about the fact that he was the only Gionnocaro Fellini in Ellis Island records intrigued her.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Catherine searched through the archives to discover any news of Gionnocaro Fellini from 1937, 1938, and 1939.
Finding the first mention of the “intellectual” Gionnocaro Fellini didn't take long.
It was in a newspaper clipping from October 17, 1938—just a year and a half after his arrival.
Newly arrived Gionncaro Fellini is a PhD in residence at New York University. His studies in the field of linguistics focus on the link between Germanic and romantic languages. Here he is photographed at his recent wedding to another intellectual and female student at NYU, Dee Philips Fellini.
Catherine peered at the photo for a good twenty-five minutes. In it, the other Gionnocaro and his new wife, Dee, were unsmiling, photographed arm in arm in front of a Manhattan church that Catherine had probably passed by thousands of times. Dee was beautiful, wearing a practical wedding dress from the late thirties. Her cheeks were hollow, and she didn’t look particularly happy—perhaps because it was so difficult to be an accepted female academic back in those days.
Catherine hoped Gionnocaro had respected Dee. It was clear he thought she was smart, at least. Otherwise, he would have married someone who wasn’t studying at NYU.
Other people were in the photograph as well. Beautifully dressed people, all of whom probably knew they were headed for war. Europe was already raging. Catherine studied their faces, the frilly dresses, the hats.
A face toward the right-hand side of the photograph caught her attention. Her spine straightened.
She looks just like me.
Catherine gaped at the very young woman. Her face was turned so that she looked at the bride and groom. She wore a dark dress and a black hat and carried a bouquet. Had that been Dee’s bouquet? The young woman might have been seventeen or eighteen. She was unnamed. But she really did have Catherine’s and Scarlet’s and Ivy’s and Sally’s features. She might have been a lost relative.
Catherine was suddenly consumed with the need to read as much as she could about Dee and Gionnocaro.
Maybe she could figure out who the young woman was. Perhaps she was a sister or a cousin. Maybe she was an employee.
Hours passed. Catherine flew through the archives, reading about Gionnocaro’s discoveries in the field of linguistics, about Dee’s graduation, about the arrival of their first child—a boy named Stephan Fellini. Clearly, this Gionnocaro still had his wealth, and he liked to flaunt it with dinners out and ballroom dances and meet and greets with the elite in Hollywood at the time. He photographed well and seemed only to get more handsome as time passed. Dee seemed increasingly haggard, and Catherine could only speculate what the trouble was. Maybe Gionnocaro was having affairs. Perhaps he was spending their money too quickly. Maybe she was struggling with being a mother and a student at the same time. Presumably they had help, but there was often too much pressure on a mother’s shoulders no matter what.
It wasn’t till the library announced its closure that Catherine discovered one more clue about the woman.
There was a photograph taken in 1941. In it were Gionnocaro, Dee, baby Stephan, baby Francine, and that woman from the wedding. Again, this woman had Catherine’s face. Catherine’s heart pounded. Who are you?
The caption read: Gionnocaro, Dee, and their children, Stephan and baby Francine, vacation in the Hamptons. To the right is their nanny, Gwen.
Catherine’s heart stopped. Gwen? Grandma Gwen? She gaped at the image and crossed her arms so tightly she thought she might break her ribs.
Suddenly, a library staff member appeared at her desk and demanded she leave for the night. Catherine took another few photographs and put everything away. She then shot into the darkening night with tears in her eyes.
If that’s really my grandma Gwen, she worked for Gionnocaro Fellini—a man with wealth and prosperity here in New York City.
She worked for him before my grandfather ever arrived.
What did it mean? Catherine couldn’t get her head around it. But something smelled off.