Chapter 10 #2
Allegra added two more locks of hair, bound with the thinnest strand of byssus, to the pouch that held her memory of Ella.
Allegra couldn’t help but notice that her father’s gait seemed reduced to a shuffle, and her mother’s hair showed more gray at her temples.
Her mother, the maestra, had only Allegra to carry on in the line of their family’s weavers.
What, she wondered, was the gift in this?
How could they steward this fresh sorrow?
In a world where many died in childbirth and surviving childhood was not a guarantee, they’d beaten the odds for a time.
They had so much more to do each day now, with fewer hands to do it, and their labor kept them moving forward, catching brief moments here and there to stop and let waves of sadness wash over them.
Allegra determined to make her weaving even more beautiful, incorporating golden scenes of her sisters’ favorite things—starfish and anemones, turtles and urchins—as a way to honor their having been here, once.
Allegra’s father still took the boat out as he always had.
Other pescatore families lent a hand at the quay so that he wouldn’t have to single-handedly unload his catch at the docks.
She knew he must be lonely on the boat all day without her brothers bantering and singing to pass the time because she felt that way at the loom.
Probably, he grieved out on the water alone, she thought, because when he came home, he seemed steady and strong for her mother.
As she’d done after Ella’s death, her mother immersed herself in the byssus work and tried to be grateful for what remained.
Meals were quieter. Fewer voices at the table meant less conversation and fewer opinions.
Allegra missed Lora fiercely. She’d been a lifelong confidante and friend, even after Allegra had married.
She constantly turned to tell her something or thought to ask her about a particular byssus pattern, then realized anew that Lora was gone.
Some weeks later, in mid-November, Allegra stopped by the postal office with a letter in hand. When the clerk saw her come through the door, he motioned her over to the counter.
“Signora, I have something for you.” She’d been by the office almost daily since Johann had been called up, and he knew what she came for.
Allegra was grateful for the man’s compassion.
When he had nothing for her, he’d simply meet her eyes at the door and give a slight shake of his head to spare her coming in and making small talk when her heart ached.
Today, however, she had a letter, and she quickened her steps to the counter to take the thin missive he held out to her.
The postcard bore the familiar Posta Militare stamp, and the additional Commissione Censura stamp from the Office of Censure obscured some of the handwriting beneath.
Ordinarily, Allegra would step outside to read it.
Sometimes, she would force herself to wait until she’d reached home, savoring the anticipation along the way.
She hadn’t been expecting anything today.
It had hardly been two months since Johann’s last, so she stood against the wall as she examined his familiar tidy handwriting.
Dearest A, he wrote. Expect me home to light the menorah.
This fighting is finally over! Don’t know for sure when I’ll be on the train, but Lorenzo will soon need to meet me in Cagliari with his donkey.
Tell him to feed some extra oats because we’ll be going full speed all the way home. All my love, J.
Allegra’s hands shook. She read the words twice more before she allowed herself to believe it might actually be real.
She clutched the postcard to her chest and tried to catch her breath.
The news they got on Sardegna tended to be more word of mouth, brought from the mainland.
Official newsprint could be days or weeks old.
She looked again at the date and tried to figure how much time had passed.
“Good news, no?” asked the postal clerk.
Of course he’d already read it. The man considered himself a sort of buffer between the letters he received and their possible effect on the recipients.
If he knew he was about to hand over tragic news to a family member, he’d offer a chair or sometimes even a cup of coffee first.
“Very good news.” Allegra beamed. “The best. Thank you.” She turned and walked briskly out the door, on a mission to see Lorenzo, the owner of the strong white donkey with the wide cart.
She needed to give him notice that he might soon need to be in the capital.
When the time came, for his trouble, she’d send him with a hearty meal of fish and orzo and something sweet.
She’d weave a fine pattern for his wife with the sea silk—perhaps a likeness of their donkey pulling his cart—as a gift.
Allegra didn’t care if she had to stay up all night for weeks to finish.
News from the train station arrived by telegraph just two days later.
Johann would be home the following day, sooner than expected.
From the moment she’d received the postcard, Allegra had thrown all her energy into readying the house.
Her mother joined her to help. Allegra was touched by the way she shared her excitement and joy, even in the midst of missing the others.
Her mother knew the toll Johann’s absence had taken on her, and her happiness at his return was almost as great as her own.
They washed and hung the linens, swept the tiled floor clean, and gathered purple crocus blooms to brighten the table and windowsills.
Mamma helped her assemble a pot of his favorite seafood stew so that it would be ready to heat.
When her mother had gone, Allegra soaked in a bath and drew a perfumed comb through her damp hair.
On the morning of Johann’s arrival, before the pink ribbons of dawn unfurled across the sky, Allegra walked down to the shoreline.
She remembered her promise from four years ago, the promise that if Johann made it home to her, she would tend to the byssus forever.
As the cool water lapped at her toes, she stretched her arms wide to the sea and began the melodic song of the byssus, repeating the words generations of water women had sung.
It was their anthem to the water, their craft, its gift, and their pledge, and this morning, it was particularly sweet to her.
After so much time apart, she wanted nothing more than to see her husband again and sink into their beautifully ordinary life together.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the salt air, unbothered by the rush of a wave that soaked the bottom of her skirt.
The endless war was done. As far as it was within her power, she would be available for her family and her craft and aspire to nothing more than that.
For Allegra, there was nothing more. The distant clanging of a bell heralded the signal: Lorenzo’s donkey cart had been spotted outside the town limits.
Allegra ran home, her heels kicking up sand behind her.
When she reached the stone avenue beside her home, her mother met her there, clean boots in hand.
“Well, you’re a sight.” She laughed, and it was wonderful to hear that sound. “Your cheeks all red and dress covered in sand.” She brushed Allegra’s skirts with a brisk hand as Allegra hopped into her black boots. “Hurry, cara. He’s likely near town even now.”
Allegra kissed her mother’s cheek and flashed a bright smile. “Thank you, Mamma.” She turned and trotted toward town, with her mother trailing behind. Her feet would not be reined in by decorum.
As she neared the quay, she saw the crowd that had gathered near the postal office.
Johann had not come alone. Allegra saw two other men lifting their packs from the sides of the cart.
One was surrounded by family, exclaiming and hailing him with kisses.
Members of the town clapped the other on the back and shook hands.
Allegra stopped in her tracks, breathing hard.
It hadn’t occurred to her that Johann might have changed in the four years since he’d left.
She imagined him as he’d been then, frozen in time, and she wondered if he’d see changes in her as well.
But there he was, shouldering the pack he’d left with, long since empty of the amaretti she’d made, as if cookies would make a difference in a war.
Her eyes traced his body desperately. He had both arms, both legs.
His frame was thinner, his hair thick and unruly, and his skin had lost that sun-bronzed glow.
Too much time in northern mountains where he didn’t belong.
He was laughing and slapping the backs of neighbors and people he knew, but the whole time, his head swiveled over them, searching.
It was the laugh she remembered. Allegra stood still and apart in the middle of the avenue.
She could hear her mother coming up behind her, talking and laughing.
Suddenly shy, she looked down to smooth her skirts and reached up to straighten the headscarf that had slipped as she’d run.
In that briefest moment, Johann closed the distance between them and stood before her, tears in those same topaz eyes she remembered so well.
Allegra’s hands trembled, and she reached out to touch his beard, speckled—impossibly—with gray.
At her touch, Johann folded her in his arms and buried his face in her hair.
“I’m home, Allegra. It’s really me. You’re really you. You can’t imagine how I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” she whispered into his ear. “You’re never leaving again. I may not even let you out of my sight on that boat of yours.”
Allegra’s reverie was interrupted by her mother’s cry of surprise. She turned to see that she, too, had stopped short on the road and was staring in disbelief at the crowd around the wagon. Nicholas! Nicholas had come home!
“I brought a surprise with me,” Johann said. “We met at the station, coming home at the same time. Lorenzo was more than happy to bring one more.”
Allegra’s mother fell upon Nicholas, weeping openly.
Then, she held him at arm’s length and looked him up and down as Allegra had Johann.
Was he all in one piece? They would learn later he’d lost the hearing in one ear from a too-near artillery explosion, but otherwise, he was only thin and weary, and that they could fix.
Given her chance, Allegra embraced her brother, burying her face in his chest. Pieces of their shattered family were settling back into place, and her heart swelled with gladness.
A spontaneous party broke out in the avenue, as neighbors and shopkeepers poured out to welcome them back, bearing bottles of wine.
The baker dragged a table out into the street and laid out fresh bread and cheese, and others brought small sweets and sliced sausages.
They suspended business for the day and brought out mandolins, organettos, and launeddas to play as people danced, black skirts twirling and flashing red and green above their stamping boots.
Allegra and Johann laughed and danced along with them, the war and their recent losses suspended in the music and frivolity.
There was a time for mourning and a time for dancing, and sometimes they overlapped in a surreal merging of currents.
Four men had left four years ago at that first calling-up departure, with many more to follow. Today, only two of those original four had returned, and the absence of the others wasn’t lost on anyone. Later, there would be quieter visits to the families’ homes with food and sober conversation.
As the afternoon wore on, the music wound down and the wine bottles emptied.
The crowd dispersed. The pescatori would be coming in with their catches, and there were sheep to gather, meals to prepare, children to tend.
Her father would walk in that night to see his son at his table.
Although part of her would have loved to have seen their reunion, more than anything she wanted to go home, finally, with Johann.
Allegra kissed her mother and brother as Johann pulled her toward their home.
Allegra noticed he couldn’t stop breathing deeply, filling his lungs with the island air.
She skipped along beside him like a girl, her shyness gone.
When they rounded the bend in the path and their little home came into view, Johann stopped short and took it in.
“There were so many times when I wasn’t sure I’d see this again,” he admitted. “Or you.”
Allegra took his hand and squeezed, as if to reassure him it wasn’t his imagination. Together, they walked toward home.