Chapter Five
At Blake’s snapped command, the wagon jerked to a start.
Caught off guard, Gianna rocked forward, squealed, and grabbed for Alrigo’s arm.
Laughing, he topped his hand on hers and looked around. “Tito will get a chuckle from this story, too. We used to read dime novels about towns like this one. Can you believe the dirt streets?”
Bunching her brows, she lifted a stiff finger to her lips.
He sobered and mouthed sorry.
Even though she had a similar thought just moments earlier, she hadn’t spoken it aloud within the hearing of two town residents. As the wagon trundled down the street, she read wooden signs suspended from the porch overhangs or painted on plate glass windows. Mercantile, cobbler, barber, feed, sheriff, seamstress, dry goods, doctor, two cafés. They turned a corner to expose shops for a blacksmith, wagon maker, carpenter, hardware, leatherworks.
Blake turned the next corner and then steered the team alongside a hitching rail. “Whoa.”
Gianna glanced around and then recognized a three-story building on the left side of the street that must be the hotel where Blake wrote that he’d arranged for her room. The hope was Alrigo could also secure a room here so they might share meals before he had to board tomorrow’s noon train. Gripping the edge of the tailgate, she peered past her swinging boots. The distance looked too far for her short legs.
Alrigo eased to a stand and reached out his hands. “Let me assist, Gi.”
Blake jogged into view. “No need, sir. I’ll handle this.” He extended his arms, hands with palms up. “Grab hold of my wrists, Gianna. I’ll help you down.”
She glanced between the two men and suddenly realized why Blake had looked upset only moments before. Her actions weren’t at fault. Now that she was in his town, he wished to be her protector. Nodding, she clasped his wrists and felt his strong hands wrap around her forearms. In the blink of an eye, she stood only inches away and inhaled his sandalwood again. “Thank you, Blake.”
“Of course.” He shifted his grip to pull her left hand into the crook of his right arm. “We’ll leave the luggage here until we handle the registration.”
Alrigo rested a hand on his portmanteau. “You’re sure it’ll be safe?”
“No worries.” Blake led the way to the boardwalk and stopped at the driver’s box. “Mother, will you remain outside?”
“I will not. Help me down, son.” Elfrida shifted her position on the bench seat.
Alrigo jogged into place near the team. “Let Blake remain with Gi. I’ll assist you.” Wearing a wide smile, he held up both arms. “May I grasp your waist, signora, or will you use this metal step by the wheel?”
“I think not.” Her back went rigid, and her frown deepened. “I just met you and will not consent to having you touch me.”
At seeing Alrigo’s slowly lowering arms and disappearing smile, Gianna gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. Social graces were just that…benign assistance given to help women in and out of conveyances.
The skin on Blake’s neck reddened, but he released Gianna’s hand and moved to the wagon to assist his mother from the box.
“Come.” Missus Wymer clung to Blake’s arm and stepped forward. “I must get out of this sun.”
Left behind, Gianna had no choice but to accept Alrigo’s proffered arm and walk at his side along the block to the Ridgeview Hotel. Respect for one’s elders spoke well of a person. But not when that elder trampled upon the feelings of others with her rudeness. This new information about Blake rambled through her thoughts until she snapped to attention at the call of her name. “Sì? Um, yes?” She glanced around and spotted Missus Wymer sitting in an armchair in the lobby. The chair was positioned so she could see anyone using the double door entrance. Although Gianna disliked the analogy, she registered the impression of a queen viewing her subjects.
Alrigo nudged her forward, then moved to Blake’s other side.
“Gianna…” Blake extended a hand. “The clerk is asking for you to sign the register.”
“Certamente.” She moved next to Blake, then looked up to meet the young man’s gaze. “Good afternoon, sir. I’ll be writing my name for you to read, but I don’t know yours.”
A prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down the clerk’s throat. He blinked dark eyes. “Uh, Hiram Wilkins, miss.”
Gianna accepted the pen, dipped it in the open inkwell, and carefully wrote her full name on the printed line. “There you are. I suppose you are the person to consult should I need directions at a later time, Mister Wilkins?”
The clerk stood straighter and adjusted his bow tie. “Me or anyone standing behind this desk.” He swung the register around and dropped his gaze. “Uh, Miss Rafaello. That there is a mouthful.” His gaze shifted toward Blake and widened. “But right pretty sounding.”
“The key, Hiram?” Blake held out his hand.
“Coming right up.” Hiram turned, collected a brass key from a box in the cubbyholes along the back wall, and passed it over.
“Excuse me, Mister Wilkins.” Alrigo lifted a hand. “I’ll need a room for just tonight. Do you have availability on the same floor as Gi—Miss Rafaello? Any room but seventeen, please.”
“On a Wednesday, we sure do.” Hiram retrieved another key and completed the second registration. “If I might ask, why not seventeen?”
“Merely an unlucky number.” As Alrigo slid his wallet into his jacket pocket, he glanced around the lobby. “Please call the porter to carry our luggage and Miss Rafaello’s trunk upstairs.”
“Sorry, Mister…” Hiram looked down at the register. “Fabrizio. Folks normally tote their own bags.”
No porters?Oh dear, what was the rest of Pueblo truly like? Gianna peered around the lobby but noticed nothing else amiss.
Sighing, Alrigo dug a hand into a trouser pocket and counted out a dollar onto the counter. “Will you assist me for this amount?”
Blake shook his head. “Save your money, Mister Fabrizio. I’ll help.”
Hiram scooped up the coins and dropped them into his vest pocket. “I can leave the desk unattended for a couple of minutes.” He collected a sign from under the counter and set it next to the bell. Back in five minutes. Please wait.
Gianna was anxious to see the room she’d occupy for the next week, but she remained in the lobby because Missus Wymer protested she and Blake should not be together in her room. Gianna almost pointed out that Alrigo and Hiram would also be present. But she held her tongue. Missus Wymer held the same outdated notions as le zitelle, the never-married ladies, from the Salerno church her family attended. The guardians of propriety was the name she and her cousins gave the group. They all vowed never to become a member.
As she walked the perimeter of the lobby, gazing at landscape paintings of the same mountains in various seasons, she wondered how she and Blake were to become better acquainted if they couldn’t be alone. In Chicago, she’d spent time with various single men while attending dinners or visiting the theater as part of a group. Maybe a community event was scheduled this week they might attend.
Every person who moved through the lobby stopped next to Missus Wymer’s chair and spoke a few words.
Gianna remembered an older woman her family knew in Salerno who had the same expectations when she was in a crowd. Madre always called her ape regina, likening her behavior to that of a queen bee where all the drones needed to touch her. That Italian nonna had been a widow, too.
Noise on the carpeted stairs announced the men’s return.
Alrigo glanced between Gianna and Blake. “I wonder if you and your mother would agree to dine here at the hotel with Gianna and me? As my guest, of course.”
She winced at his invitation’s wording, as if he and she were attached. But they’d known each other for two years and had spent days traveling together. So, their friendship couldn’t be denied, and he’d been in charge of everything related to their trip.
Blake stepped close and rested a hand on her lower back. “Mother has a meal already cooking at home.”
As much as she relished the touch, Gianna turned enough to catch Blake’s attention. She rolled her eyes toward Alrigo, willing Blake to get the message she didn’t want to leave her friend alone.
Eyebrows furrowed over his hazel eyes that flicked back and forth as he stared, then he gave a crisp nod. “And, Mister Fabrizio, you’re invited, as well.”
At least, their silent communication was working. Smiling, Gianna faced forward and aligned her body next to Blake’s.
“I accept, but you must allow me to supply something. Maybe you can drive us to a florist or a wine shop.” Grinning, he reached out and grasped Gianna’s hand. “Or, Gi, we could introduce them to Italian cuisine by making an antipasto plate with some formaggio, olivas, esalami.”
“Um.” Blake cleared his throat.
Getting caught up in Alrigo’s enthusiasm, she bounced on her feet and broke into Italian. “And tomatoes and celery and mushrooms and smoked ham.” Then she saw Blake’s stony expression as he stared at their linked hands. She slipped her hand back to her side. “Alrigo, we got a bit carried away. Maybe settle on a nice bottle of wine.”
“Of course.” He shrugged.
Seeing Blake’s frown, Gianna realized she was leaving him out of the conversation. “Back home, Abigail has to visit five or six shops to pick up all those ingredients for Gaspar.”
“And Gaspar is…?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he’s the Fabrizio’s chef, and Abigail serves as a maid and a helper in the kitchen.”
“You came from a household that employed servants?”
His dismayed tone made her straighten and search his expression. “I’m sure I wrote about that.” Or maybe she hadn’t, because that living situation really wasn’t important to her future. “Well, if you think about it, I was a servant performing my governess duties. Although I was treated more like family.”
Alrigo chuckled. “Gi, you are definitely part of the Fabrizio family.”
“Blake, what are you discussing over there?” Missus Wymer waved a lacy handerchief. “I can’t hear a word of your conversation.”
“Excuse me, please.” Blake dipped his chin, then walked across the lobby and helped his mother to her feet. He lifted a beckoning hand before exiting onto the boardwalk.
Alrigo pressed a hand between her shoulder blades. “I guess that’s our cue the wagon is being loaded.” Facing her, he hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Shall we mosey outside?”
At his atypical stance, Gianna giggled. “Where did you hear that word? And whatever does it mean?”
He laughed. “From someone on the train. I like it and think it means you walk with a slow gait.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Shall we try?”
“You lead, and I’ll copy.” Following Alrigo’s example, Gianna moved through the door and down the boardwalk amidst multiple starts and much laughter. The narrow-eyed glare she received from Blake’s mother sobered her, and she hurried to climb onto the tailgate. At Murray Mercantile, she remained in the wagon while Alrigo went inside to buy the wine, not wanting her chumminess with him to cause any more problems.
When they started again, conversation from the driver’s box to the back of the wagon was impossible. So, she was her own tour guide as she catalogued the businesses and homes along the way. No statuary decorated the front yards, and no masonry posts marked driveways. Many homes lacked any landscaping except for the occasional flowerbox under a window. Everything looked so…functional with no decorations to individualize the buildings. Even in the short growing season Chicago experienced, the gardeners planted colorful flowers for the summer months.
The wagon turned to the right and then stopped next to a two-story gray clapboard house with black shutters.
Gianna twisted to take in where Blake lived. A concrete walkway led from the street, but the yard wasn’t contained by a fence. Another walkway fronted the house from this driveway and provided one side of dirt where some greenery grew. Maybe from bulbs planted last fall? Curtains hung at the sides of each multi-paned window upstairs and at the two plate glass ones she spotted on the ground floor.
The wagon rocked as both Blake and Alrigo climbed down.
Being sure not to make eye contact with Alrigo, she trusted him to let Blake assist her. She had several minutes of waiting while he escorted his mother onto the front porch. Wooden chairs of slat construction sat on both sides of the front door. She’d seen the style at an Adirondacks mountain resort where the family vacationed last summer. But those were covered with bright cushions. Possibly the weather wasn’t warm enough yet for the cushions to be brought out from storage.
Blake appeared and held out his hands in the direction of her waist. “May I?”
She nodded, placed her hands on his shoulders, and felt weightless as he lifted her to the ground. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the train depot.” His arm slid around her back.
The huskiness in his voice gave her a thrill. Flushing, she looked at the building. “Your house is lovely.”
“Gianna, I don’t want to talk about my house.” He steered them to the other side of the horses. “Mister Fabrizio, feel free to walk about the yard. My brother, Axton, might still be in the workshop back there.”
“Please call me Alrigo. I’m fine on my own to give you privacy.” Lifting a waving hand, he moseyed down the driveway.
Blake watched him, then turned, his forehead wrinkled into rows. “Just who is he and why is he always touching you? And does kissing your forehead mean anything?”
He saw that?At the fierceness in his expression, Gianna stepped back. “As I introduced him, he’s the younger brother of my cousin’s husband. He works in Tito’s business and was gracious enough to be my escort for the trip.”
“That’s who he is, but what is he to you?” He planted his hands on his hips.
Oh, he’s jealous. But Saint Augustine said, “He that is jealous is not in love.” So, how was this emotion good? She pressed a hand to his forearm, registering the firm muscles beneath his jacket. “Italians are demonstrative people. Earlier, you witnessed my…come se dice?” She snapped her fingers.
“When you were frustrated?”
“Frustrated?” I don’t think that’s right. “Is that the word for expressing your feelings about a plan going wrong?”
“Not exactly.” He scratched his jaw. “But I know what I saw and heard at the train depot.”
“Buono. When I’m upset, I move around and express myself with my hands. We Italians touch and hug and kiss family members, and we really love to laugh.” She tightened her hold on his arm, hoping her direct stare helped him understand the importance of what she said. “I traveled all this way to be with you, Blake. You’re the man I wish to know more about, caro. Alrigo is like one of my brothers. Well, if either was older than me.”
Blake’s shoulders, which had been tight near his ears, relaxed. “Oh. Now, I feel like I need to offer Alrigo an apology.”
“He’ll understand.” Tsking, she linked an arm with Blake’s. “So, show me this place where you make wonderful creations.”
“I thought you’d want to see the house first.”
Waving her free hand, she leaned close. “Houses I have viewed, but I have never seen where furniture is made.” Not exactly the full truth because she had a zio in Salerno who carved marble feet for bathtubs. But were tubs classified as furniture? She thought not.
“All right.” He moved toward a building at the end of the driveway.
Gianna gazed at the taller-than-a-single-story, blocky structure of weathered wood. Both entrance doors stood open, displaying a shadowy interior. The door on the right partially obscured a sign proclaiming Wymer’s Furniture Shop. As she approached, she heard male voices inside. Alrigo must have found his way.
Blake handed her over the threshold. “This is our shop.” He swept an arm to encompass the interior.
Gianna focused on the light-haired man standing next to Alrigo. The physical resemblance to Blake was unmistakable. She hurried forward. “Piacere di conoscerti.” She bestowed two kisses, then stepped back, still holding onto his upper arms. “I’m Gianna Rafaello.”
Blinking, Axton rubbed a cheek. “Axton Wymer.” He glanced at Blake and back. “Welcome to Pueblo? I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you said.”
Gianna dropped her hold and looked over her shoulder at Blake. “Did I do it again?”
Blake nodded. “The words sound really pretty, but we speak just plain English here.”
“I’ll do my best.” She touched a gloved hand to the nearest machine. “What does this one do?”
Blake conducted a tour of the shop, while Axton left to take care of the wagon and horses.
After a few minutes, Gianna lost track of the names and just focused on the finished products, amazed by the talent on display. “These are beautiful.” At the end of the row stood a highboy dresser with elegant carvings on the drawer surfaces and a curved holder of an oval mirror. “I love this piece.” She ran fingers over the designs that varied from vines and petals near the brass pulls to an intricate blossom in the center of the flat surface. “I can almost picture them green and growing.”
“Thank you.” Both Wymer men spoke at the same time.
Alrigo leaned a hand on the workbench. “Seeing the pieces at various stages of completion makes me appreciate them so much more.”
Outside, a bell rang.
“Ah.” Axton turned and reached for a broom. “That’s our twenty-minute warning to close the shop and get washed up for supper.”
Gianna had heard of bells being used on farms but not in a town. She had so much to learn about life here in Pueblo.
Axton brushed the broom against his legs, sweeping downward from his knees.
“No!” She hurried toward him to snatch the implement away. “Single people should never brush the tops of their shoes with a broom.”
Axton’s eyes shot wide. “Why not?”
“If you do, you will be single all your life.” She grabbed a rag from the workbench and pressed it into Axton’s hands.
“Now, Gi.” Alrigo started to cup her elbow, then dropped his hand. “Maybe such superstition only applies to those of us who heard these sayings at our nonna’s knees.”
She turned to Blake, wide eyed. “You’ve not heard that?”
He shrugged. “Can’t say I have.”
A gasp escaped her lips, and something tightened inside her chest. She scoured his gaze, not sure what she hoped to find. His answer meant he’d also brushed the tops of his shoes. Did the tradition have any influence on the future if a person didn’t know about it?
“Uh, Gianna? We really need to go inside.” Blake jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Certamente.” She leaned the broom against the workbench and turned to accept Blake’s offered elbow. Inside, which was through the back entrance, she walked through the anteroom and directly into the kitchen. Seeing Missus Wymer monitoring several pots on the stove, she started removing her suit jacket. “I’ll wash my hands, then please give me a task.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” Without turning around, Missus Wymer opened the oven door and removed a roasting pan. “Guests may walk straight through to the dining room. Unless you need to freshen up.”
With those words, Axton went up the stairs to the second floor.
“Just down this hallway.” Blake escorted Gianna and Alrigo to the dining room.
Alrigo hefted the wine bottle he’d collected from the wagon. “Where will I find wine glasses? And a corkscrew.”
Blake scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’ll figure out something. Give me a few minutes.”
Unsure of where to sit, Gianna wandered into the adjoining parlor and took note of the pale blue upholstery next to light wood that screamed for a colorful knitted lap blanket on the back of the settee or red pillows with tassels in the matching armchairs.
A few flurried movements happened as the food was carried to the table, and everyone decided where to sit.
Gianna gazed at the platters and bowls and realized the impact an extra person made in this household. At the Fabrizios’ house, Gaspar cooked for the family and the servants, so every meal provided an abundance. Here, what probably had been four pork chops and four potatoes were cut into smaller pieces. Short, straight-sided glasses sat at each place setting but Missus Wymer’s. The family didn’t own wine glasses?
Next to Alrigo’s plate rested a tool that Gianna swore she’d seen on the workbench.
“Funny story about this wine.” Alrigo tore off the foil, picked up the tool, and screwed the sharp tip into the cork. “The storekeeper and his wife knew they still had a bottle…” He tracked his gaze around the table’s occupants. “A bottle…somewhere. But neither could remember where it was put after they determined it wouldn’t be sold.” Grinning, he winked at Gianna. “Imagine that in a Chicago wine shop.”
“I cannot.” She laughed, but when the others didn’t join, she immediately sobered.
The cork released, and Alrigo stood to walk behind Missus Wymer’s chair, frowned, and then continued on. “They found it on a top shelf way at the back in the storeroom. And I was so glad, because accepting an invitation to a meal and not gifting something displays bad manners. Bringing wine is a wish that the house’s occupants will never go thirsty. So, consider this from Gi and me.” He held up the bottle to study the label. “From Napa Valley, California. I’ve heard of this place.” Moving around the table, he filled the glasses half full. Reaching his own place, he sat, then raised his glass. “A toast to the Wymers, for welcoming these big-city travelers into their lovely home. Salute.”
As was her habit, she clinked glasses with those seated to her left and right. “Alla nostra.” She sipped the red wine, enjoying the full-bodied flavor.
“Cheers.” Blake nodded.
With a frozen smile, Missus Wymer lifted her water glass to toast.
Stiffening, Gianna bit back a warning about the bad luck brought on by the woman’s action. Instead, she focused on the wine. “This has notes of black cherry and maybe currant.”
Alrigo swished the liquid in his mouth and swallowed. “I taste cedar, too. Tito might be interested in talking to the vintner.” When he set down the empty glass, he knocked over the salt shaker. “Oh, mi scusi.”
Both Gianna and Alrigo jumped to their feet, reached for the spilt salt, and tossed a few grains over their left shoulders.
Greeted by three wide-eyed expressions, she slowly sank back into her seat. Why did her normal actions shock everyone so? As she ate the particularly bland food and wished for access to the household’s spice cupboard, she let the conversation swirl around her. Just what had she agreed to by coming here?